Longarm and the Colorado gundown

_{For long, agonizing moments Longarm could see nothing, hear nothing. Then a dark figure rose off the dirt floor of the woodshed. A man’s figure seen in silhouette as before. Except now there was no shotgun. Longarm continued to struggle against his enforced confinement, desperate now to reach a gun—gun, hell, his knife would have been enough; that or a rock, the burning coal of a lighted cheroot, his own empty hands, any damned thing he could use as a weapon to defend himself—but the tangled debris held him captive as surely as manacles and leg irons could have done. The half-seen, half-sensed figure moved closer until it stood over Longarm while he continued to struggle futilely.}

_{“Let me help you, Mr. Long.” The man’s voice was deep. Longarm had heard it before. He couldn’t recall where or when, but he was sure he had heard this man speak before. “Here.”}

_{The fellow bent down, and a moment later Longarm could hear a grunt of effort. The tough roof poles, burdened by hundreds of pounds of sod, that held him pinned to the ground shifted and began to rise. One inch and then another. Slowly they were lifted clear.}

_{“Hurry, please, sir. I don’t have a good hold here.”}

_{Longarm wriggled and fought against his confinement. He twisted and pushed and managed to drag himself partway out of the mass of fallen material.}

_{The unknown man who was helping him groaned and lost his grip. The poles crashed downward again with a}

_{clatter. But by then Longarm was free to his waist on one side, to mid-thigh on the other. He grunted and kicked, forcing himself out from under the weight of sod and dried wood. “There.” He dragged himself free of the last of it, and felt himself being grasped by the shoulders and helped upright.}

_{Lordy, but it felt good to be standing up again.}

_{“Who the ... ?”}

_{“It’s Parson George, Mr. Long,” the dark figure answered. “I was coming to deliver a message to Miz Able. Seen what was happening. Sorry it took me s’ long to do you any good, but I don’t carry a gun. Never been any good with one of those things for some reason, so I quit carrying any. No point to it. So I had to sneak in close enough to jump that one. Sure hope you don’t mind.”}

_{Longarm figured he could manage to forgive the guy. “You did fine, Parson. Thanks. Help me find my gun, please. And my handcuffs too if you don’t mind. I’ve gone and lost them somewhere. I probably ought to cuff that fellow you put down there.”}

_{“No need for you to cuff him, sir,” Parson said.}

_“No?”