The next morning, Longarm awoke to a knock on Lucy's door. He reached for his six-gun and said, "Who is it?"
"Deputy Jasper Hawkins, Marshal. We got the prison wagon and the wimmen down in the street and we're ready to roll. How come you ain't ready and waitin'?"
Longarm looked at his pocket watch lying on his bedside table. He was amazed to see that it was ten o'clock. "Be right down!" he called, rolling out of bed and splashing cold water in his face.
Lucy groaned but did not awaken. They had made love off and on most of the night, and she was probably as exhausted as he was. Longarm decided to let her sleep.
"So long, darlin'. I figure that the next time I see you when I pass through Prescott, you'll be the town's leading lady. Probably have a new husband to take care of your ranch. Maybe have a couple of kids and a good life. At least, I hope that's the way of it."
Longarm felt a little shaky from his recent illness and his long night of lovemaking as he quickly dressed and then packed his bags. But the shakes disappeared when he saw the ten hard-faced women prisoners staring at him through the prison wagon's bars.
Two of them, both big and buxom, whistled derisively when he emerged, and Longarm felt his cheeks warm despite the coolness of the morning.
"Marshal," an older deputy with a hefty paunch and tired brown eyes said, coming forward to extend his hand, "I'm Deputy Prison Supervisor Amos Putterman. I'm in charge of the prisoners, and I guess you've already met my assistant, Deputy Hawkins."
"Yeah," Longarm said.
Putterman made a big show of dragging out his cheap pocket watch, consulting it with a frown, and saying, "We expected to get an early start this morning."
"Well," Longarm said, "sometimes things don't always work according to our set schedules."
Putterman didn't like that remark, but Longarm did not care. He climbed up onto the roof of the prison wagon and spread out his bedroll so that he could nap through the morning. The women below began to hoot and shout and bang the ceiling of their wagon, but Longarm was unfazed.
"Let's roll," he said.
The two prison employees climbed up, and Hawkins took the lines while Putterman collected a ten-gauge shotgun, which he cradled across his chubby legs. Just before the wagon lurched forward, Putterman turned and said, "How come we got to pass through Prescott? That's miles out of our way."
"I know," Longarm said. "But I've got business there."
"Your business," Putterman said, "ought to be helping us deliver these noisy bitches to Colorado!"
Longarm took an immediate dislike to Putterman. "They may not be ladies," he said with steel in his voice, "but if I hear you refer to them as bitches or anything other than women, I'll knock your teeth down your throat so far you'll have bite marks on your ass."
Putterman's jaw dropped and he gripped the shotgun so hard his knuckles went white. But he seemed to know better than to say anything, because he turned around and sat in stiff silence.
Longarm stretched out on the top of the prison wagon and his bedroll and watched the clouds scud across the deep indigo sky. It was going to be a fine day, he reminded himself. A fine day followed by a fine week, and they would have a peach of a time on this trip back home to Denver.
"Liar," he muttered to himself.
CHAPTER 19
"How long are we going to have to wait here?" Putterman demanded.
Longarm levered a shell into his Winchester. He had ordered Putterman to drive the prison wagon into some trees about a half mile from the Ortega ranch house. Far enough that the women couldn't give anyone a warning if they set to howling.
"I expect that I'll be back in less than one hour," Longarm told the man.
"You gonna need some help?" young Hawkins asked hopefully. "If you do, I better come along."
"The hell you say!" Putterman snapped. "Hawkins, you take orders from me, and I'm not about to let you go off on some private feud leaving me alone with these... women."
The young prison guard looked crushed, but Longarm was secretly glad that he didn't have to tell Hawkins that he would rather try to take Juan Ortega captive alone.
"Just keep the women under control," Longarm said.
Longarm regretted those words the moment they were out of his mouth. They were overheard by the women, who began to shout and screech like banshees.
"Damn," Longarm said, hoping that they could not be heard from the ranch house.
"Now you've gone and done it," Putterman said with disgust. "Tell 'em they can't do a thing like that and they'll do it to spite you every time."
"So I see," Longarm said, hurrying away.
He could hear the prisoners for the next quarter mile, and then their voices grew faint, and finally they vanished altogether. Longarm circled the ranch house, keeping out of sight. Having been inside before, he felt confident that he could make his way into the house without arousing anyone. He just hoped that Ortega hadn't fled to Mexico. Mainly, Longarm was counting on the man's greed tying him to this ranch.
Longarm came in from behind the house and slipped over the courtyard wall. Moving swiftly past the fountain, he entered the large living room, gun clenched tightly in his fist. He was reminded once again of what a beautiful home this was and how it and Lucy could tempt almost any man to plot and then commit a heinous act of murder.
The first person he saw was another maid, but she did not see him and he waited for her to move on. When she did, Longarm crouched behind a large walnut cabinet and listened to the sound of voices coming from what were probably bedrooms up the hallway.
Juan Ortega's voice was easily recognizable, and Longarm moved swiftly down the hall until he came to Ortega's door. He waited until he heard the voices stop and an inner door open and close, then he opened Ortega's door. The brother of Don Luis was sitting alone at a huge desk, writing furiously when Longarm entered the room.
"You're under arrest, Ortega."
The man stiffened and his hand dropped out of sight. Longarm did not bother to ask what he was reaching for, but shot him in the shoulder. Ortega was seated in a plush leather chair, and the force of Longarm's bullet was so powerful that the front of the chair lifted and the man almost toppled.
Ortega's gun clattered to the tile floor and he cursed fervently as he tried to stop the blood from pouring out of his shoulder.
"Ortega, just put your hands up on the desk where I can see them!"
Ortega placed his left hand on the polished surface of the desk but shook his head. "Marshal, I cannot lift my arm! Your bullet..."
Longarm thought the man was probably telling the truth. The slug from his six-gun did appear to have shattered Ortega's shoulder. Longarm walked over, grabbed Ortega by the shirt, and hauled him to his feet.
"You're going to prison," Longarm announced. "You helped Brodie kill your own brother so that you could gain an interest in this land. Then, when you became convinced he would implicate you, you staged that attack on the road down to Wickenburg. You'll be in prison for the rest of your life, Ortega."
The Mexican's lip curled. "If I have to go, I will trade you some information for a lesser sentence."
"What information?"
Ortega's expression turned crafty. "Maybe about another lawman, eh, Marshal?"
Longarm snorted with derision. "No deals."
Ortega was caught by surprise, and his thin lips turned downward with bitterness. "Marshal Long, I'm not going to rot in the Yuma prison while Haggerty gets away free!"
"I suspected Haggerty was somehow a part of this. Are you willing to testify against him without any promises?"
Ortega vigorously nodded his head.
The maid that Longarm had seen earlier appeared with a pistol in her shaking hand. "Senorita," Longarm said, "I am a United States marshal. Put that gun away."
"Your badge, senor?"
Longarm quickly showed her his badge before she accidentally shot him. Satisfied, the maid dropped the six-gun.