Longarm folded the envelope in half and jammed it into his coat pocket. Turning on his boot heel, he started for the door, but Billy called out to say, “What was she like, Custis?”
He froze, not daring to turn for fear that his expression would betray him. “What do you mean?”
“The judge’s housekeeper and personal companion. Just how personal was she?”
“Go to hell,” Longarm growled as he continued out the doorway hearing Billy’s laughter.
Longarm had promised Lavinia that he would stop by the judge’s house and tell her what was going to happen next, and he was a man of his word. But first, he went to his own rooms and gathered his traveling bag and riding clothes, then his old canvas bedroll. He had several rifles of his own, but preferred to use the government’s weapons so that, if they were damaged or stolen in the line of duty, he wouldn’t have any personal losses. It took less than fifteen minutes for Longarm to pack what he needed and to hit the street again. Wearing a heavy sheep-lined leather jacket because he knew that the weather could get cold in October up in the Rockies, he headed for Johnson’s Livery.
Bert Johnson had been supplying their department with good saddle horses for years. Like most deputies working out of Denver, Longarm did not own a horse. Therefore, the department found it more expedient and economical to rent rather than buy animals for its deputies, even when those animals were occasionally shot or stolen.
“Howdy, Bert!” Longarm said, dropping his belongings. “I understand that you’ve got an especially good horse and pack mule for me today.”
“You got that right, fer damn sure!” Bert said with a wide grin. “Nothin’ but the best for the best.”
“You’re a natural bullshitter if I ever heard one,” Longarm told the grinning old-timer.
Bert was as sun-browned as Mexican leather and as wrinkled as rawhide. He had been a Montana cowboy for many years, but injuries had ended that way of life. So he’d come to visit Denver, been trapped into marriage by a bossy boardinghouse owner, and quickly escaped into the livery business. Longarm knew that Bert could have easily afforded to retire but that his wife was such a trial that he preferred to spend most of his waking hours at the stable.
“Which horse is it this time?” Longarm asked.
“He’s a new horse,” Bert replied. “Best of the lot. You’ll be the first one to break him in right.”
“I don’t want to ‘break in’ a horse,” Longarm told the livery owner. “I want Shorty, my usual horse.”
“He’s already rented out,” Bert said. “So are most of the others you like. But this one is better’n all of ‘em put together. His name is Target.”
“Target! That’s a hell of a bad name for a horse to be ridden by a lawman!”
“Well, then,” Bert drawled, “call him Trigger or Goldie or whatever you want. He’s a big palomino and he’s strong, smart, and fast. He’s got enough stamina to gallop over to California and back without breaking out into a sweat.”
“The hell you say,” Longarm growled.
“I mean it, Custis.”
“All right then, let’s see this wonder horse.”
Bert led him to a stall, where Target was already saddled, saying, “I’ve even adjusted your stirrups and given you my best saddle and everything.”
But Longarm wasn’t listening. Rather, he was studying the palomino and, frankly, liking what he saw. The gelding was quite tall. He had a very intelligent, refined head and a deep chest, indicating good lungs and wind. Target was actually a deep golden color, if the poor interior light wasn’t playing tricks on Longarm.
“Well,” Bert said proudly, “what do you think?”
“He looks like a show horse to me,” Longarm answered. “Why would you rent the government such a fine animal when you could sell him for a lot of money?”
“To be entirely honest, Marshal Long, the horse does have a few quirks.”
“Quirks?”
“Yep. To begin with, Target can’t stand dogs nor pigs nor chickens. He’s not too partial to cats either.”
Longarm folded his arms across his chest. “So what does he do about them?”
“He’ll go after ‘em.”
Longarm took a moment to digest this information. “You’re saying that he will attack pigs, chickens, and cats?”
“Afraid so,” Bert said before quickly adding, “but a strong man like you can easily control Target with the high spade bit I’m putting in his mouth. You’ll have no problems, Marshal, but a greenhorn or a lady … well, he’s just too much horse for them kinda people.”
“I don’t know,” Longarm hedged. “The last thing I need is a horse to worry about.”
“Then don’t worry about him! I rode this horse all over town yesterday.”
“Then you must have seen at least one chicken or cat.”
“Two,” Bert admitted a little sheepishly, “and I can tell you that at least the cat got away alive.”
Longarm ground his teeth. “What else do you have?”
“Nothing,” Bert said quickly. “All my other sound horses are rented out right now.”
“There are other liveries.”
“Now Marshal Long! I tell you what. Because Target does need a little polish and training, I’ll throw in the mule rent free. How’s that for being fair?”
“Fair, hell! I don’t care about what you charge the government for my pack mule! I just want steady, reliable transportation without any problems.”
“And you’ll have none! The mule never gave anybody a lick of trouble in his life. He’s willin’ and able. He’ll be your friend and is better’n a watchdog because he hee-haws in the night if any strangers come around. In a pinch, you can also saddle and ride him.”
“All right,” Longarm relented. “I need to start traveling.”
“How far are you going today?”
“I’ll ride until sundown,” Longarm told the man. “I hope to reach South Park tomorrow.”
“Then you’d best be going now,” Bert said, leading the saddled Target out of the stall and replacing his halter with the spade bit and a fine leather headstall. “You tighten the cinch and get mounted while I catch your mule.”
“What’s his name?”
“Geezer,” Bert called back. “Or whatever you chose to call him given your spirit of the moment.”
“Geezer will do,” Longarm said, flipping up the left stirrup and then tightening the cinch.
Because he was going up into the Rockies, Longarm put some muscle to the cinch to make sure that it would not slip, stretch, or work loose on a steep trail. Target didn’t like that one damned bit. The handsome palomino’s ears flattened tight against his head and his neck snaked out. He snapped his big yellow teeth in warning, missing Longarm’s shoulder by only a hair.
“Dammit!” Longarm cussed, backhanding the horse across its muzzle. “Don’t you even think about biting me!”
Target pulled away suddenly, jerking Longarm completely off his feet. It took some doing to get the horse under control.
“Bert! I don’t think this is going to work out between us this time.”
“Oh, sure it will!” the old Montana cowboy cried as he dragged Geezer up and tied the mule’s long lead rope around the saddlehorn. “You and Target just need to cover a few hard miles together. Right now, Target is just a little trail-rusty. Once you’ve worked the kinks out of him, he’ll be as gentle as Geezer.”
Longarm wasn’t happy, but he was in a big hurry. South Park was a long, long ride up into the mountains, and he’d be lucky to get within twenty miles of it before a veil of darkness dropped silently over the Rocky Mountains.
“If this horse gives me a bad time,” Longarm warned, “then …”
“Then sell him, buy a lesser animal, and we’ll settle up the account when you return!” Bert exclaimed. “That’s fair, ain’t it?”
“Sure,” Longarm growled, dropping his stirrup and mounting Target.