Longarm 245: Longarm and the Vanishing Virgin (12 page)

The five men rode down a long, gentle slope toward the camp. As they approached, Longarm saw by the light of the rising moon that a crude corral had been rigged by tying ropes to some of the dwarfish shin oaks. Four horses were in the corral, but five figures were visible around the fire. Three of them were moving around, each busy with some errand, while another hunkered on his heels next to the fire and fried something in a big pan over the flames.

The fifth and final figure sat on the sand on the opposite side of the fire, knees drawn up, head down, the very picture of dejection.

Nora, thought Longarm. It had to be.

“Better let me do the talking when we ride in, Parker,” Van Horn warned him. “And keep your hands in plain sight and don't make any fast moves. The boys are liable to be spooked pretty easy right now, after nearly running head-on into that ambush this afternoon.”

“You've got me to thank that you didn't,” Longarm reminded him.

“And I'll be sure everybody knows that.”

The three men who had been up and moving around all came to the edge of the camp to greet the newcomers. Obviously, they could all count and knew there was a stranger among the group riding in. They stood with their hands resting on their guns.

“Hello, the camp,” Van Horn sang out to identify himself. “We're comin' in, boys.”

“Who's that with you, Van Horn?” asked one of the outlaws.

“A friend... so he says.” Van Horn reined his horse to a stop, and the men with him followed suit. “He claims he's the man who fired those warning shots when that posse was about to bushwhack us.”

Longarm smelled the scent of bacon coming from the big frying pan. Even under the tense circumstances, the delicious aroma made him realize how long it had been since he'd eaten. Maybe he and Dutchy had something in common.

The man at the fire put the pan aside and straightened to his full height. He was a burly, barrel-chested man with a black Stetson shoved back on graying hair. When he spoke, his voice was like the rattle from a keg of rusty nails.

“And just because he said that, you brought the son of a bitch here? What the hell's the matter with you, Van Horn?”

Van Horn stiffened. “He says he wants to join up with us, Heck.”

Heck Wallace moved his hand toward the gun on his hip.

“And I say maybe I oughta plug the both of you, right here and now.”

Longarm tensed, thinking that he might have to go for his own gun, when something happened that made all the men forget the confrontation for the moment.

The young woman sitting beside the fire began to sob, loudly and miserably.

Wallace cursed and swung around toward the young woman. “Aw, now, don't start that yowlin' again,” he said. “I've already promised you we ain't goin' to hurt you.”

Slowly, Nora's sobs subsided. It was all Longarm could do to stay sitting easy in his saddle as he nodded toward her and asked casually, “Woman trouble?”

“Shut up,” snapped Wallace as he turned back toward Longarm. “Let's see, I was just about to kill you, wasn't I?”

“If you want to shoot the fella who saved your hide and the hides of all your men from that ambush this afternoon, then go ahead,” Longarm said coolly.

“So that was you, huh? Got any proof of that?”

“If I hadn't been there, how would I even know about it?”

“Maybe you're one o' them damned Rangers, tryin' to trick us,” said Wallace. His hand was resting lightly on the butt of his Colt, which was cocked forward in its holster.

“Not hardly.” Longarm inclined his head toward Van Horn and his companions. “Ask Van Horn and the boys. They'll tell you I joined up with them by cutting in from the west. That posse or whatever it was was a good ways back to the south. If I was a lawman, I couldn't have caught up to them as quickly as I did.”

“That makes sense, Heck,” ventured Van Horn. His neck might be on the line too, or at least his standing within the gang. He had to convince Wallace he had done the right thing by bringing Longarm here to the hideout in the sand hills.

Dutchy added, “He sure don't talk like no star packer, Heck. He says he's been ridin' with Lem Pollard up in Wyoming.”

“Pollard got gunned down in Cheyenne a few weeks ago,” Wallace said.

Longarm nodded. “That's right. And I nearly got killed right along with him. Me and a couple of other boys made it out of town one jump ahead of the law. I figured I'd better light out of Wyoming and find me some greener pastures.”

For a long moment, Wallace didn't say anything. Then he blew out a deep breath through the bushy salt-and-pepper mustache that hung over his mouth. “All right,” he said. “What's your name again, mister?”

“Parker,” Longarm told him.

“All right, Parker, I won't kill you... yet. But you best be tellin' the truth. I don't cotton to bein' lied to, 'specially by no-good lawmen. You try anything funny, and you'll die long and hard.”

Longarm swung down from the dun's saddle. “Much obliged for the hospitality,” he said dryly. “Don't worry, Wallace. Only thing funny I know is Dutchy's appetite.”

One of the other outlaws brayed with laughter. “Say, Parker here has got you figured out already, Dutchy,” he gibed.

Longarm joined the others in leading their horses over to the makeshift corral. The other outlaws watched him fairly closely as he tended to the dun, then returned to the fire. Wallace had a pot of beans simmering over the flames now. It was unusual to see the leader of a gang doing the cooking, but evidently that was what Wallace preferred. He took some wild onions from a small bag, chopped them up with his Bowie knife, and dropped them in the pot to cook with the beans. That made the blend of aromas floating in the air smell even better.

Longarm hunkered near the fire, enjoying the warmth of the crackling flames. That also gave him a chance to get a better look at Nora Canady. Even though her head was down, he could see enough of her face to know this was undoubtedly her. He recognized the pert nose, the full, slightly pouty lips. Even with tear-streaked cheeks and her hair hanging loosely around her face, she was damned close to beautiful. She wore a dark brown traveling dress, and high-buttoned shoes peeked out from under the hem.

She must have felt his eyes watching her, because she slowly lifted her head and stared straight at him. Aware that Wallace was still regarding him with suspicion, Longarm reached up and tugged on the brim of his hat as he gave Nora a brief nod. “Ma'am,” he said, not overly polite but not cold either. He tried to give off the air of a man who was reserving judgment on everything until he knew what was going on.

“Can ... can you help me?”

This was the first time Longarm had heard Nora's voice. It was low and hoarse from the crying she had been doing. He glanced toward Wallace, then said, “Well, ma'am, I don't rightly know. What is it that you need?”

Before Nora could answer, Wallace said, “What she needs is to hush up and quit complainin'. She ain't been harmed, and I've told her she won't be hurt if she just cooperates with us. Like tellin' me her name.”

“You don't even know her name?” Longarm said, sounding surprised.

“How the hell could I?” demanded Wallace. “I only grabbed her this afternoon, and since then she ain't done any real talkin'.” He looked at Nora and went on. “If you'd just tell me who you are and how to get hold of your pa or your husband, we could start talkin' about how they're goin' to buy you back from us.”

So that was it, thought Longarm. Nora was wearing a fairly expensive outfit, and when the stagecoach was robbed she could have been carrying some fancy jewelry or something like that, something that had told Wallace she came from a wealthy background. Quite possibly, kidnapping her had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, with no deeper motivation than Wallace wanting to collect some ransom money.

Even though Longarm understood all of that, he pretended not to. Instead, he knelt there by the fire with a slightly baffled look on his face. It was perfectly all right with him if Wallace and the other outlaws thought he was a little bit slow on the uptake.

“Ma'am, if I was you, I'd do what Mr. Wallace says and cooperate with him,” Longarm told Nora.

She just gave him a look of bitter disappointment, shook her head slightly, and went back to staring at the fire in front of her.

“Told you, Parker,” said Wallace. “This gal's as stubborn as any female I've ever run across. And I've known some mule-headed ones, let me tell you.”

“Ain't they all?” asked Dutchy, who had come up to the fire in time to hear Wallace's comment. “Women always smile so sweet and say”—his voice went up into a falsetto—“ ‘Whatever you want, sweetheart, it's up to you.' Then they blister your balls good an' proper if you don't do just exactly what they think you oughta.” The other outlaws laughed.

Longarm smiled faintly, but kept any comments to himself. He tended to give the ladies a mite more credit than that, but he didn't want to get into an argument on his first—and hopefully last—night as a member of the Wallace gang.

Van Horn came up alongside Longarm and said, “Fetch your cup, Parker, and try some of the boss's coffee.”

“Sounds good,” said Longarm as he straightened. He added to Wallace, “Smells good too.”

The outlaw leader just grunted and stirred the pot of beans. Longarm got a battered tin cup from his saddlebags, and Van Horn filled it from an equally battered pot. The coffee was so hot and strong Longarm suspected it would eat right through the tin if he gave it half a chance.

Wallace started dishing up the food. The members of the gang crowded around to be served. Longarm hung back a little, regarding the knot of men in front of him and wondering if he could get the drop on all of them at once if he pulled his gun.

That would be too risky, he decided. He would never be able to convince Nora of who he really was and get both of them mounted on horses and out of the camp without at least one of the gang trying to stop them. He didn't want any shooting at all if he could help it.

Wallace handed him a bowl of beans with several strips of bacon lying on top. Longarm took it and sat down cross-legged by the fire, like the other members of the gang had done. Everyone was eating except Wallace and Nora. Van Horn looked up from his bowl and asked, “I reckon Phil's comin' in later for his supper?”

“Yeah, you'll take his place after while,” said Wallace.

That brief exchange told Longarm quite a bit. There was another member of the gang he hadn't seen yet, a man named Phil, and the only logical reason for his absence was that he was standing guard duty somewhere out there in the darkness. He was probably serving as an outrider, endlessly circling the camp on the lookout for anyone who might be searching for the outlaws. So even if Longarm had gotten Nora away from the camp earlier, as he had considered trying to do, he still would have had to deal with the man on guard. That was something to remember for the future as well.

Wallace dipped more beans in a bowl, added bacon to them, and carried the bowl over to Nora. She didn't look up at him, didn't even acknowledge that he was there.

“Here you go, ma'am,” Wallace said to her. “You'd best eat.”

Still without looking up, she said, “I don't want any.” Her voice was a whisper.

“It's mighty good, ma'am,” Dutchy told her. “And you need to keep your strength up.”

“Why?” asked Nora, and her voice was a little louder now. “So I won't faint while you're ... while you're all assaulting me?”

She was afraid she was going to be raped, Longarm realized, which was a pretty logical fear for a woman such as her under these circumstances. City-bred as she was, she probably knew little of the rough code of conduct that governed most frontiersmen, even owlhoots like these.

“Nobody's goin' to hurt you,” said Wallace. “I've told you that before, ma'am, and I reckon I'll keep on sayin' it until you get it through your head. Hell, we ain't Comanches.” Wallace knelt and thrust the bowl of beans at her. “Besides, it wouldn't make sense. Your pa or your husband will be a lot more likely to pay your ransom if he knows you ain't been touched.”

Finally, Nora lifted her head a little so that she could look through hooded eyelashes at Wallace. After a moment, she reached out tentatively and took the bowl of food from him. She spooned up a few of the beans and put them in her mouth. After a moment, she nodded. “They're good.”

Wallace's craggy face split in a grin. Clearly, he appreciated the compliment.

Longarm kept eating, and he had to agree with Nora's assessment: The food was good. He washed it down with more of the strong coffee, and when he was finished he slid a cheroot from his shirt pocket and lit it with a twig from the fire. Under other circumstances, he would have felt contented, maybe even a little lazy.

As it was, though, a part of his brain remained alert and razor-sharp, no matter what he might look like on the outside. When his chance came, he would have to be ready to seize it.

Nora ate with surprising gusto, considering that she had been snatched off a stagecoach a few hours earlier and brought to this camp of ruthless killers. That was the way of things, Longarm mused. The belly had its own schedule, and it didn't care overmuch what else was happening in the immediate vicinity.

When Nora had finished the food, she handed the empty bowl back to Wallace. “Thank you,” she said.

“You're welcome.”

“I ... I might like a cup of that coffee....”