The blacksmith watched as Longarm slowly led his fine but limping palomino up the busy street careful to avoid being run down by the heavy flow of wagon traffic. When Longarm came to a stop and nodded a tired greeting, the blacksmith laid down his hammer and frowned.
“Looks like you got a big problem, mister. What’d that handsome palomino horse do, bow a tendon?”
“He tossed a shoe about four miles out on that rocky wagon track you folks call a road. I’m hoping that he’ll be sound once you tack on a new shoe and we give him a night’s rest.”
“We’ll see about that,” the blacksmith said, wiping his rough hands on his leather apron before coming over to gently run his hand down Target’s leg.
“My name is Joe Wheeler.”
“Custis Long.”
“Might take a little more time for this horse to get over his lameness.”
“I hope not,” Longarm replied, “because I can’t wait. And despite a few personality problems, this is the toughest animal I’ve ever ridden. He never tires.”
“This horse has a rock bruise,” the blacksmith said after examining the hoof carefully. “Look here. You can see the dark spot where the blood has collected just under the surface of the foot. It’s as nasty a bruise as I’ve seen in a good long while.”
“Damn! I guess that means that I may have to leave him.”
“You’re in a big hurry, huh?”
“I am,” Longarm answered. “What do you suggest?”
Joe moved around the horse, inspecting each hoof. Finally, he straightened and said, “This horse needs a day or two to heal and he needs new shoes all the way around. You can see that for yourself.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, “I can. I was just hoping …”
“Hoping don’t cut it in this rocky country. I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t. He needs new shoes.”
“What about the rock bruise?”
“If you weren’t in a hurry, I’d suggest you stay off this animal for at least a week. Then, I’d shoe him on all fours and I think you’d be just fine.”
“Like I said, I can’t do that.”
“All right,” Joe replied, wiping perspiration from his face with the back of his sleeve, “then I’ll shoe him all around but do some special work on the bad one.”
“What kind of ‘special work?’”
“I’ll make the shoe a little thicker and put a leather patch and padding over that rock bruise, then run a narrow crossbar from side to side for even more protection.”
“That ought to do the trick.”
“I’ll make no promises. But tomorrow morning, we’ll know if he’s sound again or not.”
“And there’s nothing else that can be done?”
“Nope. The only other thing I can suggest is to sell this horse and buy another. But given your hurried circumstances, you’d really get skinned.”
“I can well imagine,” Longarm said, toeing the dirt as he weighed this unexpected dilemma.
“It’s your choice to make,” Joe said. “I’m a good shoer, third generation, and you won’t find any better. But like I said, I can’t make any promises, and the work that I’ll have to do will take a fair amount of time.”
Longarm appreciated the blacksmith’s frank and honest assessment of the situation. “Tell you what, Joe,” he said, “go ahead and make that special shoe for Target and we’ll just hope for the best tomorrow morning.”
“Target? That’s his name?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t give it to him, someone else did.”
“Bad name. Maybe bad luck.”
“How much for your work and board for both animals tonight?”
“I’ll shoe the palomino all around for seven dollars and I’ll have to charge you another dollar each for boarding, which includes a heavy dose of oats.”
“Fair enough,” Longarm said, digging money out of his pockets. “Can you also recommend a good cafe where a hungry man can get his money’s worth?”
“Boomer’s Cafe is the local favorite. It’s just up the street.”
“What about a clean hotel where a man can sleep without a bunch of hollering and fighting going on in the next room?”
“Frontier Hotel is the one you want. Nice and clean. They got a little saloon downstairs and a few gambling tables. But nothin’ noisy.”
“Thanks,” Longarm said, paying the young blacksmith and then retrieving his rifle and saddlebags. “And by the way, the mule’s name is Geezer.”
“Now, that is a name that I do like,” Joe said with a grin. “And I’ll do the best that I can with that rock bruise. Before I build that special shoe, I’ll soak his hoof in warm salt water to draw out the poison. That usually helps, if he’ll stand for it.”
“He will if he doesn’t spy a cat, pig, or chicken.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Longarm said, heading off and calling back over his shoulder. “I’ll come around the first thing tomorrow morning.”
“How much would you want to sell him for if he’s still lame?” the blacksmith shouted.
“He won’t be!”
Longarm went directly to the Frontier Hotel and rented a room for the night. The establishment was a little more raucous than Joe had described, but the upstairs rooms were clean and the doors were fitted with heavy sliding bolts.
“You’ll have no trouble with anyone here,” the hotel’s proprietor vowed. “Unless you invite ‘em in as your guest. Which brings me to a question.”
“What’s that?” Longarm asked, frowning at the man.
“Sir, are you married?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you’d like a woman sent up. We have some girls that-“
“No, thanks,” Longarm said abruptly. “I’ve had a long, miserable day and all I want is food and maybe a whiskey or two before I turn in early.”
“I understand,” the proprietor said. “And I respect your need for privacy, but our girls really are-“
“Not interested,” Longarm snapped.
The proprietor gave him a curt nod and backed out of the room fast. Longarm bolted his door, then collapsed on his bed for a few minutes. He closed his eyes and must have dozed off because, when he looked around again, it was dark outside and his stomach was staging a full riot.
He lit the bedside lamp and washed his face in a porcelain basin. There was a fresh bar of soap and clean towels laid neatly on his bedside table, along with a note stating that a hot bath could be ordered for only one dollar. Longarm thought that might be a pretty good deal because he was gritty with a heavy accumulation of trail dust. He would have ordered the bath first and then eaten if he had not been so famished.
Boomer’s Cafe was just down the street, and it was obviously the town’s most popular eating establishment. Longarm had to wait a few minutes before he was able to get a stool at the long counter and order a steak with fried potatoes, sourdough bread, and apple pie for dessert.
“What will you have to drink, mister?” the heavyset and hustling counterman asked. “We got whiskey, beer, coffee, and even water.”
“I’ll have whiskey and water,” Longarm said. “It’s been a long day.”
“You do look sort of bushed,” the man said, showing Longarm a grin that was missing both front teeth. “So how do you like your steak?”
“Medium rare sounds about right.”
“That’s the way I like it myself,” the man said, hurrying away to return a moment later with a shot of whiskey and a glass of water.
Longarm downed the whiskey neat, then signaled for a refill. He sipped the second and when his supper finally arrived, he attacked it like a starving wolf. The steak was two inches thick and delicious, not a bit tough. The potatoes were good too. Longarm ordered coffee with his apple pie, and was more than satisfied.
“You get enough to eat?” the man behind the counter asked, refilling his coffee for the third time.