"Not surprising, but the wrong thing to do."
"Yes, well, the bear overtook the boy and mauled him. The boy lost consciousness, and the bear had started to drag him off into the thickets when the dogs attacked. Three of the dogs were killed before Buckingham and his guides could arrive. They shot the bear and found the boy bleeding to death."
"And your father was able to save him," Longarm said, guessing the rest of the story.
"Exactly." Lucy wiped her eyes dry of tears. "When they brought the boy to my father, he was more dead than alive. But Father somehow sutured up all the wounds and managed to beat off the infection. It was almost a miracle that the boy lived and his father was so grateful, he offered my father anything he wished."
"Anything?"
"Yes." Lucy's chest swelled with pride. "My father wanted me to go to an Eastern school and maybe even become a doctor like himself."
"But you didn't."
"No," she confessed, "I was more interested in art and philosophy. And besides that, there was a tremendous amount of prejudice against women being anything more than nurses. So much so that almost all women doctors were educated in Europe. Did you know that?"
"No," Longarm admitted. "I've never even met a woman doctor."
"They are very common in England, France, and Germany."
"Is your father still alive?"
"No," she said, "he died about three years ago. Penniless, but beloved as always. When he passed on, I moved away. First to Albuquerque and then to Tucson."
"Which is where you met your late husband?"
"That's right. He owned a huge ranch outside of Tucson, but in the summer he and his family would travel up to Prescott, where it is cooler. They own several thousand acres of ranch land up in the pines."
"I see," Longarm said.
"We were married only a short while. Don Luis was a wonderful man. He was almost twenty years older than I, and had been married before but lost his wife. We were quite happy."
"But you fought," Longarm said. "There are witnesses who say that you fought on the night that your husband was killed."
"That's true. We were having a serious disagreement and it was our very first. But I would never have killed my husband."
"Can you prove that?"
Lucy's lovely face grew pinched and she slowly shook her head. "We were alone. I remember the scene very well. We were standing before a big rock fireplace and Don Luis was pacing back and forth. I'm not going to tell you what our argument was about because that is irrelevant."
"It won't be to a judge or a jury."
She took a deep breath. "Well, if I have to air the dirty laundry in order to save my neck, then I will. But suffice to say right now that we were both very upset. And then... then there was a single shot."
"Originating from where?"
"I have asked myself that same question a thousand times and I honestly don't know."
Lucy took a long, shuddering breath. She was clearly reliving the ordeal and shaken by the vividness of her memories.
"It could have come from a hallway but also from outside, because the windows were open and it was dark. I just don't know. All I remember is that my husband fell mortally wounded. He dropped to the couch and I screamed, then ran to him. I didn't hear them throw the gun that killed Don Luis at my feet. I swear it!"
Longarm wanted to believe the woman. It would have been hard not to believe her. She was pale and shaking, obviously gripped in the horrible memory of that moment. As he chewed on the half-raw sage hen, Longarm felt touched with pity.
"Then," he said, "you were framed."
"Of course I was!" Lucy cried. "The first thing I knew, three of my husband's worthless relatives came rushing into the house, and when they saw me, they began to yell. I was pulled to my feet and my gun was used as evidence against me."
Longarm stopped chewing. "Did you say your gun?"
"Yes," she admitted with obvious hesitation. "I had kept it hidden in our bedroom, underneath my nightgown. I hadn't seen or even thought of it for weeks. And then, there it was, the murder weapon."
Longarm resumed his chewing. From this little bit of information he could see that Lucy was certainly in a bad fix. He didn't know if she was telling the truth or not, but he did know that the evidence against her was substantial.
"So," he said, "you ran and made it look even more certain that you were guilty."
"What else could I do!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Buckingham's generosity had allowed me an education, but I had not studied law. I had no friends, and three lying relatives of Don Luis were pointing fingers at me. The wonder is that they didn't say they saw me pull the trigger."
"There were probably other people outside and they couldn't get away with that," Longarm told her. "At least, that's my best guess."
He frowned. "Was there anyone else in the house who might have shot him?"
"Only the maid and the house servants, and they were in the rear quarters, too far away to have done it. Besides, they all loved Don Luis."
"Or at least," Longarm said, "they pretended they loved him."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
He tossed the drumstick into the fire. "It just means that someone killed your husband. If it wasn't you, and it wasn't the three relatives claiming to be witnesses, then it must have been someone already in the house, close enough to have thrown your gun on the couch or wherever it was found."
"Someone could have come in through the kitchen," Lucy said thoughtfully. "Perhaps someone employed in the stable or on the grounds. Someone who could sneak into our bedroom and find my gun, then use it and disappear."
"Of course," Longarm said.
"But how in the world can I find him!"
"I don't know," Longarm said, realizing that he had raised expectations where there probably should not be any.
"Would you help me?" she asked, her face suddenly lighting up with hope.
"I can't. My job is to escort you to Yuma."
"But you must have something to do in Prescott or we wouldn't be stopping there first! What is it that you are to do there?"
"I... I forgot to ask," Longarm sheepishly admitted. "I just plain forgot to ask."
"You're supposed to help me," Lucy said, nodding her head up and down. "I'll just bet that your Billy Vail or someone even above him ordered that stop in Prescott because the case against me looks fishy."
"Aw," Longarm said, "I doubt that."
"Will you at least keep an open mind about my innocence?" she pleaded. "Just take me to my husband's rancho and ask a few simple questions? If you do, you'll quickly see that I've been framed. That I couldn't possibly have shot my husband like they say I did."
"You're asking for a lot."
"I'm not asking," she cried, "I'm begging! I'm begging for my life."
Longarm reached for a cheroot and jammed it between his greasy lips, and then he began to chew rapidly.
CHAPTER 4
They had a hard climb over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, and by the time they reached Albuquerque on the banks of the Rio Grande River, their horses were played out.
Longarm dismounted at a livery where he'd boarded his horse many times. "Get down," he ordered. "We'll put up here for the night and push on tomorrow."
"Our horses are exhausted," Lucy said. "I think you're either going to have to replace them, or rest them for a couple of days."
Longarm hated to admit it, but Lucy was right. They'd set a pretty hard pace coming down from Denver, and not only were their horses exhausted, they were in need of being reshod.
"Hello there!" the liveryman called, limping out to greet them. "Good to see you again, Longarm!"
Lucy glanced sideways at him. "Is that what you're called in the field, Marshal?"
"Some people might call me that," Longarm said. "But my name is Custis. Or Deputy Long."
"I'd prefer to call you Longarm just like everyone else," Lucy said. "After all, by the time we reach Yuma, we're going to know each other very, very well."
"Maybe not so well," Longarm said, avoiding her eyes.