Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839) (32 page)

“That's just what I don't want you to have to do,” Longarm told him. “It ain't the cowhands who do the fence-cutting that I want to uncover. It's the men behind 'em.”

“You mean Hawkins? If he had a hand in what happened last night, we do not know it.”

“He might not have been behind it, I grant you. But being the biggest cattleman around here, he'd have to have known it was going to happen.”

“Yes. I suppose that is true,” Mordka agreed.

“And something else sticks in my craw. I just can't believe it was happenstance, that night raid happening so soon after Oren Stone got here. He's a hard, cold fish.”

“You have talked with Stone? About the options he has on our crops?”

“Sure. Like I told you I would. But I ain't got good news. He says the options are legal, and he's going to make you deliver.”

“There is no way to stop him?”

“None that I can see right now. Don't give up, though. You've got a while before you have to worry about turning your grain over to Stone.”

“Two months, a bit more, perhaps.”

Longarm stared at the elder. “Two months! Don't you know the weather turn's going to come along before that? There ain't a year when this part of Kansas doesn't have snow or a hard freeze early in the winter.”

“We know, Marshal. It does not bother us.”

“It sure better. I don't know about any kind of wheat that'll dry out and get cutting-ripe if it's frozen or snowed on.”

“Let us see what the weather brings. As I have said, it will not bother us. You will see.”

“If you ain't going to worry about it, I sure won't. I've got other things on my mind.”

“Dismiss them, my friend. Apply all the power of your mind to recovering from your wound.”

“Oh, I'll take care of that too, Mordka. I'll be out of your way before I wear my welcome out, I hope.”

“You know that is not possible to do, after all that you've done for the Brethren. You honor my house, Marshal. Stay forever.”

“Thanks, Mordka, but I sure hope it won't be that long.”

*   *   *

It seemed to Longarm that it would be forever, though. As Dr. Franklin had predicted, he could stand up and hobble around painfully on weak legs after the fourth day, but only as long as he kept his back bowed. When he tried to stand erect, pain gripped his side and tried to pull him down. He walked better with a hand on someone's arm, and usually the arm was Tatiana's.

During the first days, when Longarm had been confined to bed, she had stood aside, letting Marya and Mordka care for their guest, though the latter's help had been pretty well confined to helping Longarm on and off the chamber pot, a job that wasn't considered suitable for a woman. Before it became possible for Longarm to walk, Tatiana had been the one who had sat in the room while her parents attended to the occasional, field chores, which diminished each day as the wheat stalks stretched higher, until they reached a man's waist, and the heads grew longer and plumper and began to turn from green to gold. Then Mordka returned to his books, and Marya to her housework, and it was Tatiana who kept a watchful eye on Longarm, helping him out of bed and into the sunshine, where he sat on a long bench in front of the house, trying to flex his sore muscles back to their usual resiliency.

They were sitting on the bench when a surrey, drawn by a magnificent sorrel gelding, threaded its way along the narrow lane and drew up in front of the gate. A derbied man held the reins. In the center seat, a woman sat alone

“Is this the house of Mordka Danilov?” she called.

“Yes,” Tatiana replied. Her eyes widened as she looked at the elaborate costume the woman wore.

In spite of the warm weather, the surrey's occupant had on a fur hat and a neckpiece of seal, over a velvet dress of deep blue. Kid gloves that matched the dress were on her hands. Under the fur hat, golden hair glistened; it swept in a curve below the woman's ears and was caught up in shoulder-length ringlets at the back of her neck. Her nose was thin, with a suggestion of an arch between nostrils and eyebrows; she had full lips on which Longarm recognized the added hue of lip salve, and a full jaw which swept in a line that would have been totally classic had it not been for the suggestion of a double chin that was beginning to bulge beneath it. She could have been any age from thirty to the mid-forties.

Looking with green eyes from beneath full brows at Tatiana, she asked,
“Vi panimayu Paruski?”

“Da,”
Tatiana replied.

Whatever else was said was lost on Longarm. The two women spoke briefly in Russian, then the woman began a regal descent from the surrey while Tatiana went hurriedly into the house. By the time the new arrival was at the gate, Mordka and Marya were following Tatiana outside. Even without knowing Russian, Longarm could follow what happened then. There were greetings exchanged, and introductions that began with handshakes and bows and ended in embraces. Then the group went inside. Longarm leaned back against the house and inspected the surrey and its driver. His inspection had barely begun when the man knotted the reins around the whip socket, got out of the carriage, and walked over to the bench.

“From the Danilov family you do not belong, yes?” he asked.

“No. They're just putting me up for a few days.”

“Ah. Permit me. Is here allowed for servant to speak. I am Gregor Basilovich. I attend on Madame Ilioana Karsovana.”

“That's the lady who went inside?”

“Da.”
Basilovich shook his head. “A sad matter. She looks all over
Amirika
for the brother who for years she has not found.”

“Is he supposed to belong to the Brethren?”

Basilovich shrugged. “Once he vas. But to all places yet she has gone, is know him nobody.” He took two cigars from his pocket and offered one to Longarm.
“Eta nilza?”

“If you mean do I smoke, I sure do.” Longarm took the cigar and looked at it; it was long, fat, Corona-shaped, wrapped in rich, dark leaf. He bit off the end. Basilovich was ready with a match. Longarm puffed. The smoke was heavy, and sweeter than the cheroots he favored. He nodded. “A real fine stogie. Thanks, Mr. . . .”

“Basilovich, Gregor.”

Mordka appeared in the doorway. “Marshal Long, would you join us indoors? Perhaps you can help Madame Karsovana.”

“Sure.” Longarm made slow business of getting up until the coachman saw his difficulty and offered a hand. “Thanks, Mr. Basilovich. I don't generally need help, but I took a rifle slug a few days back, and I still don't move around so good.”

“Ah. I see. To help is my pleasure.”

With a hand from Basilovich and another from Mordka at the top of the low step, Longarm got into the house. Chairs had been drawn into a rough circle around the table where Mordka's books still lay open, and steaming tea had been served. Mordka led Longarm to the chair in which the newcomer sat.

“Madame Ilioana Karsovana, permit me I introduce Marshal Long. He is a U.S. government policeman. It may be he can help your search.”

“Marshal Long.” Madame Karsovana extended a hand, palm down. She had removed her gloves, and diamonds gleamed from rings on her two middle fingers.

Longarm took the extended hand, and found his own grasped in soft but surprisingly strong fingers. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Karsovana. Your man outside was just telling me you're looking for your brother, but I don't know as I can be much help to you.”

With a sad smile, Madame Karsovana said, “It is a difficult search, you understand, Marshal? Your country is almost as large as ours.”

To Longarm's astonishment, she spoke nearly perfect and almost unaccented English. He said, “It's big, all right. But maybe if you've got some idea where your brother was the last time you heard from him—”

“Ah, that's the trouble. But do sit down, please. Mr. Danilov told me you are recovering from a wound.”

Mordka helped Longarm to a chair. As he went to his own seat by the table, he said, “Madame is not sure whether her brother was one of the Brethren, or stayed with the main Mennonite community. But I have had to tell her that he is not among us.”

“That's too bad,” Longarm said. “When was the last time you heard from him, Mrs. Karsovana?”

“This is my problem, Marshal. Since Pimenn left our own country, he has written only one letter. That was from New York, and in it he said only that he was traveling from there west, to join some group that was planning to settle on land the U.S. was offering.”

Longarm ran a hand through his hair, and scratched the back of his neck. “West covers a lot of territory, when you're leaving from New York. Now, Mordka'd be more likely than me to know where there's bunches of Russian Mennonites settled.”

“Unhappily, I do not,” Danilov said. “In Pennsylvania, yes, Ohio, Illinois, these I know. But Madame has already been to these places, she tells me.”

“Well, if I can help, you just tell me,” Longarm offered. “But like I told you, I'd be about as lost as you are, trying to find just one man in such a big space.”

“Yes, of course. It is kind of you to offer to help, Marshal. I may call on you, if I think of any way that you can do so.” Madame Karsovana rose, said something to Mordka in Russian.

Out of deference to Longarm, he replied in English. “It was our pleasure, Madame. You will be going, then?”

She shrugged. “Soon. I am very exhausted, and so are my horse and my servant. Perhaps we will stay in the town hotel for a few days before we go on.”

There was a flurry of leave-taking in which Longarm did not participate. The Danilovs walked with Madame Karsovana to her carriage, where they stood for a few more moments, then the family came back inside.

“Too bad Mrs. Karsovana's had such bad luck,” Longarm remarked. “I'd like to've helped her, seeing she's a friend of yours, but there wasn't much I could've told her but what I did, and been honest.”

Mordka Danilov shook his head. A grim smile, one that Longarm had never seen him wear before, was twisting his lips. He said, “Do not waste your time worrying about that one, Marshal.”

“Why not? She seemed to be a nice enough lady.”

“Seemed to be, yes. But I do not think she is what she pretends to be.”

“I guess I don't follow you,” the marshal said with a frown.

“That is because you do not understand the Russian government, my friend.” Mordka sat down heavily. “The Tsar is a jealous man, a greedy man. To lose even one subject angers and displeases him.”

“I don't know much about Russia, like you said, Mordka, but it seems to me the Tsar's got so many of 'em that a few wouldn't be missed.”

“So one would think, but you would be wrong. And when hundreds of us leave, as did the Mennonites and the Brethren, the ruler of all the Russias becomes very angry.” Mordka chuckled. “I will tell you the truth, we do nothing to quiet his anger. There are, you must understand, a number of secret newspapers in Russia today.”

“Excuse me, Mordka. I guess I don't understand. How do you keep a newspaper secret?”

“These are printed in small basement shops, and handed from one reader to another. Many of them have letters from Russians like us, who have settled here or in other countries. These papers the
gaydbeshnik
, the state security officers, will seize. And when a letter from an emigrant, such as we of the Brethren, appears in one, perhaps the writer's name is sent to the
Okhrana
, the secret police. That, I think, is why Madame Karsovana is here now.”

“Wait a minute!” Longarm protested. “You mean she's a spy?”

“That is exactly what I mean. I suspect that both she and her coachman are of the
Okhrana
, and are here to make trouble for us!”

Chapter 11

For a moment, all Longarm could do was to stare openmouthed at his host. Finally he said, “I know you well enough by now to know you ain't one to go off half-cocked, Mordka. I guess you've got good reasons for thinking what you do.”

“Yes. Marya and I were sure the Karsovana woman is not what she claims to be the minute we heard her talk.”

Marya Danilov spoke for the first time. “Her accent. She is not of our part of Russia, Marshal. From St. Petersburg she comes. Even before the Brethren parted from the others of our belief, there was from St. Petersburg nobody among us.”

“Her coachman, too, is from the capital,” Mordka added. “I knew it as soon as he greeted us.” Seeing the doubt in Longarm's face, he shook his head. “Do not question what we know, Marshal. In this country, I understand the people speak differently in different places.”

“That's right,” Longarm agreed.

“In Russia, it is true as well. Believe me, this Karsovana woman, she is an imposter. She means us no good.”

“You've got enough troubles as it is,” Longarm said soberly. “Between the cattle ranchers and Stone, you don't need any more.”

Danilov nodded. “I am thinking of that. If somehow this woman finds out what problems we have—and the agents of the
Okhrana
are clever, make no mistake about that—then she could join with them to—” he paused and shook his head sorrowfully— “to finish us here.”

“I didn't know it was all that bad,” Longarm said.

“It is bad, Marshal. We must get a good return from our wheat this year, or we will have no money to see us through the winter and the planting of a crop next year.”

“You know,” Longarm's voice was thoughtful, “seems to me like you need more help than I've been giving you. I better get back in action right quick, get back to town, so I can start digging where I left off. This ain't any time for me to be pampering myself.” He struggled to his feet. “Come on. Let's get my horse saddled up. I'm going back into Junction and go to work!”

In spite of Mordka's objections, Longarm went to the room he'd been occupying, and started to pick up his saddle from the corner where it had been put the night of the raid. He bent down, but when he tried to lift the saddle, a pain of such intensity stabbed his side that he was unable to stand up. If Mordka had not followed him, and been standing close enough to catch him, Longarm would have fallen to the floor.

“No, my friend,” Mordka said when he'd helped Longarm to the bed. “You cannot leave here yet. What good would it do you to be in Junction? You can scarcely walk alone, to say nothing of riding a horse.”

“I guess you're right. Looks like I've got to put up with being crippled for a few more days. But it's only going to be a few days, I promise you that!”

Longarm's promise proved impossible to keep. A day passed, and another, and though the sharp pain that had caught him when he'd tried to lift the saddle faded away, he still could do no more than hobble about. Mordka sent for Dr. Franklin, who thumped and prodded, and curtly denied Longarm's urgent plea to do something that would let him resume full activity.

“Don't be a damned fool,” the doctor said. “It's going to be another week before you're able to get around without hurting.”

“Well, if you really want the truth, Doc, I don't feel quite up to forking a horse yet,” Longarm confessed. “And even if I could, there's something else that bothers me. I put on my gunbelt this morning, and even if it's my left side that hurts, I can't make a decent draw with my right hand yet. Now why the hell is that?”

“Because that rifle bullet went through two muscles that wrap around from your belly to your backbone. They're called the
mandibula obliquus externus
and the
mandibula obliquus internus
, and they lie on top of one another with the muscle fibers running crossways. There's a membrane between them to let them slide smoothly when you use them. That's three layers of tissue, if you've been following what I've told you so far, and all three of those layers are still raw; they haven't healed fully. The muscles are irritated every time you move. And they're anchored just about where the same set of muscles on your right side are, so when you tighten up the right side, the left side tightens up in sympathy.”

“Doc, I just asked why I still can't make a good right-hand draw. I didn't want you to give me a damned anatomy lesson.”

“You asked me why; I told you why. I'll tell you something else, Marshal. From now on, I can't give you any medicine that's going to help you. You've got to be your own doctor, starting today. Don't let it worry you, though. The only prescription you'll have to fill calls for a little bit of exercise and a hell of a lot of patience.”

“Patience never was my long suit, Doc. But I'll try.”

Tatiana came in after the doctor left. She'd joined Mordka in objecting to Longarm's insistence on going back to Junction at once. Longarm had discounted Tatiana's protests. What to him had been a galling period of enforced idleness had become for her a way to see a world about which she was intensely curious, but knew nothing. To the young girl, whose contacts with people had been confined to the Brethren, Longarm was a being from that other world.

As soon as his wound had healed enough for him to sit up, Tatiana had begun peppering him with questions. The more he answered, the more she asked.

“Is so many things
Amirikanits
I do not learn yet,” she had said, a small frown puckering her smooth young face. “
Matushka
, she says I do not need to know, only to cook and keep clean the house. But is not enough, I think.”

“Well, knowing about some things works two ways, Miss Tatiana. Like in my case, I've learned a lot of things I reckon I'd be better off if I hadn't. Everything ain't nice or pretty, you know.”

“
Da
. I know. I am not child still, Marshal. I know is bad in world. But if I do not know bad, how do I tell from good?”

“I guess you just learn to sort 'em out as you go along. If there's another way, I ain't run into it yet.”

They spent more and more time together, and when Longarm became able to move around, the restraints that had existed between them diminished. Even with individuals as different as Longarm and Tatiana, it would have been impossible for this not to have happened. From the first day he'd come to the Danilov house, there had been the physical contact between them of Tatiana sponging his face and arms, of helping him to shift position in the bed. The contact became even more intimate after Mordka botched his first effort to shave Longarm's sprouting crop of whiskers, and Tatiana volunteered to take on the job.

After shaving him the first time, her touch light and delicate with the razor, her hands warm and moist with the soap as she moved his face to the angles she needed to pass the blade over his skin, Tatiana asked, “Is all right? I do not hurt you with sharp edge of razor?”

Longarm felt his cheeks and chin. “Nope. Not a bit. Feels a lot better than some of the barber shaves I've had.”

Blushing, Tatiana confessed, “Is make me nervous, Marshal. Is first time I feel so much a man's skin.”

“I sure wouldn't want to embarrass you, now. Maybe, if it bothers you, I better let Mordka shave me, till I can lift my hands up to my face and shave myself.”

“No, no. Is all right. I do not mind, so long as I do not hurt you.”

Even after Longarm could raise his arms without pain, Tatiana continued the daily shave. Longarm came to look forward to the razor, to the feel of her hands on his cheeks. He quickly got the impression that she was no longer embarrassed by their contacts, but in the week that followed Dr. Franklin's last visit, it seemed to him that she let her hand linger a bit longer than was really necessary when she passed her fingers over his moist face to explore, for any patches of stubble she might have missed.

Old son
, he told himself that night as he lay awake waiting for sleep to come,
you better start shaving yourself. First thing you know, that little girl's going to put her hands someplace else, and you'll be just horny enough so you won't want to stop her
.

*   *   *

When he suggested the next day that he was well enough to shave himself, Tatiana objected. “
Nyet
. Is not make me feel nervous. Truly. I like.” She began blushing as she added in a timid voice. “Is feel good to fingers, face of a man.”

“You're joshing me, Miss Tatiana. A pretty girl like you, why, you ought to have beaux lined up from here to Junction, waiting for you to take notice of them.”

She frowned. “Beaux?
Ya nipanimayu
. What means, beaux?”

“Sweethearts. Fellows waiting to court you.”

“Ah,
iskateli? Nyet
. Is not possible. Already, you see,
ya pomoluit
. I have betrothed.”

“You're engaged to be married? Is that right?”

“
Da
. With Antonin Keverchov, so soon as harvest is finish.”

Longarm frowned. “Don't guess I've met him.”

“He was at supper the first time you are visit. But was so many new faces to you, maybe you do not remember.”

“Guess not. Well,” Longarm said, “I sure wish you a lot of happiness.” Then, jokingly, he added, “If you weren't already spoke for, I'd be tempted to set my cap at you myself—if I was a marrying kind of man, that is.”

Again, Tatiana blushed. “Now you make me feel funny some more. Is not for you, plain country girl.”

“You might be a country girl, but you sure ain't plain, Miss Tatiana. Come right down to it, you're one of the prettiest girls I've run across in a long time.”

“
Spasiba
, Marshal. But girl like me, who knows nothing, is not suited for
boyar
like you.”

“What's that mean,
boyar
?”

“
Boyar
is big, important man, is leader for other people.”

“You got me wrong, Miss Tatiana. I just work at my trade like your pa does, or like your young man, Antonin whatever-his-name-is.”

Tatiana shook her head stubbornly. “You are
boyar
, all right. Is in way you talk, way men do quick what you command them. I know, I see how by you is to lead.” She sighed, and to Longarm's surprise, her eyes filled with tears. Her voice was torn between anger and distress as she went on, “You think I don't want to be more as farm girl, marry to farm, work hard all my life? I like better marry man like you, be
boyar
's wife, lady, live in city, have new clothes, like Ilioana Karsovana. But is not to happen,
nyet
?”

Longarm's hand started involuntarily to reach for Tatiana's face and brush away the tears that were beginning to run down her cheeks. He caught himself in time and pulled his hand back. His impulse was too dangerous to follow, he realized.

Angry for allowing himself to drift into such a situation, he said, “Now, you're just feeling low, Miss Tatiana. You and your young man are going to settle down and be happy. And after you get started, farm life ain't so bad.”

“How to be sure this will be the way?”

“I don't guess you can be sure. There's not anybody who knows what tomorrow's going to be like. We just take our chances, go along day after day, and endure whatever we can't cure.”

“
Da
. Is what
matushka
tell me all time.”

“I guess she knows. And Mordka's a real smart man. Likely he'll tell you the same thing.”

“
Da
. He have say this already.” Tatiana wiped away the film of moisture on her cheeks and found a smile somewhere. “I am silly girl.
Prisnatelniey
, you don't laugh at me. Now I wash off soap from your face like always.” Then, sadly, she said, “But it is not the same again next time,
nyet
?”

“No. I reckon I'd better start shaving myself.”

Tatiana finished washing Longarm's face and put the damp cloth back into the washbasin. She placed the palm of her hand on his cheek. “Am to miss shave you, Marshal. I like feel of your face.”

“Pretty soon you're going to have a husband, Miss Tatiana. You can shave him.”

“
Nyet
. Antonin is
borodach
. Like papa.”

“Sure. I forgot. Well, you'll be happy with him, whether he's got a beard or not.”

“How to be sure?” she repeated.

“Just make up your mind to be.” Longarm stood up. Tatiana had been in the habit of taking his arm when he moved, but this time he caught her hand and gently pushed it aside. “No. I've been leaning on other people long enough. It's time I start to do for myself. The longer a man leans on somebody else, the easier it is for him to keep leaning. Pretty soon he gets to where he can't get along without having somebody carrying part of his weight for him.”

For a moment, Longarm thought Tatiana was going to cry again, but she blinked her eyes hard and smiled, nodding. Quietly she followed him into the house.

*   *   *

As he rode into Junction the next morning after a long series of goodbyes with the Danilov family, Longarm shook his head and heaved a relieved sigh.

Old son
, he said under his breath,
you just missed that one by a hair. Next time you need somebody to look after you for a spell, you get a girl like Ruthie. It's a hell of a lot safer.

Easily, without even thinking about it, Longarm fell into the routine that he'd established during the first days of his arrival in Junction. He'd ridden slowly on the way to town. Each step the roan took jarred his wounded side. The pain was much less than it had been even a day earlier, though; it was no longer a stab, just an irritating reminder to be more careful in the future.