“What … what …” sputtered Padgett. Then, as the would-be assassin’s gun boomed again, he yelped, “Oh, my God!”
Longarm twisted around and triggered a shot of his own, grimacing as the bullet went high and thudded into the underside of the grandstand. The gunman fired a third and final time, the slug kicking up dust several feet to Longarm’s right; then he whirled around and dashed back deeper into the shadows underneath the benches.
Biting back a curse, Longarm reached out with his left hand and pushed Padgett back to the ground as the senator struggled to get up. “Stay down, damn it!” Longarm barked at him, then surged to his feet. He ran toward the grandstand, the Colt held ready in his hand.
He darted around one of the thick wooden beams that supported the stands and found himself half-blinded by the sudden change from brilliant sunlight to thick shadows. He was confused even more by the narrow shafts of light that slanted down through openings between the benches, not to mention the veritable forest of beams that formed the structural skeleton of the grandstand. If he went running along full-blast before his vision adjusted, he’d be liable to dash his brains out in a collision with one of the support beams.
However, as long as he stood here at the edge of the light, he was a perfect target for the fleeing gunman. A bullet slammed into the beam next to Longarm to punctuate that thought. He crouched and went forward at a slow run, veering from beam to beam.
Unwilling to fire again until he had a good, clear shot, Longarm waited several moments, then triggered his Colt. The bullet whined off to one side of the dimly seen running shape ahead of him. The bushwhacker obviously intended to stay underneath the grandstand until he reached the other end of it.
So far, despite all the powder that had been burned, none of the bullets had hit anything except dirt and wood. That situation didn’t change as Longarm’s next shot went into the ground behind the darting figure. This was getting downright tiresome, he thought.
The next moment, the ambusher emerged from the shadows into the sunshine. He stumbled a little, and Longarm knew he had to be squinting hard against the glare. Longarm came to a stop, leveled his gun, and squeezed off another shot as the gunman abruptly veered to the side. Longarm’s bullet smacked into one of the support beams.
The running figure disappeared, only to be replaced an instant later by a much larger one. The pounding of hoofbeats came to Longarm’s ears, echoing underneath the stands. The would-be assassin had had a horse waiting for him.
When Longarm ran out from under the grandstand a moment later, he shielded his eyes with his hand and saw the man riding hard away from the racetrack, already with a good lead. Longarm had come out here this morning in a rented buggy, just as he’d done the day before, and the closest saddle horse was probably Caesar, out on the track itself. There might be other mounts around the paddock area, but it was all the way at the other end of the track. He watched the dwindling figure of the rider, then slid his Colt back into its holster. That gunman wasn’t going to be caught today.
“Marshal! Marshal Long!” The agitated voice of Senator Padgett came from behind him.
Longarm turned sharply and saw Padgett hurrying toward him through the alternating bands of light and shadow. “Blast it!” Longarm snapped, ignoring for the moment the fact that the other man was a powerful politician. “I thought I told you to stay out of harm’s way!”
Padgett drew to a stop. “I heard more shooting and wanted to make sure you hadn’t been hit,” he said. “Are you all right, Marshal?”
“Not even a scratch,” Longarm said. “How about you, Senator?”
Padgett brushed some of the dust from his coat and trousers. “I don’t seem to be hurt, just shocked that such a thing could happen in broad daylight. Was that man trying to kill you?”
“He was aiming at you,” Longarm said with certainty. “I saw that much before I knocked you out of the way.”
Padgett shook his head, but he wasn’t denying what Longarm had said. “Why?” he asked. “Why would anyone want to kill me?”
“You’re a senator,” Longarm reminded him. “Politicians always have plenty of enemies.”
“Oh, certainly,” Padgett said with a wave of his hand, “men whose bills I’ve opposed, or who opposed bills of mine, but no one who would … would try to murder me! Some cutting comments or a spate of angry rhetoric on the floor of the Senate are as far as they would go.”
“You sure about that? I’m not saying one of your fellow senators would come to Albuquerque and take a shot at you himself, but he could hire it done easy enough.”
Padgett shook his head again, and this time the motion was a denial. “Impossible. I don’t believe it.”
The sound of running footsteps and an anxious voice calling, “Senator! Senator, are you all right?” made Longarm and Padgett both turn around. Cy, the diminutive rider who had been putting Caesar through his paces, was hurrying toward them.
“I’m fine, Cy,” Padgett assured the man as Cy came up to them.
“But I heard shots!”
“There was some gunfire,” Padgett admitted, “but Marshal Long here frightened off the man who was shooting at us.”
Cy gulped. “Lordy! You mean somebody tried to assassinate you, Senator, like that actor fella did to old Abe?”
Padgett grimaced in irritation. “No, I’m certain it was nothing like that,” he said. “You go back and tend to Caesar, Cy. You didn’t leave him just standing on the track in the sun, did you?”
“Well … when I heard the shooting, I figured I’d better see what was going on.”
“Damn it, man,” Padgett barked, his face flushing angrily. “You can’t just leave a fine horse like Caesar standing there when he’s hot and sweaty. Get him back to the stable and rub him down, for God’s sake!”
Cy nodded jerkily as the harsh words lashed at him. “Yes, sir, Senator. Right away.” He turned and practically sprinted back toward the track.
Padgett sighed wearily and turned toward Longarm. “I suppose we’ll have to report this incident to the authorities.” His angry reprimand of Caesar’s rider seemed to be already forgotten.
“Yep, the Albuquerque police will have to know about it,” Longarm said. “I reckon I ought to send a wire to Billy Vail and let him know what happened too.”
“Is that really necessary ?”
Longarm chuckled humorlessly. “You know Billy, Senator. He won’t take it kindly if he hears that one of his deputies was mixed up in a shooting with somebody who tried to assassinate a United States senator and said deputy didn’t report it his own self.”
Padgett frowned and said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I don’t much like that word ‘assassinate,’ though.”
“You’re a public figure, Senator. Like it or not, that’s what happened here today.”
“Very well. You’ll take care of notifying Marshal Vail and the local authorities before you get started on your own mission once again?”
“Sure,” Longarm said with a nod. “I’ll get a wire off to Denver first thing. Then I’ll go see that Captain Bishop. I’ll bet he’s getting a mite tired of seeing me, since there’s always some sort of trouble involved when he does.”
“That’s his job,” Padgett said curtly. “He’s paid to handle trouble.”
“Yes, Sir,” agreed Longarm. “He sure is.”
And so was a United States deputy marshal.
“Son of a bitch!” Longarm said as he slapped the open palm of his left hand on the counter in the hotel lobby. His right hand slightly crumpled the yellow telegraph flimsy the clerk had just given him.