Longarm and the Big Trouble in Bodie

“They might try,” Longarm said, “but I’ll be close.”

“What about Miss Riley?”

“What about her?”

“You going to be close to her as well,” Kane asked, “just in case it wasn’t an accident that she got ambushed?”

Longarm frowned. “Why would anyone deliberately try to kill Megan?”

Kane shrugged. He seemed surprisingly calm, given the circumstances. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “But her father is a well-known lawman. A lot of people in this part of the country hate his guts and would like to do anything they could to bring him pain. Even shooting his daughter.”

“If they wanted to do that, they could have done it far easier in Reno,” Longarm countered. “That doesn’t make any sense at all to me.”

“Listen to me well,” Kane said. “You’re in way over your head. Hec and me were barely treading water, trying to figure out who is out to put us down under and is shaking down some of the merchants.”

Longarm laughed coldly. “I know who that is and it’s you,” he said.

When Kane looked away suddenly, Longarm turned his back on the pair and went to the front door. Before opening it, he said, “I’m taking the jail cell keys with me, and if you don’t make a big fuss, no one will find out what happened in here.”

“You can’t keep this a secret!” Ward swore. “Goddamn you, Long, the word will be out in ten minutes and we’ll be dead in fifteen.”

Longarm noted the panic in Ward’s voice right alongside the anger and outrage. And as he closed the door behind him, he made sure that it was locked and he had the key. Satisfied that no one could get into the marshal’s office, Longarm hurried back to the U.S. Hotel to check on Megan, hoping that he hadn’t made a big, big mistake.

Megan opened her eyes after listening to Longarm describe how he had jailed Kane and Ward. She took a deep breath and said, “You’ve got to get some help.”

“I know that.” Longarm reached into his vest pocket and produced a piece of paper. “I’m going to give this to one of the passengers who are boarding the stage this afternoon and ask him to take it to the telegraph office in Carson City. They’ll send the message to Denver and I’ll get help.”

“Yes, but how long will that take?” Megan reached out and took Longarm’s hand. She looked extremely worried. “Custis, it might take a week before your boss can get some help over here. You could be dead by then.”

“I’m not easy to kill.”

Megan sighed. Her color was so much better and she looked as if she might be able to get up and start walking around in a day or two. The doctor had said that the wound in her shoulder would leave an unsightly scar, but that she should again have full use of her arm and shoulder.

“Why don’t you load me up in a buggy or even a buckboard and take me back home to Reno. My father-“

“Is half blind and he’d be half crazy when he saw what I’d let happen to you. Megan, I got enough troubles right now without also worrying about your father trying to carry out his threat to shoot my balls off. Do you remember that pleasant little warning?”

“I remember. All right, so what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Longarm confessed. “I’m concerned about you, but also about Marshal Kane. He says that someone will surely try and kill him and his deputy if I leave them unprotected in their jail cell.”

“He’s just trying to get you to let him go so he can shoot you, Custis. I’m sure of it.”

“I dunno anymore,” Longarm said. “Over the years, I’ve become a pretty good judge of when someone is lying to me and when they’re being honest. And I can tell you right now that Kane is genuinely scared that someone is going to poke a gun through that jail cell window and gun him and the deputy down.”

“Maybe you’d better go to the stage station and send that telegram,” Megan suggested. “It sounds to me like we’ve got a wildcat by the tail.”

“We do,” Longarm said. “Megan, I’m really sorry about you getting shot on my account. The surgeon who took a slug out of you said that you were extremely lucky that no major artery was severed. Even so, you almost bled to death. And you’re going to have a scar.”

“That’s not so important, is it?” she asked softly, her eyes misting a little. “I mean, you’ll still think I’m … well, nice to make love to. Won’t you?”

Longarm nodded. “Any man would.”

“It’s not any man that I care about,” she said. “It’s just you and my father.”

“We’ll be all right,” Longarm said, stretching out on the bed beside her. “I need to think things out a few minutes, and then I’ll go on over to the stage line and find someone to carry that telegraph message to the operator in Carson City.”

“Sure,” Megan said. Longarm stretched out beside the young woman.

Does it hurt pretty bad?”

“I’ve been kicked and stepped on, and once I had a stallion take a big bite out of my butt,” Megan told him. “That hurt a lot worse than this.”

“You almost bled to death.”

“Shhh!”

Longarm closed his eyes. Things had been moving so fast that he really did need to think his next move out. He needed to turn everything over a couple of times in his head to make sure that sending a telegraph off was the right thing to do. At the moment it seemed the only thing to do, but Longarm had learned from hard experience that a man had to hold something up and examine it from all angles just to make sure that he wasn’t making some major mistake.

He must have fallen asleep.

“Custis!”

His eyes popped open. Megan was staring at him, wide-eyed. “Custis,” she repeated. “There’s a terrible commotion going on downstairs.”

She was right. Longarm heard shouts and then the sound of boots pounding on the staircase. He heard them thunder up the hallway and stop at his door. “Open up, Jefferson!” Longarm rolled off the bed. “How long was I asleep?”

“No more than thirty minutes. I was going to wake you in-“

“Jefferson, open the damn door!”

“Oh, my God,” Longarm breathed as, gun clenched in his fist, he rushed toward their locked door. “I think they’ve shot Kane and his deputy.”

Longarm’s guess was right. When he opened the door, he had only to take one quick look at the crowd of faces to see that a shocking thing had taken place in Bodie.

“You put them in that jail cell, didn’t you!” a heavyset Man demanded. “I saw you leave and lock the office door. And then some murderin’ bastard sneaked up to the alley window, stuck his gun through the bars, and riddled em both.”

“We heard ‘em screaming,” another man said, accusation thick in his voice.

“Listen,” Longarm said, “I put them there, but-“

“Goddammit, let’s hang him!” a man shouted.

Longarm knew that the crowd was too shocked and filled with emotion to listen to reason. Ivan Kane and Hec Ward had been feared and even despised by most of the citizens, but they had been gunned down. Shot like fish in a barrel. The people of Bodie were shocked and outraged. Nothing but hanging Longarm would satisfy them in their present state of mind.

The gun was already in Longarm’s fist, and he wasn’t going to hand it over to this lynch mob without taking a few men with him, if need be. He fired a slug into the carpet between them and the mob fell back, some knocking others down in their panic to retreat.

“Listen to me,” he shouted. “I didn’t shoot them! Someone else did, and they’ll get off scot-free unless I get to the bottom of these shootings.”

“You’ve done enough already!” a big man with a red mustache shouted as he surged forward.

Longarm slashed him across the bridge of the nose with his Colt. The man cried out in pain and cupped his face in his big hands, blood pouring from his broken nose. Longarm cocked back the hammer of his gun.

“I’M a federal officer of the law,” he announced loudly. “My name isn’t Thomas Jefferson, it’s Custis Long, and I’m a deputy United States marshal.”

“If you’re a U.S. marshal you got no business here in Bodie!” a man in the back of the crowd yelled.

“I’ve got all the authority I need,” Longarm shouted, using his left hand to dig his badge out of his pocket and hold it up to the crowd. “This town has a federally chartered bank and it’s been robbed. It has federal mail that has been stolen as well. That gives me all the authority that I need.”

The crowd had lost its zeal and blood lust. They were staring at the big man with all the blood running between his fingers and they did not want the same punishment.

“Now then,” Longarm said, closing and locking the door behind him to block the view of Megan. “I want sworn statements from the first people to reach the bodies.”

“I don’t think Marshal Kane is quite dead yet,” one man offered.

Longarm had been about to say something, but now he gaped. “Are you sure!”

“Well, he might be dead by now,” the man said, “but he was still alive when Dr. Blake got to him.”

Longarm didn’t wait to hear any more. He elbowed men aside in his haste to get down the hallway to the stairs. He took the stairs three at a time, and sprinted across the lobby and outside. There was another large crowd blocking the entrance to the marshal’s office, and someone had been forced to hack the door open with an ax.

“Step aside!” Longarm shouted. “Everyone step aside!”

When they were slow to move, Longarm drew his gun and fired two shots into the sky. The crowd parted, and he rushed into the office and saw Dr. Blake in the cell kneeling beside Ivan Kane. When Blake saw Longarm, he said, “Good thing I had a key to this cell or he’d have bled to death before anyone could have reached him.”

“You mean he’s going to live?”

“No,” the doctor said. “He’s taken a bullet through the gut and another through the lung. But he’s still alive. He wants to talk to someone named Marshal Long.”

“That’s me,” Longarm said. He knelt beside the dying lawman and shook his head back and forth, almost overwhelmed with remorse. “I’m sorry, Ivan. I … I’m just sorry as hell.”

Ivan grabbed his wrist. “It’s all right,” he whispered, a wheezing, gurgling sound coming from the bullet hole through his lung. “Maybe better this way.”

“Who did it?”

Ivan’s grip was surprisingly strong and a shout was torn from his blood-frothy lips. “Jack Ramey!”

“I’ll find him,” Longarm promised. “I’ll see him hang for this.”

The marshal’s breathing was shallow and rapid. He was struggling hard but drowning in his own blood. “Hired by … by them.”

“By who?”

Kane’s eyes grew round, and he stared at the fly-specked ceiling as if he finally glimpsed into eternity.

“Oh, by … by God!” he choked.

Kane’s body began to shiver as a mighty convulsion shook him. Longarm grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to hold him still, but it was hopeless. He had seen too many men die before. Then Kane let out a cry, rattled his boot heels across the floor several times, and died.

Longarm expelled a deep breath. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and said, “You heard him, Doc. He said the man that shot him is named Jack Ramey.”

“He’s a gunman, all right. Shouldn’t be hard to find unless he’s already cut and run.”

“Where does he hang out at?”

“The Champion Saloon.”

“I know where it’s at,” Longarm said.

“If you go in there, you’d better keep that gun in your hand, because there are a lot of rough men in there,” the doctor warned. “Jack Ramey is just one of the professionals, but he isn’t even the worst of the lot.”

“Who do they work for?”

“Whoever is willing to pay ‘em the best money,” the doctor replied. “Sometimes they just ride out for a month or two and when they come back, they’re usually flush. I expect they rob stagecoaches, banks, and anyone that looks like they got a few dollars on their person.”

Longarm knew the type well. He moved over to the body of Hec Ward. The man had been shot at least four times, mostly in the back. He was still in a kneeling position, head pressed to the bars, hand and hook circling them. It was a pathetic sight and a miserable way for such a tough and dangerous man to die.

“Almost looks like he’d found the Lord as he was dying, don’t it?” someone said.

“No,” Longarm answered, “it just looks to me like Hec Ward was trying to rip the bars out of the floor and run away.”

“He was a hard man hisself.”

“Yeah,” Longarm said, unclenching Ward’s hand and then removing his hook from the bars. When he rolled the deputy over, he could see that Ward had bitten through his own tongue in fear or in pain. The man’s mouth was filled with congealing blood, and the sight was so grisly that Longarm suddenly looked away.

“I think,” Dr. Blake said, “I’ve seen about all the carnage I can stand for one day.”

Longarm felt the same, but headed for the Champion Saloon anyway.

Chapter 13

Longarm was in a dangerous mood as he marched up the street, eyes riveted straight ahead. He doubted that Ramey or his friends would be expecting trouble because it seemed impossible that anyone could have survived even a few minutes in that jail cell. In all probability, Jack Ramey was convinced that he had assassinated Marshal Kane and his deputy without being seen and that he would never be held accountable for his bloody and murderous deed.

Four doors down from the Champion Saloon, Longarm halted on the boardwalk and turned to look inside a gunsmith’s shop. The owner was staring at him, obviously sensing trouble.

“Do you know Jack Ramey?” Longarm asked, stepping just inside the shop.

“Maybe.”

The gunsmith was in his forties, a hard-bitten fellow with a deep saber or knife scar etched across his right cheek. He was also missing a couple of fingers. The stub of an unlit nickel cigar protruded from his yellow teeth, and he cradled an old .36-caliber Navy Colt in his hands.

“Maybe you’d better start remembering so you can tell me what he looks like,” Longarm said, his patience shot.

“I don’t want any part of trouble,” the gunsmith said. “I do a lot of work for them boys.”

Longarm’s composure snapped for an instant. He jumped inside the shop, grabbed the gunsmith with his left hand, and at the same time drove the heel of his right palm into the stub of the cheap cigar, ramming it deep into the man’s throat.

The gunsmith, who had attempted to raise his weapon, suddenly gagged, his eyes bulging and his cheeks blowing outward. Longarm propelled the man backward until he slammed him into a work bench, bending his spine.

“Listen,” Longarm said as the man struggled for air with terror flooding his eyes, “I’m in no mood for pleasantries. Now you can swallow that cheap stoggie, suffocate on it, or spit it out, but unless you die, you’re going to cooperate. Is that clearly understood?”

The gunsmith nodded. Longarm spun him around, slammed his face down on the bench, and sledgehammered him between the shoulder blades with his closed fist. The cigar appeared, and it took the gunsmith several moments to refill his lungs. By then, his eyes were full of tears and he’d completely lost any remnant of his earlier belligerence.

“A good description of Jack Ramey,” Longarm ordered, jerking the man to his toes.

“A drink!” the gunsmith wheezed, pointing to a bottle of whiskey resting beside his bench.

Longarm retrieved the whiskey and allowed the man a drink. The man was very shaken and needed no further inducement to talk.

“Jack Ramey is short and ugly.”

“How short and how ugly?”

“About five-seven with a big, crooked nose and two missing front teeth.”

“Upper?”

The gunsmith nodded. “He likes to wear silk bandannas and red is his favorite color.”

“How old is the man?”

“About your age.”

“Does he pack a hideout?”

“Sure, don’t you?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” Longarm snapped. “Who are his friends?”

“You’ll find ‘em all at the Champion.” The gunsmith’s nerve was starting to return and his lip curled with hatred. “And whoever you are, I sure hope they got a big welcoming party waiting for you.”

Longarm grabbed the man and bent him back over the work bench. Almost instantly, panic returned to the gunsmith’s eyes as he feebly struggled to break Longarm’s steely grip.

“I’m a U.S. marshal and I’m going to clean this town up,” Longarm told the man. “And when I start sweeping it clean, you’re going to be one of the ones that is going out the door. Is that understood?”

“You can’t throw me out of Bodie!”

“I can if you’re helping to arm my enemies,” Longarm told the man in no uncertain terms.

He spun around and continued on his way. People were coming out of their shops and the other saloons to watch him, and Longarm guessed that the best thing he could do was to go into the Champion Saloon fast and low with his gun in his fist.

That’s exactly what he did. It wasn’t pretty the way he dove in under the swinging bat-wing saloon doors, rolled twice, and came up in a crouch with his gun clenched in his fists. But the welcoming party that awaited his arrival wasn’t pretty either.

Someone must have warned Jack Ramey while Longarm had been momentarily detained in the gunsmith’s shop, because the room looked empty and the little killer was primed and ready to go to war. He had taken refuge behind the Champion Saloon’s long, pine bar, and his first two bullets thundered across the room and ripped apart the swinging bat-wing doors right where Longarm’s body should have been.

Longarm’s first shot was wide, and the back-bar mirror exploded in a shower of glass. Ramey screamed and dropped behind the bar before Longarm could unleash another bullet. The man popped back into view a few feet away and fired twice more. Longarm’s next bullet plugged a case of beer, and foamy brew spewed out of the keg.

“You’re under arrest!” Longarm shouted, knocking over a card table and diving behind it for cover. throw your gun out and stand up with your hands over your head!”

Ramey didn’t answer, but Longarm could hear the killer scuttling over the shattered mirror glass. He heard Ramey knock something over, and then realized that the little gunman was making an escape through the back of the saloon. “Damn!” Longarm hissed, jumping to his feet.

He was just about to start forward when a sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. Longarm threw himself at the sawdust floor just as the twin barrels of a sawed-off shotgun ripped across the interior of the saloon. Had Longarm been ten more feet away from the blast, its pattern would have shredded him. But he was close enough that the pattern had no time to expand. Unleashing a slug from the muzzle of his revolver into the gut of the bartender was easy.

The bartender, a fat man with muttonchop whiskers, gaped down at Longarm. His smoking shotgun quivered in his fists and his pudgy trigger finger jerked spasmodically.

“It’s empty,” Longarm explained as he climbed back to his feet and the bartender’s glazing eyes rolled up into his forehead. “Sorry.”

The bartender pitched forward, impaling himself on his shotgun. He grunted, then rolled off the weapon and crashed facedown into the sawdust.

Longarm darted around the bar and ran almost blindly through a storage room. When he burst out into the alley, he caught a glimpse of Jack Ramey as the man rounded a corner.

Longarm went after the little assassin. He had a good seventy yards to make up, but his legs were much longer than Ramey’s and Longarm knew he was a very fast runner. It took him less than ten seconds to reach the corner and when he rounded it, Ramey fired another bullet from across the street.

Longarm saved his remaining bullets. He put his head down and charged across the street. Ramey’s next bullet nicked his sleeve, but Longarm didn’t even break stride. Ramey turned and vanished between two buildings, running for his life.

Longarm plunged into the dim corridor between the buildings. He thought that Ramey might be out of bullets, but there was always that hideout gun and maybe even another Colt revolver to worry about. As he neared the end of the corridor, Longarm skidded to a halt.

“Ramey!” he shouted, unwilling to burst around another corner and risk getting shot at close range. “You’re under arrest! I’m a United States marshal!”

“You are a dead sonofabitch!” Ramey shouted.

Longarm took a deep breath. His lungs were pumping and he batted sawdust from his sweaty face. “Come on out!”

“Go to hell!”

Longarm knew that Ramey wasn’t going to surrender. Why should he do that only to face a certain death from the hangman? This one, Longarm knew, was going to be tough.

He crouched low and then removed his hat. Holding it at arm’s length, he slipped the edge of its brim around the corner of the building. Ramey took the bait. The distinctive sound of a derringer blanketed the alley. Longarm knew that the derringer might have two shots, but he threw caution to the wind and jumped out into the alley to see Ramey trying to run backward in full retreat.

“Halt!” Longarm shouted.

Ramey fired again, the derringer coughing up its last misspent bullet. Longarm raised his pistol as Jack Ramey turned to run, and when he fired, he shot low. Ramey screamed as Longarm’s slug struck him in the back of the thigh. Ramey’s leg buckled and he toppled to the dirt, then jumped up and began to hobble toward the next corner.

“Halt!”

When Ramey cursed and kept moving, Longarm coolly shot the man’s other leg out from under him. Ramey’s scream filled the alley and he collapsed, spitting curses.

Longarm trotted over beside the fallen killer. Ramey was writhing around on his stomach and seemed to be mindless in his pain. But when Longarm grabbed his arm and tried to turn him over, the little gunman had one last card to play and took a vicious swipe at Longarm with a short-bladed pocket knife.

“You’re harder to finish than a damned rattlesnake,” Longarm grunted, after jumping back with the knee of his pants sliced open.

Ramey tried to lunge at him with the pocket knife and Longarm, having had more than enough from this little assassin, simply booted Ramey in the side of the head. Ramey grunted and his body quivered into stillness.

Longarm searched the man and found that he was carrying almost a thousand dollars cash. “Blood money, I’ll bet,” Longarm muttered, taking the knife and then the empty derringer and Colt.

He used Ramey’s pretty red silk bandanna as a tourniquet on the man’s right leg, and Ramey’s gunbelt served the same purpose for the left leg. But that didn’t completely stop the bleeding.

“I’d like nothing better than to let you bleed to death in this alley on account of what you did to Kane and Ward, but I’m going to make sure that you tell me the whole story and that we get to the bottom of who paid you all this blood money,” Longarm told the still figure.

Longarm heard a commotion behind him, and spun around to see men crowded at the entrance to this alleyway. “Hey!” he yelled. “Come give me a hand!”

They hurried forward, and Longarm ordered them to pick Jack Ramey up and carry him over to the jail.

“Don’t he need a doctor awful bad first?” a puffing man said as they carried Ramey back to the main street.

“I suppose,” Longarm said, noting the condition of Ramey’s legs. “Probably at least one of his leg bones is shattered. Dr. Blake is going to hate me for all the work I’m bringing him, but someone had better go find him anyway if he’s already left the jail.”

As it turned out, Thaddeus Blake had not yet left the jail and the bodies of Marshal Kane and Deputy Ward.

“He the one that shot ‘em?” the doctor asked when they carried the unconscious and badly wounded gunman into the jail and laid him on a straw mattress.

“Yeah,” Longarm said, “that’s Jack Ramey.”

“Thought it might be,” the doctor said. “He never showed his face much around Bodie. Spent all his time in the Champion Saloon, when he wasn’t off raising hell.”

“His hellin’ days are over,” Longarm said. “And so are those of the bartender who works at the Champion.”

Blake, who had been about to tear open the pants leg so that he could get at the bullet wounds, looked up suddenly. “You mean you killed another one!”

“No,” Longarm said, “he was the first man I’ve killed in Bodie. This little bastard is the one that killed Marshal Kane and his deputy, remember?”

“Yeah,” the doctor said. “I just meant … well, I just meant that a lot of people have gotten lead poisoning today.”

“I know,” Longarm said, his mind turning to Megan as he started toward the door, “and a lot more could get the fatal disease before things finally improve.”

“Hey!”

Longarm turned at the doorway, suddenly feeling old and tired and in need of a drink. “Yeah?”

“What do we do with Ramey if I can keep him from bleeding to death?”

Longarm thought about that for a moment, then said, “I don’t think you have to do anything, Doc. I mean, it’s not like he is going to get up and walk out of here.”

“No,” the doctor said, “but what if someone wants to walk into this office and kill him so that he doesn’t talk?”

“Good point,” Longarm said. “I’m glad someone is still thinking. Doc, if that happens, just excuse yourself and take a walk.”

“I will,” the doctor assured him.

Longarm nodded, and then he reloaded his gun. The doctor watched him through his bloodshot eyes, and then he shook his head and said, “If you’re going to shoot anyone else, don’t wound ‘em. I’m worn out.”

A sardonic smile tugged at the corners of Longarm’s mouth. “Doc, I’ll sure keep that in mind,” he promised as he headed back toward the U.S. Hotel.

Chapter 14

“Darlin’, how’s the shoulder feeling?” Longarm asked, closing, then locking their hotel room door behind him.

Megan motioned Longarm over to her side, and when he sat down she said, “I heard all the gunshots and I was so afraid that …”

Tears started to fill her eyes, and Longarm smiled. “As you can see, I’m just fine.”

“What happened?”

“I hunted down, shot the legs out from under, and then arrested a gunman named Jack Ramey.” Longarm took a deep breath because the rest was hard to put into words. “Ramey sneaked up behind the jail and gunned Ivan Kane and his deputy.”

Megan’s hand flew to her mouth and tears filled her eyes. “He killed them both!”

“Yeah. Ivan Kane was dying when I got to him, and he identified Ramey as the man who opened fire on them from the cell window. Ramey is well known in Bodie and he wasn’t hard to find, but he wasn’t in a mood to be arrested.”

“But he’ll hang, won’t he?”

“Damn right he will,” Longarm vowed. “If he doesn’t die of lead poisoning first. I wasn’t the only one that heard that old dying marshal shout Ramey’s name.”

Megan pulled Longarm down beside her. “I never dreamed that we’d be riding into so much death when we left Reno.”

“I told you I thought that things might get pretty rough. I sure wish that you’d never come, Megan. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to your shoulder.”

“The shoulder will mend as good as new. And as for the scar, well, you know that it’s not my first. There’s that one on my butt cheek.”

She was smiling, and Longarm remembered that scar where a horse had bit her. “And the little one right up here,” he said, patting the soft mound of her breast.

“Yes, the one that you took such great interest in.”

Longarm chuckled and stretched out on the bed beside Megan. “I swear that this will all pass and we’ll come out of it just fine,” he told her. “I think the town is as shocked as we were when it learned about the awful way that Kane and Ward were gunned down while huddled in that jail cell.”

“Are people blaming you?”

“I’m sure that some do,” Longarm said. “And I have to admit that I’m one of them.”

“Don’t be,” Megan pleaded. “Kane and Ward were out of control. They were extorting money from the merchants. Ivan Kane knew he’d corrupted his own reputation.”

“Yes,” Longarm said, “he knew. And I’ve seen it happen all too often before. Men like that risk their lives for years and years, and when they begin to get old, slow, and a little afraid, they check their bank accounts and find that they’ve no savings. Nothing put away and no pension. At best they get turned out of office with a thank-you by the town council and a few words of gratitude by a bored mayor trying to look good before an election.”

Longarm scowled. “That’s why some lawmen go bad at the end of their careers, Megan. They’re just finally trying to take care of themselves in their old age.”

“My father hasn’t got much in savings, but he never became dishonest.”

“Your father is very special,” Longarm said.

“Did you ever get that telegram sent off to Denver asking for help?”

“No,” Longarm answered. “I was going to when all hell broke loose and I never quite got around to it.”

“I think it’s still a good idea to send it,” Megan told him. “You still need help, don’t you?”

Longarm dug a cigar out of his vest and found a match, which he ignited on his thumbnail. He rolled off the bed, extracted a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebags, and poured himself a stiff drink.

“You look tired, Custis. You look real tired. Why don’t you come to bed with me.”

“Can’t. Not yet.”

Megan frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it’s still daylight out and I’ve still got to drag some names out of Jack Ramey. Once I find out who hired him, I’ll get to the bottom of things around here.”

“You need some rest and lovin’.”

That made him smile. “Megan, you’re wounded.”

She smacked her lips. “I’m thirsty. Do you suppose that I could have a little of that whiskey?”

“Hell, yes! Have all you want.”

He poured Megan a glass, and she raised it in a toast and took a long, shuddering gulp. “Now then,” she said, her voice husky from the drink. “Let’s continue with where we left off.”

“Megan,” he said with a smile, “you are wounded and I’d never touch you for fear of breaking open the wound.”

“Hmm,” she said, giving the matter and her whiskey some serious contemplation. “Well, I’d respond to that by pointing out to you, Marshal Long, that only one small part of me is wounded. In fact, just a little corner of me. That leaves a whole lot left that is just fine.”

“No,” he said flatly.

Megan smiled seductively and rolled the bedcover down to her belly. Her breasts were magnificent and despite his low spirits, Longarm felt a stirring inside his pants.

“Do I detect some interest?”

“No, cover up.”

Megan took another sip of the whiskey and kicked the bedcovers away. Her long, horsewoman’s legs brought a flood of sensual memories back to Longarm, and when she bent her knees and blew him a kiss between her open legs, he simply could stand no more.

“If I so much as cause you a twinge of pain,” he said, unbuckling his gunbelt and kicking off his boots, “give me your word that you’ll say something.”

“I will. I promise I will,” she breathed.

“And I’m going to lie sorta off to the side of your belly,” he told her as he tore off his shirt and then began to undo his pants. “I’m not going to put any weight on that shoulder and …”

“Shut up and mount up,” she ordered.

Longarm was big and stiff before he even got his pants off. Megan spread herself wide and moaned with pleasure as he eased into her young body, careful to keep his weight away from that wounded shoulder.

“How’s the shoulder?” he whispered after thrusting himself into her fully.

“What shoulder?” she panted, one arm snaking around his neck as he slipped his hand under her firm buttocks and pulled himself even deeper.

Longarm closed his eyes and took her very slowly. He was in no hurry, and he damn sure didn’t want to lose control of himself and bang her shoulder and cause it to start hemorrhaging again. Their lovemaking was deep and delicious, and it was nearly twenty minutes before they both started to feel ragged and began to lose control.

A sudden knock at the door froze them. “Marshal? It’s Dr. Blake.”

Longarm groaned into the small of Megan’s moist neck. She clutched him even tighter and whispered, “Custis, ignore him. Please!”

Longarm thought that was a wonderful idea. He began his slow but hard pumping again, feeling a tingling sensation spreading all the way from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.

“Marshal Long!”

They both heard the door handle as the doctor turned it one way and then the next. “Marshal, unlock this door!”

“Later!” Longarm yelled, raising his head. “Come back in fifteen minutes.”

“No, a half hour!” Megan gasped.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Blake bellowed. “She’s half dead! Are you both crazy!”

“Go away!” Longarm grunted. “She ain’t dead yet!”

The doctor gave them a good cussing, but neither Longarm or Megan heard him because they were both moaning and thrusting, each lost in his or her explosion of sweet passion.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Dr. Blake said later when Longarm went downstairs to the lobby and summoned him back upstairs. “Good God, man, have you lost your senses!”

“For a while we both did,” Longarm admitted.

“Marshal Long, do you realize how much blood she lost and what would happen if that shoulder opened up again!” Blake was actually furious, as Longarm knew he had every right to be.

“We were very, very careful,” Longarm explained.

“Careful isn’t good enough,” the doctor barked as he went into their hotel room, fire in his eyes and whiskey in his gut. “Young woman, if this … this monster has …”

“It was all my idea,” Megan said, looking more amused than ashamed. “I seduced him, not the other way around.”

“You’re not very responsible, and you’re certainly in no physical condition to be doing that.”

“Doctor, I really think you had better stick to things medical,” Megan told him, her smile fading. “Custis makes me feel better.”

Blake looked as if he were going to have a fit. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut, sat down on the bed, and rolled back the blanket to study his bandage.

“Well?” Megan asked.

“It doesn’t appear to have reopened,” the doctor said after peeling back some tape so that he could lift the bandage up and examine the wound itself. “And I’d say that was a wonder.”

“We do wonderful things when we are both in bed,” Megan said happily.

“Megan!” Longarm snapped, trying hard to look stern.

“How is the pain?” Blake asked.

“It’s manageable.”

“I can smell whiskey on your breath.”

“I can smell whiskey on your breath too,” Megan said. “You’re such a good doctor that I wish you didn’t drink so much.”

“No lectures.”

“Why do you drink so much, Dr. Blake?”

“I drink too much because I’ve seen far too much death and carnage,” he said, opening his medical kit and reaching for some pills. “Take these for pain instead of whiskey. All right?”

“All right.”

Dr. Blake stood up. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, and I’ll expect you to have enjoyed a very good night’s sleep.”

He shot a withering glance at Longarm. “Is that clearly understood by the both of you?”

“Yes, sir,” Longarm said.

“Yes, Doctor,” Megan replied.

“Doc?” Longarm asked.

“What?”

“If you’re leaving, would you deliver a message to the next stage headed for Carson City? I have to get a telegram sent to Denver to let them know what is going on here.”

“And asking them to send immediate assistance, I hope.”

“Yeah,” Longarm said. “That too.”

“All right. Write the message out and I’ll see that it leaves on the next stage bound for Carson City.”

Longarm quickly scribbled a note. He dug into his pockets and found three dollars. “Doc, tell the stagecoach driver or whoever it is that will deliver this message that I need a quick reply and I’ll pay him another three dollars if I get it back by tomorrow night.”

“All right.”

Dr. Blake took the message and the crumpled bills and shoved them into his pocket. Before leaving, he actually wagged a bony forefinger at Megan and Longarm saying, “A good night’s sleep, is that clear?”

“Couldn’t be clearer,” Longarm said. “And stop worrying. I’m going to have to spend the night camped next to Jack Ramey.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Longarm’s jaw dropped. “Why not?”

“The bullet that hit his right leg severed an artery. I just couldn’t get it tied off in time. Ramey went into shock and died of blood loss.”

Longarm’s hand brushed across his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Thanks for trying, Doc. I thought Ramey was going to be the key that would unlock everything. I thought he was going to give me names, facts, and figures.”

“Maybe he already did.”

Longarm blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“Men often confess their deepest secrets when they’re told by a doctor that there is no hope.”

“Not men like Jack Ramey. He was a snake.”

“Even snakes love their children.”

Longarm took a step toward the doctor. “Don’t dance around with me, Doc. What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that Jack Ramey had, as you well know, almost a thousand dollars cash. He also had a five-year-old illegitimate son that lives in Santa Fe. He gave me the kid’s name and-“

Longarm was suddenly so excited that he interrupted. “And in exchange for that name and the promise to see that his kid got the thousand dollars, he told you something.”

“Exactly.”

“Who hired him?”

The doctor was wearing a battered derby hat. He smiled and tipped it to them. “If you’re good little boys and girls tonight,” he said, “and if I can see that that young lady has had a full and restful night’s sleep, then tomorrow morning when I come by again, I’ll be happy to tell you what Jack Ramey told me.”

“You can’t do that! It’s obstruction of justice!”

“It’s obstruction of something,” the doctor said coolly as his eyes flicked to Longarm’s crotch for just a fraction of a second, “but it’s hardly justice.”

“Damn!” Longarm swore as the door banged shut in his face.

Megan took the blackmail more in stride. “It’s only six o’clock,” she said. “We’ve got hours before it’s time to go to sleep, don’t we?”

“Yes, but I hate someone holding something over me,” Longarm groused. “It’s the principle of the thing, Megan.”

“I agree,” she said, “but what can we do other than make the best of the next few hours together?”

Longarm could see the practical wisdom of her words. And with that thought in mind, he bolted the door again, then undressed and climbed back into bed with Megan.

Chapter 15

When the doctor called the next morning, Longarm and Megan were fully dressed and just finishing a huge breakfast that they had ordered to be delivered to their room.

“Well, well,” the doctor said, surveying the room and the fresh-faced couple with approval. “You look very much more rested this morning.”

“And you look fit this morning yourself,” Longarm said, noting how the doctor’s eyes were clearer and his face less puffy from the heavy drinking.

“Good, then,” the doctor said, coming over to sit beside Megan. “I’ll change the bandages now and apply some more medicinal ointments.”

He placed his hand on Megan’s brow. “No fever, which is an excellent sign that you are already on the mend.”

“I feel much better today,” Megan said. She winked at Longarm and added, “We got a very good night’s sleep.”

“So it would appear,” the doctor mumbled as he removed the bandages and studied the bullet wound. “You know, there are gifted surgeons in San Francisco who could reduce the scarring and-“

“It’s all right,” Megan said. “Custis isn’t interested in My Shoulder anyway, are you, Custis?”

Longarm blushed. Megan, he knew, was being wicked, and even a mild castigation would only provoke her to become even more outrageous.

“Custis likes the rest of me just fine.”

“That’s enough,” Longarm warned, the tips of his mustache twitching with irritation.

Dr. Blake’s examination and ministrations took only a few minutes. Satisfied that the wound was healing nicely, he finished his rebandaging and then closed his medical kit in preparation to leaving.

“Did you get my message off by stage last evening?” Longarm asked.

“I did. It ought to reach Carson City this afternoon and then be sent very soon afterward.”

“Good.”

Longarm looked at Megan. “I took the liberty of adding a message to be telegraphed to your father in Reno. I didn’t want him to be worried.”

“Did you tell him about my … accident?”

“No,” Longarm said. “I thought it better not to.”

Megan looked relieved. “And now,” Longarm said, turning to face Dr. Blake. “We’ve kept our promise, so it’s time to keep yours. What did Jack Ramey say yesterday before bleeding to death?”

The doctor frowned, and then moved over to the window. “Are you sure that you want to know? That it wouldn’t just be better to go back to Reno and put this hellhole named Bodie behind you?”

“I’m very sure,” Longarm said without hesitation. “Because if I did that, I’d be allowing whoever paid Jack Ramey to get away scot-free. They’d probably continue to hire men to do their butchery so that anytime someone tried to stand up for the law in this town, they’d be assassinated just like Hec and Ivan.”

“Yes,” the doctor said, “that’s quite likely. But once I tell you who hired Ramey, you’ll feel duty-bound to open that can of worms and then there will be even more bloodshed. And frankly, Marshal Long, even Bodie has seen enough for a while.”

“Doc, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got a job to do. Now, I know that Marshal Kane and his deputy weren’t even authorized to carry badges. They told me that.”

“That surprises me.”

“It shouldn’t,” Longarm said. “I’d have found out quick enough. And I also know that they were shaking down some of the merchants.”

“And some of the professionals,” the doctor admitted with a trace of bitterness. “Their protection fees were not exorbitant, considering the alternatives. And quite frankly, those who were convinced that it was better to subscribe are, in the main, satisfied with the protection that they were receiving.”

“Receiving from whom?”

“From a coalition of powerful men, Marshal. I would say they number less than five. They are the most powerful among our saloon owners and mine owners, and one is a miners’ union boss.”

“What has a miners’ union boss got to do with this sort of thing?” Megan asked.

The doctor shrugged. “Greed knows no occupational boundaries, dear girl. The miners’ union is powerful here in Bodie, and its president wants a say-so in every facet of Bodie’s day-to-day activities.”

“Did he also want to see Marshal Kane and Deputy Ward killed?”

“Probably,” the doctor said, “but not enough to pay someone to do the job.”

“Then who the hell did pay Jack Ramey!” Longarm demanded with no small amount of exasperation.

“The name that Ramey gave me is that of Horace Leach.”

“Horace Leach?” Longarm said, turning the name over in his mind and coming up with a blank. “Who the hell is he?”

“He is a very private man who owns the Savior Mining Company. The property is located about three miles east of Bodie. Mr. Leach is a certified mining engineer, and he did quite well on the Comstock Lode before his presence became a burden and he was forced to relocate. He bought one of Bodie’s oldest mines, one thought to be worked out several years ago. But Mr. Leach’s geological education paid off handsomely, and he soon resurrected its productive capacity. I would say that the Savior Mine now produces about half a million dollars of gold and silver a year. That’s nothing compared to the Standard which is our largest, but it’s not anything to sniff at either.”

“I should say not,” Longarm replied. “So why did Mr. Leach hate Kane and Ward bad enough to pay an assassin?”

“They had a run-in, of course. It happened last fall. Mr. Leach is known for throwing these huge extravagant parties for his stockholders and potential stockholders. From what I’d heard, the two men had never liked each other, and things got much worse when Marshal Kane offered his services to ‘protect’ the guests that were coming to Bodie to enjoy Leach’s grand party.”

“I see,” Longarm said. “So the marshal wanted to extort a little protection for Mr. Leach’s guests?”

“Exactly!” the doctor said. “I’m sure that Ivan thought it would bring him at least several thousand dollars. Mr. Leach, however, had other ideas. He believed that he had enough power and influence that his guests would be well protected.

“I take it that Mr. Leach has his own gunnies?”

“A few,” the doctor said. “They come and they go. Right now he has about three on his staff. They guard the ore shipments as well as his other interests and his person. They are a very ruthless bunch, that I can assure you. They have provided me with a fair amount of business.”

“I see.”

“Why didn’t Mr. Leach use one of his own men instead of Jack Ramey?” Megan asked.

“Good question,” the doctor replied, “and one that I also asked myself. The best answer I can figure is that it was cleaner to hire a cold-blooded little executioner like Jack Ramey. A man who would gun down the marshal and the deputy and then disappear never to return.”

“Ramey’s fatal mistake,” Longarm said, “was to delay his departure.”

“I can assure you, Marshal Long, that Jack Ramey was not known for his caution or his brilliance. His cronies and bedfellows practically lived at the Champion Saloon. They were so egregious that they drove out any respectable clients and had it all to themselves.”

“Egregious?”

“It means someone or something that is remarkably bad.” Dr. Blake shook his head. “And believe me, Jack Ramey and his fellow lowlifes who had taken over the Champion Saloon were the worst of Bodie’s worst.”

“I see.”

“Anyway,” the doctor continued, “Horace Leach is the man who paid Jack Ramey a thousand dollars to execute those murders.”

“How do I get to the man without dying for my trouble?” Longarm asked.

“I don’t really know,” the doctor replied. “I can tell you this. Horace Leach is a very intelligent and prudent man. If he even suspects that we know he is the one behind those jail-cell murders, we are all as good as dead.”

“And I suppose,” Longarm said, “that the Savior Mine and its surrounding property are a veritable fortress?”

“Of course. There are armed guards everywhere. He has a large house on the property and three gunmen live downstairs. I’ve heard that one of them is always on guard. They do not drink when on duty, and they are not allowed to bring any women on the premises that might distract them.”

“What about his mining crews?” Longarm asked.

“What about them?”

“Are they loyal?”

“Not particularly,” the doctor decided after a MOment’s reflection. “Leach has a very poor reputation as an employer. He’ll fire anyone who gets hurt in a mining accident, and the Savior is always the lowest-paying among the big mines. Furthermore, Leach has an abominable reputation for safety on the jobs. His mines are the most dangerous by far. I’m told he cuts every corner possible, even trying to save money by inadequately shoring up his shafts and tunnels.”

“He sounds like a real skunk,” Megan said.

“He’s not a nice man,” the doctor agreed. “I’ve attended two of the soiled doves who frequent the Leach Mansion, and both were suffering from severe beatings and some rather hideous sexual perversions.”

When Longarm saw Megan’s eyebrows shoot up with curiosity, he growled, “Never mind, Megan!”

The doctor seconded that by saying, “My dear, you most certainly would not enjoy hearing the things that Leach does to women. It would be neither enlightening nor pleasant to contemplate.”

“All right,” Megan said. “So don’t tell me what he does to them. Dr. Blake, why don’t you just tell us how we stop this terrible man?”

Longarm whirled toward Megan. “There is no we in this matter,” he said very firmly. “You’re in no shape at all to leave your sickbed.”

“Custis, you of all people know that I’m still in pretty good shape.”

“Stay in bed and keep the door locked and a gun by your side,” Longarm ordered. “Megan, I have to bring down Horace Leach alone, and I sure don’t want to be worrying about you. Or you either, Doctor.”

Blake smiled wanly. “I sincerely appreciate your concern. But I think that I am quite safe because I am entirely unworthy of one of Mr. Leach’s paid assassins.”

He snapped his bag closed and went to the door. “I wish that I could say the same for the both of you. I wish that you had just taken my advice and left Bodie forever.”

“Thank you,” Megan said. “Will you be returning soon?”

“Tomorrow,” the doctor said as he turned to go. “That is, God willing.”

When they were alone again, Longarm bolted the door and went over to Megan. He took her hands in his own and said, “I’m going after Horace Leach tonight and I can’t be worrying about you, Megan.”

“I’ll keep my door bolted and a gun at my side.”

“Not good enough,” Longarm told her. “I want to relocate you tonight.”

“To where?”

“Another room in another hotel. Somewhere that they wouldn’t be able to find you in case things do not go quite as well as planned.”

Megan squeezed his hand. “You mean in case you are killed trying to arrest Horace Leach?”

There was no sense in lying to the young woman, so Longarm just nodded his head. “Something like that, yes. And if I was absolutely sure that your shoulder could stand the bumps and jolts of traveling back to Reno, I’d put you on the evening stagecoach.”

“I wouldn’t go,” she told him. “I’d never leave without knowing that you were all right.”

Longarm gently took her in his arms. “I ought to go and get ready for tonight,” he whispered as she slid her hand between the buttons of his shirt and began to rub his chest. “I ought to go now.”

“No,” she breathed, her breath hot in his ear. “You need to make love to me all day long.”

Longarm smiled, and decided that there really wasn’t much in the way of preparations that he could undertake anyway other than relocating Megan to another hotel and room.

“I suppose that we can wait a few hours before we sneak you out the back way and find another hotel.”

“At least a few hours,” she said, reaching for him.

“All right,” he said, cupping her breast and then bringing it to his mouth. “We might as well enjoy what time we may have left.”

Megan closed her eyes and let the waves of pleasure sweep over her as she whispered, “Darling, I couldn’t agree more.”

Chapter 16

Longarm relocated Megan to the Grand Central Hotel, which was located on Main Street just below the King Street intersection and across from Wagner’s Saloon. It had a reputation for being an establishment of quality and Longarm knew that the owner, George Summers, and his manager, S.N. Pitcher, were very proud of their elegant banquet facilities and the twenty-one luxuriously furnished rooms upstairs, every one of which boasted its own window.

“This place even has its own indoor plumbing,” Longarm said when he had Megan comfortably resting in her new room with its elegant chandelier and brocaded velvet wallpaper.

“Its own plumbing?”

“Sure,” Longarm said, going over to turn on a faucet. “Mr. Summers had a well dug at the back of the property along with a large pump that forces water up into all the rooms.”

“Is it hot for bathing?”

“No,” Longarm said, “but they’ll bring you up hot water.”

Megan looked around. “This is really nice,” she said. “Why didn’t we come here first?”

“This room costs two dollars a night,” Longarm told her.

Megan patted the bed, “It’s only a single. We need a bigger one.”

“This will do for tonight,” he told her. “Tomorrow, after I’ve taken care of Leach, we can see about moving to a larger suite.”

Longarm went to the window and watched the sun fade into the Sierra peaks. “I had better be on my way, he told her. “I’ve got some preparations to make.”

“Come over here and hold me,” Megan said. “I’m afraid for you, Custis.”

He went over to hold the girl. “Don’t be,” he said, trying to ease her worries. “I’m an old hand at this sort of thing. My plan is to go in about midnight, sneak past Leach’s gunnies, and take him by surprise in his bed.”

“But then he’ll sound the alarm and you’ll be surrounded!” Megan wailed. “Custis, I don’t think that is any kind of a plan at all.”

“I haven’t told you all of it,” he said. “Once I get to Leach, I’ll make sure that he can’t sound the alarm. I’ll knock him out, toss him over my shoulder, and sneak off the Savior Mine’s property. I’ll have Horace Leach in custody and behind bars by three o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“But even if you can do all that,” Megan argued, her voice strained with apprehension, “don’t you see that his friends are likely to come for him? Those gunnies want to keep getting paid. Custis, they won’t rest until they free Leach and put an end to you.”

Longarm frowned. In truth, he had been afraid of the same thing. If Ivan Kane and his deputy had still been alive, they would probably have supported him. But with them gone, Megan and Dr. Blake were his only remaining allies, and they could not be counted on to provide much help. Hell, he wouldn’t even allow them to help.

“Why don’t you do this,” Megan suggested. “Get my horses saddled and ready—the ones we rode down here as well as the ones that I bought, and let’s make a run for Carson City. Once there, no one would dare touch us and you’ll have all the help you need.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Longarm said, “except that you can’t travel with that shoulder.”

“But I can travel!”

“Not on horseback.”

Megan was nearly beside herself. “Then … then let’s buy or borrow or even steal a buggy or wagon! Custis, you haven’t a prayer in Bodie! Can’t you see that?”

Longarm stood up and began to pace back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, mind working furiously. He knew in his heart that Megan was right because, even if he did get Horace Leach out of his mansion, he’d never be able to hold off all of Leach’s friends, which would probably include part of that coalition that held Bodie in its firm control.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll line up a wagon and figure out a way for us to make a run for it tonight. Maybe by the time that people around here realize we’re gone, we’ll have too big a head start for them to catch up with us.”

“Now you’re talking!” Megan said with a big grin of relief. “So we won’t even be using this room tonight?”

“I guess not.”

“it would be a shame,” Megan said, eyes dancing, “not to at least enjoy ourselves here in this beautiful room.”

“No,” Longarm said flatly. “Absolutely not!”

“Oh,” she pouted. “Are you sure?”

Longarm wasn’t sure of anything when it came to this passionate young woman. So he headed for the door before his body overruled his brain.

“Good-bye,” he said at the door.

“I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to lie here waiting and wondering if you are alive or dead, Custis.”

“I’m afraid,” he told her, “that you have no choice.”

“I’ll be ready,” she called as the door softly closed behind him. “I’ll be ready to run away with you!”

Longarm went to the Kirkwood Livery Stable. Megan trusted Kirkwood, and Longarm figured the man would not betray him.

“So,” Kirkwood said, toeing the earth and looking skeptical as hell, “you’re fixin’ to kidnap Horace Leach and deliver him to justice in Carson City.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Well,” Kirkwood said, spitting a stream of tobacco into the dirt and then wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve, “all I got to say is that you better be both good and lucky.”

“I am pretty good at what I do,” Longarm said. “But I try not to count on luck.”

“You’re going to have to have a lot of luck to pull this one off,” Kirkwood opinioned. “‘Cause, even if you do somehow manage to get Leach out of his house, they’ll come swarmin’ after you like a cloud of hornets. Ain’t no wagon gonna get you far enough ahead of ‘em.”

Longarm frowned. “Maybe I can lose them,” he said. “There’s a lot of wagon tracks on the road to Carson.”

“Yeah,” Kirkwood agreed. “There is. But everyone they meet comin’ south will have seen you. Marshal, you can be damn sure that Leach’s boys and them others that are all tied up together under the saloon owners and union and such are going to be asking a lot of questions of passer-bys. They’ll know how far a lead you got on ‘em and they’ll make it up.”

“You’re saying I’ll definitely be overtaken?”

“Hell, yes! It’s well over a hundred miles to Carson City. Ain’t no way you can get a big enough jump on them boys to reach the capital without being run down and killed.”

Longarm was plenty willing to fend for himself, but the idea of having Megan also overtaken and killed was more than he could bear to think about.

“I got a suggestion,” Kirkwood said.

Longarm’s head snapped up. “I’m all ears.”

“Give me them sorrels that you rode into town on and I’ll hide you, Miss Riley, and old Horace Leach hisself in a supply wagon and deliver you safely to Carson City.”

Hope sprang up in Longarm. “You could do that?”

“I take horses, hay, and supplies to Carson City quite regularly,” the liveryman said. “Wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. And I always carry a big double-barreled shotgun for protection. I had to kill a couple highwaymen about two years ago and it wasn’t pretty. People don’t fart around with me when I’m on that wagon with my shotgun.”

“It just might work,” Longarm agreed.

“It will work, Marshal Long. ‘Cause, if it don’t, I’ll be as dead as you and Miss Riley, and I don’t much cotton to that notion.”

“Okay,” Longarm said, “we’ll give it a try.”

“But I want her matched sorrels,” Kirkwood repeated.

“I’m sure that, given the circumstances, Miss Riley will agree to that.”

“You better ask her first.”

“I will,” Longarm said vaguely. He wasn’t about to get into an argument with Megan over the sorrels. She’d be adamantly opposed to giving them over, of course. But they were fair compensation for the price of their lives.

“Then we got a deal. Bring Leach and the girl around tonight and I’ll have everything ready.”

“Won’t they think it odd that you left in the middle of the night?”

“Nope,” Kirkwood said, “‘cause I do it sometimes to escape the heat and all the road traffic. Anyway, I do sell hay and such things as I can peddle along the road, and I can always say that I left this evening in order to make a sale.”

“You’ve got all the answers, haven’t you, Mr. Kirkwood.”

“Not all of ‘em,” the livery man said. “But I damn sure better have ‘em come tomorrow when them Leach gunnies and the others catch up with me. Otherwise …”

Kirkwood did not finish his sentence, but instead drew a long, dirty forefinger across his gullet, and that made his meaning plenty clear enough.

Shortly before midnight, Longarm tied his horse in an arroyo just a quarter of a mile north of the Savior Mine and its many large outbuildings. He briefly considered bringing a rifle with him, but then discarded the idea because he wasn’t going to be able to carry an unconscious Horace Leach and a rifle. No, he’d have to rely on his side arms.

“Just don’t start to whinnying,” he warned the sorrel gelding. “I’ll be back within an hour, I hope.”

Longarm’s single advantage was that the moon was only a thin wedge of light and the night was very dark.

There were even clouds in the sky to hide an otherwise brilliant field of stars. The Savior Mine was shut down for the night, and almost all the lights were extinguished.

Giving the sorrel one last friendly pat, Longarm struck across the sage-covered ground moving low but as fast as possible. His only immediate fear was dogs, but he doubted they would sound any alarm or warning since there were so many men coming and going on these premises. Longarm used one of the mansion’s lit upstairs windows as his beacon. Longarm figured that the upstairs room might well be where Horace Leach slept or fornicated with the prostitutes for which he apparently had such a large appetite.

Fifteen minutes later, Longarm was gliding across the mansion’s wide front porch and slipping through the front door. It didn’t even have a lock since Leach had three guards living in the mansion for protection. And Longarm, remembering that one of them was always supposed to be on alert, moved very quietly. His thinking was that, if he could find that single waking guard and put him out of commission until morning, he would have an excellent chance of abducting Horace Leach without any fuss or interference.

The night guard was sitting at a small table in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. His back was to Longarm as he read the Standard, Bodie’s thrice-weekly newspaper. Tiptoeing forward, Longarm silently drew his pistol, then laid a deep crease in the guard’s scalp.

The man pitched forward, striking his forehead on the edge of the table. His coffee cup spilled from his hand and shattered on the floor, raising quite a racket.

Longarm grabbed the unconscious guard’s collar. He thought he heard someone call from upstairs as he dragged the guard into a pantry and shut the door behind him. Longarm paused, listening. When he was sure that no one was coming, Longarm cleaned up the mess, disposed of it so no one would be suspicious for a while, and then headed upstairs to retrieve Horace Leach. Time, Longarm knew, was of the essence. Every minute’s head start that he could gain on Leach’s gunnies and anyone else who would be following would be to his great advantage.

“All right,” Longarm whispered as he mounted the stairs hearing a woman giggling and then a man’s raw laughter. “Here we go.”

Chapter 17

When Longarm pushed Horace Leach’s bedroom door open, he was not prepared for the scene that he saw. Leach was vigorously riding one prostitute while his face was buried in the crotch of a second who was standing straddle-legged on top of his bed. They were in such a frenzy of passion that none of them even noticed Longarm until he walked right up to the bed and jammed the barrel of his six-gun into Leach’s bony ribs.

“Party is over for tonight,” Longarm said, cocking his gun so there could be no doubt about his intentions. “So get your face out of her bush and all three of you climb off the bed.”

Leach was a man in his early sixties, tall, thin, and with a little potbelly. He wasn’t much of a figure of manhood either as he twisted around to gape at Longarm.

“Who …”

Longarm jolted Leach with a short but powerful left cross. The mine owner toppled over sideways and one of the prostitutes started to scream, but Longarm poked her in the fanny with the barrel of his Colt, saying, “You don’t want to make a sound or it could be fatal for all of us. Do you understand?”

The woman, a fat, buxom blonde, nodded her double chins. She was well past her prime. The other was dark-complected and coarse-looking, with several missing teeth. Leach had a lot more money than taste, Longarm decided.

“You women just get dressed. if you keep your mouths shut, we might all survive this evening.”

“Who are you?” the dark one demanded.

“I’m the one doing all the talking here, remember?”

The woman gulped. She was tough as a dried cowhide and not a bit afraid, but she was also smart enough to read a man and know when he wasn’t bluffing.

Leach was groaning and holding the side of his rapidly swelling jaw. His nearly hairless body was bathed in perspiration and his potbelly was heaving as if he’d run several miles. He disgusted Longarm, adding to the hatred Longarm already felt toward the mine owner for killing Kane and Ward. “Get dressed, Horace. We’re going for a long ride.”

The man tried to protest, but instead moaned piteously.

“I guess I broke your jaw,” Longarm said. “Too bad. Now, if you don’t want your neck broken as well, I suggest you just do as I say and no one will get hurt. Hell, we might even live to tell our friends about what happened tonight.”

“What about us?” the fat one demanded to know as she and her friend dressed.

“Well, you are a problem,” Longarm admitted. “I don’t suppose that I could trust you to just leave this place and keep your mouthes shut for about twelve hours.”

The woman’s hateful expression told Longarm that he couldn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut even twelve seconds.

“In that case,” Longarm said, “we’ll just have to tie you both up and leave it at that.”

“You ain’t tyin’ me up,” the woman hissed.

Longarm had a knife, and now he brought it out. “I think you’d rather be tied up with a gag in your big mouth than have your throat slit, wouldn’t you?”

The woman paled, and Longarm was greatly relieved to see that his bluff had accomplished its purpose. Keeping an eye on the moaning Horace Leach, he quickly bound the two prostitutes up, hog-tying them naked.

“I hope the fellas that find you ladies tomorrow morning are gentlemen,” Longarm said with a devilish wink.

When the dark one cursed him, Longarm filled her mouth with her own dirty underwear. “Now you,” he said to the blonde.

She shook her head, and Longarm was forced to bend her head back, pry open her jaws, and fill her mouth before binding it shut.

“I’m sorry you ladies are going to spend the rest of the night in such an uncomfortable and unladylike position,” he said. “But at least you’ll get through this alive, which might be more than either I or Mr. Leach here can predict with any certainty.”

Leach had been using opium, and Longarm could smell its sweetish smoke in the room. That was fine with him. A man doped up on opium was always far more passive than one who was boozed up and infused with whiskey courage. “Get dressed,” Longarm ordered. Leach fumbled with a bathrobe and then his slippers. to knock Leach unconscious and carry him to the waiting sorrel, or try to march the murdering bastard out of the house and across the sagebrush. Longarm decided that he could not trust Leach to keep quiet, so he walked over to the man and said, “I’m sorry about breaking your damn jaw but I got to add insult to injury.”

He pistol-whipped Horace Leach across the side of the head. It wasn’t something that gave Longarm any satisfaction despite the knowledge of what this man had done to Kane and Ward. Leach’s knobby knees buckled and he collapsed. Longarm picked him up, tossed the man over his left shoulder, and went back downstairs.

Twenty minutes later Leach was getting real heavy, but now the horse could carry the half-naked mine owner.

“Thank God, you made it!” Megan cried, throwing herself into Longarm’s embrace and hugging him with her one good arm as tightly as possible.

“So far,” Longarm said, “so good.”

He glanced over at Kirkwood. “Everything ready?”

Kirkwood nodded. He showed them a modified freight wagon loaded with sacks of grain and a pile of grass hay. The wagon had sides about three feet tall and it looked ready to fall apart, but Longarm was sure that Kirkwood had a lot of faith in the vehicle or he would not have used it at such an important time as this.

“Let’s go,” Kirkwood said, eyeing the mine owner with contempt. “Marshal, I still think you should have put Leach out of his misery back at the mine.”

“I want him to confess to the authorities in Carson City,” Longarm said by way of a quick explanation. “After he does, I think we can get some tough but honest lawmen down here to make some permanent changes for Bodie.”

“Now that,” Kirkwood said, “would be great. Load up!”

Longarm helped Megan into the wagon and covered her with hay. Then he tossed Horace Leach up, but not before he gagged the man. “Cover him well,” he said to Megan.

“What about you?”

“I’ll ride up with Kirkwood at least until sunrise.”

The liveryman nodded his approval, and then he took his seat and slapped his lines to the rumps of their horses.

“You tell Miss Riley about them sorrel horses?” Kirkwood asked as they headed north along the dim and almost empty main street of Bodie.

“Yeah,” Longarm lied, unwilling to jeopardize this man’s cooperation for the time being.

“Good. I’m glad to see that she has that much good sense,” Kirkwood said with satisfaction as they left the town and hurried into what would be a long, dark night.

When dawn finally sneaked over the eastern horizon some five hours later, they were still moving at a good clip.

“Say, Custis,” Megan called, “when can we come back to get all my horses?”

Kirkwood looked sideways at him and Longarm spluttered, “Soon.”

“They ain’t all your horses anymore,” Kirkwood declared. “The sorrels are mine now.” Megan popped up from under the hay. “What?”

“You agreed to give ‘em to me in exchange for me risking my neck.”

“I did no such thing!”

Kirkwood drew the wagon to a sudden stop. “All right,” he said, “both of you get the hell off this wagon and take Leach with you.”

“No,” Longarm said, eyes going to Megan. “Please, be reasonable.”

“I’m not giving him my sorrels! And I paid him for two other horses.”

“You can have ‘em,” Kirkwood said. “That palomino is wind-broke. Knew it all along, and the other is too small for a man. So take ‘em—but I keep the sorrels.”

“No!” Megan shouted.

“Get down,” Kirkwood said, grabbing up his shotgun. “Our deal is off.”

“Now wait a minute,” Longarm said, almost pleading. “Megan, they are just horses.”

“They’re a lot more than that to me!”

“Are they worth more than our lives? Than bringing Horace Leach and his ruthless friends to justice? Than avenging the slaughter of Ivan Kane and Hec Ward?”

Megan finally got hold of her senses and said, “No, I guess not.”

“All right then,” Longarm said with genuine relief. “This is done. Let’s stop haggling and go on!”

Kirkwood was petulant, but he very much wanted the sorrels so he drove on. They passed other wagons all morning, and almost all of them knew Kirkwood and hailed him as they passed, heading for Bodie.

“Here comes the stagecoach,” Kirkwood said about noon. He pulled his pocket watch from his vest. “And it’s right on time.”

Kirkwood waved to the coach, and Longarm did too. It passed in a great cloud of dust, and they would have thought no more of it except the thing turned around and quickly overtook them.

“What the hell!” Kirkwood shouted as the stage driver drew up alongside, almost running them off the road.

Longarm had only to look up at the stage driver and the man sitting beside him to understand what had made the stage turn around.

“You sonofabitch!” Wild Bill Riley shouted. “Where the hell is my daughter!”

Megan, upon hearing her father’s voice, popped out from under the hay and cried, “Father!”

When Wild Bill saw the bandage covering Megan’s wounded shoulder, he almost shot Longarm. It took quite some time to calm him down, and he might still have shot Longarm if they hadn’t convinced him that all of their lives were in danger.

“If they’re coming after us, let’s make a stand,” Wild Bill shouted, recklessly waving his gun.

Longarm gave the matter some consideration. He turned to Kirkwood. “I suppose you’ll want to leave.”

“Yep. You’ll all get killed.”

After ten minutes of strenuous debate, Kirkwood was talked into handing over his team of horses and the wagon. He would take the stagecoach back to Bodie, then pick them up in Carson City, where Longarm was to deliver them to a friend.

“Good luck!” he shouted.

As it turned out, they didn’t need luck until they were almost to the Mormon settlement of Genoa. By then, they could almost see the outskirts of Carson City.

“There’s only four of them,” Longarm said, looking back at their pursuers from Bodie. “We can handle that many among ourselves.”

Wild Bill was all for stopping or even turning around and charging the four onrushing riders. Longarm, however, was much more practical. He simply topped a low ridge and then drove down a little ways before setting the brake.

“They can’t see the wagon,” he told Megan and her father. “So we’ll just hike back up to the crest of the hill and catch ‘em by surprise.”

They were waiting and ready when the four hired gunmen from Bodie came thundering up the rise. Longarm jumped up and shouted, “You’re all under arrest!”

The horsemen, caught completely by surprise, drew their guns. Wild Bill emptied his gun first, but because of his eyes, hit nothing. Longarm got three of the riders, the last one nearly running him down.

Megan proved her worth and her marksmanship by emptying a fourth saddle.

“I got ‘em!” Wild Bill whooped as he squinted into the late afternoon sunshine at the riderless horses which had turned and were galloping back toward Bodie. “I got at least three out of the four, didn’t I!”

“Yes,” Longarm said, winking at Megan. “You did.”

“And my girl,” Wild Bill said, “she got the fourth.”

Longarm didn’t hesitate. “That’s right.”

Wild Bill grinned and heaved a sigh of contentment.

“I guess we did it then, huh.”

“We sure did, Father.”

The old tail-twister reloaded and then he squinted at Longarm. “Did you diddle my daughter in Bodie, Marshal?”

“I-“

“If you did, I’m going to shoot your goddamn balls off soon as I get my gun reloaded,” Wild Bill vowed, fumbling at his cartridge belt for reloads.

“He did not,” Megan said, stepping between the two men. “Father, he took very good care of me.”

“He let you get shot!”

“But he also saved my life, and now he’s going to see that Bodie is cleaned up forever.”

“Oh, yeah?” the old man challenged.

“Yeah,” Longarm said.

“How you gonna do that?”

Longarm walked over to the wagon and dragged the now-conscious Horace Leach out from under the hay. The man’s face was as round as a melon. He looked pitiful.

“This is the man that had your old friend Marshal Ivan Kane murdered as well as his deputy.”

Wild Bill forgot about his threat against Longarm, and hurried to reload his pistol all the while muttering over and over, “Then I’ll shoot his balls off!”

Longarm guessed, if worse came to worst and he could not save Leach’s balls, that wouldn’t be such an all-fired tragedy anyway.