Wilder's knees buckled and his eyes rolled up in his head. Longarm caught him before he toppled over a table. He dragged Wilder over to a cot and stretched him out and covered him with an army-issue blanket. The sergeant looked as if he were sleeping like a baby.
"Give your captain my best," Longarm said as he rubbed his bruised knuckles and stepped outside.
Longarm moved casually over to their horses, which were unsaddled and tied to the picket line. He got them both saddled and bridled, then led them over to Lucy and prodded her into wakefulness with the toe of his boot.
"What, what?" she mumbled, groggy with sleep.
"Get up and make your bedroll quick. Tie it down and let's get out of here," Longarm said under his breath, aware that all the soldiers were staring curiously at them.
To her credit, Lucy did as she was told without explanation. Moments later, she was up and Longarm was helping her into the saddle.
"So long, boys!" Longarm called, waving at the staring soldiers. "Keep up the good work!"
They waved back and smiled, but they weren't watching him. They were staring at Lucy.
"Let's go," Longarm said, touching spurs to his horse's flanks.
They galloped out of what had once been Rimrock and headed due west toward Prescott, a town that Longarm had often visited and enjoyed. A town where Lucy Ortega had told him she hoped to find some answers that would keep her out of the Yuma prison.
They crossed the Painted Desert and climbed up into the Mogollon Mesa country, where the air was crisp and the nights were cold.
"In another few weeks," Longarm said as they camped one night high up near a stand of gnarled cedar, "there could well be snow up here."
"Brrr!" Lucy shivered. "I know that if I have to go to Yuma I'll wish it were cold, but for now, I'm freezing!"
Longarm made love to her every night, and they fell asleep wrapped together under the brilliant canopy of stars. During the day, they were cautious and always on the lookout for Apache, but they didn't see any. Near Clear Creek, Longarm shot a four-point buck. He dressed the animal out and they feasted on venison for the next few days as they moved down off the Mogolion Rim country.
When they sighted Fort Verde, Longarm knew that they were almost to Prescott. "Are we stopping?" Lucy asked.
"I'd prefer not to," Longarm said. "The army likes to try and run the show and I have my orders."
"Then let's just skirt the fort and keep going," Lucy said. "The sooner we get to Prescott, the sooner I'm hoping that you can help clear my name."
"I'll try, Lucy. But you have to understand that it might not happen. If you were framed, those people will have their stories down pat. They're not going to just fess up because I'm a federal officer."
"I know that," Lucy said. "But the marshal at Prescott was no help at all. At least you'll ask some hard questions and be trying to help me."
"Yeah," Longarm said, "I will do that much."
Lucy's eyes filled with tears. "I don't think I'm strong enough to survive a long prison term at Yuma. I've heard that it is a hellhole. That it's fiendishly hot in the summer and that the inmates live in dirt pits, like animals in caves."
"It's not all that bad," Longarm said, trying to reassure her.
"It isn't? Well, then what is it like?"
"It's... it's a prison," Longarm said, trying hard to think of something good to say about the Yuma prison. "It's situated on a bluff overlooking the Colorado River. In the summer, the guards escort the prisoners down to the river a couple of times a week to bathe in the river. I've seen them splashing and laughing in that water."
"Under the guns of prison guards?" Lucy challenged. "I don't think so."
"It's true. And yes, Yuma is probably the hardest prison in the territorial system, but it isn't hell on earth and the warden, whose name I've forgotten, is a fair and just man who treats the inmates well who behave themselves and follow the rules with respect."
"Longarm, please help me stay out of there."
"I will do everything I can." Longarm took a deep breath. "But Lucy," he added, "if I can't find any evidence that you were framed, I'm going to have to deliver you to that prison. It's my job and my duty. I won't turn my back on it."
"I understood that from the very beginning," she said quietly. "I knew from the start that you wouldn't just set me free. You're too much the lawman."
"Yeah," he admitted, pushing his weary horse on down the steep mountain trail. "I guess I am at that."
CHAPTER 8
As they approached the old mining town of Prescott, Longarm could see the former governors' mansion, and he was reminded that this town had once been the capital of the Arizona Territory. Surrounded by mountain ranges and pine forests, Prescott was high, cool, dry in the summer, and not nearly as cold as Denver in the winter.
It was a good place, Longarm had often thought, for a man to retire. There was a large, shady plaza in the center of the main shopping district surrounded by businesses and saloons. Ranching and logging had replaced mining as the number-one provider of jobs. People seemed content to live here and, to Longarm's way of thinking, Prescott had just enough activity so that a man enjoying his later years would not stagnate or become bored with life. "Where is your husband's ranch?" Longarm asked.
"Just a few miles north of town," Lucy replied. "Do you want to go there first?"
"No," he said. "I need to check in with the town marshal. You said that he didn't impress you. What's wrong with the man?"
"He never liked my husband," Lucy replied. "They were not even on speaking terms."
"Any particular reason why?"
"In addition to Marshal Haggerty being abrasive and a bully, my husband always thought that he was corrupt. That he accepted money from saloons and such and protected them with his badge."
"That's pretty common, I'm afraid," Longarm said. "I've seen it happen time and time again no matter how good the man. Money becomes tempting even to a lawman, Lucy."
"Marshal Haggerty has money," she said. "More money than an honest small-town marshal can earn in a lifetime. I'm sure that he is being paid by the saloons in town to look the other way and to ignore complaints about cheating and prostitution."
"Well," Longarm said, "we'll just see how our meeting goes. These locals do not appreciate a federal officer coming to their town and asking too many questions. They have a tendency to get very defensive."
"Marshal Haggerty is going to be very upset with me," Lucy warned. "He'll want to arrest me, lock me up, and throw away the key."
"I suspect that's true," Longarm said, "but you're my prisoner now and my authority is greater than his."
"Don't tell him that. Haggerty is a very arrogant man. He'll listen to no one except those who financially support him."
"What else do you know about him?" Longarm asked, not liking what he'd heard so far.
"Not much. When Don Luis and I came to town, the marshal would be swaggering about and he'd glare at us. He never said anything directly, but I could see envy in his eyes."
"Envy?"
"That's right. Don Luis was a Spaniard and he was rich. He had a ranch and was friends with men in high places. That sort of thing drove Marshal Haggerty crazy. He knew that he could not intimidate my husband or browbeat him into handing over any money."
"I see.
"Only once do I remember seeing Marshal Haggerty approaching my husband. I was in a millinery shop and could not hear their conversation, but it was clearly unpleasant. Haggerty became loud and abusive, and I thought my husband was going to kill him or at least lash him with a quirt."
"But he didn't."
"No," Lucy said. "My husband was very self-controlled. He rarely lost his temper or showed impatience. I think that was one of the things that I most admired in him. It was so opposite my own personality and I wanted to develop those same qualities."
Longarm didn't quite manage to suppress a smile. "I doubt that you will ever be able to control your temper or impulses," he said, "and quite frankly, I hope you do not."