Why did you do that, Donald?
Do what?
Wrap those coins like that.
Potter shrugged again. I dunno. Keeps em nice, I guess.
Oh.
Longarm leaned back in his chair and fingered his chin while he stared at the open, perfectly innocent expression of his prisoner. There was something
He shook his head, to himself rather than for Potters benefit, and looked up to greet the hotel waiter who had puffed his way to the top of the stairs with a heavy tray in his hands.
The aroma of tallow-fried steak filled the room when the towel was lifted from the plates, and Potter began to grin hugely.
Me too, Longarm said.
Both men pitched into their meal with good appetite.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Longarm tossed his napkin onto the greasy plate that was all that remained of an excellent meal and pushed his chair back. Potter had long since finished the last scrap of food available. The prisoner ate with an animallike speed and intensity, making loud slurping noises and using both hands to bring great bites to his face. A pleasant dining companion he was not.
Time to go back to the cell, Donald.
Potter accepted the instruction without a trace of regret, pausing only to check once again and make sure there was nothing edible left on the tray. Then he stood and calmly headed for the lockup. He looked quite happy with the whole situation. Longarm got the cell keys from the desk drawer and followed.
In you go, Donald.
Longarm reached for the cell door to swing it closed behind the prisoner. To his left there was the brittle sound of glass shattering. A lead slug spanged nastily against one of the steel cell bars, leaving a bright, shiny smear of fresh lead where a moment before there had been only paint, and sending fragments of soft lead whining through the room.
Down! Longarm barked.
He dropped to his belly, Colt in hand, as a second gunshot snapped through the broken window and again ricocheted dangerously off the cell bars.
Longarm fired blindly back into the new-fallen darkness. He had no target to aim at, no hope whatsoever that his slug would find a mark He only wanted to give the sharpshooter pause.
A third incoming bullet tore splinters of wood out of the window frame and thumped into the wall behind Longarm.
I dont like this, Potter complained. He was standing at the cell door with a blank, uncomprehending expression.
Get down, Donald. Lie in your bunk. Stay there.
Potter nodded and walked slowly toward his cot. He lay on it and closed his eyes as if for a nap.
Jesus! Longarm thought.
A fourth bullet ripped through the window, higher this time, taking out what was left of the glass and spraying half the room with tiny shards.
Longarm felt one of them slice into his right cheek. Another nicked his ear. If this kept up
He fired through the window into the darkness twice, his shots quickly thrown without aim, then rolled, came to his knees, and leaped toward the wall where the night lamp was burning. He didnt take time to blow the lamp out, just slashed sideways with the barrel of his Colt, smashing the bulbous globe and extinguishing the flame that was providing the sniper with light for his shooting.
The jail went dark, only a faint glow of light from the staircase landing seeping in through the half-open door now.
Stay where you are, Longarm hissed.
There was no answer, and Longarm could not be sure Potter had heard. There was no time to worry about that now.
Another lead slug spanged off the jail bars. But this time Longarm was able to see the muzzle flash of the gunshot from the hillside facing the back of the courthouse.
Longarm fired twice toward the place where he had seen the flame, then spun away from the window and raced out of the jail and down the stairs, taking the steps two and three at a time and fumbling to reload as he ran.
If the gunman thought he was still trapped inside the jail
He raced out into the night, ignoring a handful of confused, loud-talking men who were standing on the street corner pointing up the hill toward the source of the gunshots.
Elsewhere the men on the street were unalarmed, the noise of the crushers partially drowning the sound of the shots so that there was little commotion.
Longarm ran around to the back of the courthouse and began climbing the steep hillside. Another spear of flames and lead split the night far above him. Good. The gunman did not realize that he had suddenly become the hunted rather than the hunter.
Longarm ran past the pilings that supported the foundation of a house suspended over midair from a precariously thin purchase against the hard rock of the hillside. He ran beneath the house, emerged on the far side of it, and began climbing again.
Twice he tripped over loose stones or trash that had been discarded on the hillside. Once he sprawled forward, landing painfully on his chin and chest. He scrambled back onto his knees and drove himself upward, grabbing with his free hand for support whenever he could.
He was only halfway up to the level where the gunman had been, and already he was puffing for breath at the steepness of the climb and the altitude of this canyon head. If only the man was still there
Another shot rang out overhead, and Longarm almost smiled. He was closer now but did not want to tip the ambusher with a shot that might miss. He needed to be closer still. Gulping for breath, his chest aching from the effort of it, he continued to climb as rapidly as he could force himself.
He was close enough to hear now as the gunman turned and began to run. Damnit, Longarm groaned to himself. With a burst of waning strength he threw himself upward the last few feet until he reached a level section of trail or ledge.
The gunman was a dark, dimly-seen shape retreating up the trail to Longarms right. The town was beneath them now, its lights bright and its sounds gay in the night. Above, in the direction the trail led. there was only the dark, unlighted bulk of the mountains and the wild, empty lands beyond the mines.
Longarm raised his Colt and made an effort to control his breathing. His chest was heaving and heart pumping, and he knew the conditions were impossibly poor for accurate shooting. He aimed as carefully as he could, though, and squeezed gently on the trigger until the big .45 bucked and thundered, and his vision was blurred by the burst of muzzle flash in the night.
The footsteps of the fleeing gunman continued without faltering, and he was sure he had missed.
Doggedly, Longarm holstered the Colt to leave both hands free in case he fell. He set out at the swift, flowing lope of a long-distance runner, chasing not so much the gunman now as the diminishing sound of the mans footfalls as he retreated high into the mountains.
Gotcha, you son of a bitch, Longarm panted into the darkness before him. Because with Longarm between him and the town, the gunman had nowhere to go now except to hell.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Longarm stopped and leaned against a pillar of cold, jagged rock on the uphill side of the ledge. The ledge disappeared around the stone spire at this point as it curved sharply with the contour of the mountain. Beyond the turning would be a perfect place for an ambush.
He breathed deeplyeasier now that the pain of exertion was subsiding in his chest. He drew the Colt again and replaced the one expended cartridge in the cylinder before, gun held ready, he edged forward once again. Speed was not a factor now. And a mistake could mean death.
He dropped into a crouch and shuffled forward on the ledge. Before him there was nothing but darkness. Behind him was the danger that he might be silhouetted against the glow of lamplight from the bustling mining town. Despite the danger, he kept his eyes down on the slender thread of rock ledge immediately under his feet. In darkness the hunter cannot trust his eyes. A shadow can turn suddenly into an imagined enemy. A rock can seem a charging grizzly so real the hunter would swear he can smell its breath. In darkness the hunter has to reli on his ears alone.