by Tabor Evans
The coach rolled in with a whoop and a holler and a cloud of dust not twenty minutes later.
Chapter 35
“What can I do to help?” Longarm asked as the three passengers got down from the coach and went inside the station.
“You can stay out of our way,” Trydon said. “Me and Charlie know what we’re doing. You try and help, you’d just get underfoot and slow us down.”
“All right then,” Longarm said, backing off.
He lit a cheroot and stood back to watch while Trydon and the driver unhooked the four-up from the mud wagon that was being used as a stagecoach and took the animals around back to the corrals. They returned minutes later with fresh horses in harness and expertly backed the new team into place at the front of the wagon. It took only minutes for the two men to make the exchange and have the coach ready to go again, minutes more until the passengers returned to their seats.
“Thanks, Sam,” Longarm said, shaking the stationmaster’s hand. “If it wouldn’t offend you, I’d like t’ write to your headquarters an’ thank them for the help. I’ll tell them you were a big help at a bad time for me.”
“Good. A compliment might help get me out of this shithole and assigned someplace better. But, uh, don’t mention the Indian, will you? She isn’t on the payroll and it’s better they don’t know about her,” Trydon said.
Longarm laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t say a word about her.” He went inside, collected Beth, and joined the other passengers in the light coach.
The coach was a refitted army ambulance with one long bench running along each side. Access was through an open doorway at the rear. The sides were open but had curtains that could be dropped to keep out rain.
Longarm felt the coach rock to the side a little when the driver climbed onto his elevated seat. That suggested the coach would roll and sway with every bump once they were moving. Passengers on such outfits had been known to get seasick from the movement, never mind that there was no sea within a thousand miles.
“See you tomorrow, Sam,” Charlie called down from his driving box. Then he cracked his whip over the ears of his leaders, and the coach rocked into motion.
Longarm tugged his hat down over his eyes, folded his arms, and dropped into a light doze and a reverie that took him miles away from the moving stagecoach.
Chapter 36
It was after dark when they arrived at the White River Indian Reservation. Not that there was so very much to see there on the brightest of days. There were few buildings, and those were widely scattered. The Shoshone continued to live in teepees for the most part although a few had moved into houses.
The focal point of the reservation was the administration building and, close to it, the sutler’s complex. The sutler occupied the largest structure. His building was surrounded by storage sheds, most of them little more than lean-tos. Toward the rear of the complex were two houses and a bunkhouse, where the sutler and his workers stayed.
There was also a low, sprawling hotel building with half a dozen rooms for rent.
“Come with me,” Longarm told Beth, “an’ keep your mouth shut. If you say anything here, that’ll piss people off and we won’t have a chance t’ learn anything. Indians are funny that way. Women are supposed t’ be quiet. Me, I been here before. I know a few of ’em, so you just set back an’ let me handle things.”
“I don’t know what you think I might do, or say, but I assure you—”
“Shut up, Beth. Just shut up and leave be. All right?”
The woman became sullen and sulked. Longarm ignored her and led the way to the hotel.
“We need two rooms,” he told the man who eventually deigned to come to the sound of a dinging bell.
The fellow dug a fingernail deep into his beard and scratched a little while he pondered the request. Finally he said, “I got one room left. You want it?”
“We want it,” Longarm said.
“Where’s your luggage?”
“Don’t have any luggage.”
“Oh. Like that, is it?”
“Mister, you are about half an inch from having your teeth shoved down your throat and your gizzard ripped out,” Longarm said, his voice deceptively mild.
“One room it is, sir. It’s clean. I changed the blankets just this week. That will be three dollars. In advance.”
Longarm pulled out his wallet, but instead of producing the requested payment, he showed his badge. One of the requirements for being allowed to run a hotel on government land was that Federal employees were allowed to stay in the hotel free of charge.
“Well, shit,” the deskman grumbled. With a sigh, he added, “Room two. Just down this hall on the right.”
“Lamp?” Longarm asked.
“I can give you a candle.”
“That’s good enough.” Longarm lit their candle then motioned for Beth to follow.
The hotel room was crude. The bed was wide enough for one. Or for two who were very friendly.
Longarm laid one of the two blankets on the floor. It would just have to do. He motioned Beth toward the bed and stretched out on the floor.
Chapter 37
The damn woman was doing it deliberately. He was halfway convinced of it. She was teasing him. Stretching his resolve almost to the breaking point.
Longarm agreed that the ride up from the relay station had been a hot and dusty experience. Of course it would be nice to sink into a cool tub.
But did she have to undress like that every night?
A peek here. A glimpse there. Bethlehem Bacon was putting on a better show than any Denver stripper.
What really made it maddening was that she did not seem to notice the effect she had on him.
His cock felt like an iron rod trapped inside his trousers. It should have been inside Beth’s pussy. Would have been if he had his way.
And she did not even seem aware of it.
Through all their troubles, she had hung on to her nightshirt. Now she peeled off her dress and sat in her underwear while she carefully brushed the dress and hung it on a wall hook. Then she donned the nightshirt, removed her underwear—while hardly exposing a thing, dammit—and washed herself underneath the nightshirt, rinsed out the undergarments, draped them on the windowsill, and finally crawled beneath the one blanket that remained on the bunk.
Longarm would have given a month’s pay to be able to crawl in next to her. On top of her. Into her. Shit, two months. Three.
No, that was an exaggeration. He had no desire to pay for pussy. But he ached to be able to fuck her.
Literally ached. His dick was so hard it was a wonder it had not popped the buttons on his fly. He could have driven nails with the damn thing.
Longarm reached down and touched himself. Slid his hand inside the waistband of his trousers and cupped his balls. Seriously considered whacking off to relieve some of the pressure.
Then he remembered a Shoshone girl he’d had the last time he was up this way.
Now there was the very model of an Indian maiden. Young and slim and pretty. And the girl fucked like a mink.
It took him a moment to pull the girl’s name out of memory. Spreading Dawn, that was it. Spreading Legs would have been more appropriate.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he would look her up and see if she still remembered how to drain a man’s balls.
Longarm was smiling when he dropped off to sleep, his thoughts fixed firmly on Spreading Dawn.
Chapter 38
Longarm was up and around well before Beth stirred. He left her sleeping in the room and went to find something to eat, no small feat in a reservation headquarters that had no restaurants or cafés.
He bought some jerky from an elderly Shoshone and was sensible enough to refrain from asking just what meat it was that had been pounded, peppered, and dried. Whatever it was, it tasted fairly good.
&n
bsp; He also walked across the compound to the headquarters building and presented himself to the agent, a newcomer since Longarm’s last visit. This one was a Mormon gentleman named Thomas Payne. (No, no relation to the famous one. Different spelling, the agent explained immediately.)
“Yes, I met Hank Bacon. I remember him distinctly. Because of his name, you see. Different.”
“He seems to’ve gone missing,” Longarm said. “Hasn’t been heard from in weeks.”
“Now I’m sorry to hear that. He seemed a decent sort. Intelligent and nice-looking man. I liked him,” Payne said. “Do you think he might have gotten himself lost? It happens, you know. You might be surprised.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Longarm said. “The man is a surveyor, after all. You wouldn’t think a surveyor would get himself lost. Could have fallen and broken something, or a bad horse could have thrown him. Anything might happen to a man alone in the wilderness. What about your Indians? Any trouble with them lately?”
Payne shook his head. “None. The Shoshone are quiet. They haven’t given any real trouble in years.”
“What about the warrior societies?” Longarm asked.
“Quiet. Oh, they exist. I know that. But if they are taking any scalps, I don’t hear about it. Certainly they are friendly to whites. If they did want to lift a scalp or two, it would be from a warrior in another tribe, not a white man,” Payne said.
“And Bacon’s horses. Were they anything special that someone, red or white, would be itching to steal?” Longarm asked.
“I don’t remember anything about his horses. If he had horses. Could have had a burro or a mule for all I know.”
“Thank you for your time, sir,” Longarm said, extending his hand to shake.
Once on the porch outside the White River Agency, Longarm pulled out a bent and slightly frayed cheroot, his last. He dug out a match, struck it, and got the cheroot alight, then sat on a bench at the front of the building and smoked in silence while he enjoyed the morning sunshine.
When he was done with his smoke, he walked over to the rickety hotel. Beth was still sleeping.
“Are you gonna stay in bed all day?” he asked, giving her shoulder a shake.
It took her a moment to awaken and realize where she was. Then she sat up, smiling.
“Put some clothes on an’ we’ll go have some breakfast,” he said. “I saw a fella outside selling boiled eggs. We’ll want to hit him before he sells out.”
“Oh. Eggs. I haven’t had an egg in ever so long.”
“Then get yourself dressed an’ join me outside. I’ll go on an’ buy us some breakfast.”
He left Beth in the room and went out to see what the vendor was offering. He bought eight of the small eggs. The Shoshone assured him in broken English that the eggs were fully boiled and there were no chicks inside.
When Beth came out, she looked at the little things and said, “Surely these can’t be chicken eggs.”
Longarm shrugged and said, “Chicken, plover, prairie hen, who knows. Point is, they’re eggs. Eat them an’ don’t question their origin. Just consider them t’ be a gift from on high.”
“Did you get any salt to go on them?”
“Toughen up, woman. You can get along without salt for another day or two.”
They ate in silence, but a companionable silence this time, with no tension between them.
“Will you ask about Hank at the agency?” Beth asked when they were done eating.
“Already did that. The agent remembers Hank but doesn’t know what might’ve happened to him.”
“We need to buy provisions before we go on looking,” Beth said. “And horses, of course. Where can we do that?”
“We’ll stock up at the sutler’s across the way there, but there’s some things I want t’ do here at the agency before we go gallivanting off looking for him. We’ll take the room for another night. I’m sure you can find something t’ amuse yourself with today.”
“I’m not going with you?”
“Not today,” Longarm said. At that moment he was thinking about Spreading Dawn and her deep, lubricious pussy more than about Hank Bacon. “This afternoon we’ll go over to the sutler’s and make our purchases. You can go with me for that. You might have some special requests or something.”
“All right. I’m . . . is it safe? Around these Indians, I mean? I’ve never been around any Indians before.”
“Safe as most anyplace,” he said. “As for these Indians, they’re folks. Just with different ways from yours or from mine. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s things I want t’ do while we’re here.”
“Yes, of course.” She yawned. “Actually I think I’m going to go get some more sleep first. This trip has been awfully tiring.”
Longarm saw Beth inside, then headed for a clutch of tall, plains-style teepees, hoping to find Spreading Dawn over there or at least find someone who could tell him where her lodge was now.
Chapter 39
“Yes, I know this woman,” the fat Indian lady said. She was tending a pot of something that looked terrible but smelled divine. Longarm avoided the temptation to ask what it was. He was sure his stomach would turn flip-flops of disgust if he knew.
“Where can I find her, please?”
“Oh, this woman, I don’t know.” She stirred the mess in the pot again using a long stick. “You got tobacco, mister?”
“No, sorry.” He would gladly have paid a cigar or two for the information, but he was completely out. That was one of the many things he wanted to stock up on at the sutler’s this afternoon.
This morning, however, he wanted to get laid. If only he could find Spreading Dawn.
“But I could give you a dollar. You could buy your own tobacco. Would that help?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“I really want to find Spreading Dawn,” he said. “Can you help me? It’s important.”
“Yes. I know her. I do not know where she is now.” She stirred the pot again.
“Do you know anyone who might be able to tell me?” Longarm asked.
“Yes, I know someone.”
“Who?”
“You see that lodge there?” She pointed. “That woman knows this woman. You ask there, please.”
Longarm sighed. He was beginning to think it might be easier to visit every lodge in the valley and look for himself than to get any information out of this woman. “Thank you.”
He walked over to the lodge in question. There was another woman, also fat, squatting in front of the lodge opening. She was busy sewing something that looked like a shirt for a child.
Longarm touched the brim of his Stetson by way of a greeting and nodded. “Hello, ma’am. I’m, uh, I’m looking for a lady called Spreading Dawn. The woman over there said you might be able to help me. Can you please tell me where I can find her?”
The fat woman looked up from her needlework. “Hello, Custis.”
He blinked. “Par’n?”
“I say hello to you, Custis.”
The voice sounded familiar but he could not quite place it. His confusion must have showed because the fat woman began to laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“You are, Custis.”
“D’you know me?”
She laughed all the harder, her tits and more than ample belly rolling and heaving, her several chins quivering.
“Oh, Custis. You are so funny.”
“Excuse me. I wasn’t tryin’ to be funny.” He began to take offense to all this bullshit. “What is so damn funny about me askin’ a simple question?” he demanded, his voice harsh and growing louder.
“But, Custis. You really do not know who I am, do you?”
“No, an’ I would appreciate it if you could tell me where the hell I can find Spreading Dawn. You’re s’posed to know where
she is. So, dammit, where is she?”
“But, Custis,” the sloppy fat woman said with a squeal of giggling. “It is me.” She spread her hands and grinned. “I am your Spreading Dawn, Custis.”
Chapter 40
Longarm was not sure his dick would ever get over that shock and disappointment. Lordy, it had not been that long since he and a slender and lovely Spreading Dawn had snuggled up in her lodge. They had spent four nights together—or five, he could not remember for sure—and she was a wonderful fuck.
Surely it had not been that long.
The dumb cunt must have spent every day since that time stuffing her face. And now it looked like she had a kid, too. Not that Longarm had anything against children. Hell, he had been one himself once.
But . . . Spreading Dawn! Incredible.
That woman he’d first talked to must have been laughing, too, sending him to Spreading Dawn’s lodge to ask for . . . Spreading Dawn.
But . . . Jesus. The woman was hog fat now. And ugly. He would not have believed it had he not seen it for himself.
Poor, poor Spreading Dawn.
He had pretended he looked her up to give her a present. Gave her a five-dollar gold half eagle and made like that was what he’d intended all along. He hoped she did not suspect different.
He thought rather wistfully about Bethlehem Bacon with her pert little tits and wonderfully rounded little ass. What he wouldn’t have given to get into some of that!
Still, dammit, they had come here for a reason. It was about time, he thought, that he start paying attention to business and not dwelling on being so horny he was afraid he would honk.
“Washakie?” he asked at the next lodge he came to. “Where is Washakie?”
If there was anyone on the Shoshone reservation who could tell him about Hank Bacon and what had happened to the man, it should be the tribe’s greatest chief.