Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839) (19 page)

MacLeod sputtered, “You can't prove that!”

Longarm nodded and said, “It might be hard to prove in front of a jury, but she did it. It had to be her. You were in Sacramento. She mixed some of your assay chemicals in wine and gave it to them. Then, with them out of the way, she just rolled that car down at us. It missed Romero and me, but . . .”

Baxter said, “The poor woman must be mad! Are you suggesting that she was behind the high-grading of her own husband's mine?”

Longarm took a long drag on his cheroot, and exhaled a billowing cloud of blue smoke.

“Nope. She just helped out by killing folks who came too close to figuring out the game.”

“Then you
are
saying she was in on it?” Baxter pressed.

“There had to be somebody watching this end of the operation. None of the Mexicans working here knew much about mining, but Vallejo was bright and learning, so he had to go.”

MacLeod asked, “Have you forgotten they killed Lottie's dog that afternoon?”

The marshal regarded the glowing tip of his cigar as he said patiently, “She did that herself to draw suspicion away from her. She had no alibi to speak of, but who suspects a pretty little gal who's all cut up about her poor dog, Rex?”

MacLeod said incredulously, “I don't believe a word you're saying. If you thought for a minute that Lottie had done half the things you say, then Señorita Vallejo's right. You'd be after her this minute.”

“Oh, I'll use Lovejoy's line to Sacramento in a few minutes to call the marshal down that way. They've been peeved at me for sticking my nose into their jurisdiction, anyway. I'll have them pick her up when the bank opens tomorrow morning. It'll make them feel good to be in on the capture.”

MacLeod scribbled hastily on the last paper and stood up again, holding it out to Baxter, as he said, “All right. Give me the bank draft. I haven't got time to listen to this maniac! I have to find out where my wife is!”

To his credit, Baxter wasn't a complete fool. He looked quizzically at Longarm, who nodded and said, “Sure, give the man his money. That's what you came all the way out here to do.”

Baxter bent over and endorsed the bank draft, muttering, “For a moment I expected you to accuse
him
of murder!”

Longarm smiled crookedly, and said, “Nope. He's got enough on his plate with one murderer in the family.”

Baxter handed MacLeod the draft and the miner stuffed it in his shirt pocket, hardly looking at it, then stepped over to his gunbelt hanging from a peg on the wall, strapped the revolver on, and headed for the door.

Felicidad asked Longarm, “Aren't you going with him to help look for her?”

Longarm shook his head, walked over to the stove, and picked up the coffeepot. He got three cups from the china cabinet, came back to the table, and poured coffee for Baxter, Felicidad, and himself, saying, “We might as well set a spell. I want to give him a good lead. He took a shot at me the other day, and he shoots tolerably well.”

The other two gaped wide-eyed at him, ignoring the coffee as Longarm pulled up a chair and sat down. He said, “Come on, nobody's going to fuss at us for helping ourselves. Neither of them ever intend to come back here to this cabin.”

Baxter sank down into a chair, obviously puzzled, and asked, “Just what in God's name is going on around here?”

Longarm took a sip of his coffee before answering, “He's likely going to kill her when he catches up with her. She wasn't supposed to double-cross him like that. In all modesty, I played a right neat trick on the two of them. They call it misdirection in the magic book I was reading over at the county seat.”

Felicidad stared in horror at him as she asked, “You
want
him to kill his wife?”

Longarm said amiably, “Sure. I'd never in a million years get a jury to believe she was guilty. I'd have a hard row to hoe proving it was MacLeod who played all those games with the ore, too. This way I figure to get two birds with one stone. He's too blamed mad at her to think straight, and I'll sure as hell prove he shot his wife. I just have to give the rascal time, is all.”

Baxter exploded, “The hell with his damned wife! You just said MacLeod was behind the high-grading, but damn it, it was
his
ore they were stealing!”

“Hell,” Longarm said, “there never was any ore to steal. The Lost Chinaman was played out years ago. MacLeod and Lottie bought it for a song, aiming to sell it to some pilgrim like yourself.”

“That's impossible! Have you forgotten that I assayed the ore personally? You had me check it out the day you rode down the mountain on it with MacLeod.”

“Yep, and when we got to the mill, it was worthless. That was even more impossible. I don't believe in spooks and my fool rump was holding the stuff down all the way to the mill. So somebody had to be a liar. I figured for a while it might be you, but there was just no way to make you fit. A man doesn't salt a mine to
buy
it. He salts a worthless mine to
sell
it.”

He saw the stricken look on Baxter's face and said soothingly, “Don't feel so bad. They fooled Herc Romero too, and he's an experienced hard-rock miner. MacLeod was too slick just to blast gold birdshot into the rock. He dissolved maybe a hundred dollars' worth in aqua regia, then let it soak into the rock face and some sample lumps he left about for snoopy folks to pocket. Did you notice, when we were down in the mine before, that they weren't working that face at all? He had his greenhorn Mexican help digging pure quartz in the
other tunnel!
”

Baxter shook his head in confusion. “Never mind the mine itself. Damn it, we took random samples from two whole cars of what you claim was worthless rock. I tested them with my own aqua regia. You saw the gold that settled out.”

“Sure I did. That was pretty slick on their part. You see, they switched bottles on you. There are a dozen ways they could have worked it, since all those little brown bottles look the same. Either one of them only needed a moment to open your kit while you weren't looking and . . . hell, you're a bright lad. Explain it yourself to the señorita here.”

Baxter's mouth was hanging open as though he were trying to catch flies, so Longarm told Felicidad, “Gold dissolves in aqua regia. It stays dissolved and invisible till you neutralize the acid with alkali. Then the gold settles out, no matter what else you may have put in the test tube. I read that in a book.”

Baxter's face brightened as his confusion cleared. “Yes, by God, I can see how that would work! If my acid was contaminated with gold, it would assay almost anything as gold-bearing ore!”

Longarm said, “I know. I got a drop on my hat, and when it dried, I had a medium-high-grade Stetson. That was me who busted up your room, by the way. We call it misdirection, among us magicians. I found out about the gold in your acid when the bottle busted on me.”

“Hah! I knew you were behind that mess! But you're missing something. They got through with two whole carloads of real ore, the last time!”

The deputy smiled slyly. “No, they never did. That was misdirection, too. I asked the folks down at the mill to lie for me. They just
told
MacLeod he'd brought real ore this time. It must have surprised hell out of him. Did you notice that he was down there looking for a vein he hadn't known he really had?”

“But they
paid
him for the ore. Damn it,
I
just paid him, too! Oh, my God, if I just paid two million dollars for a salted mine . . .”

“Now don't go blubbering up on us, old son. The bank's agreed not to cash either check. I had a talk with the president of the bank and he thought it was a right good way to trap the two of them.”

Felicidad said, “I still can't understand why she tried to murder her husband.”

Longarm put down his cup, leaned back expansively, and said, “I figured I'd drive a wedge between them when I fooled MacLeod with the false assay at the mill. You can both see how hard it would be to prove any of this in court if they just stuck together. I was foolish to go down in the mine that way after seeing she was all riled that he was hesitating with their prize in sight. But I figured she'd argue with him some before she turned on him. Lottie was smarter than she let on. She must have figured I'd outfoxed them some way, and that he was playing into my hands. So, seeing she had us in a right convenient place, she just put a box of dynamite aboard a car, lit the fuse, and let her roll. She had no way of knowing we'd come out alive. She probably lit out before folks who might have heard the blast could ask pesky questions. She aims to hear the sad news in Sacramento, where she doubtless went to buy supplies or something. Her plan is to come back up, all sad-eyed, and sit tight until some other fool drops by with another bank draft.”

Baxter said, “Ah,
that's
why you're sitting here so unconcerned! You expect her to return to the scene of the crime!”

“Not hardly. When she hears about the cave-in, she'll hear that the boys from Sheep Ranch dug us out, too. We'd best go out and take them down to the saloon, by the way. I'd say we owe those boys a drink.”

Baxter looked at Longarm with newfound respect. “This time I'll pay. I'll even buy a drink for
you
, Longarm! But if you don't expect them back, shouldn't you be looking for them?”

Longarm looked at Felicidad and grinned, saying, “Later. I'm in no hurry to ride. At least not before sunrise.”

*   *   *

Longarm made sweet love to Felicidad as the dawn light crept in on them through her bedroom window. But the woman was upset, knowing it was probably the last time they'd be together, even though Longarm lied and promised the way a gentleman was supposed to.

He was feeling a mite wistful, too. Felicidad was pretty as a picture, in or out of her dress, and he'd been right about one thing: she was better in bed than the librarian in San Andreas. Pru was wilder, but Felicidad was sweeter and warmer. He knew he was going to miss her, and that some night when he was all alone, he was going to think back to this moment and cuss himself for being such a tumbleweed.

Common sense told him a man was far better off with some sweet little gal waiting at home for him with his pipe and slippers, only Longarm didn't smoke a pipe and he owned no slippers. He was a hard-driving lawman with a job to do, and such pleasures as life handed out to him had to be enjoyed on the fly.

For the fifth or sixth time Felicidad pleaded, “Can't I come back to Denver with you,
querido?
There is nothing to keep me here. I promise not to get in your way.”

He fingered her pert brown nipple absently and soothed, “We'll talk on it later. I have to ride down to Sacramento after the MacLeods in a few minutes, honey.”

She sobbed, “You are never coming back this way. Your work here is finished!”

“I don't know,” he equivocated. “My office might want me to clear up a few loose ends. It doesn't seem likely that anyone around here was in on that confidence game with them, but old Billy Vail might want me to make sure.”

“Do you promise, then?”

He shook his head and said, “Don't ask for promises, honey. Many a gal has chased a man out of her corral by trying to brand him with promises just as he was starting to eat out of her hand. I said I'll be back if I can make it. Let's leave it at that.”

He made love to her one last time, a bit annoyed that she didn't seem as pleasured this time, then he sat up and pulled on his clothes. As he stood in her doorway, she stood up, naked, and came over to kiss him goodbye. She was well worth remembering as she stood before him in the rosy light. He kissed her deeply and with meaning, then he turned away and walked off quickly, not looking back.

He saddled his gelding in the barn and rode out, cutting across the rolling fields of wild mustard in the mountain sunlight. The air was cool and the gelding was frisky, so he rode northwest at a lope, jumping rail fences and feeling sort of good.

He told himself,
You really are a shameless skunk with women
. But he was grinning like a kid stealing apples just the same.

*   *   *

He rode the forty-odd miles to Sacramento, taking most of the morning and leaving the horse lathered and not so sassy at the army remount station just outside of town.

The remount officer started to give him hell for treating government property that way with an Indian uprising brewing, so Longarm said, “You must not have gotten word from headquarters yet. There ain't any Indian uprising. Old Bitter Water is a friend of mine. We used to bust out of jail together all the time.”

“What are you talking about? The boys up in Calaveras County report smoke talk from a hundred hills. Some livestock is missing, and—”

Longarm interrupted him. “Now don't get your balls in an uproar. There was only one fire. I was there. As for missing stock, there's always missing stock. Cows don't have a lick of sense.”

The officer blinked and asked, “You were
with
the Miwok when they started sending those smoke signals?”

Longarm didn't know just what the army regulations had to say about white men sending Indian smoke signals, so he hedged a little and said, “I just told you Bitter Water is a friend of mine. He was signaling his band to gather for the acorn harvest or something. They're sort of like squirrels when it comes to gathering nuts for the winter. But like I said, it never meant anything.”

“Damn it! They have half the county holed up with loaded rifles! They had no right to scare folks so!”

“I know,” Longarm soothed him, adding, “I told them they should put on overalls and start looking for steady jobs. Bitter Water says he won't send up any more smoke signals. Meanwhile, if you'd see about shipping my saddle and possibles back to Denver, and tell me how I'm to get into town without a mount . . .”