Longarm and the Deadly Prisoner

LONGARM AND THE DEADLY PRISONER by Tabor Evans

Jove Books New York Copyright (C) 1996 by Jove Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

ISBN: 0-515-11879-6

Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

The Putnam Berkley World Wide Web site address is HTTP://WWW.BERKLEY.COM

JOVE and the “J” design are trademarks belonging to Jove Publications, Inc.

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

Printing history Jove edition / June 1996

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

DON’T MISS THESE ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him … the Gunsmith.

LONGARM by Tabor Evans The popular long-running series about U.S. Deputy Marshal Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

SLOCUM by Jake Logan Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

Chapter 1

Longarm sat sweltering in the Concord stagecoach as it jounced and lurched across the vast and lonely high desert expanses of northeastern Nevada. There was only one other long-suffering passenger, a drummer named Richmond who sold women’s undergarments and who preferred to keep himself in a constant state of mild intoxication.

“And so you see, Marshal Long,” the drummer said, continuing his rambling monologue, “the real money is to be made in selling.”

“Is that a fact,” Longarm intoned as he stared out the window.

“Sure it is! And while I don’t mean to brag-“

“Then don’t,” Longarm warned, turning his head away from a view of the distant Ruby Mountains and glaring at the toadish little drummer.

“But you need to understand how wealth is accumulated!” Richmond recklessly persisted. “And certainly, if you were not a United States marshal, I would never reveal to you the extent of my own considerable wealth.”

“You should just be quiet,” Longarm advised the man.

But intoxication spurred the drummer on. “Marshal, I don’t mean to pry, but exactly how much money do you make each year?”

Longarm had endured this annoying man for two days and his patience was worn damned thin. The only good news was that Gold Mountain, their destination, was only a few more hours to the east. After that, Longarm would not have to suffer this man’s company a moment longer.

“Come on,” Richmond prodded with a slack smile. “Marshal, don’t be ashamed of the pittance that you receive for your very dangerous work.”

When Longarm refused to answer, Richmond shrugged and said, “I understand your embarrassment, Marshal. The truth is, I already know your salary.”

“Is that a fact.”

“Yep.” Richmond looked mighty pleased with himself. “I know that you make approximately two thousand dollars a year. Am I correct?”

Actually, Richmond’s figure was much too high, but Longarm chose not to correct him.

“So,” Richmond said, taking a swig from his silver flask, “do you have any idea how much money I make each year selling silk stockings, underpanties, and other little goodies to the ladies of the night?”

“No,” Longarm growled, “I don’t.”

“I make about three times your income!” Richmond beamed and waited for praise that didn’t come because Longarm refused to play along.

“Did you hear me correctly, Marshal Long?” Richmond demanded. “I make three times your salary! That is, I made almost six thousand dollars last year.”

“Good for you,” Longarm said tightly.

Richmond was a short, fat man in his fifties with bushy gray sideburns and mustache. He dressed well, and carried a silver-capped cane decorated with an eagle. He liked to wave the cane about even in this stuffy, miserable coach. Now he waved the cane and exclaimed, “Do you think, sir, that you would enjoy that kind of annual earnings? Or are you immune to the joys of prosperity?”

Longarm’s temper was nearing the boiling point. He had always prided himself on his even temperament. In his profession, a man could not afford to lose his temper and commit rash acts. In the first place, he was a public servant and expected to conduct himself with dignity and firmness. In the second place, he was expected to always be under control. To lose one’s temper was not a luxury given to a lawman.

“I like money,” Longarm was able to admit, “but I also like my work.”

“How could you?“Richmond looked skeptical. “Marshal, you are constantly being subjected to the dregs of our society. Your life is always in danger and you can’t afford to turn your back on people for fear that one of them is an avenging ghost from your past intent on murder. You are often forced to go out into the wilderness in pursuit of a fugitive. You are constantly on the move and, because you are so badly paid, you must live and eat like a poor man. In short, a frontier marshal such as yourself suffers a miserable existence.”

“Why don’t you shut up,” Longarm growled. “There’s some nice scenery outside. Look around and give me some peace.”

“I will,” Richmond promised. “But first, I’d really appreciate it if you would answer my question. Why do you remain a United States marshal given the danger, the lousy pay, and the loneliness you must endure?”

“Mainly, I like the danger and the excitement,” Longarm said, figuring he’d give it one more try and then he’d silence this man one way or another. “For your information—and I don’t expect you to understand—I like being on the move, and I like the chance to help people in trouble.”

“A real humanitarian, huh?”

“No, but I believe in our criminal justice system and I think that I do a good job of upholding it throughout the West.”

“Oh, my,” Richmond said, making a face. “You sound like an idealist.”

Longarm’s hands knotted into fists. “At least I’m not scurrying all over the country selling panties to prostitutes.”

Richmond blushed. “I take umbrage at that remark, sir!”

“You can take both your umbrage and your fat ass up to the roof of this coach for all I care.”

“I would fry up there in the sun!”

“Then I’ll go up,” Longarm said, grabbing his Winchester and opening the door. “I’ve had about all of your company that I can stand.”

“I was just trying to tell you how-“

“Shut up!” Longarm ordered, leaning out of the rolling coach and grabbing the roof rail.

“Why, you big fool!” Richmond exclaimed. “I hope you’ll always be poor! And you’ll deserve to be because you are stupid!”

Longarm had been just about ready to climb up on the top of the coach, but this last insult could not be ignored. Hauling his big frame back into the coach, he reached out with his left hand and grabbed Richmond by the front of his expensive white silk shirt. Then he jerked the obnoxious little fellow off his seat.

“You miserable little louse,” Longarm hissed. “If you were even half a man, I’d thrash you. But you’re just a pathetic little toad who counts every man’s worth in terms of how much money they make.”

Fear dominated Richmond’s face. His eyes bulged, but the drink had given him just enough whiskey courage to blurt out, “And what other measure is there!”

“Honor!” Longarm growled. “Courage and principle. Doing a job well that is important. Those are the reasons that men pin on a badge and endure hardships and poor pay. That’s why the best ones can’t be bought or compromised.”

Longarm hurled the drummer back into his seat. “But you wouldn’t understand things like that. You’re just a slimy little peddler who wallows in filth and whiskey. You make me sick to my stomach!”

Before Richmond could regain his senses and screech out a defense, Longarm kicked the door back open and leaned out. He climbed up on top of the rolling coach and joined the driver and the shotgun guard.

“Afternoon, gentlemen!” he called. “Hope you don’t mind a little extra company.”

The pair of stagecoach employees turned around and both smiled. “Hell, no!” the shotgun guard yelled. “Ernie and me both agreed that you wouldn’t be able to stand the company of that sorry little drummer all the way to Gold Mountain.”

“Well,” Longarm said, “you both called that one right. Does he ride this stage very often?”

“Once a month, regular as a clock,” the driver said. “He comes over from Elko with a couple of suitcases stuffed with silk underwear, stockings, and all manner of pretty things for the ladies of the night. We haul his miserable ass from one boom town to the next and he sells everything he’s got, then heads back to Reno for more. The ladies hate him, but they can’t wait to see what he’s bringing them next.”

“He brags about making six thousand dollars a year,” Longarm said, making himself as comfortable as possible given the jolting of the stage and the blazing heat from the sky.

“Mr. Richmond does indeed make a lot of money,” the shotgun guard agreed with a shake of his head, “but the little fart spends it faster than you can shuck that six-gun, Marshal.”

“Is that a fact.”

“Yep.” Ernie chuckled. “Half the time our company has to advance Mr. Richmond the money for a ticket so that he can return to Reno. What Richmond don’t drink up, he eats up, and what he don’t either eat or drink, he spends on the whores that are his main customers. They get most of their money right back in services they render to the bastard.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Longarm replied. “A man like that would have to pay for all his pleasures. No woman is going to give it to a fella like him for free.”

“We both expect that Richmond will wind up shot or stabbed to death one of these days,” the driver, whose name was Ray, shouted. “Either a drunken whore will cut Richmond’s throat for silk panties, or else someone will rob and shoot him some dark night when he’s drunk and staggering around with a wallet full of money.”

“I expect that you’re right,” Longarm said.

“Why are you going to a hellhole like Gold Mountain, Marshal?” the shotgun guard asked.

“I’m to take a killer and bank robber named Ford Oakley into custody.”

“Should have guessed,” Ernie said. “Ford got hisself all drunked up, which is why he landed in jail. The marshal of Gold Mountain, Abe Wheeler, found Ford passed out in the whorehouse. Handcuffed and threw him in jail hopin’ for that federal reward, you know.”

“I see,” Longarm said. “What kind of man is he?”

“Ford Oakley, or the town marshal?”

Longarm knew that he’d find out soon enough for himself, but it was always valuable to learn other people’s impressions.

“Both.”

“Ford Oakley is a bad’un,” the guard said, shaking his head. “He’s a big sonofabitch, about your size, Marshal. But he’s mean and when he gets drunk, he’ll kill anyone that’s unfortunate enough to get in his way.”

“And he’s a bank robber,” the driver added over the din of the road. “Everyone in Gold Mountain knew that he was riding off and robbing banks when he wasn’t working his own claim. Hell, the man was always throwing money around.”

“Marshal,” Ernie said, “if you take Ford Oakley out of that jail, you had better figure you’ll have to kill him.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he’s always said that he won’t go to trial. He’s the kind of fella that would rather go down fighting.”

“I see.”

“And another thing you need to understand,” Ray said, “is that we’d sure prefer that you hauled his ornery ass outa Gold Mountain on top of a horse instead of buying him a ticket to jail on this stagecoach.”

“Well,” Longarm said, wanting to be reasonable but needing to be firm, “as a matter of fact I will be taking him back to Elko on this stagecoach. And from there we will board the train and I’ll deliver him to Denver. Ford Oakley murdered a woman in Denver and robbed a federal bank in Colorado, and that’s where he’ll be tried and then hanged.”

“Shit,” the guard said. “I sure don’t want Ford on this coach. He might blame us for his troubles.”

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I’ve only lost one prisoner in all my years as a peace officer.”

“How’d that happen, Marshal?” the driver asked.

“He had friends that I thought were my friends. They helped my prisoner escape.”

“Did you ever recapture him?”

“Nope,” Longarm said, “but I did kill him.”

“What about those friends of his?” Ray asked.

“They’re still in prison, last I heard.”

“Well,” the driver yelled, “Ford Oakley hasn’t got many friends, but I still wish that you’d rent a couple of horses and just take him back to Elko by yourself.”

“Sorry,” Longarm said, “but I bought a round-trip ticket over to Gold Mountain and I’ll be taking Oakley back to Elko on this stage.”

“Then maybe,” Ray growled, “I’ll just take a few days off if and when you get Ford.”

“Maybe I will too,” the shotgun guard said. “It ain’t healthy to cross Ford. Ain’t a damn bit healthy.”

“His days are numbered,” Longarm promised. “And once he’s in my custody, he’s on his way to the gallows. It sounds to me like he should have swung from a hangman’s noose a long time ago.”

“He should have for certain,” the driver agreed. “But I tell you something, I’d not only handcuff him, but I’d shackle that man in leg irons, I’d blindfold him, and do every other damn thing I could think of to keep him from breaking loose and cutting my throat.”

Longarm nodded gravely. In truth, he was puzzled by the unexpectedly high level of fear and anxiety that Ford Oakley seemed to instill.

“Marshal, do you have a wife or any kids?” Ernie asked after a long silence.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” the guard said. “That’s all.”

Longarm frowned. “Tell me about the marshal of Gold Mountain.”

“Ain’t a whole lot to tell you except that he’s old and worthless,” the driver answered. “Everyone figured him to retire, but capturing Ford Oakley has changed all that. Right now, he’s an odds-on favorite to get reappointed.”

“It was that big a deal, huh?”

“Biggest thing to happen to Gold Mountain in years,” the driver said. “And maybe the most foolish.”

“Course,” the shotgun guard added, “the marshal has a deputy that was buckin’for his job. The deputy ain’t too happy about Ford Oakley’s capture either.”

“I don’t suppose,” Longarm said.

“Let me tell you this much,” Ray said. “The situation in Gold Mountain is a real pile of horseshit and you’re about to step right smack into the middle of it.” Longarm sleeved his sweating brow and stared over at the tall, green Ruby Mountains. He’d been up in them a time or two and knew that they’d be cool, even in the middle of August. There were springs and streams and fish to catch, and Longarm wished that he was just going fishing instead of to Gold Mountain.

“There she is!” the driver shouted, pointing ahead.

Longarm drew the brim of his Stetson down tighter over his eyes and stared across the long, blurry heat waves. Faintly, very faintly, he could see the makings of a distant mining town. It was nestled up against some low, brown hills.

“I’ve never been to Gold Mountain,” he admitted.

“Ain’t no mountain at all,” the guard told him. “Just some damned hot hills. They got six saloons and three whorehouses and they’re all busy any hour of the day or night. The mines are running around the clock. As long as the ore holds steady, Gold Mountain will stay on the map. But after it peters out, that town will dry up and blow away same as all the others out in this country that came and went.”

“I’m sure that you’re right.”

“Better not drink the water either,” the driver warned. “It’s alkali and it’ll rot out your guts.”

“If Ford Oakley don’t ventilate’em first,” the guard quickly added.

Longarm closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. He had a headache caused, he supposed, either by this awful August heat or simply because he was just tired of hearing advice supposedly offered for his own good. Longarm could hardly wait to take custody of Ford Oakley and bring him to Denver for a dose of long-overdue rope justice.

Chapter 2

Gold Mountain, Nevada Territory, was just about like any other high-desert boom town that Longarm had seen in the West. Oh, maybe it was a bit larger and tougher, but Longarm knew that Gold Mountain was at its zenith and, in a few years, would dry up and blow away just like most of the other flash-in-the-pan mining bonanzas.

As their stagecoach rolled onto the main street, Longarm noted the usual collection of saloons, cafes, hotels, and dry-goods stores. All of them had false fronts, and it was clear that they had been hastily constructed. They were fire-traps erected at the least possible cost in order to generate the most possible revenue. And when the nearby mines failed, they would be dismantled almost overnight and their skeletons hauled off to the next Nevada boom-town.

“There’s the marshal’s office,” the driver said, pointing out a small, clapboard building with a badge painted on its door and no name.

“Odd that Marshal Abe Wheeler doesn’t even put his name on the place,” Longarm said.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew Wheeler,” the shotgun guard replied. “He’s a loner. Real quiet and likes to stay outa sight.”

“What kind of a marshal is that?” Longarm asked with a shake of his head.

“Not much of one,” the driver conceded. “Especially now that he’s got this smart-assed young deputy that likes to swagger around with a six-gun on his hip and a great big chip on his shoulder.”

“He fancies himself a gunfighter.”

“That’s right,” Ray said. “How’d you guess?”

“I’ve seen all too many of that type before. They’re nothing but trouble. They’ll either shoot someone or get themselves shot. Either way, they’re trouble.”

“Well, Rick Trout is real trouble. And he’s shot a couple of fellas. Made a big deal of it too. Course, the boys that he shot were drunk as loons and couldn’t hardly even find their own guns, but Rick acted as if he’d braced and outgunned Wyatt Earp and Wild Bill Hickock at the same time.”

“Did the deputy kill the drunks?”

“Yep. Shot them both through the guts,” the guard said as their coach slowed and eased off the main street and into the entrance of a livery. “Course, Deputy Trout claimed that they gave him no choice but to kill ‘em, but that don’t square with what was told by the witness.”

“Ernie is right,” the driver added. “Deputy Trout is a braggart and a bully. Someone is going to shoot him in the back one of these days.”

“And Marshal Long, you should hear him crow about how he and the marshal are going to collect a big reward offered on Ford Oakley’s head.”

“The reward is sizable,” Longarm admitted. “Two thousand dollars, but it won’t be paid until Oakley is brought to trial in Denver.”

“Haw! Haw!” the driver guffawed. “I never heard anything said about that part of it! The marshal and his damned deputy are tellin’ everyone that they’re to get paid the reward as soon as you take Ford Oakley into custody!”

“Well,” Longarm said, “I’m afraid that they’re quite mistaken. The reward is always paid after the accused has been delivered into the jurisdiction of the federal office that has issued his arrest warrant.”

“Huh?”

“It means that they won’t get paid until I deliver Ford Oakley to Denver,” Longarm repeated. “That’s to keep some enterprising and unscrupulous law officer from getting the bright idea of perhaps helping a prisoner escape from federal custody just so that he can apprehend him again and collect the reward a second time.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the driver said. “I never even thought of someone doing that.”

“A few law officers have,” Longarm confessed. “It’s a sorry commentary on some of us in the law profession, but it’s been known to happen more than once.”

“I expect that the marshal and his deputy haven’t heard of that one,” the guard said, jumping down as their stage ground to a crunching halt. “Not that they wouldn’t try something like that if they’d thought of it—but they’re both too damned dumb.”

“Yeah, and Ford Oakley would kill ‘em for sure if they ever let him go,” the driver added. “The fact of the matter is, what most people in Gold Mountain believe is that the marshal and his deputy are counting on getting that reward money and then leaving for parts unknown.”

“That’s not going to happen till I get Ford Oakley to Denver,” Longarm assured them as he also jumped down from the top of the stagecoach. He opened the door and grabbed his bags out of the coach.

“Mr. Richmond, it’s time to rise and shine,” Longarm announced.

The drummer had succumbed to the combined effects of the heat, the rocking motion of the coach, and his whiskey. He was snorting heavily, mouth hanging open, lips quivering with every labored breath.

“Just leave him be,” the driver suggested. “Mr. Richmond always arrives in this kind of shape. He’ll sleep right here in the coach until sundown, and then he’ll revive and crawl off to one of the whorehouses. Once there, he’ll sample the goods and then try to sell them workin’ women some goods.”

The driver grunted. “Have you noticed the brand of whiskey he drinks?”

“No.”

“It’s called Old Gut Rumbler, and even the Paiute Indians won’t touch it because some of ‘em have been poisoned to death.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse than bad. They make it out of things that would turn your stomach,” the shotgun guard said. “Richmond might wear nice clothes, but the inside of his body has got to look like a shit-hole.”

“Well,” Longarm said, looking up and down the busy street, “that’s his business. I’ve got my own business to take care of and it starts at the marshal’s office.”

“I sure wish you weren’t planning on taking the next stage back to Elko on our run,” the driver lamented. “We’re holding over tomorrow and leaving early the next morning.”

“I’ll be on that run and so will Ford Oakley,” Longarm told them, “but don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll have Oakley under control.”

“And what,” the shotgun guard asked, “if he gets out of control?”

Longarm tapped the hammer of his pistol, a double-action .44-40 Colt which he wore high on his left side, butt forward so that he could use it in a cross-draw. “If Ford gets out of control, then I’ll just draw this here piece of iron and give him a firm tap on the noggin.” Longarm winked. “That generally settles ‘em all down right quick.”

The stagecoach driver relaxed and actually chuckled. “I’d give a week’s pay to see Ford Oakley get his skull cracked open. I’ve seen Ford pistol-whip a few men and I’ll tell you that he’s none too gentle about it. One of ‘em never regained his senses and hasn’t but half a mind to this day. He was a right fine fellow before that happened.”

“You’d be talking about Paul Smith,” the guard said. “Yep, Paul made the mistake of fallin’ in love with a girl that Ford had his eye on. Molly Bean is the prettiest filly in town, but she never gave Ford Oakley the time of day. Now that Paul is only half in this world, Molly hates Ford Oakley more than anyone else in Gold Mountain.”

“Even vowed to go to Denver and see him swing,” the driver said. “And she’s fiery enough to do it!”

“She sounds,” Longarm said, “as if she’s got plenty of reason to hate Oakley, but hatred generally poisons people. I hope, after Oakley swings, that Miss Bean is satisfied and will get on with her life.”

“She’s got money, good looks, and brains,” the guard said. “But she’s pure poison to men. All men.”

“That ain’t true,” the driver declared. “Miss Bean likes old men. I even seen her passin’ out candy to ‘em a few times.”

“The only reason she likes old men,” Ray argued, “is because she knows they ain’t out to screw her.”

Longarm had heard enough of this drivel. “Well, gents,” he said, “I’ll be seeing you the day after tomorrow, bright and early.”

The two stagecoach employees exchanged worried glances, but neither of them dared to make another objection, and Longarm left them to mutter and fret. He sauntered down the street with his Winchester in his left hand and his bag in his right hand. Both men and women gave him a second look. Longarm was worthy of a second glance because he cut such a fine figure. He wore a snuff-brown Stetson with the crown telescoped flat on top, a brown tweed suit and a vest, a blue gray shirt with a shoestring tie, and low-heeled boots of cordovan leather. Tall and athletic, Longarm moved with easy grace. His brown hair matched both his mustache and deeply tanned face. Men stepped out of his path, and Longarm seemed not even to notice them as he came to Marshal Wheeler’s tiny office and threw open the door.

“Howdy,” he said, taking in the old marshal, his dandified deputy, and the big, hulking man pacing back and forth in the cell at the rear of the room.

“Who the Hell are you?” Deputy Trout demanded, jumping to his feet.

“I’m United States Deputy Marshal Custis Long.” Longarm dropped his bags and leaned his rifle up against the wall. “And right here,” he added, digging into his pockets, “is a letter from my regional office authorizing me to take custody of your prisoner and deliver him to Denver where he is to stand trial for murder and robbery.”

“Hot damn!” Trout exclaimed, jumping forward to snatch the letter of authorization from Longarm’s hands. “The federal marshal has finally arrived!”

“I hope you have our reward money,” Marshal Wheeler said, coming to his feet.

“Wheeler, you’ve been in this business long enough to realize that reward money isn’t paid until I deliver the prisoner to the authorities who issued the reward.”

“That’s pure bullshit!” the deputy exclaimed.

Longarm turned to regard Deputy Rick Trout with unconcealed contempt. Trout was a pretty boy with a starched silk shirt, three or four rings on his fingers, and a red silk bandanna knotted around his neck for no other reason than to look showy. And despite the beautiful ivory-handled Colt six-shooter strapped to the deputy’s narrow hip, Trout reminded Longarm of a French pimp.

“It’s the way the law works, sonny,” Longarm said.

“Well gawddamn!” Trout cried, glancing at the town marshal for support. “You may be with the federal government, but that doesn’t give you the right to lay down dumb rules! Ford Oakley is our prisoner. We captured and jailed him and now we expect to get paid!”

“Marshal,” Longarm drawled, eyes flickering to the older man, “either you order your pup to shut up, or I’ll shut him up. It’s your decision.”

“You big sonofabitch!” Rick Trout hissed, hand shading the butt of his pretty gun. “Marshal Long, I’ll shoot your balls off if you-“

Longarm took two steps, and then the back of his hand smashed into Trout’s face, crushing the deputy’s lips and turning them into bloody pulp. The foolish deputy staggered, hand clawing at his six-gun. Longarm backhanded him a second time, and Trout crashed over a desk and landed hard on the floor. Before the deputy could recover, Longarm planted his boot on Trout’s wrist.

“Owww!” Trout screeched. “Get off my arm! You’re breaking it!”

Longarm ignored the plea. He reached down and extracted the deputy’s sidearm. Then he unloaded it, scattering bullets across the hardwood floor.

“Here,” he said, returning the gun. “And if you ever get mouthy with me again, or go for that pretty gun, I’ll feed it to you … butt first. Do you understand me?”

Trout choked something through his mashed lips, and then he got up and scuttled out the door.

“Where in the Hell did you find something like that?” Longarm demanded. “Is that the best that you could hire?”

“He’s got a temper, but he’s not going to run on me when there’s trouble,” the town marshal said.

“He’s a menace,” Longarm argued.

“You didn’t need to hurt him like that,” Marshal Wheeler complained. “He may be green and mouthy, but he’s still my deputy and deserves some respect.”

“He’s dangerous,” Longarm said. “I’ve seen too many of his kind and they always end up doing something bad. Marshal Wheeler, get rid of him before he fouls your waters.”

“I’ll kill the sonofabitch first chance I get!” Oakley shouted from between the bars of his cell. “Mark my words, I’ll kill him!”

“Shut up!” Wheeler yelled. Oakley laughed.

Wheeler picked up the stub of a cigar and took his time lighting it. When he peered through the blue smoke, he said, “Marshal Long, my deputy and I were expecting that reward money now.”

“That’s just too bad,” Longarm said, collecting his authorization paper and refolding it before slipping it back into his coat pocket. “You’re plenty old enough to know the rules.”

Wheeler blushed with anger. “All right, if you insist on playing by the rules, let me see your badge and your papers. If the papers aren’t in order

…”

“They are in order,” Longarm said, showing the man his badge and then the papers issued by the Denver court.

Wheeler made a big show of reading the federal orders very carefully. Finally, though, he handed them back and said, “I guess you’ve got us over a barrel, Marshal Long.”

“I’m sorry you choose to look at it that way. Usually, I get a lot of cooperation from the local authorities.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Wheeler spat. “This is nothing but a bad deal.”

“Because, if you don’t deliver our prisoner to Denver, Rick and I don’t get a cent of the reward money. Furthermore, Oakley will return and we’ll have to watch our backs every minute.”

“You got that right, Wheeler!” Oakley called from his cell. “I’m comin’ back and I’m sending you and your deputy straight to Hell on a slab.”

“Shut up!” Wheeler cried, his face turning red with anger.

Oakley laughed and said, “You and Trout know damn good and well that I’ll come back here and call you both out. And when you do come out, I’ll gun you down in an open, stand-up fight so that no one can ever say that the best man didn’t win.”

“You’re not going to do anything of the kind,” Longarm pledged as he walked over to the cell and regarded his notorious prisoner.

Ford Oakley was a big, rough-hewn man. He wore baggy gray pants and a thick leather belt with an empty holster. His hands were immense and his nose had been busted and pushed off-center. He wore a turquoise necklace around his chest, and his shirt was almost completely unbuttoned. One eyebrow was badly scarred, and he was missing his right earlobe. He and Longarm were about the same size and weight. The main difference between them was that Oakley wore a thick mat of dark brown beard and there was an undeniable craziness in his eyes. Or perhaps it was simply a wild, unfettered recklessness. Longarm had observed that same look in other men’s eyes, but not often. When he saw it, Longarm knew that he was facing a very dangerous and ruthless enemy. The kind that would rather die than submit to the law or to another man. The kind that would spit in the eye of the devil and never take a back step, even in the face of certain destruction. Men like Ford Oakley were few and far between because they usually died young and hard. They feared nothing, and that was why they were the most dangerous things on earth.

“What the Hell are you staring at?” Oakley demanded, his teeth drawing back from his lips.

“I was just wondering how an animal like you must have felt when you killed that woman in Denver.”

Oakley snorted with derision and his thin lips turned in a cruel smile. “Before I answer that, I need to know which woman you’re talking about, Marshal.”

“Never mind.”

When Longarm started to turn away, Oakley’s big paw shot through the bars and tried to grab Longarm’s six-gun. Anticipating the desperate attempt, Longarm spun on his heel, grabbed Oakley’s wrist, and twisted it hard, nearly cracking bones.

“Ahhh!” Oakley gasped, his face turning pale. “Marshal, long before we reach Denver, I’ll kill you slow!”

“You’ll try,” Longarm said before he released the arm. “But you’ll fail and then I’ll have to either shoot or brain you. Maybe I’ll just pistol-whip you too hard the way you did Paul Smith.”

Oakley’s eyes dilated. “Smith shouldn’t have looked at Miss Bean like he wanted to eat her for supper. I warned him once, but he kept pesterin’her, so I fixed his gawddamn wagon for keeps.”

“You’re going to hang and then burn in Hell,” Longarm promised. “That’s the way it’s going to be, Oakley.”

But the killer and bank robber laughed. “We’ll see! We’ll see! It’s a long damn way to Denver, Marshal Long. A long, long way!”

“I’m going to watch you swing,” Longarm vowed. “I’m going to make it my business to watch your hanging, even if it’s on my own free time.”

“You sonofabitch!” Oakley hissed. “When I kill you, it’s going to be slow. No quick bullet in the belly, no quick anything. I’ll just enjoy listening to you holler and beg for mercy.”

“That will be the day.”

“It will,” Oakley allowed, nodding his head with agreement, “and it will come within the week.”

Longarm spun on his heels and marched back to face Marshal Wheeler. “I’ll be taking him out on the next stage bound for Elko. That’s the day after tomorrow.”

“I know when the damn stage leaves my town,” the marshal snapped. “Don’t have to be told that too.”

“All right,” Longarm said. “But I want it clearly understood that Ford Oakley is to be watched very closely.”

“We been doin’that already. And once he’s in your custody, Marshal Long, you better not ever let him escape.”

Upon hearing this, Ford Oakley laughed. His laughter wasn’t pretty and it would never have brought a smile to anyone’s face. It was a high, chilling laugh. The kind that came up from the belly of a man and went sour on his lips. The kind that told you its creator wasn’t quite right in the mind.

It was, Longarm thought, the kind of a laugh that you might expect from a wild hyena just before it attacked to rip your guts out.

Chapter 3

Longarm found a room at the Bear’s Lair Hotel on Center Street, just a block up from the marshal’s office. It wasn’t a particularly nice room, but for a dollar, in addition to the room, a man got a free shot of whiskey, a cheap cigar, and a free breakfast in the little downstairs cafe. Longarm was always trying to save money, and as long as the room was free of ticks, lice, fleas, and larger vermin, he was not above shaving his hotel expenses.

That evening Longarm savored a good steak dinner with peach pie and brandy, then attempted to enjoy his cigar for a little while before he went up to his room and to bed.

He was aware that people were watching him out of the corners of their eyes, but no one approached him until a pretty young woman in a green print dress walked into the room and then marched right over to his table.

“Are you the federal marshal who is going to try and take Ford Oakley to Denver for trial?”

“I am Deputy Marshal Custis Long, at your service. And who are you?”

“Miss Molly Bean,” she said, chin raising slightly. Marshal Long, may I join you for a few minutes?”

Longarm rose from his chair and extended his hand. “Please do, Miss Bean. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She ignored his hand and sat. Molly Bean was in her early twenties. Her face, neck, and hands were tanned. She had taffy-colored hair bleached by the sun, and strong, handsome features. She was a tall, full-bodied woman with a square jaw and very direct blue eyes that bored straight into a man. There was no friendliness in those penetrating eyes, but neither was there open hostility.

“I have heard that you hate all men,” Longarm said, deciding to be direct. Molly laughed coldly. “Who told you that?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Whoever said that doesn’t know his beans from his bacon,” Molly said, glancing at the waiter and nodding her chin. She turned back to Longarm and added, “I just hate most men.”

“What a pity.”

“Why?” Molly asked. “You’re all just lechers and thieves.”

It was Longarm’s turn to be taken aback, but he recovered in a hurry. “I doubt very much that you believe that.”

“You’d lose the bet,” she said flatly. “The fact of the matter is that the only man I ever trusted was my brother, and he betrayed me.”

“How?”

“Long story that ends badly. My brother died trying to escape the Yuma Prison almost six years ago. Everyone said that he would eventually come to a bad end, and he did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Molly said. “Let’s discuss another man that needs to be shot down.”

“You’re talking about Ford Oakley.”

“Of course. Is it true that you are taking him all the way to Denver for trial?”

“That’s right. He raped and then murdered a woman about your own age.”

Molly had been about to say something, but now she paused a moment before asking, “How did it happen?”

“The unfortunate victim was not a lady of great virtue,” Longarm began, choosing his words with care. “In fact, she was not a lady and she had no virtue. But she was a human being and Ford Oakley violently took her life.”

“How?” Molly whispered, leaning her chin on the back of her hand.

Longarm blew a cloud of blue smoke over her head. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because,” she said, “it could have been me.”

Satisfied with the answer and sensing its importance, Longarm decided to tell Molly the rest of the tragic story.

“All right. Ford Oakley strangled the young prostitute in a drunken rage. They were in bed when it happened. I don’t know what she did—or didn’t do—that caused Oakley to go into a rage. It doesn’t matter. They had a fight. People in the rooms adjoining theirs heard the argument and then the woman’s terrified screams. One man ran downstairs to get help, but the hotel clerk was not about to interfere, and by the time the law arrived, the poor woman was dead.”

“Broken neck?”

“No,” Longarm said. “She was strangled and her skull was fractured in several places.”

Molly took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Her next words were soft, but heavy with passion. “And that is why, Marshal, Ford Oakley doesn’t deserve to draw even a single breath.”

“He’ll hang,” Longarm said. “I promise you that much. And I’ve heard about what Oakley also did to your young friend, Paul Smith.”

At the mention of Paul’s name, Molly looked away in sudden pain. Instinctively, Longarm laid his hand on her arm to comfort the young woman.

“Think of it this way, Molly. Oakley is going to believe that he can somehow escape. He’s going to be so sure of that that when-“

“He will escape! As sure as day follows night, Oakley will figure out something to save his neck.”

Longarm leaned back in his chair. “He won’t escape. I would never allow that to happen.”

“You won’t have any choice. Marshal Long, you simply don’t know Ford Oakley!”

“You’re right,” Longarm said, wanting very much to reassure the distraught woman, “but I do know his type. You see, I’ve been hunting them down for years. I know how a man like him thinks. I am just as ruthless and determined to deliver him to justice as he is to escape. Even more so.”

Longarm leaned back in his chair and smoked for a moment, then continued. “Miss Bean, I have the great advantage of experience. Oakley has never had to travel under arrest, chained and guarded. I, on the other hand, have had to deliver dozens of killers to trial. I’ve seen every trick in the book. There is nothing that the man can do that would take me by surprise.”

“You’re much too confident.”

“I’m not,” Longarm argued. “I am aware that, if I relax my guard even a moment, Oakley will take my life. I know that I am only human and I can make mistakes.”

“You should shoot him at the first opportunity.”

“No,” Longarm countered, “I should not. That would be far too easy on the man.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve seen how men of this type behave, and I promise you that Ford Oakley will begin to lose all hope as we get closer to Denver. He’ll become more and more desperate, and I’ll probably have to pistol-whip him a time or two. By the time we arrive in Denver, he’ll be broken. He’ll have played all his hole cards and realized that all he held was an empty hand.”

“I want to go with you,” Molly said. “To make sure.”

“Not a chance.”

“I am going with you,” she vowed. “You’re taking the stage to Elko and from there you are boarding the train to Cheyenne. Both are public conveyances. You can’t prevent me from buying tickets on the same coach and train.”

Longarm had to admit that she was right. “Please,” he said, “just put Ford Oakley out of your mind. Give up the hatred. Be satisfied knowing that Oakley will swing from a noose until dead.”

She took a long, shuddering breath and then whispered, “I … I wish that I could believe that.”

“You can!”

“No!” she said with passion. “Not until I see it with my own eyes.”

Longarm gave up, but it was always a shame to watch a person suffer from hatred. “All right then,” he said finally. “What if I send you an invitation to the hanging. Or a telegram when justice has been carried out.”

“I wouldn’t believe it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think you will ever live to deliver Ford Oakley to Denver, much less Elko.”

“Because he has friends?” Longarm leaned across the table and looked into her sky-blue eyes. “Is that why you are so certain that I will fail?”

Molly Bean bit her lip and studied her hands. They were large and looked very capable. They were ridged with callouses indicating that she was not averse to doing hard labor whenever it was necessary.

“Marshal Long,” Molly said, “I can’t tell you exactly what I think will happen once you and Ford get on that stagecoach. I can only say that I believe, with all my heart, that you are a good and a brave man but that you will be killed and Ford will escape.”

Longarm could not help but feel as if he had been insulted. He mashed his smoking cigar in an ashtray, wiped his mustache, and then came to his feet.

“We’ll see, Miss Bean. We’ll just have to wait and see. But please don’t make the mistake of being on that stagecoach when it leaves carrying me and Oakley north.”

“I will be on it, Marshal Long,” she told him in a flat voice. “Because, you see, you haven’t a prayer without my help.”

Longarm frowned. “I wish I had your full confidence, Miss Bean.”

“Why? You have too much confidence of your own, Marshal Long.”

Longarm smiled politely, and then he reached for his Stetson and turned to leave. “Marshal?”

He stopped and pivoted slowly. “Yes?”

“Ford Oakley raped and tried to strangle me too.”

Before Longarm could say anything in reply, Molly got up and hurried away.

“Damn,” Longarm whispered. “Damn!”

Longarm stopped by the marshal’s office once more that evening. Deputy Trout was on guard and when Longarm entered the office, the deputy glared at him with hatred.

“How’s our prisoner?” Longarm asked.

“He’s fine,” Trout managed to say. “But you ain’t taking him away without me coming along.”

“Not a chance.”

“Neither Marshal Wheeler or me is going to let you screw up and lose our reward!” the deputy shouted. “I’m coming, with or without your okay.”

Longarm’s first impulse was to hit the young man again, but this time he resisted. Trout was an asshole, but like Miss Bean, he was a free man and had every right to travel to Denver. There was nothing that Longarm could do to prevent his interference.

Ignoring the deputy, Longarm walked over to the cell and stared at Ford Oakley, who was stretched out on his hard bunk. Almost a minute passed before Oakley even turned his head. “What the Hell are you staring at?”

“A man that deserves to die on a gallows and will come to that bad end very soon.”

“Ha!” Oakley laughed. “You just keep telling yourself that, Marshal Long. I’ll even let you tell it to yourself one last time before I put a bullet into your gut.”

Longarm could feel the evil that this man radiated. For an instant, the thought occurred to him that Molly’s advice had not been so wrong after all. Ford Oakley was extremely dangerous and desperate. He would never give up, and if he ever got the upper hand, even for an instant, Longarm knew that his own life would not be worth a plugged nickel.

“We’ll see,” Longarm said to the man.

“How about a cigar for the condemned man?” Oakley asked. “I can see you got a couple in your coat pocket. Probably cheap bastards, but I can’t be fussy right now.”

“Go to Hell,” Longarm said, deliberately taking another cigar out of his pocket and shoving it between his teeth, then striking a match on the cell bars and lighting the thing.

Oakley sat up and stared at him from the dimness of his cell. When he spoke, there was a taunting laughter in his voice. “Oh, Marshal,” he said, “I don’t think I can remember anyone that I’ve looked forward to killing as much as you. Maybe Deputy Trout, but he’s just small potatoes. You’re the one that is going to give me the most satisfaction.”

“Well,” Longarm said, “we’re all entitled to our little fantasies.”

“How soon are we going to leave for Denver?” Oakley asked. “Are we going by horseback, stage, or-“

“Why don’t you just wait and see,” Longarm said, turning on his heel.

“Where’s the marshal?” Longarm asked when he reached the front door.

“Home asleep, I imagine,” the deputy said. I’m guarding that rattlesnake at night. He comes on to guard him in the day.”

“I’ll spell you both,” Longarm suddenly decided. “We’ll take it in eight-hour rotations until it’s time for me to escort him to the stage for Elko.”

Deputy Trout wanted to throw the offer in Longarm’s face, but he also didn’t want to be stuck with a twelve-hour shift. So finally, he swallowed his pride and said through his mashed lips, “That suits me.”

“I thought it might,” Longarm said. “I’ll start tomorrow morning after your shift. Stay alert.”

Trout’s face twisted in fury, but he had learned better than to mouth off to Longarm, and so he said nothing. But as Longarm walked down the boardwalk, he could hear the deputy’s cursing, followed by Ford Oakley’s chilling and crazy laughter.

Chapter 4

When Longarm returned to his hotel room, the door was slightly ajar. Drawing his pistol, he stepped off to one side of the door and called, “Who’s in my room?”

“Sophie,” said the melodious voice. “Come on in and join the party, Marshal!”

With the toe of his boot, Longarm pushed the door open. Then he peered around the corner to see what Sophie looked like and if she was alone or perhaps accompanied by someone that might want Longarm dead.

Sophie was not only alone, she was in his bed! Longarm stepped into the doorway. Longarm had no idea who the woman was or what she wanted, but he did know that one of her hands was underneath the blanket and that it might be clutching a revolver waiting to blow a hole in him during a momentary distraction.

“Both hands out where I can see them, Sophie.”

She withdrew her hand from under the covers. She was either Mexican or part-Indian, dark, young, and voluptuous. She had long black hair and big brown eyes. She also had big dark breasts and a lovely smile.

“You are a very nervous man,” she said, reaching for a bottle and two glasses. “I come here to welcome you to our town, and you think I am going to try and kill you?”

“It’s happened before,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “Who are you?”

“Sophie Flanigan,” she said brightly.

“You don’t look Irish to me.”

“Half Irish, half Indian.” Sophie poured herself a glass of what Longarm could now see was champagne and then held it up to him in salute. “The best of both breeds, as I expect you will soon agree.”

Longarm shook his head and looked around. Then he even dropped to one knee and peered under the bed. Sophie, he finally concluded, was definitely alone.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you!” Sophie poured Longarm a drink. “I know what it is like to come to a new town and then have to sleep alone.”

He had to laugh as he took the drink. Staring down at her large and lovely breasts, Longarm said, “Sophie, if the bottom half of you is half as nice as the top half that I can see, you probably haven’t slept alone in years.”

Sophie giggled, appreciating his humor. Her dark eyes sparked with mischief as she refilled her glass and raised it to him saying, “What would you like to drink to? Us?”

“To us,” he said, touching his glass to hers and then taking a drink. “And to you telling why you are here.”

“I am here because I want to be here.”

“Uh-uh,” Longarm said, studying her carefully. “You’re here because you want something from me. That is really why you are here.”

“Wrong,” she argued. “I am here because I want to give you something. Look.”

Sophie whipped back the covers, and Longarm gulped because her bottom half was every bit as perfect as her top half. Sophie’s legs were long and shapely, her hips gently flared around her dark mass of pubic hair. She giggled and gave Longarm a little pump of her hips, and he had to look away in order to keep his senses.

“I can see that you like it,” Sophie said, looking at the growing bulge in Longarm’s pants. “Maybe very much, eh?”

“Sure,” he said. “A man would have to be half dead not to like something like that. But there’s always a price.”

“A price?” she asked innocently.

“That’s right, a price.” Longarm covered her bottom up and sat down on the bed. “What is your price, Sophie?”

Her smile slipped a little and she drained her glass. “Isn’t there an old saying about how we should not look a gift-horse in the mouth?”

“You’re no ‘gift-horse,’” he answered, “and I wasn’t looking at your mouth, that’s for certain.”

She giggled and reached for his arm, but he pulled away saying, “What is it that you really want, Sophie?”

“Oh,” she said, “I can see that you are going to be a little difficult, Marshal.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “I just want to know if I can afford what you have to offer. You look pretty expensive, Sophie. You have the look of a woman who has never come cheap.”

Sophie beamed. “Marshal, I take that as a compliment. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. So what’s the toll, Sophie?”

“Ten dollars?”

“Too much.”

“All right, five.”

“I don’t think so.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she assumed the look of one who has been gravely offended. “You do not think Sophie is worth five dollars?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, “but I don’t think that you’re here for money. I think you’ve another reason for being here.”

Her face changed and she pouted, “And that would be?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “But you know that a federal marshal doesn’t make a hell of a lot of money. And I know that the bottle of French champagne you came with is worth at least three dollars.”

“So?”

“So this doesn’t add up,” Longarm said, taking the glass from Sophie’s hand and dragging her out of his bed.

Sophie didn’t make any attempt to resist. When she was standing before him, she drew a deep breath, her magnificent breasts rising dramatically before she expelled, and then said, “So, if I am not here for money, then for what?”

Longarm placed a hand on her bare shoulder. He could feel his heart pounding, and the last thing he wanted to do was to question this woman. What he really wanted to do was to tear off his clothes and mount her. But he knew that would not be wise—at least not until he found out her real purpose.

“I think you being here has something to do with Ford Oakley,” he blurted out. “In fact, that is the only reason I can think of for this surprise.”

Sophie reached up and touched his face. Her nipples were hard, and she rubbed them suggestively across his shirtfront. “Marshal, what if I told you that I saw you get off the stagecoach and I said to myself, ‘There is the handsomest man I have seen in a long, long time, and I want him.’”

His hand slid down from her shoulder to Sophie’s breast. He felt her shiver as he rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger. “If you told me that,” he whispered into her ear, “I would say that was the sorriest line of bullshit I’ve heard from a woman in quite some time.”

Sophie stiffened and made a grab for his six-gun. She was ferret-quick, but the big Colt was pressed too tightly between them and Longarm easily caught her arm and then pushed her away. “So, what is it you really want?” he demanded.

Sophie sat down on the bed. Her smile was gone now and she looked sullen and a little nervous. “I want money.”

“I don’t believe that.” Longarm pulled her back to her feet and slipped his arm around her waist. “You’ve got too much to offer to be selling yourself for a few dollars to a federal marshal. What you really want has everything to do with Ford Oakley, doesn’t it?”

When she did not answer, Longarm squeezed her tight against his chest and pinched her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Doesn’t it!”

“Yes!” she hissed, pushing at him. “It is about Ford Oakley! I have been sent here for one reason and one reason alone, and that is to get you to kill him!”

Longarm stepped back and reached for the champagne. “You mean that someone sent you to try and get me to murder him.”

“Yes!”

“Who?”

“I cannot say,” Sophie replied. “But I was paid very well. I will be paid even more if you agree to kill him.”

Longarm poured himself a drink and studied the young woman. He had a feeling that she was finally being honest with him. “And how,” he asked, “am I supposed to do it?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “But I’m sure that you could find a way if you wanted to. My job is to make you want to.”

Longarm removed his hat and sat down on the bed. “Did Miss Bean pay you to come here?”

“No!”

The moment he heard the denial, Longarm suspected otherwise. Sophie’s denial was just too strenuous. Too emphatic. “Miss Bean did pay you, didn’t she?”

“No!”

“You’re a lovely woman … but a very bad liar,” Longarm told her. “Is Ford Oakley anything to you personally?”

Sophie turned away and began to gather up her clothes. Longarm went over to her and said, “I asked you a question. Turn around and give me an answer.”

Sophie spun around and all the pretense was gone now. Her eyes were no longer soft, but instead very hard and angry. “Paul Smith is my brother!” she cried. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Yes,” he told her. “And I am sorry. Sorry for what happened to your brother, and sorry for thinking that you had other, less noble motives for coming here.”

Sophie inhaled slowly and then expelled with a shudder. “You think I wanted to kill you?”

“Yes,” he said, “that’s exactly what I thought.”

“If killing you … never mind.”

“Let me finish for you,” he said. “If killing me could insure that Ford Oakley was going to die, it would be worth it. Isn’t that what you wanted to say?”

“Yes,” Sophie finally answered, tears springing into her eyes.

Longarm drew her close. “You don’t have to be here and you certainly don’t have to kill me, Sophie. I swear to you that I’ll deliver Ford Oakley to the hangman. Why can’t you and Miss Bean believe that I won’t fail?”

“I want to believe that but..”

“But Oakley is so evil that you can’t. Is that it?”

She nodded.

Longarm bent and kissed her mouth. It was a long, lingering kiss and it stirred both their passions. Longarm felt her arm encircle the small of his back, and his own hand slipped down over her bare buttocks.

“Right now I can only pay you with a promise,” he said as he eased her down on the bed. “I won’t fail.” Sophie moaned when Longarm’s finger slipped into the moist heat of her body, and she nodded when he said, “Do you believe me?”

From that moment on, everything went very fast. Longarm tore off his holster and then, with Sophie’s help, his clothes. She even yanked off his boots, almost tossing one of them through the window.

There was no foreplay. Sophie Flanigan, or whatever her name was, opened herself wide, and Longarm plunged into her much like a man dying of thirst would throw himself into a pond of warm, desert water. Sophie engulfed him, wrapping her long, lovely legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. She was strong and eager, and Longarm could not get enough of her as he thrust and lunged, driving his thick root deep into her womanhood.

“Yes!” she cried, clutching him tightly, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Oh, yes!”

Longarm couldn’t stop pistoning. The room was hot and stuffy and their bodies made wet, sucking sounds as they groaned and grunted, each trying to reach the pinnacle of passion. Finally Sophie cried out, and when her entire body began to spasm uncontrollably, Longarm planted his seed, bucking and shouting as he emptied himself in hard, jolting torrents.

It was at least ten minutes before either of them spoke, and then Longarm said, “Just believe in me, Sophie.”

“I believe in you,” she told him. “But I still wish you would kill that bastard.”

“For Paul?”

“Yes.”

“Did he … did he do anything to you?”

Sophie hugged him tightly and then she began to sob. And sadly, that was all the answer Longarm really needed.

Longarm was yawning about ten o’clock the next morning when he finally stumbled into the marshal’s office to find Wheeler sitting behind his desk with a cup of coffee.

“For cripes-sakes!” the town marshal exclaimed. “Marshal Long, you look awful! Did you get crazy drunk last night?”

“Not exactly,” Longarm said.

“Well, you look like you been dragged sideways through a damned knothole.”

“He looks like a woman done screwed him half to death,” Oakley crowed from his cell. “Who was she? If she was young and pretty, I’ve screwed her already.”

“Shut up,” Longarm snapped.

“Well,” Oakley said, chuckling, “I guess that tells me that she was young and pretty. Just tell me her name and I’ll tell you how she likes it best.”

Longarm managed to ignore the prisoner. “Marshal Wheeler,” he said, “do you have any more coffee and an extra cup?”

“Sure, it’s right over there on that little table. I have a pot brought over from the cafe next door every morning and then another every afternoon.”

Longarm drank his coffee in silence, one eye on the old marshal and the other to his prisoner.

“My deputy,” Wheeler said, “told me that you agreed to help us guard Oakley.”

“That’s right,” Longarm said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Brave man,” Oakley crowed from his cell. “Marshal Long, do you really think you can handle it?”

Longarm ground his teeth in silence, and the town marshal said, “Ford is a real asshole and he’ll ride you all the time, if he thinks he can get your goat.”

“Well,” Longarm said, “he can’t. And the sooner we leave the better.”

“You can say that again!” Oakley called. “How come we’re waiting around? Why don’t you just rent some horses and let’s hit the trail?”

When Longarm ignored the question, Oakley said, “There’s only one reason we could be waiting around, and that’s to take tomorrow morning’s stage. That’s how you’re going to do it, isn’t it, Marshal Long!”

“I expect so,” Longarm said, already deciding that he might be better off not to take the stage. Oakley was too confident, and that made Longarm think he might have friends waiting somewhere along the road to ambush the stagecoach.

“Good! I got scores to settle with Ray and Ernie too!” the prisoner crowed. “Might as well settle with everyone at once. More efficient that way.”

Longarm motioned for Wheeler to follow him outside. When they were alone and could not be overheard, Longarm said, “He’s too confident for MY liking. Does he have friends who will try and ambush that stagecoach?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Marshal Wheeler asked. “Of course he has friends, and you can bet they’ll be camped out beside the road to Elko just waiting to spring him.”

“Then I’ll just have to think of some other way to get him to Elko,” Longarm said.

“That might not be possible,” the marshal allowed. “This town has a lot of wagging tongues and Ford Oakley has a few IOU’s to collect.”

“I’ll need a wagon and horses,” Longarm decided. “I’ll need a wagon that won’t draw any attention and will have sides on it so I can lay that man down and he can’t be seen or heard.”

“Sounds like you need more than a buckboard.”

“I do,” Longarm said. “I’m thinking that I need something much bigger.”

“How about an ore wagon?”

“Too big.”

“I suppose a good-sized supply wagon or … how about a medicine peddler’s wagon?”

“That sounds good,” Longarm said. “How big and heavy is it?”

“It’s light enough to be pulled easily by two horses and it’s all enclosed. I had a peddler come through selling a cure-all elixir, and he drank so much of his own medicine that he died.”

“Where is this wagon?”

“It’s around behind the jail. Been sitting there about a month now, and I expect that it’s in pretty good shape. I locked it up tight so that it wouldn’t be vandalized. There’s still a couple of boxes of that fella’s elixir inside that I haven’t gotten around to pouring out yet.”

“Let’s take a look at it,” Longarm said, “if I can do that without attracting too much attention. But I can’t pay you for it and I can’t even buy horses.”

“For crying out loud!” the marshal exclaimed. “Doesn’t the federal government even give you expense money on these kinds of deals?”

“Sure,” Longarm said, “but not enough to buy a whole wagon and team of horses.”

Wheeler rubbed his jaw. “Tell you what, Gold Mountain will donate the wagon and horses.”

Longarm raised his eyebrows. “In return for?”

“A promise,” Wheeler said. “The simple promise that you will execute Ford Oakley before he discovers a way to do the same to you.”

“I can’t make that kind of promise!”

Wheeler scowled. “Then on return for your allowing my deputy to accompany you in that wagon to Elko and then on to Denver. That’s our demand, and it’s one I’m insisting on in exchange for the wagon.”

“Deputy Trout is a fool and he’d be more trouble than he’s worth.”

“Not if you get ambushed. He may not be the most intelligent or upright law officer you’ve ever worked with, Marshal Long, but he is damned good with a six-gun and he won’t hesitate to kill Oakley.”

Longarm considered this arrangement, and found it not at all to his liking. But he might indeed need some help, so he finally nodded his head in agreement. “All right.”

“Good!” Wheeler looked very relieved. “When do you want to leave?”

“Tonight.”

“That soon?”

“Sure,” Longarm said. “I have to catch that eastbound train in three days. I assume I’ll have to take some kind of a lengthy detour in order to avoid Oakley’s friends.”

“You’ll have to take a very long detour,” the marshal said. “In fact, you’ll have to go over the Ruby Mountains and then drop down into the Great Salt Lake Basin.”

“I can do that if the wagon will go over’em,” Longarm said.

“And there might be some Paiutes out there that will cause you grief,” Wheeler added. “They’re not real fighters, but they’ll steal you blind and leave you stranded if you don’t keep a close eye on your horses and all of your belongings.”

“Damn,” Longarm said, “maybe I’d just be better off taking my chances with Oakley’s friends.”

“I disagree,” the marshal said.

“All right then,” Longarm said. “Get me four of your best horses.”

“Four? Why? Two will pull that wagon.”

“I want a couple of extras just in case I have to make a run for it,” Longarm said. “I’ll leave them at the railroad’s stockyards.”

Wheeler looked worried. “You know, I’m really sticking my neck out on this. Four horses and that wagon are worth some pretty good money. If you get killed or …”

Longarm had heard enough. He went back behind the jail to look at the wagon, Wheeler running to catch up. Satisfied with what he saw, and with Wheeler’s information about the route through the Ruby Mountains, Longarm strode back to the front, went back inside the office, and sat down behind Deputy Trout’s desk. He propped his feet up on the desk and tipped his hat down over his eyes.

“Are you going to sleep?” Wheeler asked at the front door.

“That’s the idea,” Longarm told the man. “Don’t wake me for at least three hours.”

“Enjoy your nap!” Ford Oakley called from his cell. “Soon, you’ll be rotting in Hell and you can sleep forever.”

Longarm raised his hat and gazed at the man. “It sure is going to be a pleasure to see you swing from a noose in Denver.”

“That’ll be the day!”

Longarm dropped his hat back down over his eyes and relaxed. He knew that he was getting himself into a tough deal, but he didn’t see that there was any choice in the matter. Might as well turn his mind to pleasant things, like Sophie Flanigan and the time they’d had making love together last night.

What a woman! Just thinking about her caused a stirring of arousal in Longarm. If this wasn’t going to be such a crowded and a dangerous trip, Longarm thought he might even have invited Sophie to join him on what was apparently going to be a long road to Elko.

Chapter 5

Longarm awoke from his nap about sundown and glanced over to see Deputy Trout staring daggers at him.

“Deputy, if you’ve got something to say, spit it out,” Longarm ordered. “And if I’m not going to be able to trust my back to you, then you’re staying here in Gold Mountain. I’m going to have my hands full watching Oakley. I damn sure don’t need you as an extra worry.”

Trout leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. “I’m coming with you all the way over the Ruby Mountains to Denver. I want to make sure I collect that reward. Abe and I have talked it all out and that’s part of the deal.”

“You’re both a couple of fools!” Oakley called from his cot in the cell. “Ruby Mountains, shit! I’ve got friends and they won’t be fooled!”

“Sure they will,” Longarm replied. “I’d bet a month’s pay that they’re camped beside the road the stage uses this very minute. And by the time they realize we’ve spirited you out of Gold Mountain and circled around and over the Ruby Mountains, it will be too late.”

“In a pig’s eye!” Oakley called. “My friends know this country like the back of their hand.”

Oakley came to his feet and walked over to the bars. He gripped them in his big fists and said, “Besides, I don’t need any help. I’ll figure a way to get the drop on you two fools and kill you both all by myself.”

“You got us both shaking to death,” Trout blustered. “Ford, you’re going to the gallows.”

“We’ll see,” the outlaw replied. “The fact of the matter is, I think you’re going to play Hell just getting me out of this cell. The minute you boys step inside, I’m going to kick both your asses.”

Trout was young but he wasn’t all stupid. Ford Oakley was big, tough, and strong. He wasn’t the kind of man you wanted to meet in a dark alley or in the tight confines of a jail cell. Looking at Longarm, Trout said, “What are we going to do about getting him handcuffed and out to the medicine wagon?”

“We’ll figure out something.” Longarm strolled over to the window and yawned. “It’s about dark enough to get this show going. Where is Marshal Wheeler?”

“He’s at home for supper. The marshal decided everything here would go smoother if he just stayed out of the way until tomorrow.”

“How convenient for him,” Longarm drawled. “Did he get that wagon and the four horses hitched, the supplies loaded, and everything brought up behind the jail?”

“I did it mostly. I even put a couple of shotguns and rifles in the wagon, just in case we have to fight off that big sonofabitch’s friends in the Ruby Mountains.”

“Good idea,” Longarm said. “And what about supplies for us and the horses?”

“Couple hundred pounds of oats in the wagon,” Trout replied. “I also got plenty of eats for us as well. Everything is taken care of.”

Oakley rattled his bars and snorted with derision. “I doubt everything has been taken care of.”

“What do you mean?” Trout asked.

“Well,” Oakley said with a tight smile, “have you fellas made out your last will and testimonies yet? Or talked to the undertaker and told him what you wanted carved into your tombstones?”

Trout charged over to the cell, leaned close, and said, “You rotten, murdering sonofabitch! I’ve had to listen to you for too damn long!”

Oakley yawned with contempt. “You’re not even worth talkin’to, kid. It’s your big friend that is going to give me a bit of a challenge. I can see that clear enough. But you … well, Deputy Rick Trout, my old lady could have whipped your ass with one hand tied behind her back.”

The young deputy grabbed the bars and shook them in fury.

Longarm called, “Just let it ride! He’s baiting you and hoping you’ll do something foolish.”

But Trout was too mad to listen. His hand dropped to his gun, and it came up smooth and lightning fast. He cocked the weapon and pointed it through the bars. “Ford,” he grated, “I might just shoot you right now! That will forever shut your big mouth!”

Oakley looked over at Longarm and said, as casual as anything, “You gonna let this young hotheaded fool murder your prisoner, Marshal?”

“Leave him alone,” Longarm ordered the deputy, “And put that damn gun away before I feed it to you.”

Trout whirled on Longarm and started to say something, but at that very moment Oakley shoved both of his long, muscular arms through the bars. One forearm looped around the deputy’s neck to choke and pin him helplessly against the cell while the prisoner’s other hand stabbed for the deputy’s six-gun.

Longarm jumped forward, watching the deputy’s eyes roll up in his head and expecting to hear the sound of Trout’s neck snapping like a dry stick before he could reach and help the fool. Longarm’s own hand stabbed for his gun even as Oakley’s palm closed on Trout’s weapon.

It would have been very close except that, when Oakley tried to yank Trout’s six-gun loose, its hammer hooked on one of the cross-bars of the cell door.

“Dammit!” Oakley howled, yanking savagely at the weapon even while he viciously throttled Trout until the deputy’s eyes rolled up into his skull and his legs buckled.

Longarm raised his Colt, took aim on Oakley’s forehead, and shouted, “Let him go and get back or I’ll kill you where you stand!”

The outlaw cursed and froze with indecision. His black eyes stared into the barrel of Longarm’s big gun. When Longarm cocked back the hammer and his finger tightened on the trigger, Oakley blinked and released the deputy’s gun. It clattered to the floor outside the cell.

“All right, Marshal Long, you win this time. Just ease that hammer down and don’t shoot.”

“Let go of him,” Longarm ordered.

“Sure,” Oakley said with a tight grin a moment before he gave the deputy a violent wrench and dropped him to the floor. Longarm stepped forward and grabbed Trout’s arm and gun. He pulled the unconscious lawman out into the middle of the room and felt for the deputy’s pulse. He was actually surprised to discover that Trout’s heart was still pumping.

“Did I break his damn neck?”

Longarm put his hands on both sides of Trout’s face and gently rolled the head back and forth. “I don’t hear any bones grating.”

He thumbed back Trout’s eyelids, and the pupils looked normal. “I think he’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah?” Oakley said, grinning. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Marshal Long. I just put a big jolt of fear into his miserable little heart. I’ll bet anything that I’ve broken his nerve, if he ever had any. He’s going to be useless to you and to himself for the rest of his life.”

Longarm glanced up at the prisoner. “You may be underestimating him.”

“I doubt it.” Oakley shrugged his broad shoulders and sucked on a knuckle he’d skinned while trying to yank Trout’s gun free. “Tell me, Long, are you really going to allow that fool to come along with us?”

“I can’t stop him. If he still wants to accompany you to Denver for that reward, that’s his choice.”

“Hell, man! We both know that Trout is a boy among us men. He’s gonna be more help to me than to YOU.”

Longarm was afraid that Oakley was right, but he didn’t comment.

“What this all boils down to, Marshal, is which of us is the better man. Why muck up the waters with the likes of a damned kid like Rick Trout?”

Longarm straightened and walked over to the cell. “I should kill you for trying to break his neck,” Longarm said. “I could do that, and Trout would back up my story that I had to shoot you in self-defense. It would save me a lot of time, money, and bother.”

Oakley wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Longarm’s bluff. He laughed, and it was not a pretty sound.

“Now, Marshal Long,” he drawled. “If you did that, wouldn’t it be against the law? I mean, aren’t lawmen supposed to protect the citizenry as well as their prisoners? I ain’t even had a fair trial yet, Marshal. You can’t wear a badge and be an executioner.”

Longarm went over to Wheeler’s desk and found the cell key as well as a pair of handcuffs, which he checked to make sure they were in good working order. Satisfied, he carried both back to Oakley’s cell door.

“Turn around and move over to the rear of the cell. Put your hands behind your back and get down on your knees.”

“Go to Hell,” Oakley said, folding his arms across his thick chest. “If you’re going to take me out of here, you’re going to have a fight.”

“Okay,” Longarm said, shoving the key into the cell door and unlocking it. “You leave me with no choice but to do this the hard way.”

Oakley grinned and balled his fists. “I don’t suppose that you’d like to leave your gun outside, would you, Marshal Long? You could just close that door and let the best man walk out alive. How does that sound?”

“Stupid,” Longarm said, aiming his six-gun at the killer, “real stupid. Now, turn around.”

Oakley’s eyes shuttered and his body tensed as he said, “You can go straight to Hell.”

Longarm took three quick steps forward and raised his pistol over his shoulder as if he were planning to slash the barrel down against Oakley’s skull. When the prisoner threw his hands up to deflect the blow, Longarm whipped the heavy pair of handcuffs he’d gotten from Wheeler’s desk in a tight, vicious arc. One of them struck Oakley in the middle of his forehead, opening up a deep gash. The prisoner grunted with pain and lunged blindly forward with blood streaming into his eyes. Longarm stepped out of the reach of Oakley’s thick outstretched arms. He threw out his leg, and Oakley tripped and his head slammed into the cell door.

Dazed and bleeding like a stuck hog, Oakley tried to climb back to his feet, but Longarm pounced on him like a big cat. He drove his knee between the prisoner’s shoulders and slammed him back to the floor. It took only a second or two to yank the prisoner’s arms up and handcuff him into submission.

“Damn you, Long!” Oakley cursed, blood still pouring down his face. “You got me this time, but it’s just the start.”

“Yeah,” Longarm said, dragging his prisoner to his feet. “And if you keep pushing my patience, I might just decide to put an end to your dangerous little game.”

In reply Oakley raised his boot and slammed his heel down hard where Longarm’s foot should have been resting. Longarm had seen the trick before, and had just managed to get his foot out of harm’s way.

“That ties it,” Longarm grated, bringing his pistol down hard against the back of Ford Oakley’s skull.

The big outlaw’s legs buckled and he dropped like he’d been shot in the head. Longarm used the man’s own gunbelt to tie up his legs. He locked the cell door and went to get himself a big meal before he loaded up his prisoner, and the worthless and still-unconscious young deputy, and headed for Elko via the Ruby Mountains.

A half hour later, he was enjoying a big meal that would probably be his last good feed until he arrived in Denver with his prisoner.

“Marshal?”

Longarm glanced up from his steak and potatoes to see Miss Molly Bean enter the little cafe. Except for one old cowboy who had evidently been on a drunk and whose hands were shaking so badly he could not bring a cup of coffee to his cracked lips, they were alone.

“Hello, Miss Bean,” Longarm said, admiring the way she looked in a white lacy dress.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” Longarm said. “But I’m just finishing up and getting ready to go back to the marshal’s office.”

“Are you in charge of guarding the prisoner tonight?”

“Yes,” Longarm said, sipping coffee and liking the way a spray of freckles decorated Miss Bean’s pretty nose and how her eyes were sort of a greenish-brown. All in all, she was a very handsome young woman. Very handsome indeed.

“I spoke to Ernie and Ray this afternoon,” Molly said. “They’re extremely worried about transporting your prisoner back to Elko tomorrow. They fully expect that some of Ford Oakley’s friends are out there waiting to set him free.”

Longarm had sworn Wheeler and Trout to secrecy about his change of plans, his decision to take the medicine wagon over the Ruby Mountains. They, along with Oakley himself, were the only ones in Gold Mountain who knew of his attempt to avoid an ambush, and Longarm wanted to keep it that way despite the fact that he felt certain he could trust Miss Bean.

“Well,” Longarm said, “I got a feeling that everything is going to be just fine tomorrow. I told Ray and Ernie that they shouldn’t worry so much, but I guess they will anyway.”

“They have reason to worry,” Molly said. “Ford Oakley does have some pretty ruthless friends. Friends who will stop at nothing to free him.”

Longarm reached across the table and placed his hand on Molly’s. “Just don’t worry. I’m not invincible, but I’ve been doing this sort of thing for years and I expect that I know what I’m up against.”

She tried but failed to show a smile. “I think you should know that Miss Flanigan and I have both purchased tickets to Elko. We’re accompanying you all the way to Denver.”

Longarm retracted his hand. “That would be a bad mistake, Miss Bean. A very bad mistake.”

Her eyes flashed. “You keep telling me that, but I keep telling you that I will not be bullied or dissuaded from doing what I please. Sophie and I won’t have a minute’s peace until we both see Ford Oakley swing by his neck until he is dead.”

Longarm scowled. He could see that Molly Bean was a very stubborn and determined woman. He knew the reasons behind their almost fanatical hatred of Ford Oakley, but that still didn’t change the fact that they would be far better off staying out of this dangerous business. And furthermore, they would be furious in the morning when the stage was ready to leave and they discovered that Longarm and Deputy Trout had about an eight-hour head start on them for Elko.

“Miss Bean,” Longarm said, “I only wish that I could persuade both you and Sophie to just go on with your lives and try to be happy again.”

Her expression softened. “We will, as soon as Ford is dead. There are just some things that have to be put to rest and Ford Oakley is one of those things.”

“I understand. But why don’t you take a later stage to Elko? Oakley will have to stand trial and that will take at least a week or two. I promise you that he won’t swing for at least a month.”

Molly considered that, but finally she shook her head. “I can’t quite explain this,” she said, “but we are very worried about his escaping.”

“And you think you could prevent it if I should fail?”

“Yes,“Molly said. “And I mean no offense, Marshal Long. I’m sure that you are extremely diligent and capable, but I really doubt that you’ve ever had a prisoner as dangerous and cunning as Ford Oakley.”

“If he’s that dangerous, that’s all the more reason for you and Miss Flanigan to remain here in Gold Mountain.”

“No,” she said, that’s all the more reason for us to come and back you up.”

“I disagree.”

Molly Bean shrugged and came to her feet. “Well,” she said, extending her hand, “tomorrow is going to be difficult, and so I’ll use this occasion to wish you the best. I think You can well guess that Sophie and I will arm ourselves, and we are both good shots.”

“Do as you wish,” Longarm said, seeing no point in arguing since he’d be long gone by the time the stage was ready to roll and his absence was discovered.

Molly gave him an odd look. “I didn’t expect you to be quite as … as understanding about us joining you. I’m glad that you are not upset with our decision.”

“No,” he said, “just resigned. See you tomorrow at the stage office, Miss Bean.”

“Molly,” she corrected him. “As long as we are all going to be traveling together to Denver, we might as well be on a first-name basis, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

Molly squeezed his hand and looked him right in the eye. “I know that Sophie spent the other night with you, Marshal Long. She … she said you were wonderful and a gentleman.”

Longarm blushed. “I guess you two share everything, huh?”

“Not everything,” Molly said. “But we are closer than sisters. Sophie means the world to me. She’s had a difficult life and was headed toward an early grave when I met and befriended her. She’s proven to be a wonderful friend and we’d do anything to help each other.”

“I’m sure you would,” Longarm said, not quite sure where this conversation was headed and starting to feel a bit uneasy.

“Sophie and I share all our secrets,” Molly said, smiling up at him. “We share clothes, recipes … everything.”

Longarm gulped. He might be reading this woman wrong, but he had a feeling she was telling him that she would like to share him with Sophie Flanigan.

“Wonderful,” Longarm said, thinking that he ought to finish his meal.

“It’s going to be a long, long trip back to Denver,” Molly said. “After we arrive and you’ve handed over our prisoner to the authorities, I don’t suppose that you would be able to take a few days off and show us the town? Neither of us have ever been to Denver and …”

“I’d enjoy that,” he snapped.

“Really!”

“Yes, really.”

Molly beamed, and then she turned and hurried outside. At the door, she waved and smiled. Longarm dug into the rest of his dinner, and then ordered half an apple pie, all the time thinking about Sophie and Molly.

Damn but they were going to be angry with him tomorrow when it was time to board that stagecoach for Elko and there was no marshal and no prisoner. But Longarm was willing to bet that Ray and Ernie would be grinning like happy fools.

It was nearly eleven o’clock that night when a dazed and badly shaken Deputy Trout and Longarm finally got everything, including the still-unconscious Ford Oakley, loaded into the medicine wagon and were ready to roll. “You drive and I’ll guard Oakley,” Longarm said.

“Maybe you should drive and let me guard the prisoner,” Trout said.

This suggestion surprised Longarm, who had supposed that Deputy Trout would want to avoid their prisoner as much as possible for the next few days, given how the man had almost broken his neck. “Why do you want to do that?”

“Because,” Trout said, “if someone passes by and sees me driving this wagon, they’re going to recognize me and have some questions. Next thing we know, all of Gold Mountain will realize our game and we’ll lose our head start. But if someone sees you, they probably won’t make a connection.”

“That makes sense,” Longarm agreed. “All right, I’ll drive. Just give me directions on where to go after we roll out of this town.”

Trout massaged his stiff neck. He was in considerable pain. “There’s a road that branches off from the main one heading east. You’ll see it about two miles out and it heads straight as a rifle shot north into the Ruby Mountains.”

“Good enough,” Longarm said, climbing up to take the lines to the four-horse team. “Get inside the wagon and let’s go!”

A moment later, the back door of the wagon slammed shut. Longarm snapped the lines against the rumps of the four horses and clucked his tongue. The medicine wagon, with bottles of elixir clanking and clinking, jolted forward down the alley. Longarm glanced up at a half-moon and drove past two dogs coupling in the moonlight.

“Enjoy her,” he said to the big male whose tongue was hanging out of the side of his mouth in a happy grin. “But treat her like a lady.”

The male’s tail wagged a little as Longarm and the medicine wagon passed quietly out of Gold Mountain.

Chapter 6

The road eastward out of Gold Mountain was wide and deeply rutted. Longarm could have followed it blindfolded. Two good horses would have been plenty to pull the rickety old medicine wagon, but four good ones made it very easy. Longarm was pleased with his team, and Marshal Wheeler had assured him that all four could double as saddle mounts, just in case they needed to abandon the wagon and make a run for Elko.

Longarm didn’t expect that to be necessary. Wheeler had told him that it would take three days for them to travel through the Ruby Mountains, and that the road was good because there were several little mining towns up in those mountains and a steady stream of supply and ore wagons to keep the road open. The first little settlement he was supposed to reach, in about eight hours, was called Lone Pine.

“Just water your horses and keep moving,” Wheeler had advised. “Lone Pine is a lawless mining camp and there are some real rough customers there. It’ll be best all around if they don’t know that you’re a lawman with Ford Oakley in your custody.”

That made good sense to Longarm. It also made sense that they should keep Oakley handcuffed and even his ankles tied whenever they were traveling. The prisoner would have a damned uncomfortable ride, but that wasn’t really much of a concern.

“Marshal Long?” the deputy croaked.

Longarm leaned back. There was a little window behind the seat so that he could look back to view the interior of the wagon, if it hadn’t been almost totally dark.

“Yeah?”

“Our prisoner is still bleeding.”

“It’ll stop after a while.”

“You must have really given him a pistol-whipping,” Trout said.

“That gash on his forehead is the result of getting hit with your boss’s handcuffs,” Longarm informed the deputy. “After that, I still had to pistol-whip him across the back of the head.”

“Maybe you damaged his brain and he’ll become as harmless as a baby,” Trout said hopefully. “I’ve seen men that suffered bad blows to the head turn simple.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Longarm said over his shoulder. “Oakley has a skull you could bust rocks on. He may be hurting right now, but he’ll snap out of it.”

“He’ll really be out to kill us both now,” Trout wheezed. “I sure don’t want to …”

Longarm pulled up the wagon so that he could turn and look at the window. “Deputy, if you want, I’ll drop you off right here and you can hike back to Gold Mountain. We’re not that far from town and I expect you could be there before daylight.”

Trout said nothing. He was thinking hard about it.

“What do you say?” Longarm asked. “I’m not going to cheat you out of your reward. It’ll be disbursed out of the federal courthouse and sent directly to Marshal Wheeler.”

“Maybe you feds have ways of skimming off some of it for yourself,” Trout said.

Longarm snorted with disgust. “You are a complete fool! In the first place, I have no way to even get the money. And in the second place, it’s illegal for a federal officer to lay any claim on a local reward.”

Trout looked skeptical. “For a fact?”

“That’s right, and it’s something that your boss is very much aware of.”

“He’s the one that told me you might try to cheat us out of the reward.”

“Then you’ve been hoodwinked. Sent off in the hopes that Oakley will somehow manage to kill you so that Marshal Wheeler can collect all of the reward.”

Trout’s jaw dropped. “Do you really think that he’d do that to his own deputy?”

“Hell,” Longarm replied. “You figure it out. Marshal Wheeler knows that I can’t stake any claim to the bounty. That being the case, what other reason would he have for lying so that he could send you off to maybe get shot?”

“I don’t know,” Trout said. “But maybe he just wants me to back up your play. Two guards are better than one.”

Longarm couldn’t help himself. “Not in this case.”

There was a long silence. Then Trout said, “You’re just one big, mean old sonofabitch, aren’t you.”

A smile creased Longarm’s lips. “In this business, a man has to be a sonofabitch sometimes,” he admitted. “It’s no game for soft or trusting hearts. And a hothead will get himself killed every time.”

“Well, I’m learning,” Trout groused. “And besides, did you ever have to deliver anyone as tough as Ford Oakley to a hangman?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Longarm said, “that I don’t know how smart or tough Oakley really is yet.”

“You saw what he tried to do to me back at the jail.”

“Yes, I did. He would have killed you, but then I would have killed him. He knew that and let you go. That tells me he values his life.”

“What man in his right mind doesn’t ?”

“The most dangerous kind of all.” Longarm scowled. “Listen, kid, do you want to get out of that wagon and walk back to Gold Mountain, or not?”

“I’m thinking on it,” Trout admitted. “My neck is paining me something awful, but I want to go to Denver and see this bastard hang. I want that in the worst way. And … and I think that, before all is said and done, you’re going to need my help.”

“If that proves to be the case, I’m in big, big trouble.”

Stung by this insult, Trout wheezed, “You ain’t seen me shoot yet! I’m fast and I hit what I aim at, Marshal Long. I’ll bet anything that I could beat you or Ford to the draw and kill you both before you even cleared leather. Marshal Wheeler says that I’m easily the fastest man he’s ever seen with a gun.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, it is. And before we reach Elko, I’m betting that I have a chance to prove it and you’ll be mighty grateful for my company.”

Longarm put the wagon back into motion. “I guess that means that you aren’t going to use good sense and that you intend to stick with me and the prisoner.”

“That’s exactly what it means,” Trout hissed.

“Suit yourself, but the next time you get careless, I might decide not to save your sorry bacon.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“Marshal Long, I just realized that you’re every bit as big a sonofabitch as Ford Oakley. The only difference is that you wear a badge.”

“Well,” Longarm said, “there is that and the fact that I never raped women, brained a man like Paul Smith so hard he can’t think right anymore, murdered or robbed innocent people. Other than those acts, I guess maybe we do share some common traits.”

Deputy Trout didn’t say anything more after that, which was fine with Longarm. He drove up into the foothills following the road and bathed in the glow of soft moonlight. Longarm could smell the perfume of the pines, and he was even looking forward to seeing a part of the country that he had not seen before. The Ruby Mountains weren’t big, but they were said to be cool in the summertime and quite handsome.

To keep his spirits up and his mind alert, Longarm began to whistle. The horses leaned into their harness and started to pull as the medicine wagon jounced and bounced up the long, straight road out of the sagebrush country and entered the mountains. A pair of coyotes somewhere off to the south heard Longarm’s whistling and began to howl in mournful accompaniment. All things considered, Longarm felt confident. He figured that he would have at least a fifty-mile head start on any of Ford Oakley’s friends and that it would be enough to get him on that train to Cheyenne and then Denver.

By the time the sun came up to reveal the pines surrounding him, Longarm was thirsting for a cup of hot, black coffee. He could hear both Trout and Oakley snoring, and after considerable debate, he decided that he had better stop the wagon and drag the sleeping deputy outside. Their dangerous prisoner was bound hand and foot, but if he was the first to awaken, he might still be able to find a way to kill the worthless town deputy.

“Whoa up,” Longarm said, drawing the four-horse team to a halt in the middle of a shallow and gurgling stream that crossed the road.

The horses were thirsty, and Longarm let them drink their fills as he wound the lines around the brake and climbed down. He waded around to the back of the wagon, and unlocked and opened the door.

“All right,” he said, squinting into the darkness. “Wake up, Deputy Trout. It’s time that-“

Oakley’s boots shot out of the wagon and struck Longarm in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and causing him to trip and topple into the stream. The prisoner, despite his handcuffs, had somehow managed to untie his legs, and he threw himself out of the wagon. Oakley landed heavily on his shoulder and surged to his feet, his face a mask of congealed blood, eyes burning with hatred and boots swinging from all angles at Longarm’s face.

Longarm knew that if the prisoner did manage to boot him in the head, the game was over. Oakley would be able to disarm him and he’d waste no time exacting his revenge.

“I’ll kill you, Marshal!” Oakley screamed, trying to kick and keep his balance at the same time.

Longarm rolled and whipped his own legs out at the big man. Fortunately, the toe of his boot caught Oakley behind the knees and the prisoner crashed into the streambed. Longarm surged to his feet, drew his dripping gun up, and shouted, “Freeze!”

Oakley froze. He lay in the shallow stream and glared up at Longarm, his blood-caked face a murderer’s mask. “You got more lives than a cat,” he finally hissed. “But this trip is just beginning and nobody’s luck lasts forever.”

Longarm was sucking air, trying to fill his lungs. His chest felt as if it was caved in, but he wasn’t about to give Oakley the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt.

“On your feet!”

Oakley ignored the order. He ducked his face into the stream and scrubbed it free of blood before he bothered to rise. “So what happens now, Marshal Long?”

“That depends on whether you’ve just killed Deputy Trout or not,” Longarm answered.

“And if I did?”

Longarm cocked back the hammer of his six-gun. “Then the game is over … and you lose.”

Oakley blinked and scooted back a little on his rump. “You’d execute me?”

“I believe it’s come to that point,” Longarm said, taking dead aim on the man’s nose. “Murdering Deputy Trout in his sleep would be the last straw, and I’d just feel bound to save the taxpayers some money.”

“Wait! I swear that I didn’t kill him!”

“We’ll see,” Longarm drawled, his breath returning but a cold anger forming in his chest. “If Trout is still alive, you can get back into the wagon and live long enough to be hanged. But if he is dead …”

“I’m not dead,” a groggy voice said a moment before Trout appeared. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Longarm said, snubbing back his anger. “Get out of there and climb up on the wagon seat. Now!”

“y …?”

“Just do it!”

Trout almost tumbled out of the back of the wagon. His eyes shifted back and forth between Longarm and Oakley as he read the story for himself.

“Yes, sir,” he said, looking plenty worried and very much awake now. “Yes, sir!”

“Now,” Longarm ordered his prisoner, “roll over with your hands outstretched over your head.”

“In this cold damn water?”

“Do it!”

Oakley rolled over. Longarm, keeping his gun in his right hand and his knee pressed down hard between Oakley’s shoulder blades, checked the handcuffs to make sure they were secure.

“Shit!” Oakley raged, trying to keep his face out of the water by arching his back like a beached fish.

“Too bad everything has to be the hard way with you, Oakley,” Longarm said. “But from now on, I’m going to keep you tied up tighter than a mouse’s ass. Now stand up and climb back into that wagon.”

Oakley wanted to fight, but he knew that Longarm had reached the very limits of his patience, so he obeyed. When he climbed back inside the medicine wagon, Longarm retied his ankles.

“We’ve got a window up there, and it’s going to be Deputy Trout’s job to keep a close eye on you while I drive. If he sees or even suspects that you’re doing something funny, I’m giving him permission to shoot you. Is that understood?”

When Oakley just gave him a cussing, Longarm slammed the door shut and climbed back onto the driver’s seat. He looked sideways at Trout and said, “You keep your gun in your hand and your eyes on that window. You understand?”

Trout nodded. “I just hope that he does try something, Marshal Long. There’s nothing I’d like better than to drill him like a big rat in a barrel.”

“Good,” Longarm said. “Lone Pine ought to be just ahead. I’ve got a rim about ready to come off a rear wheel, so we’ll have to find a blacksmith.”

“That’s not good.”

“It could be a whole Hell of a lot worse,” Longarm said. “In fact, a couple of times now, it very nearly has been.”

Trout opened his mouth, then clamped it tight and turned toward the window because he knew that Longarm was telling the truth.

Chapter 7

Lone Pine had gotten its name from the fact that there was only one remaining tall pine tree left standing. All the others had quickly been chopped down after gold was discovered in the surrounding hills. And since the gold required digging and tunneling, all the pines that had not been used to build cabins or burned for firewood had been used as timbering.

When Longarm pulled up to the edge of the bustling mining town, he reined his medicine wagon to a stop and read the crudely written sign that greeted strangers: “LONG PINE HAS ONLY ONE STANDING PINE AND WE KEPT IT AS A HANGING TREE. MIND YOUR MANNERS, OR WE’LL HANG YOU DEAD FROM IT. VIGILANTE COMMITTEE.”

“Well,” Longarm said to Deputy Trout, “that states the facts about as plain as they could be. Maybe we should just hand Ford Oakley over to these boys.”

“Not on your life!” Trout protested. “If we did that, I’d never see a cent of that big federal reward.”

“No,” Longarm said, “I don’t suspect you would. Have you ever had the misfortune of being in Lone Pine before?”

“Uh-uh,” Trout admitted, “but I’ve heard it’s a damn tough town.”

“Then maybe you’d better get in back with Oakley,” Longarm told him. “If they see two of us here, they might get suspicious.”

Trout nodded, climbed in the back, and shut the door behind him. Then the wagon moved forward.

Longarm had seen a lot of Western towns in his day. He’d traveled all over the frontier chasing fugitives and outlaws, and he’d gotten so that he could take a quick and accurate read on most any settlement. Mining towns like Lone Pine were almost always the very worst, and as they drove into the settlement, Longarm was not surprised that it lacked churches, schools, or even a jail. What it had more than enough of were saloons, gambling halls, and whorehouses.

“Hey, medicine man!” a woman with long black hair and a tight silk dress called from the front of her crib. “Why don’t you pull that damned creaky wagon over and come join me!”

“Can’t, honey!”

“Aw, come on!” she yelled. “My medicine is a hell of a lot more fun than yours!”

Several other women came outside, and they were generally a rough-looking bunch. Some men called them soiled doves, and it was Longarm’s opinion that they almost always ended up dead by the time they were in their early thirties. They either got the Frenchman’s disease and died half crazed, or they drank themselves to death, or else got shot or stabbed.

“Come on, handsome,” another woman called, waving a pink ostrich plume and lifting her skirts to reveal her creamy thighs. “You need to ride something other than that hard old wagon seat before you get hemorrhoids!”

There was more laughter, and now some of the miners were coming outside to watch and enjoy the girls’hazing.

Longarm just grinned and kept on driving until damned if the wheel to his wagon didn’t roll off and the whole caboodle collapsed, lurching the wagon sideways. It happened so fast and so hard that Longarm was almost thrown into the street. This caused the whores and their customers no end of hilarity. Laughing and hooting, they gathered around as if a wagon losing its wheel and collapsing was the funniest thing ever seen in Lone Pine.

“Hold up there!” a huge, laughing miner bellowed as he staggered out into the street to grab a lead horse’s bit. “Don’t you know that there’s a local ordinance in Lone Pine against three-wheeled medicine wagons!”

More gales of laughter. Longarm glanced back into his wagon. “Have you got things under control in there?”

“Sure, but …”

“Then just sit tight,” Longarm ordered, jumping down to inspect the rear wagon hub, which was now hanging just a few inches above the ground.

“Mister?” Longarm turned to see the big miner who’d grabbed the bit. He still had hold of the horse and he was as drunk as a lord. “Yeah?” Longarm said.

“Too bad about your damn wheel, ain’t it!” The man started laughing, and so did his friends.

Longarm was out of patience. “Mister, let go of that animal and step back before you get hurt.”

The drunk’s lantern jaw sagged as his brain worked on Longarm’s stern command. Slowly, his jaw closed and his lips formed a sneer. He shoved the lead animal’s head roughly aside and put his hands on his hips. “I don’t believe that I like the tone of your voice, stranger.”

Longarm ignored the man for another moment as he inspected the damage. The hub had not struck the road and looked to be fine. The wheel, however, had two shattered spokes and was beyond repair.

“Damn,” he muttered, trying to ignore the whores and the other gawking fools who were still tittering and making sport of his misfortune.

“Where’s the nearest blacksmith?” he asked, looking up at a plump, grinning woman with huge breasts and a horsefly-sized mole on her upper lip.

She showed yellow teeth and giggled. “Clear to the far end of the street, mister! What you gonna do, carry the butt end of that junky old wagon? Or maybe you’re going to just set up shop right here and peddle your medicine.”

Longarm ignored her questions and reached into his pockets. He spied a tall, skinny kid of about fourteen. He was dirty and had shifty eyes, but he was the only kid in sight, so Longarm marched up to him and said, “Here’s two bits. I want you to roll what’s left of my wheel down to the blacksmith shop. When you get there, tell him we need a new one right away and to bring it down and fit it on.”

The kid barked a high, nasal laugh. “Mister, two bits doesn’t buy shit in this town! Why, I wouldn’t walk across this street for less’n a damned dollar.”

Longarm yearned to reach out and grab the worthless pup by the collar and shake hell out of him. He considered dragging out his badge and using his authority, but rejected the idea. What he really wanted to do was to have the wheel fixed and be on his way without anyone realizing he had Ford Oakley handcuffed and on his way to a hangman’s noose back in Colorado.

“Hey, you,” the big miner who had grabbed his horse by the bit said. “I think you’re just a dumb shit that ain’t got any manners and don’t know shit!”

The crowd hooted and laughed, all of them vocal with agreement. Longarm ground his teeth, took a deep breath, and found a dollar in his pocket. “Here,” he said to the kid. “Go get me a blacksmith and a wheel and I’ll give you another dollar.”

“Ain’t no big thing,” the kid said, removing his cap and running his fingers through his stringy brown hair. “The way I see things, this ain’t no big thing at all.”

The crowd liked the kid’s brass, but Longarm didn’t. Instead of handing the kid the dollar, he grabbed his shirtfront and took two running steps to the nearest horse-watering trough. He squeezed the back of the kid’s neck, driving his head under water. The kid began to buck and fight, but he was a weakling and Longarm had no trouble holding his head under water until the boy really started becoming frantic.

“Let go of him!” the drunk shouted, charging forward.

Longarm’s hand flashed to his gun, and it came up quicker than the blink of an eye and leveled on the big man. “This boy needs a lesson in manners and so do you. Want a dunking like him … or would you rather have a bullet?”

The miner skidded to a halt, and before he could decide what he was going to do next in order to preserve his dignity, Longarm yanked the kid up and shook him dry.

“Well, kid, are you ready to find that blacksmith, or do you want to study the bottom of that water trough a little longer?” Longarm asked.

“I’ll… I’ll get him!” the kid gasped, eyes huge and dilated, face white as foam.

Longarm propelled him up the street yelling, “And be damn quick about it!”

He still held the gun in his fist when he turned to confront the big miner. “Now, make up your mind. Do you really want to get hurt or would you rather just wander back into the saloon and have another drink?”

The question seemed to catch the big miner by surprise. He rubbed his face and then he slowly shook his head, eyes focused on the gun in Longarm’s big fist. “I ain’t armed,” he finally muttered. “But I am thirsty.”

“You should never insult a man who is armed,” Longarm said. “That’s pretty damned stupid.”

“Who the hell are you anyway!” a big woman in a flowered dress and wearing a yellow crocheted shawl demanded.

“He’s a gawddammed federal marshal!” Ford Oakley shouted from inside the wagon.

“Shut up!” Deputy Trout hollered. “Just shut up!”

“Dammit, I ain’t going to shut up!” Oakley could be heard to yell. “Help, someone! It’s Ford Oakley! You people know me and-“

Oakley’s cry for assistance ended with a thud and a low grunt.

“Jaysus!” the woman cried, grabbing the back door of the wagon and flinging it open before Longarm could intervene. “They got Ford!”

Longarm shoved the woman away from his wagon. He glanced inside to see that Deputy Trout had one of the shotguns loaded. He’d apparently used it over Oakley’s skull because the killer was slumped across a box of supplies and was definitely unconscious.

“Give me the other one,” Longarm ordered as the crowd pressed closer.

Trout handed him the second shotgun and said, “We’re in trouble.”

“No,” Longarm gritted, “this crowd is in trouble.”

The woman that he’d shoved was glaring at Longarm as if he were a viper, and the rest of the now-sullen crowd had fallen silent. They were a hard, unforgiving bunch, and Longarm had no doubt that they’d side with Oakley and free him, if they thought they could do so without getting shot.

“All right,” Longarm said, facing them with the shotgun. “It’s clear that you people have no respect for law and order and I am a federal officer.”

“What the hell you doing to Ford!” a young man cried, hand shading his gun butt. “Just where the hell are you taking my friend!”

“He’s going to stand trial in Denver,” Longarm said. “And we’re just passing through your miserable and lawless town seeking no trouble from anyone.”

The young man glanced from side to side seeking support from the crowd. His eyes were wild and he had a crazy look to him that actually alarmed Longarm. He could see that the young fool might actually go for his six-gun, and then a lot of people standing on either side of him could get hit by the scattergun in his fist.

There was only one thing to do and Longarm took charge. He jumped forward and smashed the crazy man across the side of the jaw with the stock of his shotgun, knocking him flat. The crowd backed up as the twin barrels of Longarm’s shotgun moved back and forth over them.

Longarm said, “Ford Oakley is a rapist, a murderer, and a thief. I don’t care if you folks like him because maybe he hasn’t killed any of you yet and he enjoys spending other people’s money in your saloons. I don’t give a damn about any of that. What I do give a damn about is that I get a wheel on this wagon and that we are not interfered with so that I can continue on with my prisoner. Is that understood by everyone?”

The big whore in the flowered dress actually spat into the dirt at Longarm’s feet. “You’ve sure got your nerve, Marshal! And by God, we just don’t much like lawmen in Lone Pine! Fact is, we run the last man that wore a badge on our streets right out of Lone Pine. We got a vigilante committee here and we handle our own problems our own way.”

“Well,” Longarm said, “this isn’t your problem so back off and go about your business. We’ll be out of here in an hour if your blacksmith is worth anything.”

“Here he comes now!” someone in the crowd hollered.

Everyone turned to see the blacksmith come stomping up the street. He was a big man in his forties with a shock of unruly white hair and thick, sinewy forearms. He wore a leather apron, and was pushing a wagon wheel along much as a kid would a hoop. It appeared to Longarm to be the same diameter as the one that was broken.

Without saying a word to anyone, he took one look at the hub and growled at Longarm, “Don’t any of you dumb people know that a hub is supposed to be greased every now and then?”

“It’s not my medicine wagon.”

“Well it’s not mine either,” the blacksmith declared, spitting a thick brown stream of tobacco into the dirt. “This replacement wheel will fit. Came off a hearse wagon about the size of this one. Cost you ten dollars and take an hour.”

“Ten dollars!”

“That’s right,” the blacksmith said. “Everything is high-priced in Lone Pine … everything, that is, except a man’s life, which we don’t put much value on atall.”

Longarm shook his head. “I can sure see that’s true,” he grumbled. “All right, ten dollars.”

The blacksmith dropped the wheel beside the wagon. “Anyone inside?”

“Yes, two men.”

“I’m gonna have to jack up this wagon and set the wheel proper. You’re gonna have to get them men out.”

Longarm didn’t like any of this, but he could see that he had no choice. “Deputy Trout, come on outside.”

Trout eased out of the wagon, blinking in the sudden brightness of day. When he saw the large and angry crowd, he gulped and whispered, “This isn’t a bit good.”

“Oakley can stay inside,” Longarm said. “He’s … he’s asleep.”

The blacksmith started to protest, but Longarm’s eyes changed his mind and the man muttered, “Well, as long as he stays still and don’t shift the wagon, I guess it’ll be all right.”

“I thought it would be, and he isn’t about to move,” Longarm said, wondering if the young deputy had struck Oakley so hard that the man was seriously injured.

“Be easier if we could get this wagon over to my shop. Maybe some of these people could kind of support the back end and you could drive.”

“Ain’t nobody better help a damned federal marshal,” the whore said, bloodshot eyes raking the crowd.

When everyone nodded in agreement, Longarm shrugged and said to the blacksmith, “I guess you’ll just have to work that wheel on right where the wagon stands.”

“I can do that,” the blacksmith said, “but I’ll need to go back and get my tools.”

“Just make sure that you come back.”

The blacksmith didn’t like the warning, but he seemed to understand that Longarm meant business. “Only take a few minutes to get what I need,” he said, turning on his heel.

“You better get out of here as soon as that wheel is fixed,” the whore said, hands resting on her big hips. “Ford Oakley has a lot of friends in these parts and I consider myself to be one of them.”

“Well,” Longarm said, “if you have no better taste in friends than that, it’s your problem and none of my own.”

The whore snorted, turned, and marched off with her butt swinging like a big bucket. Soon the crowd began to drift off, but they kept glancing back over their shoulders and all of them looked as if they hated Longarm’s guts.

“Would you really have opened up with that scattergun and nailed a bunch of ‘em?” Trout asked, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. “My God, Marshal, those that were left would have torn us both to pieces!”

“Probably,” Longarm said, eyes shifting back and forth over the crowd in case someone was drunk or stupid enough to go for his gun. “But what else was there to do?”

“Reward or not,” Trout said, “I’d probably have handed Oakley over and hoped to live to arrest him some other day.”

“If that is your attitude,” Longarm said, “then you don’t deserve to be a lawman.”

Trout’s eyes fell to his boots. “I’m no coward,” he whispered, “but I don’t want to die.”

“Then take one of the horses and ride back to Gold Mountain,” Longarm said. “Because from the way things are unfolding, I’d say it’s almost dead certain that bullets are going to fly long before we ever reach Elko.”

“What makes you say that?”

Longarm pushed the shotgun back into the wagon and climbed inside to check Oakley’s pulse. “Good thing he’s still alive,” Longarm said.

“I need that reward money.”

“Otherwise,” Longarm said, “you’d have killed him?”

“Damn right I would!”

“That’s what I figured,” Longarm said as he pushed the brim of his hat back and wondered if he dared to head for a little cafe across the street and order a meal and a big pot of strong, hot coffee.

“Trout?”

“Yes.”

“Go get us some food and some coffee.”

“We got food inside the wagon.”

“Cold food and no coffee,” Longarm said. “Just do as I say. I’m tired, hungry, and out of patience.”

Deputy Trout said, “You got any money for eats?”

“Here,” Longarm replied, dragging out a few dollars. “This ought to do it.”

“What about Oakley?”

Longarm twisted around and gazed into the wagon at the unconscious man. “Are you hungry?”

Then Longarm turned back to the deputy. “I guess he’s not hungry or he would have said so. Now quit jawing and go get something for us to eat.”

Trout just took the money. Then he said, “Damn! You really are one hard-assed sonofabitch!”

Longarm spotted a Winchester rifle in the wagon, and decided that it might prove useful if some fool decided to take a potshot at him from a rooftop. He got the rifle, and only then did he drawl, “So I’ve been told, Trout. So I’ve often been told.”

Chapter 8

Longarm was in a damned poor frame of mind while he waited for Deputy Trout to return with some food and some coffee. It didn’t help things any that people were glaring at him from all up and down the street. It was as if he and not Ford Oakley was the outlaw.

“Bunch of fools is what they are,” Longarm groused.

The blacksmith appeared with his tools. “It’s going to cost you ten dollars before I lift a hand.”

“I still say that’s damn high just for putting on a wheel.”

“Take it or leave it,” the blacksmith said. “I got other things to do if you don’t want to pay in cash.”

Longarm paid the man, who immediately began to jack up the hanging hub of the wagon and then to apply grease. “You ain’t a very popular fella in Lone Pine,” the blacksmith said, looking up from his work.

“If I cared about popularity, I’d never have gone into this work,” Longarm replied. “So why is a good blacksmith like you staying in a hellhole like this?”

“For the money, same as everyone else,” the blacksmith said. “I figure I make more money here in three months than I did in Elko in six months.”

“Boom town, huh?”

“That’s right. There’s a lot of gold and silver in these hills.”

“It won’t last.”

“Never does,” the blacksmith said, grunting as he worked to jack up the axle high enough to slip the wheel over the hub. “But as you can clearly see I’m not a young man anymore. I’ve only got maybe ten years of this hard work left in me at best, and then I’ve got to have enough to retire.”

“What’d you do with all the money you made so far?”

“Pissed it away, just like most men do,” the blacksmith confessed with a wry grin. “You see, I’ve been married three times, all of ‘em to young, pretty women that cleaned me out and then ran off.”

“Maybe you should find an older woman of means,” Longarm suggested. “One with money of her own.”

“I know that,” the blacksmith said, “but them kind are all gray-haired widows and most of ‘em are more wrinkled than I am. I like the young ones better.”

“You’re old enough to know what you’re doing,” Longarm said. “But it seems to me that you’re a hard man to learn a lesson about women.”

The blacksmith chuckled. “I’d wager that you’re just as big a fool over a young and pretty woman as I am. And I’d also wager that you don’t have jack squat saved up in no bank.”

Longarm had to laugh. “Well,” he admitted, “you’d be right on both counts. But I’m fixin’ to start savin’ some money starting next year.”

“Shit!” The blacksmith laughed, spitting tobacco juice. “I said that too, and when I was a lot younger than you are, Marshal. But it never happened. Oh, I’d get up a little money, and then the banker would tell some pretty gold digger and she’d flirt with me and I’d up and marry her. Soon as she cleared out my bank account, she was on her way.”

“Life ain’t fair,” Longarm said. “Never has been, never will be.”

“You got that right,” the blacksmith grunted, hoisting the wheel up and sizing it for the fit.

“Marshal Long?”

Longarm turned to see the deputy coming with a tray of food and coffee. “I got us some steak and potatoes. But it cost you three dollars.”

“Damn,” Longarm swore, taking his plate and eating utensils and balancing them on the edge of the sidewalk as he sat down to enjoy his food. “Everything in this town is higher than a hog’s back!”

“How much they pay a man like you?” the blacksmith asked, looking up from his work.

“Not enough,” Longarm said, cutting his steak. “Not nearly enough.”

“You should go to work for some mining town or company,” the blacksmith said. “They got a couple big companies around here that are always looking for men to guard their gold and silver shipments.”

“Not my kind of work,” Longarm said. “But maybe the deputy here is interested.”

“How much do they pay for guards?” Trout asked.

“About a hundred a month.”

“Damn!” Trout exclaimed. “That’s more’n twice what I make in Gold Mountain working under Marshal Wheeler.”

“But the thing of it is, Deputy,” the blacksmith said, “they go through a lot of guards.”

“They quit and they’re getting that kind of wages?” Trout asked with disbelief.

“Hell, no, they don’t quit!” The blacksmith grunted and slipped the wheel over the greased hub. “Those guards all get ambushed and killed.”

Trout blinked. Longarm grinned around a mouthful of steak and said, “Now maybe you’re thinking that guarding an ore shipment is even more dangerous than guarding Ford Oakley.”

“Maybe,” Trout said, digging into his food.

Longarm ate the rest of his meal in silence as the blacksmith went about his work. The man was good and he was efficient, not wasting a single motion. When the new wheel was set properly, the blacksmith wiped his brow with the back of his hairy arm and squatted down beside Longarm.

“I see you got some cigars in your pocket.”

“That’s right, damn good ones too.”

“I don’t suppose you’d offer me one?”

“I’ll sell you one for a dollar.”

“A dollar!” The blacksmith looked outraged.

“That’s right,” Longarm told him. “Things are high in Lone Pine, remember?”

The blacksmith spat more tobacco juice and found the makings of a cigarette in his shirtfront pocket. He rolled a cigarette and then lit it and smoked a few moments before he said, “I saw the fix you got in with some of the women and the miners awhile ago. I guess you know that Ford Oakley is pretty damn popular in Lone Pine and that you are not.”

“That doesn’t concern me in the least.”

“It should,” the blacksmith told him. “You see, Oakley donated a couple hundred dollars to our local miners’ union. He gave a couple hundred more to their widows’ pension fund, and that really won the folks over to him in a big, big way.”

“He’s a killer, a thief, and a rapist,” Longarm said. “Giving a local union other people’s hard-earned money shouldn’t count for anything.”

“Well, it does,” the blacksmith argued. “And what I’m trying to say is that there are some tough old boys in this town that will probably try and free Oakley.”

“I’d have to take that pretty seriously,” Longarm said. “I’d have to arrest or perhaps even kill them if they stood in the way of the law.”

“Why don’t you just break his legs or arms,” the blacksmith suggested. “Or use my hammer and smash both of Ford’s hands so that he can’t use a pistol ever again. You could cripple or maim him so he’d be nearly harmless and leave him here. That way, you’d not have to worry about being ambushed and justice would still be served. What do you think?”

“There’s a big reward on him,” Trout interjected. “Me and Marshal Wheeler want it.”

“You can’t spend it if you’re dead,” the blacksmith said. “You see, Deputy, a very important lesson in life is that sometimes a man has to take his losses and go on, or else get stubborn and lose even more … maybe even his life.”

Longarm finished his plate and gulped down his coffee. He surveyed the town, feeling a lot of angry eyes directed at him. “You know something,” Longarm said, turning back to the blacksmith and giving him a cigar. “I appreciate your advice. It’s funny how some things look so clear to one man while the other is blind to ‘em.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think I’m a fool not to take your advice and leave Oakley here in Lone Pine. I think you’re a fool if you work your whole life and allow one pretty woman after another to clean out your hard-earned savings.”

The blacksmith shoved the cigar in his mouth. “Yeah, Marshal, but there’s a couple of big, big differences between your foolishness and my foolishness.”

“And that is?”

“I’m havin’ a hell of a good time with them young women while my money lasts, but you’re not having any fun at all hauling Ford Oakley off to some judge. And furthermore, a young thing isn’t going to kill me, but Ford or his friends are damn sure going to kill YOU.”

Longarm set his empty plate and coffee cup down and came to his feet. “Well,” he said, preparing to shake the dust of Lone Pine and be on his way, “you’re about half right.”

The blacksmith’s eyebrows shot up in question as he lit the cigar and inhaled deeply. “Just what does that mean?”

“I think that some pretty young woman will finally be the death of you.”

The blacksmith grinned and blew streams of smoke through his nostrils. Then he laughed and said, “Marshal Long, I sure as hell hope so!”

They both chuckled, and then Longarm picked up his Winchester rifle, climbed back up on the wagon seat, and called, “Deputy Trout?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get inside with Oakley and shut the door. We’re getting out of this miserable damned town.”

“Yes, sir!”

Longarm waited until he heard the back door slam and then, with the Winchester resting across his lap, he whacked the lines down on the rumps of his wheel horses and the medicine wagon lurched forward.

“Marshal, you’re going to rot in Hell!” a hard case yelled from the door of a saloon.

Longarm kept his eyes restlessly shifting back and forth. He half expected someone to open fire on him from a dim alley or an open doorway or maybe even a rooftop.

He did not expect a shot to come from a big stack of yellow straw. Too late, he saw the barrel of a rifle poke out of the straw and then spit smoke and flame. Longarm felt a slug strike him in his left side. He quickly set the brake and in the same motion tried to draw up his rifle, but a second bullet struck and knocked the Winchester out of his hand.

“Uggh!” he grunted in pain as another rifle boomed and a splinter from his seat stabbed into his thigh.

Longarm knew then that he was a dead man if he didn’t get off the wagon and get off it fast. He threw himself sideways, and a bullet punched through the window at exactly the place where his back should have been.

When Longarm hit the dirt, he was grunting with pain and scrambling for the cover of a building, but another shot clipped his leg and he fell and rolled behind a water trough.

His horses panicked, but the brake was set and they did not run. The wagon’s back door flew open and Deputy Trout came flying outside. He struck the dirt with his gun in his fist and began to fire wildly in all directions. He was fast, all right, but foolish.

“Take cover!” Longarm cried. “Gawddammit, get down and take-“

Trout’s lean body began to jerk spasmodically as slugs poured into him from all directions.

“Marshal!” Trout screamed, sagging to his knees and emptying his last slug into the dirt.

Longarm jumped up, but a bullet creased his skull and he fell back down, but not before he’d seen the look of stark terror on Deputy Trout’s face.

Longarm raised up and fired until his gun was empty. Then he ducked again and began to reload. “Sonofabitch!” Longarm swore in helpless fury. “I hate this town!”

The shooting ended as abruptly as it had begun. Longarm, bleeding from three bullet wounds and feeling as if his chances of surviving another minute or two were slim to none, waited, grimly determined to sell his life dearly.

But the shooting was over. No one came to finish him off, and after a few minutes, a piano in one of the saloons began to tinkle and a saloon girl began to sing “Sweet Betsy from Pike.” Longarm peeked around the water trough and saw Deputy Rick Trout’s riddled body. The young man was staring up at the sky and he was dead.

Longarm twisted around and saw people coming back out on the street. They were all staring at him and the dead deputy from Gold Mountain. None were laughing, but they sure didn’t look disapointed either.

“Well if this just isn’t a pisser,” Longarm whispered, gripping the edge of the water trough and pulling himself erect. “I can’t believe this damned town!”

Longarm checked out his side, and saw that he’d suffered a deep crease and that a couple of ribs had been nicked. He was bleeding steadily from that wound, and his leg wound was giving him fits. The bullet that had creased his scalp hadn’t done much damage except to bloody his face and ruin his Stetson. Longarm tore off his bandanna and tied up the leg, and then he clamped his palm over his side wound and limped across the street to kneel beside Deputy Trout. The door of the medicine wagon was still hanging open and Ford Oakley was nowhere in sight, which was not much of a surprise.

“Deputy Trout, you weren’t much,” he told the still figure. “But you deserved better than to be shot down by a bunch of ambushers. And yes, you were very fast with a gun. Maybe even faster than I am.”

Longarm checked the deputy’s pockets, and found nothing much of value other than a few dollars in a silver money clip and some change. He unpinned the young man’s badge and unbuckled his cartridge belt.

“I thought they’d at least wait and hit you somewhere out on the road east of town,” the blacksmith said when he joined Longarm. “They were pretty damned impatient.”

“Who were they!”

“Friends of Ford Oakley. I expect they are going to come to me to remove his handcuffs.”

Longarm’s chin lifted. “That’s right! He was handcuffed and I’m the only one with the key.”

“And I’m the only blacksmith within fifty miles.”

Longarm took a deep breath. “Why would you help me?”

“Like you said, Marshal, all men are fools one way or another.”

“What’s your name?”

“Pete Foster.”

“Well, Pete, how are we going to play this out so we both don’t get killed?”

“I don’t know,” Pete said. “But you better come up with a damn good plan and a big stack of cash, or I’m afraid that you’re all on your own.”

“How much cash?”

Pete looked at the deputy’s riddled body. “How about … two hundred dollars? If the people find out that I’m helping you, I could wind up like Deputy Trout.”

“I haven’t got that kind of money.”

“You can get it.”

“How?”

“When you reach Elko, you could wire for it. Say that your life depended on my help.”

“I could,” Longarm admitted, “but my boss might not send the money.”

“Then I keep those four good horses, the harness, and the medicine wagon.”

Longarm knew that he was not in a bargaining position. “In return for?”

“I give you the chance to get even.”

“I want Ford Oakley back.”

“And get your prisoner back.”

“Fair enough,” Longarm said. “If you can deliver, you can have the horses, harness, and wagon. Now, before I bleed to death, have you got a doctor in this murderous town?”

“Nope, just a gal saloon owner named Nelly who is about as good as a doctor and who, for a price, also pulls teeth.”

“Lead me to her.”

Pete turned and said, “Here she comes right now. You got any cash money?”

“Some.”

“Nell is real expensive.”

“Everything is expensive in Lone Pine.”

“You’re learning,” Pete said. “As soon as you get fixed up, come by my place, but do it through the back door and make sure that nobody sees you.”

“Thanks,” Longarm said.

“Don’t thank me, just figure out a way to pay me,” Pete said. “Besides, I always was a sucker for the underdog … same as I am for pretty young women.”

“Thank God for that.”

Longarm turned his back on what he was beginning to think was the only decent man in Lone Pine, and then limped forward to meet Nelly.

She was a tall woman, nearly six feet if Longarm was any judge of it, but everything about her flowed together very nicely. Nelly was no spring chicken, but she wasn’t any older than Longarm, and she wore her auburn hair long and her stride was bold and confident. She wore a velvet green dress and green shoes and there was a yellow ribbon in her hair. Nelly carried what Longarm decided was a medical kit, and as she drew closer, she didn’t smile but looked angry.

“Miss Nelly,” he began. “I understand-“

“You don’t understand anything,” she interrupted. Her eyes examined him from head to toe. “Look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into!”

“Just doing my job,” he said.

Nelly heaved a deep sigh. “This is going to cost you some money.”

“Everything in this cutthroat town costs money,” he said. “How much?”

“You’re wounded in three places.”

“Just flesh wounds. I’ve had a lot worse and survived by my own means.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, reaching into his pocket and dragging out a wad of crumpled bills. “And I’ve only got twenty-three dollars and change.”

“Keep the change.” Nelly reached for the bills, but Longarm clamped his hand down tight on them. “I’ll give you ten dollars. I need to keep some cash, Nelly.”

“Ten dollars? For standing out here and pissing off all my friends and saloon customers?” Nelly scoffed. “Why, that’s ridiculous.”

“Then to hell with it,” he said. “I’ve still got a medicine wagon and there’s boxes of medicine inside. I think I’ll be just fine.”

Nelly shook her head. “Marshal, you truly are a grand-prize fool.”

Longarm limped around her and went over to the deputy. “Nelly, where’s the cemetery?”

“Yonder,” she said, pointing. “You can’t miss it at the edge of town.”

“Thanks,” he said, “for nothing.”

He tried to pick up Deputy Trout, but his head began to spin and he dropped to one knee.

“Jezus,“Nelly said, “if I get any blood on this new dress, I’ll … I’ll finish what them others didn’t finish with you, Marshal.”

Nelly grabbed Trout by the arms and dragged him over to the back of the medicine wagon. And then, to Longarm’s surprise, she took hold of the man’s pants and the back of his shirt and heaved his body into the wagon as effortlessly as if Trout had been a little sack of potatoes.

“You’re a damn strong woman,” Longarm said. “And a handsome one too.”

“Well,” she said, “you’re a mess.”

“I expect that is so,” he told her as he tried to climb back up into the wagon but couldn’t.

“For crying out loud, Marshal!” Nelly exclaimed. “You need doctoring!”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“You even got a shovel?”

“No.”

Nelly turned around. Harry!” A man appeared in front of a saloon. “Yeah, Nelly?”

“Get a couple of the boys and come help the marshal bury his fool deputy!”

“Yes, Miss Nelly.”

“Now,” she said, “why don’t you do something intelligent for a change and come let me take a look at those bullet wounds before you bleed to death and poor Harry and the boys have to dig two graves.”

Longarm was hanging onto the front wheel, dizzy as could be. He nodded and took a step toward Nelly, but that was when the lights went out and he fell into a deep well of darkness.

Chapter 9

Longarm awoke at mid-afternoon in a sea of pain. For several moments he gazed at the ceiling, and then he tried to sit up, but his ribs were on fire and he lay back with a grunt.

“What’s your hurry?” Nelly asked, coming over to his side. “Marshal, you need to learn the art of relaxation.”

He took a deep breath. “I haven’t got that luxury. You see, I’ve got a prisoner to recapture and some scores to settle with the men who ambushed me and Deputy Trout.”

“If that’s the way you’re thinking, then you also want to die,” Nelly said.

Longarm forced himself into a sitting position. “Maybe so, maybe not, but I damn sure can’t accomplish anything lying here arguing with you.”

“I cleaned and bandaged your wounds,” she said when Longarm’s feet hit the floor and it became clear that he could not be dissuaded from leaving. “But I expect that the next ones won’t need cleaning because you will be dead.”

Longarm climbed unsteadily to his feet. He had been undressed, except for his underclothes, and now, when he reached for his pants and rummaged about in his pocket, he was mildly surprised to discover that he still had cash.

“Ten dollars?”

“Keep it,” she said. “When you get killed, I’ll take your horses and wagon.”

Longarm started to tell the saloon owner that he’d already promised them to the blacksmith, but changed his mind and just nodded. If he was killed, they could haggle it out later between them.

“Where are we?”

“Upstairs in my room above my saloon.”

“Is there a back door from this upper floor that leads down to the alley?”

Nelly smiled. “So, you are thinking about slipping out and avoiding any more trouble. Well, now you’re finally making sense!”

Longarm managed to get his pants on, but failed when he attempted to drag on his boots.

“Here,” she offered, “I’ll help you with those.”

When Nelly leaned over, Longarm could see all the way down her bodice to her belly button. Nelly had exceptional breasts, and Longarm couldn’t help but stare. “You are still a very desirable woman,” he said a little thickly.

She yanked one boot on, then grabbed another. “Men keep telling me that. But I don’t know, I think all they want is just to get me in bed and then have me support them with the income from my saloon.”

“I don’t want a damn thing from you, Nelly,” Longarm said. “Except to say thanks for your help and I hope that I didn’t cause you to lose any business.”

“Naw!” She got his other boot on. “I made a little announcement downstairs to the customers and employees. I told them that this business was finished and that you were a federal marshal and shouldn’t be killed.”

“How was that received?”

“They seemed to agree,” Nelly said. “They realize that killing a United States marshal could bring big trouble to Lone Pine. We don’t want the feds coming here and trying to lay down the law. We like things just the way they are.”

“I gathered as much,” Longarm said. “It’s pretty much the law of the jungle in this hellhole of a town. The biggest, toughest, and quickest rule.”

“Yeah,” Nelly admitted, “that’s about how it works in Lone Pine.”

“And that suits you, I suppose, because you’re big and tough.”

“Tough as boot leather,” Nelly assured him. “I have to be! If I show any weakness, my competitors, even my employees, would skin me out of money or worse.”

“I understand,” Longarm said. “But you have certainly shown me a lot of kindness.”

Nelly looked up, and seemed a little embarrassed by his flattery. “Maybe I have,” she admitted, “but now you’re either about to leave town in a hurry, or someone will finish killing you. Either way, you pose no threat to me, so I can afford to be generous and kind.”

Nelly handed him his shirt, and he was aware of the scent of jasmine in her hair. Longarm glanced down at his bandaged ribs. “Are any broken?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, resting her hand on his bare chest for a moment. “Here, let me help you get that arm into the sleeve.”

Longarm appreciated the help. When he got both arms into his shirt, Nelly pulled it over his shoulders, then placed her hands on his bare chest. “You clean up nice,” she said with a smile. “You clean up real nice.”

Longarm felt Nelly slip her arm around his back. He saw her close her eyes and felt her lips on his mouth. “Nelly,” he whispered, “I’m not up to this.”

“I didn’t take any of your money,” she whispered, “but I never do a service entirely for free.”

He chuckled. “Nelly, you just got through pulling my damn boots on!”

She pushed him back down on the bed and began to undress, her eyes smoky with desire.

“Nelly, I ain’t even up to pulling my boots off.”

“Then leave them on, big boy,” she said, quickly slipping out of her green velvet dress and beginning to unbutton her underclothes.

“Nelly, for crying out loud,” Longarm protested. “My ribs are on fire and this could reopen my wounds and cost me blood.”

“You’ll decide it was a good trade,” she promised, slipping out of the last of her underclothing and then pushing out her magnificent breasts for his admiration. She cupped them both and bent over close to his face. “Like ‘em?”

“Yeah,” he said with a gulp, “but …”

“Then shut up and let me worry about your wounds. I bandaged them once, I can do it again.”

Longarm nodded as she hovered over him like a beautiful beast about to pounce on its prey.

Nelly unbuttoned and pushed down his pants. Her lips parted and she licked them with her tongue as she began to stroke his manhood. “Why don’t we just let the little man down here decide what he wants to do?”

Longarm already knew what his “little man” would do. Moments later, when Nelly’s moist lips touched the “little man’s” bald head, Longarm knew he was a complete goner. He closed his eyes and let Nelly have her way.

“You are good,” he moaned, running his fingers through her thick red mane. “As good as they come.”

“I’ve had some practice before I moved upstairs and let the young girls have their turn. But I do like to keep active with men like you.”

“That’s all to my good fortune,” he grunted, closing his eyes and letting Nelly work her magic on his big root. Longarm’s hips began to move as both he and Nelly became more excited. Finally, when his body began to tingle right down to his toes, Longarm quivered and groaned, “oh, Nelly!”

She understood and raised her head. With a laugh, she carefully climbed up and mounted him, her knees lightly hugging his bandaged sides, her big powerful bottom settling over Longarm’s now-glistening and swollen shaft.

“Oh,” she breathed, “you feel good!”

“I’m not going to be too active down here,” he warned.

“You don’t have to do a thing, handsome,” she said, throwing her head back and beginning to work her bottom around and around. “All you have to do is stay long and hard until I’m all finished.”

“That won’t be easy.” Longarm pulled her closer so he could suck on her big, hanging breasts. “Nelly, it won’t be easy at all.”

“You’re up to it, Marshal. I can tell already that you’re up to the mark.”

Longarm’s tongue worked her nipples while her bottom worked the “little man” until they were both grunting and moaning. When Longarm felt Nelly’s body begin to jerk and she threw her head back and gasped, he knew it was time to finish. Reaching around and clasping her powerful buttocks, Longarm jammed his root deep and filled her with his seed, slamming so hard into her bottom that Nelly fell forward and clung to him until he was all finished.

“Wow!” she finally said, rolling over and panting for breath. “You are some kind of man.”

“And you’re some kind of woman,” he said, forcing himself to roll off the bed and then pull up his pants and button them as well as his shirt, which was now badly wrinkled.

When he had strapped on his six-gun, Nelly said, “I’m damned sorry to see you go. I can only imagine how good you are to a woman when you’re not all shot to hell.”

“Thanks.”

Nelly gazed at Longarm as he checked his six-gun. “I sure wish you would just get back in that medicine wagon and drive out of Lone Pine. But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

“No,” he admitted, “I can’t. You see, Nelly, I’m a federal marshal.”

“Sure, but you’re also a man who enjoys taking his next breath, then his next.”

Their lovemaking had left Longarm a little weak in the knees. He limped over to a little bar and uncorked a bottle of brandy. “Mind if I have a going-away taste?”

“Have all you want. Take that bottle.”

Longarm took a half-dozen long gulps. It was mighty good stuff and it kindled a small and welcome fire in his belly. Satisfied, he jammed a cigar into his mouth, found his hat, and grinned at Nelly. “We may meet again.”

“Nothing would please me more,” she said, stretching like a big cat. “I get to Denver every couple Of years.”

“Then be sure and look me up. My office is in the Federal Building right near the Denver Mint.”

“I know the place. Good luck, Marshal. If you spend any more time in Lone Pine, you’re going to need it.”

At the door, Longarm turned and said, “Nelly, do you know the names of the men that ambushed me and killed that young deputy?”

“No,“she said. “I have my suspicions, but I can’t and won’t give you any names.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “because when I find Ford Oakley, I’ll find the men that did it.”

“You will,” she agreed, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice, “you certainly will.”

“Maybe you’re not as tough as you think,” he said, reaching for the doorknob.

“Maybe not,” Nelly said, “but don’t tell a soul.”

Longarm stepped outside into an empty hall and closed the door softly behind him. He limped to the back upstairs door, and it was unlocked. When he opened the door to the alley, there were two men who were just finishing loading liquor into the saloon’s storeroom. They were laughing and joking, and Longarm had to wait almost five minutes before they drove away.

Longarm climbed down the stairs, feeling his ribs burn at every step. A few minutes later, he was making his way to the rear entrance of the blacksmith’s shop and hoping that he was not too late and that the ambushers hadn’t already visited Pete and forced him to remove those handcuffs.

“It’s about time you got here!” Pete said angrily as he worked the bellows beside his forge, the fiery coals sparking and glowing reddish orange. “Marshal, what if Oakley and his friends had already come and gone!”

“Then you would have been smart enough to somehow remove his handcuffs and I’d have to figure out some other way to find and capture the man.”

“What took you so long?” Pete asked.

“I got winged three times out in the street and there was a lot of bandaging.”

The blacksmith studied Longarm closely. “I can see the bandages, but I can also see lipstick smeared all over your mouth and some wet love-juice stains on the front of your pants! What were you doing with big Nelly?”

Longarm must have blushed because Pete threw back his head and howled. “You was screwin’ her! Shot to pieces, you were still screwin’that big gal!”

Longarm heaved a deep sigh. “Why don’t we talk about the business of staying alive and my recapturing Ford Oakley, all right?”

“Sonofabitch! You are a real cocksman! And you was telling me to stay away from good-looking women? Hell, you’d probably have screwed yourself dry and died if she hadn’t kicked you out! Ain’t that the gospel truth!”

Longarm grinned. He knew that old Pete wanted him to say yes. “Yes, I guess it is,” he said.

“Ha!” Pete cried, slapping his leather apron and howling with laughter. “What a damned hypocrite!”

Longarm let the man carry on for a few moments. Then he spit into the forge and watched it sizzle. “Pete, where is the best place to hide and get the drop on Ford and his friends when they come to have you remove the handcuffs?”

Pete’s laughter choked down to nothing and he wiped his face with a dirty handkerchief he’d dragged from his back pocket. “Well,” he began, “you could hide up there in the loft and shoot down on ‘em.”

Longarm twisted his head up and surveyed the loft. “Uh-uh,” he said finally. “I want to be down here where I can cut off their escape.”

“You mean where you can escape if things go to hell in a hand-basket,” the blacksmith corrected.

“Maybe so.” Longarm looked all around until he decided on the stall nearest the back door. “Is there a horse in that one?”

“Yep. And I’m about to shoe him.”

“Move him to one of the other stalls,” Longarm ordered. “That’s the one that I want to hide in when I order Ford and his ambushers to surrender.”

“They won’t surrender.”

“They will if I have a shotgun on ‘em. There’s two in the medicine wagon. Will you get them both for me?”

“Sure. I drove that wagon up to the yard and it’s parked right outside. I unhitched the horses and gave ‘em a good feed. Figured they sort of belong to me now and I better protect my own property.”

“If things go wrong,” Longarm said, “that is good thinking.”

Pete removed a sorrel from the stall that Longarm wanted to use for a hiding place. “I think I’ll just take this sorrel outside and put him in a corral. Might be safer. He’s a good horse and his owner is a friend of mine. I’d like to keep him as a friend.”

“That makes sense,” Longarm said. “I expect your friend would not be pleased if his horse got plugged by a stray bullet.”

“You got that right.”

Pete led the sorrel outside saying, “I’ll bring them shotguns along on my way back.”

“Good,” Longarm said.

He entered the empty stall and pulled the solid and very heavy door closed behind him. Pete was not real big on cleanliness and the stall hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, if ever. The heavy ammonia of horse urine filled Longarm’s nostrils, and the stall was buzzing with flies.

“Damn,” he said to himself as he reached over the chest-high door of the stall and prepared to leave. “Maybe there’s a cleaner one that …”

He froze, hearing voices outside. The one that was familiar belonged to his former prisoner, Ford Oakley.

“Gawddammit, Pete,” Oakley was saying, “get your skinny old ass inside and let’s figure out a way to get these handcuffs the Hell off my wrists! And no excuses!”

Longarm ducked, but not before he saw the silhouettes of four men and the blacksmith slip through the back doorway. The big silhouette was definitely Oakley and he sounded extremely unhappy.

“Pete,” he said, “me and the boys tried like sons abitches to get these damn things off. We couldn’t even get the chain tying them together to break.”

“But you sure beat the Hell out of it,” Pete said as they stopped beside his forge. “It’s all flattened and mashed up where you been hammerin’.”

“The sonofabitch is made of hard steel,” one of the outlaws said. “Just our luck it’s probably the best pair of damned handcuffs in Nevada.”

“Can you get them off without breaking my wrists?” Oakley asked.

“I don’t know,” Pete said. “I can definitely break the chain so that your hands aren’t bound together anymore, but the handcuffs themselves are another matter.”

“Damn!” Oakley roared. “I’ll bet we’re just going to have to find that sonofabitchin’ marshal and get the keys to these things from him.”

“I’d expect so, Ford,” Pete said with ready agreement. “If I get to hammerin’on them cuffs, you ain’t going to like how it feels.”

“Just … just get rid of the chain,” Oakley said. “At least then I can use my hands to hold a gun or a rifle.”

“I’ll do it,” Pete said. “Ford, you just need to stop over here by the forge and stretch that chain across my anvil. Won’t take but a few good blows and I’ll have her cut in two.”

Ford did as he was told. “Cut the chain twice, both times right up next to my wrists. I don’t want to be swingin’ a damn chain around, so just cut it all the hell away.”

“I’ll do it, Ford. Yes, sir, I sure will do that.”

Longarm waited until he heard the first blow of Pete’s hammer. Then he stepped out of the stall and bellowed, “All right, hands up! You too, Ford!”

The outlaws whirled and every damned one of them stabbed for their guns. Longarm was left with no choice but to open fire as fast as he could aim and pull his trigger. His .44-40 Colt revolver spat death and he shot to kill. Each of his first three slugs found the chest of one of Ford’s friends. Longarm felt no remorse for any of them because they sure as the devil hadn’t shown any pity on him and Deputy Trout when they’d staged their ambush.

Ford grabbed Pete’s hammer. With a demented roar, he tried to attack, and Longarm, reluctant to kill his prisoner outright, grabbed a pitchfork and shouted, “Drop that hammer or I’ll drop you, Oakley! Do it now!”

Oakley’s face was corrupted by hatred. He glanced back over his shoulder at Pete and said, “You back-stabbin’old sonofabitch, you sold me out!”

“Ford, I don’t belong to the miners’ union,” Pete said, “and I’m sick and tired of you killing folks.”

Oakley cursed and lost control. Lunging at the blacksmith, he lost his balance and fell, his right elbow slamming down into the forge.

“Ahhhh!” he screamed as his sleeve ignited.

Longarm jumped forward and whacked Ford with the handle of the pitchfork. Ford dropped, and Longarm beat his head again and the outlaw collapsed. Then Longarm grabbed a horse blanket, dropped it over the killer’s shirt, and beat the smoke out of Ford’s shirtsleeve.

“Oh, my God!” Pete muttered, looking at Oakley, then at his friends. “What’s going to happen next!”

“Hitch up that medicine wagon and get it in here quick!” Longarm ordered. “We’ll throw Oakley inside and then I’ll drive it out the back way!”

“But what about these three dead men!”

Longarm ran his hand across his brow. “We’ll throw them inside too,” he decided. “I’ll figure out what to do with them after I get out of this damn town.”

Pete had the medicine wagon hitched in no time at all, and like Nelly, he practically tossed the bodies inside the medicine wagon.

“Maybe you should come with me,” Longarm said just before he was ready to leave.

“Then they’d know for sure that I was helpin’ you,” Pete said. “I can’t do that!”

Longarm stayed back from the front door to the livery barn. “Did anyone seem to be concerned with the shots that I had to fire?”

“Nope,” Pete assured him. “There are guns goin’ off all over town day and night. Mostly drunks shootin’holes in the sky. Nobody paid any notice.”

“Good,” Longarm said as he dragged himself up on the wagon and prepared to drive it into the back alley. “Wish me luck. When I get to Elko, I’ll get word back to you about the cash I promised, or else I’ll let you know where you can claim these horses and this wagon.”

But Pete shook his head. “If you can’t get the cash, better just forget the wagon and those horses. The last thing I need is for someone to recognize that wagon and horses and tie us together in all this killin’. No, sir, I better just let well enough alone.”

“Suit yourself,” Longarm said sawing on the lines, “but thanks for everything!”

“Get out of Nevada!” the old man warned. “You won’t be safe until you’ve crossed the border on that train!”

Longarm took the blacksmith at his word. And as he whipped the team down the alley and headed deeper into the Ruby Mountains, he realized full well that he was about the luckiest man alive.

Chapter 10

When Miss Molly Bean and Miss Sophie Flanigan, both pretty, strong-willed, and high-spirited young women, realized that Longarm had skipped town along with Deputy Rick Trout and the hated Ford Oakley, they were furious.

“Dammit!” Molly swore. “How could that sweetie Custis do this to us!”

“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “I thought I had him by the … well, I thought I had him figured.”

“Well,” Molly snapped, “it appears that he had us figured and then he just tricked everybody.”

“Where could he have gone?”

Molly put her mind to the question. “He had to reach Elko to get to a train so that he could deliver his prisoner to Denver. At least we know that much.”

“Yes,” Sophie agreed, trying to concentrate on the puzzle at hand instead of feeling betrayed, “at least we do know that much.”

“So he must have either looped around to Elko from the east or the west,” Molly said. “He couldn’t have gone but either of those two directions.”

“He’d have gone west,” Sophie decided, pressing a forefinger to her lips. “I’m just sure of that. He’s probably in the Pine Valley this very moment, going like Hell.”

But Molly shook her head. “I’m pretty sure that he’d have gone east into the Ruby Mountains and then turned north and circled around to Elko.”

“Because,” Molly said, “it’s much prettier.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Sophie agreed. “But there’s one way to make sure.”

“And that is?”

“We can find out from Marshal Wheeler. If his deputy went along to Elko with Custis, you can bet that Marshal Wheeler knows all about it. I just know that he wouldn’t let either of them leave unless he was damn sure he was still going to get his share of that reward.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Molly said.

And so they marched off to find Marshal Wheeler, who was having a very bad morning. “Good morning, Marshal,” Molly chimed. “Hi, handsome,” Sophie said with a bold smile.

“Look,” he groused, popping up from his desk, “if you’re wanting to know where my prisoner is, I can’t tell you. I’ve already had some real unpleasant visitors.”

“Well,” Sophie said, “you must know since your deputy is also missing.”

“But I don’t,” he protested. “I just told some of Ford Oakley’s friends the same damn thing. They had this little surprise party all worked out north of town. You can imagine how pissed off they were when the Elko stage came through and there was no Ford and no Marshal Long.”

“My heart bleeds for them,” Molly said. “So what did you tell that bunch of cutthroats and thieves?”

“I told them the exact same thing that I’m telling you. I don’t know where my deputy is and I don’t know where that federal marshal went to.”

“I think,” Sophie said in her nicest way, “that you’re telling a little fib.”

Wheeler blustered, “What you think, Sophie, doesn’t matter to me.”

“It did once,” she said sweetly. “It meant about everything to you.”

Wheeler blushed and dropped back down in his desk chair. Agitated, he began to rearrange some old wanted posters on his desk.

“Abe?” Sophie said, walking up to the desk and leaning over it so that he could see some cleavage.

“I… I got to get back to work,” he stammered, trying to keep his eyes on the papers. “You ladies better run along. I got nothing more to tell you about Ford Oakley, my damned deputy, or Marshal Long. Now that’s all that I’m going to say. So… go on now.”

Sophie batted her long eyelashes. “Anything YOU say, Abe, honey.”

The marshal blushed even more deeply, but he kept his hands busy and nailed his gaze to the papers as if he were staring at the eighth wonder of the world. “Well,” Molly said, “good-bye.”

“Yes,” Sophie said, “good-bye.”

“Good-bye, ladies!”

They went outside. “What do you think?” Molly asked as soon as they shut the office door.

“He’s lying through his teeth.”

“I know that,” Molly said. “But can you make him talk?”

“I’m sure that I can. Did you see the way I got him all flustered just now?”

“Of course! The man is crazy for you, Sophie.”

“That’s true, but making love to him now would be like coupling with a frog.”

Molly laughed. “Oh, come on now! You and the marshal had quite a thing going a few years back.”

“He’s changed a lot and none for the better,” Sophie said. “He’s really gotten hidebound and crotchety. He’s starting to look old enough to be my father.”

“Maybe he is your father.”

They both laughed, and then Molly said, “We really do need to know where Custis took Ford. Without a few friends, that federal marshal doesn’t stand a chance of getting Ford to Elko and that eastbound train.”

“I know,” Sophie said, looking back at the door. “But I really would prefer not to …”

“It wouldn’t take long,” Molly assured her. “I’d do it myself except that you’re the one that lights his fire.”

“If he’s got one left,” Sophie said.

“Ah,” Molly scoffed, “I’ll just bet that he will surprise you. Might be why he’s gotten so crotchety these past few years. It’s common knowledge that Marshal Wheeler and his fat old wife sleep in separate rooms and she’s as mean as a teased snake. I almost feel sorry for the man.”

“Me too.”

“Be a Good Samaritan,” Molly urged. “I’ll watch the door to make sure that you’re not interrupted.”

“Oh, all right,” Sophie finally agreed. “But this had better not take long.”

“It’s all up to you,” Molly said. “I’d just tell him right up front what the deal is. Information for … well, whatever you think you have to give.”

“Probably whatever the old goat wants,” Sophie groused as she opened the door again, went back inside, and turned the key in the lock.

Marshal Wheeler glanced up at Sophie. “I told you that I couldn’t help you, Sophie. Now will you please … what are you doing!”

What Sophie was doing was placing one heeled shoe on the seat of Deputy Trout’s empty chair and slowly pulling up her skirt to reveal her lovely thigh encased in some very expensive black silk stockings.

“Stop it!” Wheeler croaked, his eyes bugging a little.

Sophie reached up and undid her garter belt, then began to roll down the stocking to reveal her milky white thigh. “Abe, I remember how you used to lick me starting right here,” she said, pointing to a place inside of her knee, “and then all the way up to here.”

Sophie placed her hand over the soft place between her legs and licked her lips. She began to sway back and forth, lightly stroking her black silk panties.

“Sophie,” he begged, leaping to his feet. “You gotta get out of here right now!”

But Sophie wasn’t listening. She just smiled, then opened her eyes and removed her other stocking and all of her underclothing from the waist down. She giggled as Wheeler came charging around his desk to stand before her puffing like a steam locomotive ready to roll. She giggled even more when his hand reached out against his will and he stroked her leg and then spread his feet apart as his manhood began to rise.

“What the hell are you doin’, drivin’ me crazy like this after these last few years?” Marshal Wheeler wheezed.

He expelled a deep, shaky breath. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve dreamed about you coming to me and doin’ something just like this?”

“Dreams sometimes come true,” Sophie whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders and spreading her feet apart.

Wheeler gulped, and his hand unbuckled his cartridge belt. “I could lose my job if someone walked in here right now.”

“The door is locked. We always locked the door when I came by for a visit, remember?”

He was so excited that he wasn’t listening. “Sophie, I’m real worried. You see, Ford’s friends almost shot me because I wouldn’t tell them where the marshal took him.”

“I won’t shoot you,” Sophie said. “I promise. You’re going to shoot me like you used to. Oh, Abe, I’ve really missed it. Missed it a lot.”

“You have!”

Sophie unbuttoned his pants, and his shaft jumped out to stand rigidly at attention. She took it into her hands and stroked it until the marshal quivered like a bird dog.

“I can’t wait,” he moaned, reaching for her.

Sophie stepped back. “First,” she said, “the information. Where are they?”

“Probably in Lone Pine,” he breathed. “If Ford’s friends haven’t found’em yet.”

“On horses?”

“No,” he said, bunching her skirt up above her waist and then hoisting her onto the top of Deputy Trout’s desk while swiping everything on the desk onto the floor. “They’re traveling in that old medicine wagon that was sitting out in back of the alley!”

Sophie lay back and spread her legs. Marshal Wheeler did have a fire left in him after all, and now, as he climbed onto her and began to pump furiously, Sophie lay back and sort of felt glad that the old badger still had plenty of ripe sap in his long timber.

Fifteen minutes after she’d gone inside, Sophie stepped back out of the marshal’s office.

“Oh, my heavens!” Molly said. “Your face is all flushed and you’re wearing a big smile!”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are. I’d say it’s pretty obvious that Marshal Wheeler still has some life to him.”

“Yes,” Sophie said, smoothing her skirt, “he does.”

“I feel so sorry for the poor man. Will you start something up with him again?”

“If he collects that big reward I might.”

Molly laughed. “I swear that you are a mercenary devil, Sophie Flanigan!”

“A girl,” she said, “has to do the best she can with what she’s got while she’s got it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Molly said, taking her friend’s arm. “Now, where did Marshal and Deputy Trout take that damned Ford Oakley?”

“They’d be about to Lone Pine,” Sophie whispered so she could not be overheard. “Maybe past that by now.”

“Lone Pine,” Molly said. “I just knew that’s the way he’d travel because it is so much prettier!”

“Well, it’s true and here’s the good news. They’ve got Ford hidden in that old medicine wagon that was parked in the alley for so long.”

Molly’s eyes lit up. “Then we can catch them on a couple of good horses!”

“If you’re woman enough for it,” Sophie taunted her.

“I am!” Molly vowed. “But you’ve already gone for one ride this morning. Can you handle another?”

Sophie giggled. “Let’s get changed and rent some good, fast horses and I’ll just show you how ready I am.”

And so the two pretty young women hurried away. In less than an hour, they were leading a pair of tall, fast horses out of the back of the local livery.

“You ladies gonna ride very far today?” the liveryman asked as he adjusted their stirrups.

“Oh,” Molly said, “I don’t think so. We’ll just be gone for the morning. Should be back by early afternoon.”

“Be careful out there,” the liveryman warned. “You never know who you’ll meet up with.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“Ford Oakley’s men are swarming into town. I gather that something is wrong at the marshal’s office.”

“Really?”

“That’s right.”

“Well,” Sophie said, “I hope it’s not serious.”

“Me too,” the liveryman said. “Those boys are real killers, and they’d think nothing of shooting the marshal if he messed up and Ford got killed.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“I’d go with you if I could get away for a few hours, just to make sure that you’ll be safe.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Molly assured the man. “As you know, we are both excellent riders and with these two fast horses … well, no one could catch us anyway.”

“That’s true enough,” the liveryman had to admit. “Just be careful and don’t lame ‘em. They’re the best that I’ve had in a long, long time.”

“We’ll be very careful,” Sophie promised as she reined out of the livery toward the alley.

“Hey!” the man called. “Why are you starting off through the alley?”

Molly frowned. “Well, we just think it better if two young ladies like ourselves don’t advertise an unescorted outing. Don’t you agree?”

“Sure,” the liveryman said. “I think that’s a smart thing to do. There might be some hard-cases out on the main street, and they’d see you two innocent young ladies and might decide to follow.”

“Exactly!” Sophie said. “So don’t tell a soul that we’ve gone.”

“You can count on me!”

“Good!”

Sophie and Molly rode through the alley heading south. But when they were out of sight, they angled their rented horses east toward Lone Pine and the Ruby Mountains.

“How long will it take to get there?”

“About four hours,” Molly replied. “We can take the shortcut since we don’t have to follow the road.”

Sophie thought that was an excellent idea. She preferred to take life’s shortcuts whenever and wherever possible.

Chapter 11

Red Kane sat in a saloon opposite Marshal Wheeler’s office and watched as Molly Bean guarded the marshal’s door. Kane was a big man and although once brutishly powerful, he had now gone mostly to fat. His red hair was thinning, and his aging pale skin had begun to crust and bleed from too much Nevada sun. Kane drank his whiskey straight from a bottle, and a cigarette dangled loosely from his chapped lips.

“What do you think is going on over there?” Deke said as he joined his leader.

Kane squinted, blue eyes blank and expressionless. When he spoke, his cracked lips barely moved around his cigarette. “I think that those two women are trying to find out where the Hell them lawmen have taken Ford.”

“So you think that Marshal Wheeler knows?”

“Yeah,” Kane muttered, “I’m sure he does.”

Deke, like his boss, was not a man who appreciated the subtleties of life. “Then me and some of the boys oughta just go back there and beat the Hell outa Marshal Wheeler until he tells us! Honest, Kane, me and the boys are just plain worn out after screwing around with all this. Instead of waiting to ambush that stagecoach and spring Ford, we shoulda-“

“Stop waggin’ your gawddamn tongue!” Kane snapped. “Would you just look at that Flanigan woman.”

Both outlaws stared through the window as Sophie straightened her dress.

“What do you make of it?” Deke asked, his hot breath fogging the window.

“She looks mussed up to me,” Kane answered. “I think that old marshal has been fucking Sophie Flanigan right there in his office.”

Deke guffawed. “Aw, come on, Red! Now why would she be screwin’ the marshal in his office at this time in the morning? She’s a handsome woman and could have a man like either of us, if she wanted.”

“I know that,” Kane said, “but Sophie Flanigan don’t do nothing unless she’s got something to gain. My money says that she screwed the marshal while her friend, Molly Bean, guarded the door and that the both of ‘em are in cahoots tryin’ to learn where those lawmen have taken Ford.”

“But why’d that be so important to them two women? What do they care about Ford?”

“Because they hate him for diddlin’them both, and besides that, there’s that kid that Ford beat over the head so that he can’t think right anymore.”

Kane dipped his double chins. “I tell you, those women are willin’ to do any damn thing in order to kill Ford. That’s why they’re messin’ with the marshal.”

“I dunno,” Deke wheedled. “I still say it’d be a lot simpler just to pay another visit to Marshal Wheeler and knock the shit outa him until the old bastard breaks down and tells us everything he knows.”

But Red Kane shook his head. “The trouble with that idea is that Marshal Wheeler is on good terms with Judge Meeks, and that old sonofabitch is on good terms with the federal marshal in Carson City. If we rough up Wheeler, the whole thing could come down on our heads, and Ford wouldn’t be a damn bit happy with us for doin’ that. It could backfire.”

“He’s even going to be less happy if that federal marshal and Deputy Trout give him a necktie party in Colorado.”

“I know that,” Kane said, watching as Molly and Sophie hurried away.

Kane stood up and took another pull on his bottle and a last drag on his cigarette, which he then dropped and ground under his heel. “What we are going to do is keep a sharp eye out on them two pretty women.”

“I’ll be happy to do that,” Deke offered.

“We’ll both do it,” Kane decided. “I got a feeling that they’re about to fly the coop.”

Deke looked over at the bar toward their two partners. “What about Willard and Gus? Shall I tell ‘em to go and saddle up our horses?”

Kane thought a moment, and then he nodded. “Yeah. I’ll follow them women and meet you back here when I know which way the wind is blowin’.”

“Whatever you say,” Deke told the big red-haired man. “The main thing is that we just gotta find where they took Ford and kill that federal marshal along with Deputy Trout.”

“Trout will be easy,” Kane said. “He’s mine. It’s that big marshal that I expect might die hard.”

“Well,” Deke said, “there’s the four of us against the two of them, and then there’s Ford to consider. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s already killed the both of them lawmen and is heading right now for the money.”

“I hope so,” Kane said, face reddening with anger. “That close-mouthed sonofabitch is the only one that knows where that four thousand dollars from our last bank job is hid, and that worries Hell out of me.”

Deke nodded. “I guess that’s really why you’re so interested in savin’his hide, huh?”

“Yep,” Kane said, “four thousand dollars is enough to make anyone interested.”

“I’d save Ford even without that money,” Deke offered, looking a little embarrassed by this admission. “He saved my life a time or two and I’d like to return the favor.”

Kane snorted with derision. “You always was dog-trustin’ simple, Deke. Go ahead and do what you want, but I’m in this for the money same as Ford has always been. Friendship don’t mean spit. It’s the money, and that four thousand dollars belongs to all of us. We lost two men on that job and I almost got killed myself and so did you.”

“Well, that’s true, but …”

“We got a share comin’,” Kane said. “We almost got killed and we deserve our share. Ford shouldn’t never have hid that four thousand dollars without tellin’ us. It was wrong!”

“But we was on the run and-“

“Then we should have split the money up and each gone off on our own!” Kane stormed. “But we stuck together except for Ford, who got drunk and got himself arrested. Now look at the mess we’re in. We’re dead broke and he’s in the hands of a federal marshal and facin’ a hanging. All of the blame falls on Ford, not us. He’s had his turn to be top dog. Maybe it’s time that I had mine.”

“You ain’t no leader,” Deke dared to say, his chin up and defiant.

“No leader?” Kane asked, voice shaking with fury. “You say I ain’t no leader?”

Deke paled. “Well,” he stammered, “I mean, you’re a leader and everything, but nobody in their good senses would follow you because-“

Kane exploded in fury and his big fist whipped upward in a blur. It caught Deke in the gut and lifted him completely off the ground. Deke’s mouth flew open like a fish out of water, and then Kane grabbed him by the shirtfront and slammed him up against the wall. While Deke’s eyeballs were rolling up in his head, Kane drove his knee into Deke’s crotch. Deke screamed in agony, and Kane dropped him on the sawdust floor.

“Jaysus!” the bartender shouted. “If you’re going to kill poor Deke, drag him out in the alley and do it!”

“Shut up!” Kane bellowed, dragging Deke back to his feet and pinning him back up against the wall. “I ain’t going to kill the little bastard. I’m just giving him a lesson.”

“You’re gonna kill him if you hit him again,” the bartender yelled.

“Well, then,” Kane said, “maybe I should just put him out of his misery.”

Kane drew his six-gun and pointed it at Deke’s face. “Say hello to Hell, Deke.”

“No!” Deke choked, reviving in a hurry. “Red, I didn’t mean it! Please. Don’t shoot me! I swear I didn’t mean it. You’d be a great leader!”

Kane tapped the barrel of his six-gun against Deke’s perspiring forehead. “Now you’re using them brains,” he said, releasing the man and letting him sag back down to the floor.

He turned his back on the terrified man and turned his attention to the bar. “Gus, you and Willard hurry up and get the horses. Bring’em around back of this saloon and get ready to ride.”

Gus was a thin, intense gunfighter, while Willard was Kane’s young brother, with the same big frame and red, sun-blistered face. Gus set his beer down and thumbed-back the brim of his Stetson. His pale blue eyes shifted back and forth between his brother and Deke, who continued to writhe on the floor. “What’s up, Red?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Kane said.

Gus nodded and plucked at Willard’s sleeve. “Boss says we got to get our horses.”

“Boss is mighty bossy since Ford got caught,” Willard said, shooting his brother a challenging glare.

Kane’s lips drew back from his teeth. “Little brother, unless you want me to kick the shit outa you like I just did Deke, I think you’d just better do what I said and do it right gawddamn now!”

Willard smiled. “Your day is comin’, big brother. Comin’ soon too.”

“The day you try me,” Red Kane said, “is the day you’ll be knocking at the gates of Hell.”

Deke hauled himself to his feet and he was gasping and clutching his crotch. “What do you want me to do, Boss?”

“Deke, just sit back down here by the window and don’t you go and get drunk while I’m gone. If you see them two women again, you just stay where you’re at and don’t make a sound. Do as I say, I won’t hurt you again.”

“You shouldn’t have put your knee to my balls like that,” Deke whined, moving all bent over to the table beside the window and collapsing into the chair. “What I said about you … you shouldn’t have taken it so damn personal, Red.”

“I take everything personal,” he told the man. “And I mean to take care of this business my way when we catch up with Ford and them two gawddamn lawmen.”

A tear slid down Deke’s cheek, and it caused Kane to shake his head. “You’re nothin’but a gawddamn baby,” he said with contempt. “You’re just plain weak.”

Deke’s gun hand moved a little closer to his side, but it froze when Kane said, “Go ahead, prove me wrong. Show me that you’re man enough to make a play for that gun. Go on, you chicken-shit little coward!”

Deke’s nerve broke and he placed both of his trembling hands on the table. “I wouldn’t shoot you, Red. We’re friends!”

Kane relaxed. “Deke, you just better hope you never get sent to the Nevada Territorial Prison in Carson City. Cause, if you do get sent, you’re gonna make some inmate a real fine little bunk-mate.”

“We get this money business done, I’m leavin’Nevada once and for all,” Deke said, nodding up and down as if trying to convince himself of this bold declaration. “I am leavin’ for California and I’m buyin’ a little farm.”

Kane sneered. “You don’t know nothin’ about farmin’ or about anything else except how to pick someone else’s pockets or back-shoot ‘em when they ain’t lookin’.”

Deke looked away, staring through the grimy glass, his eyes radiating pain and hatred as he listened to the heavy sound of Red Kane’s boot heels thumping on the floor.

When Kane went outside, he stopped and rolled another cigarette before he sauntered down the street, keeping to the shadows and trying to look as inconspicuous as a man well over six feet and 250 pounds could look. He pretended to admire a pair of new saddles in the saddle shop window, and then seemed to give careful consideration to a new coat being displayed in the Gold Mountain General Store window.

In fact, what Red Kane was really doing was waiting for Sophie Flanigan and Molly Bean to reappear on the street and lead him to Ford Oakley and the two lawman, all of whom he intended to kill after learning where the hell Ford had hidden their four thousand dollars of stolen bank money.

It didn’t take long before Sophie and Molly emerged, and Kane slipped into the shadows between a pair of buildings and watched as they hurried over to the town’s only livery. Kane grinned as he noted that the women were both dressed in riding skirts and had small traveling bags in their hands. They looked nervous, as if they didn’t want to be noticed by anyone as they made their way quickly along.

Kane gave them a wide berth. He’d seen enough to confirm his suspicions, and now it was time to go get their own horses and follow these scheming bitches to a big payday.

He tromped back to the saloon and collected Deke. “Let’s go get those horses,” he said.

“Yes, sir!”

As Kane was passing through the saloon toward the back door, he snatched a nearly full bottle of whiskey from the bar.

“Hey!” the bartender shouted. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

“Don’t worry!” Kane shouted. “As soon as we spring Ford from those lawmen, we’ll come back here and put on a party the likes of what you never seen!”

“You do that!” the bartender groused. “You just bring your money next time.”

It was another ten minutes before Gus and Willard appeared with the saddled horses. “You bastards are sure slow,” Kane complained.

“Where in the hell are we headed?” Willard said, hand snapping out to grab the bottle of whiskey from his brother’s fist. He uncorked it with his teeth, took a long, long pull, and handed it back to Kane.

Kane drank and passed the bottle to Deke, who took a little more than his share because he was still in such pain. Gus finished the bottle and threw it at the back of the saloon, where it shattered.

“Let’s go,” Kane said. “Well just trail them women and let them take us to Ford.”

“Maybe we could use them for more than just to lead us to Ford,” Gus said with a wink.

“Yeah,” Kane agreed, licking his chapped lips and climbing onto his horse, “I was thinking the very same thing.”

Chapter 12

When Longarm left Lone Pine by way of the alley, he did it in a big hurry with three dead outlaws and a very unconscious Ford Oakley locked up in the back of the medicine wagon. Pete had given him some hurried directions, and now he was off on his own wondering how damn far it was over these mountains and then on to Elko.

About five hours out of Lone Pine, Longarm spotted a little homestead off the road about a half mile and decided that, if he were to continue, he needed some food and a few hours of rest. He was feeling a mite puny, and one of the horses had a loose shoe that needed immediate attention before it came off altogether.

The log cabin was small, and there was a barn and corrals with several horses and a pair of good Missouri mules. The mules began to bray as soon as they saw the medicine wagon and Longarm’s four-horse team. About five acres of land had been plowed and planted with corn, but the homesteader’s water well must have gone dry, or else the soil was too poor and rocky, because the corn wasn’t growing worth a damn. To Longarm’s way of thinking, this part of Nevada was too high, cold, and dry to farm. If anything, it was good for little more than to eke out a living raising sheep and cattle.

An old, weather-worn wagon with a busted axle told Longarm that things were indeed tough here. Longarm thought maybe he could make a swap and trade the damned troublesome wagon for a couple of saddles. He could keep a better eye on Ford Oakley that way and just take his chances with anyone they might meet on these isolated mountain roads.

The big problem was that there were three dead outlaws in the back of the medicine wagon as well as poor Deputy Trout’s riddled body to consider. Longarm had no desire to haul four dead men clear over these mountains, and yet, with his wounds and the troubles he’d faced so far, he wasn’t really feeling up to that much burying.

“Hello the cabin!” he shouted, reining in the team. “Can I step down and water these horses!”

A voice answered, “Cost you a dollar!”

“Everything in this damn country is higher than a hog’s back,” Longarm muttered. “All right, I’ll pay!”

Longarm saw movement through the lone window of the cabin. The door pushed open on leather hinges, and then Longarm saw the barrel of an old flintlock rifle poke around the corner of the doorjamb. Longarm’s hand moved toward his own six-gun, and he held his breath as a medium-sized man with a scraggly blond beard cautiously emerged. The Ruby Mountain homesteader was in his early twenties, handsome enough but thin and worn-looking, with tattered clothes and bare feet.

“Mornin’,” Longarm called in greeting as he started to climb down. “Hold up, mister!” the homesteader warned, raising his old flintlock in a threatening manner. “Before your feet touch my ground, I want to see that dollar!”

Longarm sat back down. “You’ll never see it unless you put that rifle down.”

The man nervously bit his lower lip. He looked worried and unsure, but he lowered his rifle a few inches. “Who are you, a medicine peddler? I ain’t gonna buy nothin’. I’m cash poor. That’s why I need that dollar.”

“Put the rifle down. I have a dollar.”

The man lowered his rifle even more, but he did not put it down. Longarm, however, was satisfied and dug into his pockets. He pulled out a wad of crumpled bills and selected a dollar, then returned the rest of his money to his pocket.

“Here you go,” he said, extending the greenback like a carrot to a famished donkey.

The young homesteader hurried forward, eyes glued on the money. When he grabbed for it, Longarm snatched his flintlock away and jumped down.

“Hey!” the young man exclaimed, retreating a few steps and raising his hands. “I need my rifle back!”

Longarm removed the percussion cap and then he handed the flintlock back. “I didn’t realize that anybody even still used those old relics.”

“It shoots straight sometimes,” the man said. “And it’s cheaper to use than if I had to buy bullets.”

“I suppose so,” Longarm said.

“You don’t act like no medicine peddler, mister,” the man said, looking even more worried as he cradled his now-useless rifle out between them.

“I’m not. I’m a federal marshal.”

The homesteader’s jaw sagged. “Naw!”

“It’s true,” Longarm said, dipping into his coat pocket and producing his badge. “Here, see for yourself.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” the young man exclaimed with amazement. “You are a federal marshal. What the Hell are you doin’ ridin’ around here in an old medicine wagon?”

“It’s a long story. But right now, my biggest problem is that I’ve got a horse about to throw a loose shoe. Can you tack it on tight?”

“Yeah, sure.” The young man couldn’t hide a grin. “But Marshal, it’ll cost you another dollar.”

“Just for tacking down a shoe?”

“It has to be done right. Nails cost money. I might even have to replace the shoe. I’m a good blacksmith and, Marshal, I swear that you’ll lame a horse up quick in this rocky country if he throws a shoe.”

“Another dollar, huh?”

“A man has to make a livin’, Marshal,” the young man explained. “The thing of it is, I got a poor crop of corn here and I might not have enough money to buy food for the winter. You, on the other hand, probably get a regular paycheck.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, then,” the young man said, making it sound entirely logical, “you can see how I need that extra dollar far worse’n you.”

“I expect that is true,” Longarm said, giving the young man the second dollar. “I’m no farmer, but even I can tell that this land is worthless for planting crops.”