“What if I tell you that I’ll take the Utes away from here just as quick as I get them released from custody. I’m pretty sure I can arrange that. They know me. They trust me enough, I think, to move if I ask them to. After all, it’s time they start down for the spring hunt anyhow. Once they’re released, mister, they’re gone.” Popular notion, Longarm knew, had it that the mountains in winter were a death trap of snow and ice and were to be avoided. In truth, as the Indians had known for more generations than a man could count, the mountains offered comfort and shelter in winter. Contrary to ordinary belief, the Indians moved to the plains to hunt during the warm months, but spent their winters in the high country. Their regular seasonal movements, therefore, would be taking them away from Snowshoe except for the delays imposed on them by people here. “Now does that make any difference, mister? Tell me
where I can find the elected officials o’ this town ... or just tell me where I can find those Utes ... and I’ll let you go, won’t file charges against you.”
The man didn’t so much as take time to consider it. “You go t’ hell, Marshal.”
“Longarm,” Aggie said. “You aren’t really going to—•” “Watch me,” he growled. He took hold of John’s elbow and guided the clerk toward the stairwell that led down to the basement-level jail.
If the town fathers of Snowshoe weren’t going to take charge of things there, well, Longarm would take over and conduct business the way he saw fit.
“I got a prisoner for you,” he said to a sleepy-eyed, unshaven jailer who was presiding over a row of four empty cells.
“Not without the chief says so, you don’t,” the jailer told him.
Longarm gave the man a smile that had no hint of mirth in it. “Y’know,” he mused out loud, “that’s about the same thing this fella told me. An’ I told him the charge was obstruction o’ justice. You wanta see how that charge fits you too, neighbor?”
“Care to sign your prisoner in, Marshal? I got the book right here.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”