Longarm and the Missing Husband

by Tabor Evans

  “Where can I find Washakie?”

  Chapter 41

  He had trouble finding anyone who could speak English so he went back to the administration building and asked Agent Payne for some help. Payne summoned one of the young soldiers who was standing guard duty outside the agency.

  “Find Adams. Tell him I need him over here,” Payne ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Longarm and Payne waited on the headquarters building porch until the soldier returned. Straggling behind him was a buckskin-clad man with long, gray hair and a beard that covered his chest and a good bit of his belly.

  “Whadda ya want, Tommy?”

  “Deputy Marshal Custis Long, Bull Mathers. Bull is a trapper who’s lived with the Shoshone for years. Married to an Indian gal. He knows the language. Bull, the marshal here needs to speak with Washakie. Would you help him out?”

  “All right, but it will cost you, Tommy. I get two nights of pinochle with you.”

  To Longarm, Payne said, “That is the man’s standard fee. He takes his pay in pinochle games. Loves to play. The pity is that he’s such a terrible player.”

  Mathers roared. And Payne laughed. “We play at least one night a week,” the agent said.

  “He cheats,” Mathers claimed, smiling. “I don’t know how he does it, but he cheats. You want to see the chief? Come with me.”

  The trapper and squaw man Mathers led Longarm to a small, ordinary house set among the several buildings that made up the agency.

  “This is where Washakie lives? Not in a teepee?”

  “No, he wanted to live civilized. God knows why,” Mathers said. Then he chuckled. “You wouldn’t know it by the way he has it furnished. He turned the house into a sort of wooden teepee. Rugs and blankets and Injun stuff hanging on the walls. There’s no chairs in there, just wicker seat backs. If you’re invited inside—you won’t be, by the way—you sit on the floor and lean against one of those things. Has a pile of furs instead of a bed. Personally I prefer a house I can pack up and move whenever the dung gets too deep.” He laughed. “One way or another.”

  A half-dozen brown curs greeted them outside Washakie’s house. Their barking announced the presence of visitors.

  A small woman with gray hair and deep wrinkles met them at the door. She and Mathers exchanged some comments, then the woman went inside and Mathers motioned for Longarm to follow him onto the porch.

  There were four ordinary chairs set out there. Mathers put Longarm in the one at the far end. They waited for ten minutes or so, long enough that Longarm wished he had stopped at the sutler’s and bought some cigars before coming over here. Finally Washakie emerged from the house.

  He did not have to be introduced. It was clear from his presence that this was a leader. There was some indefinable something about him that set the great chief of the Shoshone apart. And above.

  He sat at the other end of the line of chairs and folded his arms over his chest. He and Mathers exchanged pleasantries, then after several minutes, Longarm was allowed to pose his question.

  Again there was a rather lengthy exchange between Washakie and Mathers.

  Mathers turned to Longarm. “Yes, he knows of Hank Bacon. Bacon let him look through, um, he doesn’t have a word for it, but he means the surveyor’s transit. He does not know where Bacon is now.”

  “Ask him if some of the young men could have robbed Bacon or killed him,” Longarm said.

  Mathers and Washakie spoke for a time, then Mathers said, “The chief knows that young men do foolish things, but if any of the young ones had done such a thing, he would have heard of it. This did not happen. No.”

  Longarm nodded. “At least I know that much now. Please thank the great chief and tell him the great white father in Washington is pleased with him.”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell him that for sure—never mind that the great white father in Washington never heard of Washakie or anybody else out here.” Mathers screwed up his mouth and spat. Longarm got a clear impression that the mountain man did not have a terribly high opinion of the folks back in Washington.

  But then there were times when Longarm agreed with him about that.

  Longarm thanked both Washakie and Bull Mathers and made his way back to the hotel, where Beth was napping.

  Chapter 42

  “I . . . I should have knocked. I’m sorry.” Longarm felt his cheeks flush.

  He had walked in on Beth while she was washing. She was naked, slim and beautiful and bare-assed.

  She snatched up her towel as soon as the door opened but not before Longarm got a glimpse of what she kept hidden from him. He thought not for the first time that Hank Bacon was one lucky son of a bitch. And a stupid one to wander off away from Bethlehem.

  If Longarm had a woman like that, she would be kept in bed twenty-three hours a day and her pussy would be permanently sore as a boil from fucking day and night.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I just, um, don’t you want t’ go have some lunch?”

  “Wait for me outside,” she said, glaring at him, still holding the towel in front of her. Even so he could see the side of one tit, soft and pale and lovely.

  He was fairly sure his hard-on was going to bust the buttons on his fly.

  “Sorry,” he repeated yet again and beat a hasty retreat to the front porch.

  Beth took her time about finishing her bath and dressing. When she finally did join him, she was wearing a new dress, a plain shift made of heavy linen. It was the sort of thing a warrior might buy for his squaw knowing she could decorate it to her liking with beads or shells or anything else that took her fancy.

  Beth looked stunning in the simple garment. It fit her curves wonderfully well and got Longarm’s dick to throbbing again.

  “Can we set here an’ relax for a few minutes?” he said. He did not particularly need any relaxation, but he definitely needed time for his dick to go soft again.

  “Of course.” She perched on a chair next to his. The dress was shorter than what white women generally wore. Her calves were bare almost to the knee. That did nothing for the state of his erection.

  “You’ve been shopping,” Longarm said, looking away from the tantalizing sight of Beth’s legs.

  “I bought a few things, yes.”

  “So I see. Learn anything?”

  “Not really. You?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. I need t’ buy some things, too, if we’re going on from here. An’ we need horses and a pack animal. We got t’ outfit ourselves complete.”

  “I have money,” she said.

  “So does the United States government,” Longarm told her. “We’ll let Uncle Sam pay this time.”

  “Does that mean I can buy whatever I like?”

  “No, but you can get a few things that you’re needin’. I don’t think Uncle will mind that overmuch.” He grinned. And thought about the cigars that the sutler surely would have in his store. Longarm was completely out of his cheroots. And they needed matches. Food. Everything.

  He would have to sign a voucher for it all. The sutler would have to accept a government chit. His license to do business on the reservation depended on the goodwill of the Federal government, after all. You don’t want to bite the hand that is feeding you.

  “Ready?” he asked, rising.

  “Whenever you are.”

  Longarm held a hand out to help Beth up, but she ignored it. He gathered that she was still angry that he’d walked in on her like that.

  Chapter 43

  “We had a run of trouble south o’ here,” Longarm explained. “All our things was lost, so we need t’ completely resupply, right down to an’ including horseflesh. Two animals t’ ride and another to pack.” He showed his badge. “I’ll give you a voucher for it all.”

  “All right,” the sutler, a man named Johnson, said. He called,
“Pierre, help this man.”

  Pierre was a half-breed, part French and part Ottawa. Longarm did not know how the man was with other languages, but his English was fine.

  “What you need, mister?”

  Longarm smiled. “Everything.”

  Pierre grunted and laid out food, blankets, saddles, hackamores rather than bridles, cooking utensils, a water bag, ropes, tarps, and iron stakes.

  “I don’t s’pose you’d have a good rifle, too,” Longarm asked.

  “Got trade muskets. No Sharps or Winchester, though. You want a musket? Sixty-two caliber. Muzzle loader.”

  “No, thanks,” Longarm said. “What about a revolver? Cartridge only.”

  Pierre looked at the Colt on Longarm’s belt.

  “Not for me. Something for her,” he said, pointing toward Beth, who was on the other side of the store looking at yard goods and sun bonnets.

  “I got an Ivor Johnson thirty-eight. Breaktop. Very nice. Almost new. Be just right for the lady.”

  “That sounds good. And cartridges. A couple boxes for the little gun, I would think, and a couple more forty-fives for me,” Longarm said.

  Pierre nodded. “Boss says you want horses, too?”

  “Two saddle horses and something to carry packs. Pack saddle, of course, and panniers. Those can be whatever you have. I’ll want a good hatchet. And a folding saw, the best you have.”

  “Where you going with all this?” Pierre asked.

  “North,” Longarm said. “That’s as close as I know. We’ll be heading north from here.”

  Pierre grunted and went about filling their order. When it was all put together, it made an impressive pile of merchandise.

  “What do you need, Mrs. Bacon?” Johnson asked, obviously wanting to fill her needs himself rather than delegate that task to Pierre.

  Beth bought another linen shift, a sunbonnet, and some soft cloths. Longarm supposed those would be for her time of the month although he did not ask.

  When they were done, Longarm filled out a government voucher, dated and signed it. He handed it to Johnson. “There you go, mister. Paid in full.”

  The sutler grunted and tucked the paper away in a cigar box along with a stack of other, similar forms he had already taken in from the agency and the soldiers at the nearby post.

  Chapter 44

  Longarm spent the afternoon sorting out their collection of new gear and separating it into equally balanced packs for the lop-eared mule to carry.

  One of the riding animals was a mule as well. Longarm had some experience with riding mules. And liked them. Unless Beth had some objection, he would take the mule to ride and let her have the fat little pinto gelding that Pierre had found for them.

  When he was satisfied with the distribution of their gear, he went back to the hotel. This time he remembered to knock before he opened the hotel room door.

  “Ready for supper?”

  “Oh, I already ate. Sorry,” she said, obviously not sorry at all. “Were you planning on me?”

  “No, just tryin’ to make sure you got fed.”

  “I already did that,” she said.

  “All right then. I’ll be back later sometime.”

  Longarm bought a chunk of stringy boiled meat—it could have been any sort of meat although Johnson claimed it was bighorn sheep—and a baked yam at the sutler’s and ate them by the corral, where their horse and mules were munching hay. He was not sure but the hay might have tasted better than his meal. Still it was filling, and that was enough for the moment.

  Come sundown, he began to hanker for a shot or two—or three—of whiskey. Purely medicinal, of course. Over the years he had found that a little rye whiskey was good for the stomach and helped induce sleep. Right. Medicinal.

  White River being an Indian reservation, though, there was no whiskey sold here. At least none that the sutler would admit to—Longarm asked—and none that he could find elsewhere around the agency headquarters.

  Eventually he gave up and returned to the hotel. Carefully knocked before entering. Beth was already in bed.

  Longarm stripped down to his balbriggans and washed at the basin then stretched out on the floor with his lonely blanket.

  * * *

  The girl was slim with pale, pert breasts and tiny, dark-hued nipples. She had a waist no bigger than a minute and hips that flared nicely below that waist.

  Her pussy hair was dark and curly. Soft to the touch and lightly scented with powder or perfume.

  Her skin tasted of wood smoke and rose water. And her lips were sweet.

  She smiled at him and took those lips down, kissing and licking her way down his chest and his belly. Took his swollen cock into her mouth, deep and hot, pulling at him, taking him into her throat.

  Longarm cried out and pressed his face against the softness of her belly while she continued to suck him.

  * * *

  “Marshal Long. Wake up.” Strong fingers prodded his shoulder, shaking him awake.

  “Wake up, Marshal. You were talking in your sleep, and . . . I couldn’t repeat the words you said. You were being quite lewd.”

  Longarm blinked and looked up from the floor to Bethlehem Bacon on the bed above him.

  “What?”

  “You were saying terrible things in your sleep. I will thank you to refrain from language like that, if you please.”

  Longarm scowled at the bitch and rolled over, turning his back to her. Dammit, he couldn’t get laid even in his dreams while she was around.

  Chapter 45

  By the time the sun came up, Longarm had the animals saddled and the packs in place on the spare mule. He shook Beth out of bed, suspecting she would have stayed there half the day if he had not, and fed her a quick breakfast of jerky and canned peaches.

  “Are you ready?” he inquired when the peaches were gone. If he had been alone, he would have been a half hour up the trail by now.

  “Why are you in such a rush?” she demanded. “You don’t even know where we are going.”

  “You’re right. Where we’re going, I never been there. But it will be easy enough t’ figure out,” he said.

  “How in the world are you going to do that?”

  “Your husband was here t’ survey for a railroad, wasn’t he? Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but those are mountains up ahead. Trains can’t climb mountains. They have t’ have easy grades. So from here, we just go where we think a railroad line might be possible. That’s the direction he likely would’ve gone.”

  “Oh.”

  Little was stirring around the agency when Longarm led them out, riding his leggy mule and leading the other. Beth was mounted on the rather sluggish horse. Better, though, for the animal to be slow than to be so spirited that it could get away from her. Longarm figured he could handle pretty much any animal that he could strap a saddle on, but he was not so sure about Bethlehem.

  They passed through the Indian encampment and moved north, Longarm leading the way and choosing the easiest grade but always seeking to move higher.

  They nooned in a grove of cottonwoods above a thin trickle of snowmelt from far away and high above.

  “This isn’t lookin’ very promising,” Longarm mentioned over a cup of coffee and a piece of stick bread.

  “But Hank would have come this way?”

  “Likely,” he said. “There’s no way you an’ me can know that for certain, but I’m trying t’ pick the easiest rise. That’s what he would’ve had t’ do. He was thinking about rails and trains. He had t’ find easy slopes or a railroad wouldn’t be possible. Which, o’ course, is exactly what the railroad company needed t’ know.”

  Beth stood and looked around here. “This is such empty country. Beautiful but empty. I hate to think of Hank being up here by himself with no one to turn to for help if something bad happened.”

/>   Longarm was not thinking about Hank Bacon at that moment. He was, however, thinking about Bacon’s wife. Or widow.

  Beth was a lovely sight anyway, and when she turned like that, it pulled the cloth of her shirt tight against her tits, emphasizing them and the slenderness of her waist, the flare of her ass, and the length of her legs.

  She had found another pair of men’s trousers at the White River sutler’s store and by now had completely abandoned dresses in favor of more practical clothing. A shirt and trousers did not make her look like a boy, though. She was all girl and damned pretty.

  Longarm’s dick agreed completely with that viewpoint. Hank Bacon was—or had been—one fortunate son of a bitch.

  He finished his coffee and wiped out the cup, then settled back and lit a cheroot to smoke while Beth finished her lunch.

  “Ready?” he said when she began packing their cups back into the pack where they were stored.

  “Yes. Let’s go.”

  Four hours later Longarm drew rein and stopped on a sandy shelf just short of a thicket of chokecherry.

  “Why are we stopping?” Beth asked.

  “We’ll camp here for the night,” Longarm told her.

  “So early? We still have at least two hours of daylight left.”

  Longarm dismounted and began to untie the packs on the mule he had been leading all day. “We want t’ follow as close as possible the way your husband would’ve gone, right? Well, he would’ve been stopping every now an’ then to take his survey measurements an’ whatever the hell it is that surveyors do. I figure this would’ve been about as far as he could go that first day out from the agency. So we’ll stop here, too.”

  Beth gave him a questioning look. But she dismounted. Took a few uncertain steps and bent backward, both hands pressing in the small of her back.

  “Tired?” Longarm asked.

  “Yes, of course. I suppose you are right. We should stop now.”