Part 20 (1/2)

Chapter 17.

It was mid-afternoon when Longarm and his five fellow lawmen reined in near that saloon in Camino Viejo. They stopped there first because Longarm recognized the pretty Morgan mare Wesley Jones had ridden out on, tethered with a half dozen more to the saloon's. .h.i.tch rail.

The man in black, now dusty as well, seemed to be holding court at the table farthest back. The seven or eight others with him were all on their feet and, recognizing Longarm and the man they knew as Poison Welles, made way for them.

Jones rose to his feet, smiling uncertainly as he said, ”Not a sign of Apache off to the south this time. I see you boys got back early too.

How'd you make out?”

Longarm soberly replied, ”Darts Malloy is dead. So are Jennings and Alderthorpe.”

Jones gasped, ”My G.o.d, what happened? You brush with them Apache?”

Longarm said, ”Nope. Let's talk about them Apache. Jicarilla on the prod and off their usual range who don't have any lookouts posted to smoke-signal our own movements as we tear-a.s.s all over after 'em.”

Jones said, ”Well, we've been figuring them for kids, acting on their own with no serious chiefs in charge.”

Longarm smiled thinly and said, ”That's likely why they rode past a grown man and his mount standing in the open by the light of the silvery moon. That's likely why they'd been camped, or paused to put on their costumes, in a haunted canyon. I have it on good Jicarilla authority that the mere sight of what they call a chindi will kill you on the spot after dark. Yet there they were, eating fish cold from the can without any camp fire, smack dab on top of an Anasazi ghost town. It makes one wonder, don't it?”

Jones tried. ”h.e.l.l, if the fool Apache were acting usual we'd have caught up with 'em by this time, right?”

It was Rod Duncan who quietly observed, ”One would certainly think so.

Me and a couple of these other old boys have scouted Jicarilla in the past. They were out in force as late as '73. Yet try as we might, we could never cut the rascals' trail. It's been my own experience that when experienced trackers can't find anybody to track, there's n.o.body to track.”

”Or there's somebody else,” Longarm amended, adding, ”We naturally never tracked sign left by other Regulators far enough to mention. So who do you reckon scared all them local settlers, and even butchered a bunch of riders from other parts, to set a good example for those in these parts who might not have been scared enough yet?”

Jones licked his lips and stepped back to give himself more room as he stammered, ”How do you expect me to answer for the loco ways of infernal Apache, Henry?”

Longarm said, ”Aw, come on, you know who I am. You've known since the first day your boss hired me. But lucky for me, neither of you spotted Inspector Duncan here for anything but a harmless blowhard you could use as a tool.”

Then he said, ”As for why we'd like you to answer some questions about them fake Jicarilla, it's obvious as h.e.l.l you were them!”

The man in black was good. He dropped to the floor and tipped the table on its side between them as he went for his side arm. Longarm drew and fired four rounds at the bare pine tabletop. It took more than an inch of pine to stop two hundred grains of lead backed by forty grains of powder. But the results were far from neat as Jones stopped the deformed slugs, and a heap of pine slivers, with softer flesh.

Meanwhile Duncan and his own boys were backing Longarm's play with blazing guns of their own. For naturally the hirelings who'd been riding directly under Jones had as much to answer for, and hoped to beat the hangman's noose with gunplay of their own.

They lost, of course, with one of Duncan's boys pinked along one rib by a bullet, and all but the barkeep and another man on the other side dead. The one survivor had been as quick as the barkeep when it came to reaching for that pressed tin ceiling. So he was doubtless good for a signed statement.

Chapter 18.

Duncan had instructed his own deputies to head off other Regulators as they rode in and either arrest or deputize them pro tem, depending on whether they'd been riding at certain times with the late Wesley Jones, alias Frenchy O'Donnel, or, like most of the outfit, just going through the motions as tools of the boss lady. So just Duncan and one of his deputies tagged along as Longarm strode on to the card house to confront Queen Kirby.

The big redhead must have heard the noise, judging from the way she greeted them, seated in her office behind that writing table as the one back-up man positioned himself just outside the door to make certain they weren't disturbed.

Queen Kirby smiled weakly and asked, ”What's going on? Why are you staring at me that way, Henry?”

Longarm said, ”You know who I am and I sure feel silly about that.

You'll be pleased to hear your lover boy never gave you away as he lay oozing his last just now. But Thomhill gave up without a fight, and as soon as he confessed he'd met up with you all on the carnival trail, it all came back to me where I'd seen your pretty face before. You always have liked to make total fools of mere mortal men, haven't you, Dolly Moore? You've come a long way since you had that freak show back in Saint Lou. Don't do that, Dolly!”