Longarm considered. He could take Younger away from the elderly jailer easily enough, and the hands out front would likely crawfish back long enough for the two of them to ride out. On the other hand, it was a long ride to the nearest place he’d be able to hold him safely.
Longarm shrugged and said, “I’d better have a talk with those other lawmen and this big hoorah called Timberline.”
CHAPTER 7
The hotel in Crooked Lance wasn’t as fancy as the one in Bitter Creek. It wasn’t a hotel, in fact. The family who owned the general store and ran the post office and telegraph outlet had a livery shed and an extra lean-to partitioned into tiny, dirt-floored cubicles they rented to those few riders staying overnight in town. The family’s name was Stover and they were inclined to take a profit wherever one could be found. The hotel had a sort of veranda facing the muddy banks Of the valley stream on the far side from the one street. There, Longarm found another quartet of moody men, seated on barrels, or in one-case, pacing up and down. The man on his feet wore the scarlet tunic of the Northwest Mounted Police, trail-dusty and worn through at one elbow. The other three wore civilian clothes, but one had a star pinned to his lapel. As the storekeeper introduced Longarm to his fellow lawmen, the mountie asked, “Are you the person who just beat up a Canadian citizen?”
“‘Fraid so. Where’d they put old du Val? By the time I came out of the jailhouse they’d carried him off.”
“He’s inside, with a concussion. They told us you’d beaten him unconscious. I’d say you owe me an explanation, since I’m here on Her Majesty’s business and…”
One of the others said, “Oh, shut up and set down, damn it. you know he’s a U.S. Marshal!” To Longarm he added, “I’m Silas Weed, from Clay County, Missouri. This here’s Captain Walthers from the U.S. ArmY Provost Marshal’s office, and the gent with the big cigar is a railroad dick called Ryan.”
Longarm nodded and hooked a boot over the edge of the veranda as he said, “My outfit’s missing a deputy called Kincaid. Any of you met up with him?”
There was a general shaking of heads, which didn’t surprise Longarm. He turned to the one called Ryan and asked, “Are you from the same detective agency as a funny couple called Hanks, Mister Ryan? They said one of their agents was missing, too.”
Ryan grimaced around the stub of his cigar and growled, “Jesus. Are you talking about a female traveling with a dwarf?”
“Sounds like the same folks. You with their outfit or not?”
“God, no! Cedric Hanks and his wife work alone! They’re bounty hunters, not detectives! Where’d you run into them?”
“Bitter Creek, headed this way. You say the gal’s his wife?”
“Yeah, when he ain’t pretending to be her little kid. Ain’t that a bitch? They run con games when they’re not hunting down men with papers on ‘em. If you met up with that pair you’re lucky to have the fillings in your teeth!”
“They were Rely lying about having a partner up here, too, then. What’s the story on that prisoner over yonder, gents? I take it all of us rode up here on the same errand.”
The man from the provost office snapped, “The armY has first claim on him. He’s not only wanted on a hanging military offense, but I was here first!”
Sheriff Weed said, “The hell you say, Captain! Clay County’s papers on him have seniority. We’ve been after him a good six years!”
The Mountie wheeled around and challenged, “Not so fast! Your own State Department has honored Her Majesty’s warrant for the murder of a British subject!”
Longarm smiled crookedly at the railroad detective, who smiled back and said, “that’s half of the problem. The other half is the Crooked Lance Vigilance Committee. They say they’re holding Cotton Younger for the highest bidder.”
“They what? These cowpokes hereabouts holding a man for ransom with four—make that five—lawmen in town?”
“They don’t see it as ransom. It’s all the damn paper Cotton younger and his kin have out on ‘em. He’s worth five hundred to the railroad I work for. Clay County, there, says he’s worth about the same to Missouri. Queen Victoria ain’t been heard but she’d likely pay some damn thing, and Army, here, says the standing offer for deserters is three to five hundred, depending. I’d say Army was low bidder, up to now. How much is he worth to the Justice Department?”
“Don’t know. My boss never mentioned a reward.”
“there you go, old son. You just made last in line!” Longarm stuck a cheroot between his teeth and thumbnailed a match as he gathered his thoughts. Then he shook his head and said, “I don’t see it that way, gents. Justice Department outranks all others.”
“All but Her Majesty’s Government” the Mountie amended.
“No offense to your Queen, but her writ doesn’t carry much weight in U.S. Federal territory, which Wyoming happens to be. Before we fuss about it further amongst ourselves, what’s keeping the five of us from at least getting back to the rails and telegraph with the prisoner? Seems to me it’d make more sense to let our superiors fight it out, once we had him locked in a city jail.”
The Missouri sheriff asked, “the jail in Bitter Creek?”
“Why not? It’s got bars and a telegraph office we can get to.”
“Town marshal down there’s sure to want a split on the reward.”
Longarm snorted, “Oh, for God’s sake, this is the dumbest situation I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in some pissers! We’re talking about a shiftless thief with a lousy five hundred on him, and…”
“No, we ain’t,” the railroad dick cut in, “We’re talking about ten thousand dollars, no questions, cash on the barrelhead!”
Longarm frowned and snapped, “Ten thousand dollars, on that tall drink of water over yonder?”
“Hell, no, on his kinfolks, Frank and Jesse James! Between the state of Missouri, The Pinkertons, and a dozen small banks and such, either one of the James boys is worth at least that, dead or alive. Should any man nail both, he’d collect more like twenty!” He shrugged and added, “I ain’t that greedy, myself. I’d settle for either.”
“Yeah, but the prisoner here ain’t Frank or Jesse James. When I just talked to him, he denied even being Cotton Younger.”
“What else did you expect, Longarm? Once he’s getting fitted for that hemp necktie, he’ll talk, all right.”
Sheriff Weed chimed in, “That’s for damn sure. Our only problem seems to be just who gets him, and how to convince the locals who caught him that they’ll have a share in the reward.”
“Ain’t everyone counting unhatched chickens, gents?”
Weed nodded and said, “Sure they are. That’s what’s holding up the parade. Nobody here can promise a reward for a James boy still at large. Getting some of these dumb cowboys to see it that way can be a chore. All of us have tried, one time or another.”
Longarm muttered, “I don’t believe this! There’s five of us, damn it! If any two of you would back me, I’d be riding out of here with Cotton Younger within the hour!”
He waited to see if there were any volunteers. Then he asked Weed, “How about it, Sheriff?”
“Would you turn him over to me as soon as we rode free?”
“God damn it, you’re obstructing justice!”
“No, I ain’t. I came all the way out here from the County of Clay to arrest that boy and that’s my aim. That’s my only aim. I don’t pull chestnuts out of the fire for other lawmen.”
Longarm looked at the army agent, who shrugged and said, “I have my orders.”
“How about you, Mountie? You up to backing my play?”