Longarm and the Church Ladies by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 12

The sunrise caught them strung out in stirrup-high chaparral with higher ground to the south overlooking the narrow trail Longarm had chosen. He proved he’d chosen well when he led them to a dry wash choked with mesquite rising high as crab apple trees and called a halt, reminding them not to build a fire. He pointed to the rocky crags to the south, declaring, “Yonder rises what the Mexicans call the Candelaria Hills. If I wasn’t Victorio holed up in them, I’d as likely be Mex mountain artillery hunting for him. I rid through the maze with Mex pals on a previous occasion. That’s how I know you can see forever out across these flats we’re on right now. So leave us not send any woodsmoke up to get in the eyes of anybody perched atop any lookout rocks over yonder.”

As he dismounted in the dappled shade to tether his blue roan to a tasty screw-pod mesquite in bloom, Reverend Gilmore and some other Cherokee joined him, muttering amongst themselves in Tsalagi. From their conversation, Longarm knew Gibson, young Jeff Garner, and old Todd Scraper had to be from the same Cherokee band.

The nominal leader of the rescue mission said, “We’ve been wondering why you’ve led us across these more exposed desert flats if you know a route through those canyon lands to the south.”

Longarm said, “I thought I just told you. The Candelarias are just swell for hiding out in. One man with a rifle could hold off an army in some of the narrower passes. Them renegade Indians know that. So do the Mexican riders out to settle their hash.”

“But what makes you suspect either Apache or Mexican troopers are over that way right now? Wouldn’t we be safer hiding out among those crags than out here in the open, if nobody’s there at all?”

Longarm snorted. “Well, sure we would. But if there’s nobody else over this way, it hardly matters where we day-camp. Contrariwise, it hurts to get blown out of your saddle by a drygulcher who got there ahead of you. So I try to avoid swell hideouts and likely ambushes as I wend my weary way through hostile territory. That’s what you call uncertain range where you might meet up with anybody. I told everybody back at the Baker place to fill at least one canteen with strong black coffee to be diluted and sweetened to taste down this way. But it might be best to just break fast on some cold, canned grub and catch some sleep this side of sundown, and save coffee for the night ahead.”

The Reverend Gibson allowed he’d relay the advice. Longarm, not wanting to seem bossy, took his borrowed bedroll and used carbine up the south side of the wash to bed down amid the lower chaparral on the rim, where a man resting prone with a Yellowboy could keep a casual eye on those distant rimrocks just by raising his head from time to time.

Once he’d

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