Longarm and the Shoshoni silver

'They could be forted up," Longarm answered, opening the door of his hired room.

She followed him in, insisting, "In that case they are already safer for the night than you would be, playing nanipka in the dark with roving war parties, like a willful child, until they catch you and you're it. My mother's people don't play hide and seek by your rules, and forget that bullshit you've heard about Indians not wanting to fight in the dark!"

He chuckled and said, "I told you before I'd scouted for the army in my misspent youth. The damn fool who put that nonsense in an early guidebook must have gotten a heap of greenhorns killed by this time. I remember this shavetail fresh out of the Point who didn't think he needed to post night pickets along the Bozeman Trail during Red Cloud's War and . . . Never mind. I got to see what I can do for them Scotch folk, and meanwhile, I want you to stay here and keep an eye on my other pony for me."

She stamped a softly shod little foot and said she'd do no such thing. "Just let me get my own few things from my own room down the hall and youMI be mighty glad I came along when and if I have to talk someone out of lifting the hair off your thick head!"

He started to argue. But she seemed as determined and her words made some sense. Lewis and Clark had been mighty glad they'd had a fluent Ho-speaker along that time they'd run into the Shoshoni band of their pretty young guide, Sacajawea. With any luck at all now the Indians were still sparring for position, whatever might be bothering them.

He asked about that as he followed the pretty breed down the hall. She said it made no sense to her either if those government gents were really dealing in good faith with as smart an old cuss as Chief Pocatello. He followed her into her own room, and realized he might have made a tactical error when Tupombi slammed the door shut cuid turned and grabbed for him in the sudden darkness.

He suspected she'd played this sort of nanipka in the dark in the past, judging from her aim as she took advantage of the load he was packing to kiss him, French, and grope him, dirty, at the same time.

He let go of his saddle to grab her back, if only in self-defense, as she demurely hoisted her fringed deerskin skirts to run a naked thigh between his legs when they wound up against the securely shut door. He savored her sweet kissing a spell, being only human, but warned her as they came up for air, "I'd sure like to. Miss Tupombi. I want you so bad right now I can taste it. But there's a time and a place for everything, and we'd never forgive ourselves if we found out Dame Rora and her party were being tortured to death all the time we were enjoying one another!"

She hadn't been wearing anything at all under that red deerskin, and began to rub her fuzzy little self against the bulging front of his tweed pants as she clung tightly to him, husking,

"Speak for yourself. I'm not going to let them torture you, Custis. Not if I have to shame myself all the way with you right here and now!"

He was feeling mighty ashamed of the way his old organ-grinder was rising to the occasion despite his determination to behave in a more responsible manner. He caught himself wondering whether it would matter if they tore off just a quick one to sort of settle their nerves before they rode out to see if Dame Flora and her party needed help. Then he gently but firmly stiff-armed Tupombi away, growling, "Hold the thought, and once we know what's up out yonder I promise I'll get it up for you some more."

When she tried to press close again his voice got harder, saying, "I mean it, honey. I'm a lawman first and a ladies' man when it don't stand betwixt me and my duty. So stand aside and let me be on my damned way with or without your help, hear?"

Before she could answer they both stiffened in each other's arms at the roar of at least two revolvers, big ones, blasting the shit out of something, or somebody, close!

Longarm shoved the little breed gal so hard she wound up flat on her bed covers across the room. He hadn't meant to shove her that hard but damn it, she'd been in the way of his cross-draw as he'd spun and grabbed the knob with his other fist.

He had his .44-40 out as he slid out into the hallway from a direction that other cuss down the way must not have expected. The buckskin-clad stranger gasped in wide-eyed terror as he turned from the smoke-filled doorway of Longarm's original room, two smoking .45-55 Schofields in hand, as Longarm told him conversationally, "Drop them guns and grab some rafters nowV

The mysterious stranger hesitated. So Longarm fired thrice, dead center between those fucking gun muzzles trained his way, and that, of course, inspired the unfortunate who'd just shot up his room to stagger back, bounce off a stucco wall, and thud wetly to the floorboards faceup, atop

the nastier exit wounds of Longarm's rapid fire through his rib cage.