Longarm and the Talking Spirit by Tabor Evans

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

Chapter 22

“Sir?”

Longarm opened one eye. The other seemed to be glued shut. After a moment it popped open too. The boy was standing at the foot of the bed. He seemed rather excited about something. “Something wrong, Will?”

“No, sir. Not really. Mr. Long, sir, before she left she went an’ called you Longarm. Whyfor would she do that?”

“Because it’s my name, son. Well, my nickname. My proper handle is Custis Long, just like I told you. But my friends all call me Longarm, an’ I’d be pleased if you would call me that too now.”

“Thank you, sir, but . . . I mean . . . Mama didn’t know anything about that name, but I do. Are you telling me you’re really him? Really and truly cross-your-heart-hope-to-die him?”

Longarm smiled. It didn’t hurt too terribly much this time, and he suspected he’d been able to sleep a little since he last knew what was going on around him. “Can I leave off the part about hoping to die, Will?”

“Oh, I . . . but you really are him?”

“If you mean am I the deputy U.S. marshal called Longarm, yes. I am. Not that I know of any other carrying the name.”

“Oh, gosh. Wait till I tell everybody. Longarm. Deputy Marshal Longarm, right here in my own house, laying in my own bed. Oh, gosh. I never expected to meet anybody famous. Wow.”

“Not famous, son. Famous should be somebody important. Like the president or a hero or an author or something. I think what you could say I am is notorious.”

“Notorious,” Will repeated, mouthing the word. “How d’you spell that?”

Longarm told him.

“What’s it mean?”

“Ask your mama. She’ll understand the difference between notorious and famous.”

“But you’re a hero, so you oughta be famous, oughtn’t you?” the boy persisted.

“I’m no hero, that’s for sure. If you want a hero, read up some on John Paul Jones or Thomas Paine. Nathan Hale or Dan’l Boone. Now they were heroes. And they were famous.”

“Well you’re the famousest person I ever hope t’ meet, sir.” He grinned and amended that. “Uh, Longarm, I mean.”

“How’s the horse, son?” Longarm asked, wanting to change the subject to something more comfortable.

“He’s doing pretty good. Needs a couple days of rest, but he’ll be all right, I think. I’ve cooled his feet in the creek twice now and rubbed him down afterward both times.”

“There’s something else I need to ask you, Will.”

“It’s about those men, ain’t it, Longarm?”

“Yes, it is, Will. Your mom said you saw them. Do you know who they were?”

“Oh, sure. They’re a bunch of good-for-nothings. There was Fats Randisi an’ Long Haired Jim Reasoner and Paul Newcomb and some guy named Sherman. I don’t know what the rest of his name is. The others mostly call him Sherm. Newcomb, he’s the one who works over at the livery stable. I think you seen him this morning.”

“So that’s what it was about,” he said. “I was wondering. I shamed Newcomb this morning. I shouldn’t have done it really.

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