When Fergus kept firing, Longarm had no choice but to kill the crazy fool. The target was so large that it was easy to put a bullet right in the man’s heart, and this Longarm did without hesitation. He supposed he could have winged Fergus, but the man might have managed to get off a couple of more wild bullets and inflict damage on someone, so Longarm just put the ugly, lawman-hating sonofabitch out of his misery.
Fergus was dead before he slid to the boardwalk. His skidding body overturned a big apple barrel in front of the Virginia Street Market. Apples went flying everywhere, and several rolled to a stop beside Fergus’s mouth so that he looked like he’d been about to sample one.
“Easy, ladies,” Longarm said, turning around to look at the assortment of women, most of them old and almost hysterical, but one of them young, blond, and poker-faced. “The shooting is over.”
“Did you kill him?” the young woman asked, stepping outside and then staring at the dead man.
“He gave me no choice,” Longarm explained. “Fergus might have killed an innocent bystander.”
“So I can see,” the young woman said. “Why was he trying to kill you?”
“He drank too much bad beer and he hated lawmen.”
“And you’re a lawman?”
“I am.” He removed his hat. “Custis Long, deputy United States marshal working out of Denver, Colorado, and soon to be on the next train home.”
“Miss Megan Riley,” she told him, staring at the dead Fergus with an air of revulsion. “That was an evil man. You have done the citizens of Reno a service, and I’m sure that my father would be the first one to agree.”
“Are you Marshal Riley’s daughter?”
“I am.”
Longarm was aware that a lot of people were starting to emerge from cover and fill the street. He was also aware that he needed to be acting “official” right now despite the fact that Megan was so lovely he was badly distracted.
“Miss Riley,” he said, “I had been meaning to visit your father. I understand that he is unwell.”
“Very unwell,” Megan said. “But I think that you still should have shown him the courtesy of a visit, even if he is retired from his duties. After all, he did save your life once, did he not?”
“No,” Longarm replied, “I saved his life two years ago.”
“That’s not the way my father tells it.”
“Well,” Longarm said, very much wishing to avoid an argument but also wanting to set the record straight, “that’s the way it happened. I’m sure there were witnesses, if it’s important enough for you to check up on.”
“It isn’t,” Megan said. “But don’t you think you had better attend to business instead of arguing with me?”
The woman was right, though it galled Longarm to admit the fact. He removed his hat and wiped his brow of sweat. He raised his hands up toward the increasingly vocal crowd to motion for silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, we had an unfortunate misunderstanding here, but there is-“
“Unfortunate!” an old woman cried. “You shoot down Fergus MacDonald and you call it unfortunate! Why, you murdered the big, dumb beast!”
The woman looked around at her fellow citizens. “Someone needs to arrest this man for murder! Where is our new marshal when you need him!”
“Look!” Longarm shouted with mounting exasperation. “I am a deputy United States marshal and this man was out of control. I had to shoot him before he killed or badly wounded some innocent citizen. Now, we’ll get this thing all settled, but first we really need an undertaker.”
“I’m coming!” a tall, emaciated-looking man in his late fifties cried, racing up to join them.
“That man can smell blood!” an older woman with her hat all askew snipped.
“Why, it’s Fergus!” the undertaker cried, dropping to the fallen man’s side and placing his fingers on the man’s neck as if to check his pulse. “And he’s dead.”
“That’s right,” Longarm said, watching as the undertaker leaned over Fergus and surreptitiously rifled the bartender’s pockets. Apparently he found nothing because he said, “Well, I hope that he has friends who will pay for my services.”
“For Chrissakes!” a short, slightly winded man wearing a marshal’s badge growled as he hurried over to join them. “Just go in and get a case of his beer in payment.”
“That poison? Not on your life,” the undertaker hissed.
“What happened?” the marshal demanded, eyes shifting over the crowd of gawkers.
Longarm pulled back his coat to reveal his badge, which had been hidden from open view. He rarely displayed the badge except when necessary, firmly convinced that there were too many men with Fergus’s disagreeable attitude toward lawmen and inclined toward gun trouble.
“I shot that man in self-defense,” Longarm explained.
The marshal studied Longarm for a moment as if he could detect truth or guilt. Finally, he looked around at the others and said, “Any witnesses among you that actually saw the shooting?”
“I did,” Megan answered as she took a step forward, detaching herself from the excited crowd.
“You did not!” one of the older women argued. “I swear that you were ducking and hiding just like the rest of us!”
“I ducked, sure,” Megan said, blue eyes flashing. “But I kept my eyes on Marshal Long, and I heard Fergus shooting long before this brave man stepped outside and put one through the bartender’s heart.”
“You’re sure of that?” the marshal asked, gaze shifting back and forth between the girl and Longarm.
“of course I am!” Megan said angrily. “Why are you making such a big damned deal out of a lawman defending his own life! Marshal Rouse, my father wouldn’t waste a minute asking such dumb questions.”
Rouse colored with embarrassment. “Your father did things his way. I do them by the book.”
Rouse turned to Longarm and said, “I’m going to need you to write out a statement describing what happened. And then Judge Leroy Potter will most certainly want to have a private word with you.”
“Sorry, but I got a train to catch in about …” Longarm consulted his watch. “About twenty minutes.”
“I’m sorry too,” the marshal said, “because you’re not leaving my town until we’ve got all the loose ends of this tied up. A man—a taxpaying citizen of Reno—has been shot down in the street, and I’m sure that you understand that we’re not going to let you waltz out of town until we’ve filled out all the reports and completely satisfied ourselves that everything is in proper order.”
“Proper order?” Longarm bristled. “Listen! I’ve got a train to catch, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hang around here an extra couple of days so that I can cross the t’s and dot the i’s in your damned statement.”
Marshal Rouse tried to bluster, but failed and swallowed loudly. “Listen,” he said, his voice becoming more conciliatory, “why don’t we hurry on over to the office and take care of this right now? I’m sure that, if Miss Riley will cooperate and fill out a similar statement, we can-“
“I’m not filling out anything!” Megan stated. “Marshal Rouse, I told you that I heard that horrid man shooting at Marshal Long and that I saw him fire one returning shot in self-defense. That ought to be plenty good enough for you, and I won’t waste my time on anything more.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Longarm said. “This whole thing is a bunch of nonsense.”
Rouse looked pained, but was smart enough to say, “All right, dammit! Just scribble a couple of notes! You can both trouble yourselves that much, can’t you?”
Longarm took a deep breath, then expelled it slowly. Having been a lawman for quite some time, he could see that this new marshal was losing face in front of the townspeople and now was reduced to practically begging. Longarm was not an unreasonable man, and took pity.