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won’t be another coach through until tomorrow afternoon. It’s on its way to the reservation. Day afterward the same coach will come back, going south to Evanston. You’re welcome to wait here if you want to head back down to the railroad,” Trydon said.
    The woman came bearing a pair of plates with pieces of roast fowl and generous portions of fried potatoes and refried beans. The aroma coming off their meals set Longarm’s belly to rumbling and his mouth to watering.
    â€œWhat I want,” Beth said, “is to find my husband. He won’t be down at the railroad so I’ll go on. To the reservation, you say?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. You aren’t scared of Indians, are you?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know. I’ve never met any,” Beth said.
    Trydon laughed. “Not met maybe, but you’ve sure seen one.”
    â€œI have?”
    â€œMy woman there. She’s Shoshone. Her tribe is peaceable, though. You needn’t worry about them.”
    â€œThank you, sir. Now if you will excuse me.” Beth turned her attention to the supper.
    Later, after she had eaten, she asked about bathing.
    â€œSure. We have water enough,” Trydon said. He spoke to the woman in a tongue Longarm had heard spoken before but did not understand. To Beth, the man said, “She’ll fix you up. The mister and me can step outside while you have your bath. Then you and Birdy can go out while the mister bathes.”
    Trydon looked at Longarm. “Unless you’d settle for washing yourself. You can do that at the well out back.”
    â€œA wash would do,” Longarm conceded around a mouthful of prairie chicken. Once finished with his meal, he lit a cheroot and followed Trydon outside.
    The two men stood smoking and admiring the heavy-bodied coach horses while Beth took that long-awaited bath.
    â€œYou just left the body laying out there?” Trydon asked at one point.
    Longarm nodded. “I wasn’t going to take time to bury the son of a bitch. He didn’t have anything in his pockets to tell me why he was shooting at us. Didn’t have much money on him. I took what there was. I’ll send it down to Denver. If we ever find out who he was, the marshal can send that money on to his kin. His horse and other traps are over there except for his rifle. I brought that inside.” He gestured toward the corral, where the dead man’s horse was pulling at the hay rick. “He was riding a poor sort of horse, and his saddle’s been hard used. My guess is that he was hired. Hired cheap at that. But that’s only a guess.”
    â€œYou’re a Federal marshal,” Trydon said. “A man could have a grudge against you.”
    â€œSure. It happens all the time. But this fellow . . . I never saw him before. I’m sure of that. No reason I can think of why he’d have a grudge against me.”
    The Indian woman appeared in the doorway and called out something in her own tongue.
    â€œYour woman is out of the tub. We can go back in now if you like,” Trydon said.
    â€œYou go ahead. I want to wash some of this grit off me. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Longarm said.
    â€œI don’t know if you’re a drinking man, but I have some decent bourbon in there if you like,” Trydon said.
    Longarm grinned. “I think that wash isn’t going to take me very long. I won’t be hardly a minute.”

Chapter 33
    â€œMy woman there,” Trydon said over the bottle of cheap whiskey, “she’s a pretty good fuck. You can have her for a dollar.”
    â€œThat’s nice o’ you. Let me think about it.”
    â€œTake your time. She ain’t going nowhere and there’s no other passengers staying the night.” Trydon tipped the bottle back and took a healthy slug of the raw whiskey, which almost certainly was not the bourbon the label claimed it to be.
    Longarm accepted the