“You cleaned him up real nice, Marshal. We XOXs appreciate that,” Wilcox said. “Thank you.”
“I liked the boy,” Longarm told them.
Three of the XOX cowboys stepped forward to wrestle Bobby into his chaps and tidy up his clothing. There was practically no blood for them to deal with. Virtually all of the bleeding from Franz’s knife had been contained inside the body, which was why Longarm had not realized the wound was a mortal one.
The only visible indication on the corpse was a small cut just below and to the right of his navel.
“He was a likeable kid,” Wilcox commented as Bobby’s bunkmates were busy strapping his fancy chaps in place.
“He was that,” Longarm agreed.
“You sure there’s no cause to arrest that bastard Franz?”
“I’m sure,” Longarm said. He raised his voice a little. “Something else I’m sure of. The man who tries t’ get revenge on behalf o’ Bobby will either hang or go down in front o’ my guns. I’ll make sure o’ that my own self.”
“Point taken,” Wilcox said. He turned to his crew. “Little Bit, bring the wagon around. We’ll take him home to bury him.” Glancing in the general direction of Franz’s store he said, “I wouldn’t want a good man like Bobby Reims lying in dirt anywhere near this place. Better he lays in the sod where he’s appreciated.”
One of the cowboys, a large man with a mustache that hung down on his chest, touched the brim of his hat to acknowledge the order, then turned and hurried away.
“It will take him a spell to go fetch the wagon. Can we buy you a drink for being so thoughtful to our man, Marshal?” Wilcox offered.
“I’d be honored,” Longarm said. “In Nebraska?”
“Aye, though it will gravel us to go over there where we haven’t been welcome.”
“I think,” Longarm said, “you’ll find yourselves more welcome there than you might’ve been led t’ believe. Come along then. An’ let me buy the second round. That’d be an honor, too.”