The room wasn't bad.
There was a bed and blankets and a little firepot in the corner. A few logs blazed in it. A washtub had been filled for him with steaming water. A cake of soap and a couple towels were set out.
"Just like home," Longtree said, kicking off his boots and clothes.
After his third hot rum, the lieutenant had come for him and brought him to the officer's mess. He stuffed himself on tender buffalo steaks, sliced potatoes, and cornbread washed down with ale. He hadn't eaten a meal quite so good in some time.
As he scrubbed a week's worth of dirt and sweat off, he thought about Tom Rivers. Why would the Chief U.S. Marshal come all the way from Washington to the Wyoming Territory to bring him his assignment? It just didn't wash. Maybe Rivers was out visiting his marshals-something Longtree had never heard of him doing-and had just decided to serve Longtree's papers in person.
Could be.
But Wickham had said that Rivers wanted to see him before riding down to Laramie. What was so important that Rivers would wait around to see him in person? There had been no set time for the arrival of Longtree; it could've been today or next week or next month, for that matter.
Longtree reclined in the soothing, steaming waters and wondered about these things. Thoughts tumbled through his head in rapid succession.
There was always the possibility that Rivers had come in person to tell him that his appointment as a federal marshal had been revoked. It had happened to others. But it seemed unlikely. Longtree had been with the marshal service since '70 and in that time, of the dozens and dozens of wanted men he'd hunted down, only a few had eluded him. His record was very impressive. If he was being turned out, then it wouldn't be a matter of job performance.
The drinking? Was that it?
Also unlikely.
He hadn't allowed himself to do much drinking recently. And the only time he did was between assignments. And lately, there'd been no time between them: one assignment came right on the heels of the last with no break in-between. It had always been the boredom before, waiting around with nothing to do, no constructive purpose, that set Longtree going on one of his drinking binges or indulgences in other vices.
No, Rivers coming had nothing to do with that.
But just what the reason was, Longtree couldn't guess.
The next thing he knew, the water was cold and there was someone knocking frantically at the door.
"I'm coming," the marshal mumbled.
He dragged himself to the door.