Longarm and the Shoshoni silver

Longarm shrugged and replied, "Can't say who killed her before I find out. Sticking to the little we really know, we don't know shit about the reception we can expect up the trail ahead. I just said all them Indians may not agree with Pocatello about Shoshoni real estate. It can take as few at two Indians to express a dozen opinions on anything. They're not that much different from us, and after that, we still don't know those smoke signals were meant to be all that sinister. I know they puffed at us, and others before us. Meanwhile, there's no proof any Indian is on the warpath, and we could all be spooking at neighborhood gossip."

Senator Rumford grumbled, "I wish you'd make up your mind. First you say we'd best move in cautiously, and then you point out there may be no trouble at all!"

Lx)ngarm nodded soberly and said, "It's best to keep both options open in Indian country. Senator. I could tell you tales of overconfident gents waking up dead and bald whilst, at the same time, grim things have happened to Indians who

didn't know they were on the warpath till they heard bugles blowing and field guns blasting. So unless you'd like to claim that Indian land the old-fashioned way, from dead Indians, it might be best to ride in sedately, well after sunrise, after Pocatello's scouts have had time to announce our visit."

Senator Rumford grumped off in the darkness to fuss at someone else while Longarm, McBride, and other natural leaders drifting in worked out the best way to get them all through the night.

Since they'd already agreed on the site and cold suppers, there was little more than the details left to work out. Longarm didn't like to sound bossy, as long as he was getting his own way on important matters. So he just leaned against a tree and smoked as the others decided who'd pull guard, with whom, and where. Longarm had already noticed the fair-sized outfit had sort of split into three more or less friendly factions, based on natural feelings. Aside from the quartet of older gents from the congressional delegation, the eight or ten Western riders split without obvious rancor into those who'd worked with McBride and Pearson before and those who'd worked at other Indian agencies or other outfits. So nobody fussed, and Longarm just went on smoking, when McBride and young Jeffries, off the Rosebud Reserve, decided it worked best if the congressmen, led by Longarm, took first watch, Jeffries and his bunch took second, and McBride and the others off the White River Agency worried about the wee small hours.

Having agreed on that, they secured all the stock downwind, with the packs, including all that silver specie, smack in the center of camp so everyone would bed down all about it. By the time they'd all eaten uncooked canned goods it was dark enough to make them wonder where the danmed moon might be. Longarm wasn't the only one to notice there were no stars out either, and surmise a mess of clouds up yonder.

Pulling first watch, glad as hell he was wearing a frock coat and vest as he drifted through the trees with his Winchester,

dying for a smoke he dared not light, Longarm found his inner thoughts more interesting than the almost pitch blackness all about him.

He'd elected to circle farther out, suspecting the others on this watch, being the greener apples in this barrel, would stick closer to their bedrolls than they ought to. So he had mostly open slopes to his left, the way his cradled Winchester pointed, as he circled clockwise along the ragged tree line. He couldn't see shit on such an overcast night, of course. But he felt safer when it began to snow. He knew no Indian night crawler with any brains would crawl far enough to matter in even a light snowfall. The idea of night crawling was to hit and run, not leave a trail even a schoolmarm could follow come daybreak.

Halfway through his watch he went back to his own bedroll to break out his oilcloth slicker. The damned snowfall was warm enough to melt into tweed instead of brushing off. He caught Congressman Granger fucking off in another bedroll, but didn't fuss when the older asshole said something dumb about having a lung condition. Granger wouldn't have been any more use out on picket, and at least he lay there in the way of anyone coming after the piled packs in the middle of camp. The others were naturally bedded down on the other sides. Some of them were already snoring. It was commencing to snow harder by the time Longarm was back along the tree line wrapped up in his crunchy poplin and linseed oil slicker. He was tempted to smoke, knowing nobody could see any better amid the swirls of invisible snow. But he didn't. He'd learned as a soldier in his teens that night picket was either tedious as hell or more exciting than you'd really planned on, and it had always been the pickets who'd been certain it was safe to fuck off who'd been nailed in the dark when it hadn't been.