Longarm and the Shoshoni silver

"Back up and study on an old lady searching for a middle-aged son just after a war betwixt the states that's already commencing to fade into legend," he said. "Even if she survived the shock of her breed son's death, you've still got her in Montana Territory, on the wrong side of the Divide for Fort Hall. So what's the sense of sccirching for her on the Fort Hall reserve when she belongs at the Wind River Agency with the Eastern Shoshoni?"

They could see Mormon cows grazing all about by this time as they kept riding in, with Tupombi expl2iining, 'To begin with, she doesn't belong with the eastern bands. She was bom and raised a West Shoshoni of the Agaiduka band. After that, she wouldn't be at the Wind River Agency, dead or alive. Shoshoni Sam wired Fort Washakie over a month ago, when I first told him the story."

Longarm frowned at the kissable back of her tawny neck as he silently digested that. It would have been impolite to suggest a Wild West gal who'd been stranded in a K.C. hotel might make up an even wilder story if she felt she had to.

Chapter 8

The dead gunslick was a mite stiff and grinning like a shit-eating dog by the time they got him into town. From the way some of the townsfolk gaped one might think they'd never seen a white man riding double with a pretty Indian and leading a cadaver on another pony before.

Longarm unloaded the one he'd nailed on the sunny side of the modest country courthouse, where the afternoon warmth could sort of thaw a bowed body into a more dignified position on the grass. Tupombi said she'd carry both ponies back to the Overland stop and see to their proper care. He said he'd join her and the others there as soon as he compared notes on the one called The Kid with the local law.

That didn't take long. Tupombi and the ponies were barely out of view before a morose old cuss wearing a gray Abe Lincoln beard and gilt county badge elbowed through the growing crowd in a suit less dusty than Longarm's. The younger federal lawman had naturally pinned his own silver badge to his tweed vest before riding anywhere worth mentioning in the company of a gunshot victim.

The county deputy introduced himself as Bishop Reynolds. So Longarm knew he took his law-enforcement duties less seriously than your average political appointee. The stem-faced Mormon lawman paid close attention, however, as Longarm filled him in on why he'd just deposited

a dead man on the grounds of the Zion County Courthouse. The Kid was still grinning foolishly with what was left of his face from, say, the eye sockets down, but as Longarm had hoped, he was commencing to lie straighter now. An undertaking gal who'd baked him a swell cactus pie one time had explained that temporary stiffness to him, and told him how they dealt with it in her trade.

As Bishop Reynolds dropped to one knee and began to fumble with the dead man's buttons Longarm said, "He ain't one of your own. He wore his hat with a Texas crease, packed doubtless-fake Texican identification, and as you can see now, wore red flannel underwear."

Bishop Reynolds left the dead man's shirtfront half ajar as he grimly observed, "I thought he was a gentile. Tell me more about the trouble you had with Pete Robbins and his godless litter."

Longarm smiled thinly and observed, "News sure travels, even when it ain't got far to go. But I didn't have that much trouble with the timid cuss who serves grub to white travelers and redeye to red locals. They seem to have simply lit out as soon as I told 'em I was a federal lawman who couldn't be bought off."

He nudged the gentile he'd brought in with a thoughtful boot tip as he added, "I didn't expect them to take things this seriously. It was my impression we were talking about nothing more sinister than swapping trade liquor for wild game and vegetables. Anyone making a habit of that ought to know the federal government may frown on trading redeye to its reservation wards, but doesn't get excited unless you start distilling it untaxed as well."

Bishop Reynolds got back to his feet, muttering, "Where did you think Pete Robbins got his com liquor, from mj? The Salt Lake Temple has enjoined us to obey the law of the land, which is why you see me wearing this badge to enforce the temporal laws of Deseret."

"No offense, but this ain't Utah Territory," Longarm said, as respectfully as the occasion seemed to call for.

The church elder and deputy sheriff sniffed and said, "I still take my serious commandments from our Salt Lake Temple, and before you start up about that, I'd best advise you Salt Lake defines the law of the land as those provisions and only those provisions of the U.S. Constitution all of us must abide by. There's not one word in the federal constitution that requires any state or territorial government to license any liquor distillery, so . . ."