Legend With a Six-gun by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA
Published: 2012-11-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

“You’re not mad at me because I decided to come see you after all, are you?” Ruthie asked. “I still feel like I need to thank you proper, you know.”

“I’m not mad,” Longarm assured her. He indicated the long balbriggan underwear he had on. “I wouldn’t say I’m dressed for company, though.”

“That won’t bother me. You’re not the first man I’ve seen in a union suit. Or without one, either,” she smiled. She stepped inside.

Closing the door, Longarm moved to the bed and fished a match out of the pocket of his vest, which hung on the headboard. As he lighted the lamp and trimmed the wick down low, he said without looking at his uninvited guest, “Except you don’t owe me any more thanks than you’ve already give me, Ruthie.”

“No thanks for saving my life? Listen, I can still feel that ice-cold pistol barrel pushing into my ear. Every time I think about it, I get the shivers.”

“Chances are that young fellow wouldn’t’ve had the nerve to shoot you, even as drunk as he was.”

“He was wild.” Ruthie shook her head. “I thought I’d seen some crazy men, but he’s the worst ever.”

Longarm motioned to the single chair the room held. “You might as well sit down and be comfortable while we talk. And I can’t think of anything better than a sip of good Maryland rye whiskey to settle down a case of the shivers.”

Ruthie smiled as she crossed the little room and sat down in the chair. “This is something I’m not used to, now—sitting down in a chair when I’m in a room with a man. Most of the time, they can’t wait for me to flop on the bed. But I guess you’re right, I can use a drink. All they let us have at the saloon is weak tea, unless we’re at a table with a customer and drinking from his bottle. I guess you’d know how that works, though, being a lawman.”

“How’d you find that out?” Longarm frowned. “I don’t recall saying anything to you about who I am or what I do.”

You didn’t.” Ruthie was settling herself comfortably in the chair. “Sheriff Grover came back after he’d put Fred in jail. He told Bob, and Bob told me.”

“Bob? That’d be the barkeep?”

Ruthie nodded. “Bob said the sheriff didn’t place you right off. Then he remembered what some folks call you. Longarm, isn’t it?”

“Some do, I guess. Others ain’t quite so polite.”

“Enough to give you quite a reputation as a lawman, the sheriff told Bob.”

With his back toward her while he poured whiskey from the bottle of bonded rye into his only glass, Longarm said, “I’ve found out that the farther a man gets away from home, the bigger his reputation gets, too. So don’t put too much stock in what you hear.” He handed her the glass, took the bottle, and sat down on the bed.

Ruthie held up the glass. “I guess I ought to say something, a sort of toast, but I can’t think of the right words.

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