Longarm said, “Never mind her. Let’s talk about him!”
He asked the housekeeper what the jasper who’d taken Maureen to a Papist Mass at First Methodist might look like.
The motherly but not as worldly housekeeper thought before she said, “Nice well-spoken cowboy. Had on one of those tall Texas hats. I think he said his name was Martin.”
Longarm soberly replied, “It was Matt, Matt Currier. He called on another lady recently to tell her about my gunfight with Corky Crabtree and that other jasper!”
Pat half rose from her seat across the table, saying, “Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Maureen just went off somewhere with a member of the gang that murdered her mother!”
To which Longarm could only reply, “It sure looks that way, and I ought to be whipped with snakes for not seeing things clearer, sooner. But that’s what happens when you buy just one big fib. The other side can build one big fib atop the other, like a house of cards, until you wind up staring at what looks like whole castles in the air!” Pat asked him what on earth he was talking about. Longarm said, “Monumental edifices, built of lies instead of cards. Pull one lie out near the bottom and it all collapses, see?”
She said she didn’t.
Longarm got up from the table, asking to be excused as he assured both puzzled women, “That’s all right. I see, and like I said, I ought to be whipped with snakes for taking this long to see it!”
Chapter 21
Most Indians, many lawmen, and not a few outlaws could tell you there was more than one way to cut a trail. Wolves, bloodhounds, and other such hunters snuffled around until they found a scent, and then they followed it as if they were on railroad tracks as the prey they were after doubled back and forth, splashed through running water, and so on since everyone knew how wolves and bloodhounds trailed you.
It could save a lot of time, as human hunters had figured out in Stone Age times, if you just tried to figure out where your prey was headed and got there first. You figured deer would bed down in thick aspen, while lions would wind up amid rimrocks no matter how merry a chase they led you around Robin Hood’s barn.
So Longarm didn’t ride out of Minnipeta Junction at a gallop with a pack of fox hounds. He strode over to the Western Union and sent a whole mess of telegrams. Then he went back to the banks and brought old Gordon Guthrie up to date on what he knew for certain, up to the sudden disappearance of Maureen Cassidy that morning.
Guthrie got both the Havana Claros he’d fished out of his cigar case going for them before he said, “I’M missing something here. You say you don’t think Little Spider Nash is guilty of anything but a family business. But at least two members of the gang were pussyfooting around her daddy’s whiskey still, and she and she alone can identify Matt Currier on sight?”
Longarm said, “Pat Brennan’s housekeeper saw him when he came by to carry Maureen off. She describes him the same as Little Spider. I doubt he cares. Once he shucks a deliberately distinctive Texas hat, we’re just talking about a clean-cut young cowboy who’s out of the county by now.”
Guthrie chewed his cigar like a bone and pointed out, “With a half-wit hardly anybody pays attention to? Leaving two smarter women who could point him out in a crowd?”
Longarm took a thoughtful drag on his own smoke and replied, “They ain’t worried about anybody local spotting Matt Currier. He’s only an underling, recruited to rob this bank. You and the Pinkerton Agency have foiled their plans. I might have helped some by turning over a few wet rocks and gunning at least three of ‘em. We’re talking about a hasty cover-up, lest they all wind up exposed to the cruel light of day. I figure they mean to go to ground and lay low for longer than usual this time.”
“Who might they be?” the banker demanded.
Longarm smiled sheepishly and said, “I was hoping nobody would ask that just yet. I ain’t certain of some details. But offhand, we have the mastermind, that one known gunslick, and at least two other gals, Maureen and French Barbara, unaccounted for.”
Then he said, “I ain’t about to account for shit until I catch me some outlaws. That’s why I’ve come back to you for more help with the real-estate business you know better.”
Banker Guthrie leaned back expansively and declared, “You’re more than welcome to any help we can give you. You’re too modest about a lot of money you may have saved this bank. But I sent Lucy Wojensky over with that list of small holdings, and didn’t you just say those outlaws could be out of the county by this time?”
To which Longarm replied, “I’m working on where they might have run off to. Miss Medusa Le Mat has never yet holed up in thick aspen or rimrocks. We’ve always tracked her to at least one isolated spread, houseboat, or whatever, picked out well in advance.”
Guthrie nodded uncertainly, and said, “You just made mention of the old Nesbit place. Little Spider’s soddy up that wooded draw and so on, but
…”
“That’s the first time we’ve come across two such handy hideouts an unbroken gallop from the intended robbery,” Longarm declared, taking a long drag on his cigar before he went on. “Leastways, this would be the first time we’ve noticed more than one likely hideout.”
Guthrie volunteered, “I think I can answer that. You’ve been saying all along that this Medusa Le Mat is cautious to a fault. Doesn’t it stand to reason that she’d pick more than one good hideout, use the best in the end, and leave no trace of her intent for the alternate one? They killed Rose Cassidy. They left Little Spider Nash alive and unharmed. Nobody would have guessed they’d been sniffing around out her way if you hadn’t been so smart.”
Longarm shrugged modestly and said, “That’s what I need help with. I aim to backtrack Miss Medusa Le Mat to where she might have come from. It’s been my experience that scared or wounded critters tend to break for familiar safe surroundings. The army would never catch deserters if the poor homesick fools didn’t head right for the address they put on their enlistment papers.”
Banker Guthrie blinked and asked, “You’re expecting to find Medusa Le Matt’s original home address?”
Longarm said, “A place she felt safer, not too far from this part of the West, would work better. If she’s headed home to Paris, France, we’re out of luck.”
He got out the sheaf of papers Lucy Wojensky had already typed up and explained, “I’ve got the shadow of a sensible pattern figured out so far. I’ve wired county clerks high and low for other recorded deeds. I’m only interested in property held free and clear within a half-dozen miles of known locations. They’ve never picked an unproven homestead or a cattle spread. I reckon they were trying to leave us federal peace officers out of it as long as possible, and anyone can see it takes more than three or four gunslicks to wipe out a bunkhouse full of hands, even with half of them in town or out hunting strays.”
The banker repeated his offer to do anything he could for Longarm, who said, “I may need help with my figures as answers to my wires come in. Like I said, I’m starting to see patterns, but I ain’t no expert on mortgages, transfers of property, and such.”
Guthrie reached for a bell on his desk and clanked it until Lucy Wojensky came in. When she did, looking pleased to see Longarm, her boss told her to take the rest of the day off and stick with Deputy Long until he had no further use for her services.
She allowed she was more than willing. So they went first back to the Western Union and then to her place. Lucy had her own quarters above a carriage house near the bank.
It was just as well. Things were getting sort of crowded around his hotel, and she had a table they could share by a dormer window. They were going over records from her bank and wires from Western Union when Pat Brennan barged in without knocking to catch the two of them in such an innocent position.