Longarm said, "Time flies when you're having fun and drags when you have a toothache. I know Ram Rogers by rep as well. His real first name is Melvin. That could account for the chip on his shoulder. I'd like more on that deal you mentioned, now."
Deacon Knox said, "You've heard of the Big Rock Candy Mountains beyond the Seven Cities of Cibola, and naked hula-hula dancers of the Sandwich Islands who just can't do enough for doods off whaling ships? Well, there's this one crossroads cow town up along the North Platte run by a ladies' sewing circle with even the town law in skirts!"
Longarm didn't grin back as he said, "Keller's Crossing. What about it?"
The tinhorn scowled and said, "I just told you. There's hardly any menfolk guarding the two banks in town, the stagecoach terminal, the railroad freight and passenger office and Lord knows what all. The town's on an all-season ford across the changeable North Platte, where a railroad spurhead connects with stagecoach traffic coming down from the Montana gold fields along the old Bozeman Trail, now that the army's reopened the same after putting Mister Lo, the poor Indian, in his proper place."
"I know about rich passengers and gold dust changing to the railroad at Keller's Crossing." Longarm cut in, adding, "Are you saying they offered to cut you in on armed robbery in exchange for my ass?"
Deacon Knox shook his head and answered, "You know I do my robbing with a deck of cards. Texas Tom told me the gang him and Ram Rogers were riding with planned to take the whole township over, lock, stock and barrel, see?"
Longarm said, "I don't. Other menfolk would never allow it. They may or may not share your views on the qualifications of the weaker sex to hold public office. But I just can't see a gang of big tough boys busting in on a sewing bee to simply take the premises over. A good loud scream from just one of the upset shemales would surely bring other boys running. The county, if not troops from Fort Laramie, would be moving in on your pals before the dust settled."
Deacon Knox said, "Nobody said nothing about taking the township over the way the Cheyenne took and held Julesburg a few hours, that time. The bunch Texas Tom and Ram Rogers told me about mean to take over just the running of the township for keeps. They've seen it's an inbred clique of four or five widow women who've managed to squat on all the lily pads in a modest pool. Most of the men just working in and about Keller's Crossing have been too busy to worry about who's running the town, as long as it's been running smooth. I was told the plan was to buy out or scare off a few helpless widow women and replace them with men who share the views of the gang and the late Sheriff Henry Plummer, up Montana way."
Longarm whistled softly as that pragmatic approach to wealth sank in. For the notorious Sheriff Henry Plummer and his deputized stage robbers had almost gotten away with it!
The wild career of Henry Plummer had begun around Nevada City, California, when he'd gunned the man of a woman he admired, back in the early days of the California gold rush. He beat that charge but got arrested soon after for killing another man while he was robbing a stagecoach. But he busted out before they could hang him, and the next anyone heard of him he was a vaguely sinister young man with no visible means of support around Lewiston, Idaho. Before his past could catch up with him, he'd moved on to the new Montana gold fields and run for sheriff during the confusion of the war back East.
Longarm fished out a smoke of his own as he told the tinhorn he was starting to worry about his wild tale. He said, "If Henry Plummer could get elected sheriff while more responsible men were too busy to bother with local politics, anybody could do it. Plummer was wanted on every charge but farting in church. But they elected him, and in less time than it takes to tell, he'd gathered close to two hundred outlaws from all over to rob the stages he earmarked with chalk after asking the management, in his capacity as sheriff, which ones were most worth robbing."
Longarm lit his cheroot and added, "Had he been content just to get rich, he might have gotten away with it. But once you rob so much that business comes to a standstill, folk commence to study their neighbors harder. Once the vigilantes whupped a full confession out of one member of the Montana Innocents, as the gang was called, old Plummer and ten or twelve other ringleaders were invited to the same evening rope dance. But they'd sure lived high before they'd hung high, and some would-be mastermind is always trying to repeat the past performances of some earlier mastermind who might have gotten away with it--if only."
Longarm took a thoughtful drag on his smoke, let it out, and demanded, "Where do I find said mastermind so's I can ask him?"
Deacon Knox shook his head and said, "You shot my main contact with the outfit. Texas Tom knew me well enough to tell me where we'd be meeting next. I suspect Ram Rogers and the gal he has holding his horse, or his dick, depending, must have been spooked as me when you nailed Texas Tom with a head-shot, blind, at that range!
Longarm shrugged modestly and said, "It just takes practice. Let's talk about why Texas Tom was up on that roof to begin with. Have you any notion why my arrival in Cheyenne made them so morose?"
Deacon Knox shook his head and said, "I told you they never told me they meant to kill you. The deal was for me to point you out so's they could steer clear of you."
"Didn't anybody say why they wanted to steer clear of me?" Longarm insisted.
The tinhorn thought back, then tried, "Ram Rogers said something about you being there when Rusty Mansfield was gunned, down Denver way. He said you'd had the chance to talk to any number of witnesses, and there was just no telling what you'd heard or how warm you might be."
Longarm grimaced and said, "I'm flattered as hell. But I purely wish I had the least notion what he suspected I might know. Because all I know for certain is that I'm missing something about all this!"
CHAPTER 12
Longarm had long since learned not to warn a suspect of a possible slip by following up on it too tight. Every time he'd pressed Deacon Knox about his own intended assassination, the tinhorn had insisted neither the late Texas Tom nor the still armed and dangerous Ram Rogers had taken them into their full confidence. So in the end he'd told the slippery Deacon they were square and advised him to get out of Wyoming Territory while he was ahead.
After he'd done that he'd circled back to tail the white-suited sneak in the tricky flickersome night-lights of downtown Cheyenne. But while it was easy enough to keep an eye on that linen suit and big white hat from a discreet ways back in the early evening street life, Deacon Knox spoiled it all by having a couple of stiff drinks at a saloon near the depot and then going on to the same to pay his way out of town aboard the next westbound U.P. as if he'd been paying attention to Longarm's fatherly advice.
Longarm doubted it would be prudent to pussyfoot any closer to the railyards, recalling what Deacon Knox had let slip about others guessing he was bound for Keller's Crossing and knowing which night train was most likely to get him there. The tinhorn was likely on the level about not wanting to be mixed up in the killing of any man who rode for Billy Vail and the attorney general of the whole U.S. of A. But it would have been expecting too much of a born crook to ask for the finger-pointing rascal to point a finger at his erstwhile chain-gang mate. Old Deacon had doubtless described Ram Rogers the same as the wanted fliers posted on the surly breed because he'd known the lawman he was talking to had surely read at least one.