Read Longarm and the War Clouds for Free Online Page A

wagons; suited businessmen heading for their shops; office girls scurrying to work in their summer-weight frocks; even stray dogs hunting mice or food scraps around boardwalks—all strained their necks to watch the unlikely threesome pass and then head on up the Federal Building’s broad, stone steps.
    The trio headed through the cavern-like halls, Longarm sucking a cold cheroot, War Cloud father and daughter for the most part staring straight ahead. War Cloud himself paused to shake hands with a couple of other deputy marshals who’d worked with the Coyotero when he’d been a tracker on the government payroll.
    Longarm pushed through the heavy wooden, glass-paned door marked simply U.S. MARSHAL and stepped to one side to hold the door wide for his guests. Billy Vail’s prissy secretary, Henry, glanced over his narrow shoulder as his long, pale hands continued to tap away on his infernally loud typewriting machine that he loved so much, and said with his customarily droll air, “You’re late again, Deputy Lo—”
    The clattering stopped abruptly as Henry’s bespectacled eyes found the Apaches. Chief Marshal Billy Vail’s personal secretary leaped out of his chair as though his pants had suddenly caught fire and twirled around, eyes snapping wide. His gaze flicked between his two Apache guests before returning to War Cloud, and then a crimson flush rose in his cheeks, and he said with no small relief, “Mr. War Cloud!”
    â€œWhat’d you think, Henry?” Longarm asked. “We were under attack?”
    â€œWell, it’s just been . . . so . . . long since . . .”
    War Cloud laughed and stepped forward, shoving a big, brown paw across the young man’s immaculate desk and saying, “Ain’t no mister in it now any more than there ever was, Henry, but just the same, it’s nice to see you again.”
    â€œNice to see you, too, War Cloud,” Henry said, shaking the Indian’s hand. His eyes returned to the girl standing back against the door and near the hat tree onto which Longarm had tossed his hat. “And . . . this is . . .?”
    Longarm grinned as Henry’s normally coolly dismissive gaze raked the girl up and down and sideways. Longarm had always suspected the lad might have been a Nancy-boy, but now, seeing Henry’s face mottle red and his eyes nearly pop out of his head at the vision of the Apache princess before him, Longarm thought he’d have to revise his estimation.
    War Cloud introduced his daughter to Henry, but while the lad leaned over his desk to extend his hand toward Magpie, the girl merely stood back by the door, regarding him with her cool disdain, arms crossed on her breasts.
    â€œOh,” Henry said, awkwardly lowering his hand.
    â€œShe ain’t much of a hand shaker,” War Cloud explained. “Most Apaches ain’t. I been around white men long enough to understand the gesture, but most Apaches would fall down laughing if you extended your hand to ’em. Magpie—she just ignores such ceremony, but she don’t mean nothin’ personal by it.”
    The frosted-glass door flanking the other side of the secretary’s desk suddenly opened, and Billy Vail stepped out to say, “I thought I heard familiar voices out here. War Cloud—welcome back!”
    The frumpy, balding chief marshal, customarily attired in a wrinkled white shirt and brown wool vest with dangling watch chain, strode out to give the Apache’s hand a brisk shake. “Glad you could make it,” Vail said. “I wasn’t sure you received my message—I know how you never were one to reply to a telegram, so I was just keeping my fingers crossed.”
    Since War Cloud didn’t know how to read or write, he pretty much just ignored all situations in which either activity was required. If you sent him a telegram, you’d never know he got it