He was halfway through his smoke when Nan Durler came out to join him. She said, “Calvin’s at his books again. Sometimes he spends half the night on those fool papers for the B.I.A.”
Longarm nodded without answering as the blonde sat beside him on the steps. After a while she shuddered and said, “They’re at that old drum again. Sometimes they beat it half the night. I don’t know if I hate it more when the Indians are whooping it up or when they’re quiet. Back home we had crickets and fireflies this time of year.”
“Night noises are different on the prairie. I sort of like the way the coyotes sing, some nights.”
“It wakes me up. It’s no wonder the Blackfoot think the Wendigo walks at midnight out here. Some of the things I hear from my window are spooky as anything.”
“Well,” Longarm observed, “you’re pretty high up for rattlers, hereabouts. I can’t think of much else that can worry folks at night.”
“The other night, I heard the strangest screaming. Calvin said it was a critter, but it sounded like a baby crying.
“Thin, high-pitched hollerings? Sort of wheeeeee wheeeee wheeeee?”
“Yes! It was awful. Do you know what it might have been?”
“No ‘might’ about it, ma’am. It was a jackrabbit.”
He didn’t add that jackrabbits screamed like that as they were being eaten alive by a silent coyote. He didn’t think that part would comfort her.
She shuddered again and said, “I guess it could have been ‘most any old thing. Sounded like it was getting skinned alive … oh, dear …”
“I’ll be hauling the body into town, come morning, ma’am. I could wrap him in a tarp and leave him out in the buckboard overnight if it frets you to have him in your root cellar.”
Nan grimaced and said, “Leave him be, but let’s not dwell on it. I’m going to have to take at least two of the powders the doctor gave me if I’m to sleep a wink tonight.”
Longarm asked cautiously, “Oh? You take sleeping powders often, ma’am?”
Her voice was bitter as she said, “Just about every night. My husband seems more interested in his books than in sleeping and I get so, so lonely when the wind starts to keen out on the prairie!”
“Most folks get used to the prairie after a time, ma’am.”
“Most folks have neighbors, too. The Indians look through us, and you know we’re outcasts to the other whites around here, don’t you?”
Longarm shrugged and said, “Well, who wants to butter up to the grudge-holding kind, ma’am? There are likely others over in town who aren’t so narrow-minded.”
“I doubt it. You should see the looks they give us when we ride in from the reservation! You’d think the Indian Wars were still going on!”
Longarm noticed that she’d somehow moved closer to him and decided she was probably too upset to have realized it. He shifted away a little and said, “The Blackfoot were hostile Indians and it hasn’t been all that long, ma’am. Some folks are sore about the Civil War and those memories are almost old enough to vote. You’ve got to remember some of your neighbors, red and white, were swapping lead not five years ago this night.”
She moved closer, as if uneasy at the gathering dusk and asked, “Have you fought Indians, Longarm?”
He saw that there wasn’t much room left for his rump, so he stayed put as he answered, “Yep. You name the tribe and I’ve likely traded a few shots with ‘em.”
“But you don’t seem to hate Indians at all.”
He tried to ignore the warmth of her thigh against his as he looked away and suggested, “I’ve been lucky about Indians. They never tried to do more than lift my hair. I mean, they never killed a woman or kid of mine. I was over at Spirit Lake just after the Sioux first rose under Little Crow and it was mighty ugly, but none of the dead white folks were my kin. I’ve left some squaws keening over their own dead in my time, so I can afford to forgive and forget. But it was right ugly out here until recently. The soldiers and other whites have done some terrible things, too, and not every Indian is the noble savage some have written about. Ugly feeds on ugly, and like I said, it wasn’t all that long ago. We have to give both sides a mite more time to get used to having one another as neighbors.”
Nan’s hand was suddenly on Longarm’s knee as she said, “You think Calvin is a fool, don’t you?”
“I never said such a thing, ma’am!”
“You didn’t have to. I’ve seen the mockery in your eyes. To you he’s just a green kid, isn’t he?”
Longarm got to his feet, not knowing how else to get her hand off his knee, as he said, “Getting sort of chilly, ain’t it?”
She remained seated, looking up at him oddly as she asked, “Are you afraid to answer me?”
Longarm shook his head and said, “I thought I had, ma’am. You asked did I think your man was a fool and I said he wasn’t one. He’s younger than me and, has a few things to learn. But he’ll do.”
“For you, maybe. Where are you going? It’s early yet, and I’ll never get any sleep this night.”
“I’d be proud to sit out here and jaw some more,” he said as tactfully as he could, “but I’ve got to get some shut-eye, and like I said, there’s a chill in the air.”
“I noticed,” she said, looking suddenly away.
He saw that she didn’t intend to go inside, so he said good-night and left her sitting there, nursing what ever was eating at her. He noticed that she didn’t answer, either. She surely seemed a moody little gal.
He went to his room and locked himself in from force of habit before sitting on the bed to pull off his boots. He frowned at the door for a time, then he said, “You’re getting a dirty mind, old son. You just leave that damned door locked, hear? Her man is just down the hall, and damn it, a gent has to draw the line some damned where!”
The town of Switchback, as its name indicated, was a railroad community where the trains added a second engine to negotiate a sudden scarp in the high plains before going over the mountains to the west.
Longarm left the dead Indian with the county coroner and walked across the rutted street to the land office, where he found a federal official named Chadwick in charge. Chadwick was about forty and looked like a superannuated buffalo hunter, except for his broadcloth suit. Longarm told the land agent his reasons for calling and Chadwick led him back to a lean-to shack behind his office, where he kept the telegraph setup.
A writing desk stood under a long shelf of wet cell batteries. A sending and receiving set shared the green desk blotter with paper pads and some leather-bound code books. Chadwick asked if Longarm knew how to send, and seeing that the lawman needed no further help, left him to his own devices.
Longarm got on the key, patched himself through to Denver Federal, and sent a terse message:
CHIEF REAL BEAR MURDERED STOP STILL LOOKING FOR FUGITIVE STOP INVESTIGATING BOTH CASES STOP SIGNED LONG DEPUTY U S MARSHAL DENVER
Then he left without waiting for a reply. If he gave Marshal Vail a chance to contact him, he’d probably be saddled with all sorts of foolish questions and instructions.
He accepted a cigar from the land agent, and as they shared a smoke, filled his fellow federal man in on what had happened. Chadwick shook his head and said, “I heard the medicine men are jawing about evil spirits again. You don’t think it means more Indian trouble, do you?”
“Don’t know what it means. While I’m here, I’d best ask you some questions about the situation. You have many cattle spreads hereabouts?”
“Of course. That’s what I’m doing here in Switchback. Since the rails came through and Captain Goodnight brought the longhorns north, Montana’s turned to cattle country. Ain’t that a bitch? Five, six years ago this was all buffalo and redskins!”
“I noticed the electric lamp over the railroad yards. Anyone wanting to claim more land would come to you, wouldn’t they?”
“Sure. Most of the good stuff’s been filed on, though. I guess you want to know how many offers I’ve gotten on the reservation, right?”