is in the hands of my boss. And, Bodie, thereâs something else you need to know. The letter is bloodstained.â
Even in the dim light of the barnâs interior, Longarm saw the boy pale. He whispered, âGo on.â
âIâm pretty sure that your onetime stepfather, John Stock, murdered or badly injured your mother and stole her jewelry. Most likely, he intended to take you to your grandmother and aunt and tell them some tall tale about how your mother died and he was the one that helped you get to Denver and safety. John Stock would have hung around your grandmotherâs place a few days . . . or even weeks, playing on her sympathy, and then heâd have robbed and possibly even murdered her and your aunt just like he might have done your mother.â
Bodie was silent a long time before he said, âI still donât believe a word of it.â
âItâs sad but true.â
âI need to see the letter.â
Longarm scowled. âThe letter is addressed to you, Bodie. And Iâve no doubt that youâll recognize the handwriting.â
âI want to see it now!â
Longarm decided that he had no choice. âAll right. Letâs go to my office, and Iâll talk my boss into showing you the letter and the jewelry.â
âWhy would my ma send me jewelry?â
âShe didnât,â Longarm explained. âJohn Stock took it away from her, probably after he killed her. But I wonât know that until Iâm in Virginia City.â
âYouâre goinâ there?â
âI am,â Longarm said. âIâm leaving on the train tomorrow. It runs up to Cheyenne and then all the way to Reno. I can catch a coach from Reno to Virginia City.â
âIâm goinâ with you.â
âNo.â
âIâm goinâ with or without you, Marshal. And Iâm takinâ my dog.â
âItâs a long, long way to the Comstock Lode.â
âI know. I come from Bodie. I know how far it is, but Iâll get there.â
âYour grandmother, Ida, and aunt Rose would like you to live with them. They have a fine house. You and Homer could stay with them, and when I get back with some answers, we could decide what to do.â
âIs Sheriff Miller that dumb that he couldnât even find me there?â
Longarm almost smiled. âHeâs dumb, but youâre right. Heâd find you at your grandmotherâs house.â
âWell then? I ainât never rode a train and neither has Homer.â
âYou canât take him on the train.â
âIâll take him or not go.â
âYou canât take a dog on the train.â
âI can if I sleep in a cattle or freight car. Some of them go to Reno, donât they?â
âYes, but . . .â
âWell thatâs it then. If you got the letter and itâs from my ma, Iâm goinâ to Virginia City one damned way or the other.â
Longarm had to admire the boyâs determination. âLetâs go to my office and see what my boss says.â
âI donât give a damn what your boss says,â Bodie told him. âThat letter and that jewelry you said belonged to my ma now belong to me. I could sell the jewelry and have enough money to buy my own damn ticket to Reno, couldnât I?â
âI suppose.â
âAnything else that my ma had for me?â
âA few gold nuggets.â
âWell then Iâm set for money, and Iâm leavinâ with or without you, Marshal.â
âWere you born this stubborn?â Longarm asked.
âI was born hard and I stayed hard,â Bodie said without a trace of pride. âI been on the bottom, and Iâm sick and tired of it. Donât like being told what to do.â
âThen how do you even hold a job like this?â Longarm asked, looking around.
âI ainât been here but a couple of days. Mr. Redman,
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