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Longarm still couldn’t decide, though, if the dumb bas­tard really believed his pitiful pair of deputies could help. Maybe he thought Longarm was going to be able to bring in the whole bunch on his own. Then again, maybe the idiot would rather put on an unsuccessful fireworks show for the benefit of the voters, and lose the White Hoods, than give his election opponent the leverage of participat­ing in the capture.

Whatever the truth of the matter—and Longarm would probably never know where that truth lay—Markham was resisting him at every suggestion.

The chief deputy was not helping either. Mayes spent most of his time glaring at Longarm in sullen silence. The rest of the time he was looking for excuses to step out into the hall or over to the cells so he could take a nip from the pint bottle he was carrying. Longarm could not believe the man thought he was fooling anyone about the bottle. The thing was crammed into a pocket that was too small, and the weight of it pulled his coat down half off his shoulder.

Come to think of it, Longarm realized, maybe Mayes was fooling Markham and young Frye. If they did see it, they certainly were able to successfully pretend otherwise.

By the time the train arrived from Meade Park, Longarm fully expected Roland Mayes to be passed out drunk whatever they decided to do by then.

Longarm rubbed aching eyes and tried again. “The White Hoods are a gang of ten, twelve men, Sheriff. They know what they’re doing. They hit hard, they hit fast, and no man who’s ever seen one of their faces has every sur­vived the experience. They aren’t afraid to kill people for their own protection. They are good, I’m telling you, and they could make hash of any force of just three or four men. Even three or four of our federal deputies.” That part was just so much bullshit, of course. If Smiley and Dutch were here to back him, or Billy Vail and Henry even, Longarm would have no doubt at all about the White Hoods heading for the cells. But there was no point to telling Sheriff Paul Markham that. Smiley and Dutch and Henry and the marshal were not here, and that was the end of that.

“And I am telling you, sir, that my force of deputies can handle this matter. Which, I hasten to mention, is within my jurisdiction. I am in charge of this operation, Marshal Long. Any interference by you, sir, and I shall make an immediate protest to your superiors in Denver and in Wash­ington, and

”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Longarm had heard all that before, more times than he could count or wanted to. The man was farting through his teeth. Longarm’s attention wandered while Markham continued to spout off.

The only reason Longarm hadn’t put all three of them and a bottle to keep them all company into one of their own jails and gone off to make his own arrangements with the mine security people was that that asshole Mayes had al­ready as good as said he would fuck up the whole deal with a lot of public armwaving if Markham didn’t get his ignorant way. Even though the case was under federal jurisdic­tion.

If Markham didn’t get to set the rules, nobody was going to be allowed to play the game. Talk about taking your toys and going home

And that was one thing about the damn White Hoods. They were good, all right. And wary. The least hint of anything being out of place in their plans, and they would fade off into the distance so slick nobody would ever know for sure if they’d been there or not.

Once before, Longarm remembered, a particularly effi­cient sheriff down in New Mexico got a tip on them, passed along by a disgruntled whore who overheard some talk. The White Hoods were supposed to be hitting a bank just before dawn one moonless night. The local sheriff had pulled in all his deputies and set up an ambush hours ahead of time.

Turned out the badge-carrying ambushers sat on their butts until the bank opened for business the next day, and then everybody went off to have breakfast and catch up on missed sleep. There was never a peep out of the robbers.

Later that day the sheriff heard from a man with a weak bladder that when he had gotten up in the night he had heard a dozen riders sifting quietly out the other end of the town.

The bastards had been there, all right. They had been planning to bust open the bank. But somehow they spotted the ambush and just melted away. A week later a bank in a neighboring town was hit just before dawn and cleaned out completely. Two men who heard the explosion of the safe being blown and came out to see what was up lost their lives because of it.

That sheriff had been almighty pissed, but as far as he knew he never got a look at a White Hood. If he did, he sure didn’t know about it at the time.

And now this bastard Markham was doing his level best to ensure that Custis Long never knowingly got a look at one of them either.

Longarm pressed his fingertips against his temples and rubbed, trying to take some of the pain away. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you insist on playing this your way, with time running against us like it is, I’ll just turn the whole case over to you and your deputies.”

Markham blinked and looked pleased. Even Chief Dep­uty Mayes sat up straighter. The only one of them who didn’t react was young Charlie Frye, and Longarm doubted that the boy was mature enough or bright enough to keep up with the conversation anyhow.

“You can have the tip,” Longarm repeated, “and you can have the collar. Me, I’m out of the whole thing. Does that suit you, Sheriff?”

Markham glanced once at the big Colt Thunderer that rode at Longarm’s waist. Longarm knew damned good and well what the man was thinking. Without at least one real lawman in the ambush party, old Markham himself might have to pick up a gun and appear on the scene. The shit-for-brains really didn’t want to do that.

On the other hand, a successful ambush of the White Hoods—or an unsuccessful one, for that matter, so long as he was the man in sole charge of the glorious attempt— would almost guarantee him reelection to office.

“I am sorry you feel that way about it, Marshal, but I understand your position. I accept your withdrawal from the case, and I assure you I shall act on the information the Justice Department has conveyed to me. By nightfall, sir, this White Hood Gang shall be behind bars, and the streets of Thunderbird Canyon shall be safe from depredation by

”

There was more to the line of bull, but Longarm was no longer listening. The case now belonged to Sheriff Paul S. Markham and his force of deputies.

Belonged to Sheriff Markham, that is, as far as Sheriff Markham knew.

“If you gentlemen would excuse me,” Longarm said while the sheriff continued to natter on in a practice cam­paign speech, “I want to go over to the hotel and get some sleep now.”

He set his Stetson gently onto an aching head and got the hell out of there.

Chapter Sixteen

“You’re the chief of security for Arrabie Minerals?”

“That’s right,” the big man said, giving Longarm a care­ful looking over. “You aren’t here looking for work, not dressed like that you aren’t, so what is it I can do for you?” He sounded suspicious.

Longarm smiled. Unlike Sheriff Paul Markham, this Jack Thomas looked like he had more between his ears than fried mush and bourbon whiskey.

Longarm closed the door behind him and helped himself to a seat in front of Thomas’s desk.

Thomas was tall and broad-shouldered. The scars over his eyebrows and the lumpy shape of his nose said that he hadn’t come up to his position as head of security for a large mining company by being someone’s nephew, but there was intelligence in his eyes and a calm about him that implied confidence in his own abilities.

This was better, Longarm thought. He leaned forward and began to talk, laying out his badge and also the tele­graph message from Arkansas as he spoke.

“Uh-oh,” Thomas said when Longarm was done speak­ing. “Do you have any idea how much money is coming on that train this afternoon?”