Longarm and the Racy Ladies

“I came out to the frontier from West-by-God Virginia so long ago that I consider myself a Westerner more than anything else,” Longarm replied honestly. “I fought in the Late Unpleasantness when I was just a pup, but that was so long ago too that I sort of disremember which side I was on.”

Padgett laughed. “A splendid answer. Have you ever given any consideration to a career in politics?”

Longarm had to suppress a shudder at the very thought. “No offense, Senator—but Lord, no! I can’t even please one boss most of the time, let alone a whole damned constituency of ‘em.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, look me up. I think you’d make an excellent representative for the great state of Colorado.”

Longarm tried to picture himself in the halls of Congress. He squinted hard, but he couldn’t quite see it. Still, he said politely, “I’ll remember that, Senator.”

Around mid-afternoon, Longarm, Padgett, and Leon Mercer rode back out to the racetrack to watch Cy putting Caesar through another workout. As the big horse galloped easily around the oval track, Padgett watched raptly. The senator seemed to really enjoy being an owner. Longarm wondered how long that would last before Padgett tired of it. That would depend to a certain extent on how well Caesar did, Longarm decided. He couldn’t see Padgett sticking with a loser.

There had been no more attempts on Padgett’s life, which came as no surprise to Longarm. He followed Padgett and Mercer back to the paddock, where Caesar was being brushed and rubbed down by his trainer, a wiry old Irishman named O’Malley. Padgett snapped a series of questions about Caesar’s condition and performance at Cy, who seemed nervous as he answered them. The jockey kept glancing at Longarm. Not wanting Padgett to suspect there was anything unusual going on between Longarm and Cy, the big lawman eased back into the long building.

He spotted the door to a room where he had seen jockeys going in and out several times. When he tried the knob, it was unlocked. Opening the door slightly, Longarm called, “Anybody home?”

No answer came back.

He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. Just as he had thought, he was in the room where the jockeys changed into their silks and stored their gear. There were separate cubicles along the walls, and he found the one being used by Cy, identifying it by the colors on the silken shirt hanging there along with the white pants. There was a carpetbag on the floor of the open cubicle.

Longarm bent quickly and picked up the bag. If Cy was indeed still up to something, this might be Longarm’s chance to discover it—as long as nobody walked in on him. Cy’s traveling bag was back at the hotel, Longarm supposed, so this carpetbag would contain gear relating to the race.

He opened the bag and delved into it, finding a spare set of silks, a pair of riding boots, some gloves, and some cloth-covered weights that gave the bag a surprising amount of heft. Those were the weights that Cy would slip into the pouches on Caesar’s saddle to even things up if some of the other jockeys were heavier than he was. Longarm knew there was some method of determining how much weight each of the horses was supposed to carry during the race, but he had never learned what it was.

At the sound of footsteps just outside the door of the jockeys’ room, Longarm dropped the square weights back into Cy’s bag and closed it up. He put it back where he had found it, then stepped out of the cubicle. When the door into the room opened, he was standing in the center of the floor, lighting a fresh cheroot.

“Oh, there you are, Marshal,” Leon Mercer said. “The senator and I wondered where you’d gotten off to.”

“Just came in here for a smoke,” said Longarm. He dropped his voice conspiratorially. “Just between you and me, Leon, I’m getting a mite tired of the smell of horseshit.”

Mercer frowned. “That’s too bad,” he snapped. “Your job is to protect the senator, not to stop and sniff posies.”

That was quite an outburst, considering Mercer’s mild nature. Longarm put the cheroot back in his mouth and puffed on it to hide the grin that passed across his face. “You’re absolutely right, Leon,” he said. “I’d better get back to work.”

Padgett didn’t question him about his whereabouts when Longarm rejoined him. The three of them went back to the hired buggy and Longarm drove it to the hotel.

Dinner that evening was shared with Padgett and Leon Mercer, and it wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as lunch had been. Having ol’ Leon for company just wasn’t the same as the Cassidy sisters, Longarm reflected. Janice and Julie weren’t in the dining room, and he wondered if they were eating in their room upstairs. On the third floor, they’d said. Room Number Twelve.

Longarm couldn’t quite get that thought out of his mind.

After dinner, Senator Padgett spent a couple of hours in the lobby talking politics with several other men, some of them guests in the hotel, others local men who came there to pass the evening in stimulating discussion. The talk wasn’t that stimulating to Longarm, however. He knew that such things as grain futures and government regulations were important, at least in the long run, but their immediate impact on a fella like him didn’t add up to a hill of beans. Still, he sat in a wing-back chair next to Padgett and tried not to yawn overmuch as the senator discoursed on such matters.

Finally, after what seemed like a longer time than it really was, Padgett went up to bed, trailed by Longarm and Mercer. Longarm made sure the senator locked his door to the hall; the connecting door between the rooms was left open. Longarm took off his boots, coat, vest, and tie, draped his gunbelt over the head of the bed, then stretched out on top of the covers in his shirt, trousers, and socks. He waited until the stentorian snores from the other room told him that Padgett was sound asleep.

The senator was as safe here as if he’d been in his own house in Washington. Longarm was sure of that. And though some might call it neglecting his duty to slip out and pay a visit to the Cassidy sisters … those who would condemn him for doing so had probably never had two such lovely young women waiting for them. He pulled his boots on, eased out into the hall, and locked the door of his room behind him.

The door of Room Twelve opened almost instantly when he rapped lightly on it. “Custis!” Janice exclaimed happily. “We thought you’d never get here! We were worried that you had decided not to come.”

“Just had to wait until the time was right,” Longarm said with a grin as he stepped into the room. Janice closed the door behind him.

She was breathtaking, he thought as she moved around him so that he could get a good look at her in the soft light coming from a turned-down lamp. She wore a gown of gossamer lace and blue silk. The neck plunged low enough so that he could see nearly all of the valley between her plump, creamy breasts. Her nipples were erect and stood out urgently against the silk.

Julie was lying on the huge four-poster bed, propped up on a pile of pillows, an equally lovely vision in a gown that was identical except for its color. Julie’s outfit was red. Longarm looked from one to the other of them and said to the one in blue, “You are Janice, aren’t you?”

Both sisters laughed. “Does it really matter?” said the one in red.

“Well …”

“I’m Janice,” the twin in blue said. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Julie. We don’t want to confuse poor Custis.”

No man who ever found himself with bounty like this could be called poor, thought Longarm. Janice stepped forward, and his arms came up instinctively to pull her into an embrace. Her head tilted back, and her lush red lips parted invitingly.

Longarm was about to kiss her, but then he paused and looked at Julie. She smiled and said, “Go ahead. I’ll Just watch for a while.”

Longarm had to chuckle and say, “Lordy!” He usually took his loving one at a time, but he supposed in a circumstance like this …

Janice’s lips pressed hotly against his mouth. He didn’t say anything else for a while.

Her body was as soft and warm and intoxicating as he had expected it to be as she pressed against him. The encounters he’d had with each sister had been mighty pleasurable, but the circumstances had forced all three of them to hold back somewhat. He sensed there would be no holding back tonight, none at all.

The kiss finally ended, and Janice stepped back out of his arms. Julie swung her long legs out of the bed and stood up. “My turn,” she said, swaying toward him seductively. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.

If anything, her lips and tongue were hotter and wetter than her sister’s had been. Longarm’s shaft was achingly hard by now, throbbing with the need to be released from the tight confines of his trousers. The Cassidy sisters weren’t done tormenting him yet, however.

But it was mighty sweet torture, Longarm thought.

Julie stepped back and stood side by side with Janice. Both of the women slid the straps of their gowns off their shoulders and let the silky garments slide down over their smooth young bodies. The gowns fell in crumpled heaps around their feet. They stood gorgeously, gloriously—and identically—nude before him.

Well, maybe not quite identically, Longarm discovered as his gaze played hungrily over them. He lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Sure enough, he could tell the difference between the two of them. Janice’s breasts were full and round, crowned with large coral nipples. Julie was slightly less endowed, and her breasts were pear-shaped. Her nipples were smaller and darker but just as erect as her sister’s. Longarm’s eyes dropped lower, comparing creamy bellies. Janice’s was slightly softer, he judged, but Julie worked with the horses and got more exercise, so that was only logical. That brought him to the triangles of fine-spun blond hair at the juncture of their thighs. He cleared his throat and said, “Ah, I reckon if you wanted me to compare, I’ve spotted a few differences so far, but …”

“Oh, we’re not exactly alike anywhere,” Julie said.

“But it takes a very close examination to spot some of the differences,” added Janice.

Longarm grinned. “Well, then, I reckon I’d better keep investigating.”

They came toward him, Janice’s breasts bobbing a little, Julie’s firmer. Each of them took one of his hands. “There’ll be time for that later,” Julie said, “after we get you out of these clothes.”

They began undressing him, and the flawless way they worked together told Longarm they had done this before. Julie opened the buttons of his shirt and peeled it back, then twined her fingers in the thick mat of hair on his chest and lowered her lips to one of his nipples. At the same time, Janice slid his trousers down over his hips, and his shaft finally sprang free. She took his manhood in her hand, caressing it in a pumping motion that set Longarm to quivering all over.

“Come on,” Julie whispered. “Let’s get to bed.”

That sounded like a mighty fine idea to Longarm.

Chapter 9

There was one thing to be said for those Cassidy girls, Longarm told himself later, They were sure as hell inventive.

Over the next few hours, the three of them coupled in just about every way they conceivably could. Janice and Julie caressed each other a little in the process, but mostly they devoted their attentions to Longarm. At one point, he found himself flat on his back while Janice rode gasping in ecstasy on his burgeoning pole. At the same time, Julie straddled his head so that his tongue could probe the hot, wet folds of her feminine flesh. She let out muffled half-screams as Longarm worked his magic on her. While he was doing that, Janice’s hips pumped harder and harder until he could no longer hold back his climax. He emptied himself into her in long, throbbing spurts as her sister reached down and grabbed his head so that she could grind her mound against his face.

A man could die mighty happy this way, Longarm decided.

Finally there was no way any of them could continue, so they lay there cuddled together in a tangle of sheets and sweat-sheened flesh. Each of the sisters had a soft thigh flung over Longarm’s legs. He put his arms around them and fondled a breast with each hand. He recalled hearing a fella use the phrase “an embarrassment of riches” one time, and now Longarm surely knew what that gent was talking about. He heaved a long sigh.

“That was heavenly, Custis,” Julie said after echoing his sigh. “We’ll have to do it again.” Longarm let out a groan.

Julie laughed. “I didn’t mean right now,” she assured him.

Janice reached down and let her long fingernails trail through the tangle of dark brown hair at his groin. “Do you think Senator Padgett is in such danger that you’ll have to travel with us all the way to Denver?”

Longarm frowned a little and asked, “Who said the senator was in danger? I reckon that’s why I’m along, to keep any trouble from cropping up.”

“Well, that’s what I mean, of course,” Janice said. “And you seem to be doing an excellent job.”

Longarm shrugged awkwardly, considering his position. His shoulders nudged a breast on either side of him. “I’ll stay with the senator until my boss tells me to do otherwise.”

“Good!” Julie said. “That means we’ll have more opportunities to do things like this.”

Her fingers closed around his shaft, which he had been certain would be dormant for a while longer. To his surprise—and to the delight of Julie and Janice—it began thickening and lengthening again, the heat of Julie’s caress making his manhood grow the way the warmth of the sun touched the seeds in the ground and brought forth wildflowers.

As it turned out, Longarm didn’t get back to his own room until nearly dawn. Senator Padgett was still snoring next door. Longarm stripped off his clothes, fell facedown in the bed, and let oblivion claim him.

Matador, owned by the Cassidy sisters, finished second in the El Paso race, and Senator Padgett’s Caesar finished third. The third-place finish was enough to placate the senator somewhat, although he made it plain in his remarks to Cy and O’Malley after the race that he expected to win at least once before they reached the end of the circuit. For their part, Janice and Julie were thrilled that Matador had come in second. When Longarm visited with them right after the race, both young women kissed him soundly in their excitement. “If Matador can just win a couple of races,” Julie said, “we’ll have enough money to make the improvements we want to make on the farm.”

“We’ll have a start,” corrected Janice. “It’s going to take a lot of money to put the place back the way it used to be when Papa was alive.”

During the past couple of days, Longarm had spent as much time as he could with the Cassidy sisters and had learned how their father had established the horse farm in Missouri and how their mother had died when the girls were young. Janice had gone away to a fancy finishing school back East, while Julie had stayed on the farm to help their father run it. Things had gone downhill after he’d been kicked in the head by a balky mare and died shortly thereafter from the injury. Janice had returned from school to run the business end of the operation while Julie continued working with the horses. But they’d had a tough time making a go of it. Matador was the best colt they’d had so far, as well as their best hope of getting the farm back on its feet financially. Longarm wished them luck. If it came down to a close finish between Matador and Caesar, he was going to root for Matador. Padgett didn’t really need the prize money, at least as far as Longarm knew.

By nightfall, the owners, trainers, jockeys, and horses were all on a westbound train rolling across the desolate landscape of southern New Mexico, heading for Arizona and the racing circuit’s next stop in Tucson. The Apache Stakes, Senator Padgett called the race that evening as he and Longarm and Leon Mercer sat in the club car. Padgett had a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“I’ve heard of Apaches staking folks out, but it didn’t have anything to do with horse racing,” Longarm said dryly.

Padgett chuckled. “No, I imagine not. The only torture at this race will be waiting to see whether or not Caesar actually wins for a change.” A frown replaced the jocular expression on the senator’s beefy face. “If he doesn’t, I may have to give some thought to finding a new rider.”

It was typical of Padgett to place all the blame for Caesar’s showing in the races on Cy. The man wasn’t about to admit, even to himself, that the other horses might just be faster.

Padgett looked at Longarm and changed the subject by saying quietly, “It’s been several days now, and there haven’t been any more attempts on my life. When we get to Tucson, don’t you think you should wire Marshal Vail and see if he wants you to continue with this assignment?”

Longarm shrugged. “I’ll be checking in with Billy anyway. If he wants to pull me off this job, he’ll tell me.”

“I’m convinced that man in Albuquerque was simply demented. Obviously he hasn’t followed us.”

It was true enough that the few days in El Paso had passed quite peacefully, with the exception of the gunfight in the Crystal Star saloon—but Padgett didn’t know anything about that. It hadn’t had anything to do with the assassination attempt in Albuquerque.

While it was true that Padgett was probably in no danger of anyone taking a shot at him, Longarm wasn’t ready to give up yet on the job that had brought him here. There were still things to learn, and he intended to dig them out. He knew Billy Vail would agree with him.

Longarm had been able to get together intimately with Janice and Julie Cassidy once more while they were in El Paso, but there was no opportunity to do so on the train. It arrived in Tucson around the middle of the next day, and as had happened before, Padgett, the Cassidy sisters, and the other owners went first to the racetrack to make sure their horses were safely delivered to the stables. After that, it was back to the hotel where the parties were staying.

Tucson was still more of a frontier town than El Paso, though not as boisterous as its neighbor to the southeast, Tombstone. Longarm had been there many times before and knew about the settlement’s remaining rough edges. If there was going to be trouble, Tucson would be a good place for it to happen. He would have to keep his eyes open and be extra alert.

The hotel was one of the few frame buildings in town. Nearly every structure was made of adobe bricks left their natural color, so the overall effect from a distance was one of the buildings blending into the ground. The hotel rose two stories, with a false third floor on the front, which made it stand out even more from the squat, square buildings around it. The lumber to build the hotel had been hauled in by wagons from the heavily timbered slopes of the mountains that rose in the distance. Those pines had also furnished the planks that had been used to build the grandstands around the racetrack. Like many things in Tucson, the track and the stands were spanking new. There had been a settlement here for many years, ever since Spanish explorers in search of treasure had come through the area and founded the original town. None of the walls from the Spanish settlement still stood, but its influence continued to be felt. There was a sleepiness, a lassitude, in the hot midday air that practically cried out for a siesta.

Senator Padgett wasn’t particularly interested in a nap, however. He said to Longarm as they entered the hotel, “I want to see one of those Mexican cantinas. I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen one for myself.”

“I’m not certain that would be a good idea, Senator,” Leon Mercer said from behind them. “I’ve heard that such places can be rather, ah, dangerous.”

Padgett turned to the aide with a disgusted look. “That’s why I’m going to take Marshal Long with me,” said Padgett, waving the unlit cigar in his hand at Longarm. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Leon.” He paused, then added, “If you’re scared to go.”

There were plenty of times when grown men acted just like little boys, Longarm reflected, and he supposed he was as guilty of that as any other man. He waited to see if Padgett would resort to the infamous double-dog dare to get Mercer to accompany them, but it proved to be unnecessary. Mercer sighed and said, “Very well. I’ll go with you. But don’t blame me if some … some bandido sticks a knife in your ribs, Senator!”

Padgett guffawed and slapped Mercer on the back, staggering the smaller man a little. “That’s the spirit, Leon! Don’t worry, though. Marshal Long won’t let anything happen to me.”

The senator was a mighty confident hombre, thought Longarm. He hoped that confidence was well placed as they went in search of a cantina.

At this hour of the day, the settlement was quiet, baking in the heat of the noontime sun. Longarm didn’t care much for this impulse of the senator’s, but he supposed that if Padgett was bound and determined to visit a cantina, this was as good a time as any. They would be less likely to run into trouble now.

The place Longarm found wasn’t far from the hotel. As he and Padgett and Mercer passed through the arched entrance into the cooler dimness of the interior, Longarm paused to let his eyes adjust to the change in light.

This was a typical Southwestern cantina, with tables scattered around the big main room on a hard-packed dirt floor. A bar made of wide planks nailed onto empty barrels ran across part of the rear wall. At the end of the bar was another arched doorway, this one covered with a curtain of beads. The air was heavy with the odors of tobacco smoke, stale beer, tequila, and unwashed human flesh. A couple of men stood at the bar, while three more sat at a table. They were the only customers. A stout Mexican in a dirty white shirt and apron was behind the bar pouring the shots of tequila being downed by the two men standing there. The three men at the table were passing around a bucket of beer. A lush-bodied woman with a mass of curly black hair leaned an elbow against the bar. Her figure was displayed to its best advantage in a low-cut peasant blouse decorated with fancy embroidery and a skirt that hugged her hips before flaring out around her legs. Looking around the place, Longarm thought the word “squalid” came to mind. From the expression on Leon Mercer’s face, complete with frown-creased forehead and pursed lips, Mercer agreed. Senator Padgett seemed to be impressed by what he saw, however.

“My God, this is positively … earthy,” Padgett said. “And so colorful.”

Longarm didn’t see anything particularly colorful about the cantina. The woman’s skirt was bright red, but that was just about the only spot of color he noticed. But there was no point in arguing with Padgett about the matter. Longarm just wanted them to have a drink and then get out of there.

He eyed the customers as he and his two companions crossed the room. He didn’t want a repeat of what had happened back in El Paso. The three men at the table were white and looked like cowboys, no doubt from one of the nearby ranches. The pair at the bar wore sombreros and charro jackets, and they wore their guns low and tied down. They were bad hombres—or at least thought they were. Longarm didn’t recognize either of them, though, so he could at least hope that they didn’t know him from somewhere else. And hope, as well, that they wouldn’t start shooting at him.

The woman perked up a little as the newcomers approached the bar. “Hola, senores. What can Lupe do for you?” She batted her eyelashes in what she obviously considered a seductive manner as she asked the question.

“Tequila,” Padgett said, grinning broadly at her. “For me and my friends. No, on second thought, tequila for everyone!”

One of the cowboys at the table called out, “Hey, much obliged, mister! That’s mighty generous of you.”

“Muchas gracias,” said one of the thin-lipped gents at the bar. He gave Padgett a curt nod.

The bartender refilled the glasses of the two Mexicans, then poured drinks for Longarm, Padgett, and Mercer. He finished by pouring three shots for the cowboys and placing the glasses on a tray so that Lupe could carry them over to the table. As she did so, Padgett’s eyes followed her swaying hips hungrily.

“A fine-looking woman, wouldn’t you say?” he muttered to Longarm. Without waiting for the marshal to respond, he went on. “I’ve never had a little chile pepper like that. I imagine they’re pretty spicy.”

His voice was loud enough so that the other two men at the bar might be able to hear it. Longarm said quietly, “I’d be careful about talk like that if I was you. Some folks get a mite touchy.”

“Why, I didn’t mean any offense.” Padgett seemed startled that Longarm would have even suggested such a thing. “Sorry, Marshal. I’ll try not to upset the greasers.”

Longarm winced. He hadn’t particularly wanted it known that he was a lawman, just in case any of the gents in here were on the dodge, and Padgett’s comment about “greasers” might just make the situation worse. From the corner of his eye, he saw how the other two men at the bar stiffened. Neither of them had drunk the tequila Padgett had bought for them, and now they pushed the glasses away.

“Pour that out, Pablo,” one of them said to the bartender. “We will not drink anything bought by filthy gringo coins.”

“Wait just a minute, sir,” Padgett said, turning toward the two charros. “I’ve already pointed out that I meant no offense by my comment about the young lady. I was just admiring her beauty.”

One of the men spat a curse in Spanish. “Lupe needs no compliments from the likes of you.”

The object of the discussion had delivered the drinks to the table. Now she hurried back over to the bar, looking as nervous as the bartender, and said quickly, “There is no need to argue, mi amigos. My honor is not insulted.”

“A worthless puta like you has no honor,” snapped one of the Mexicans. “But this dog of a gringo had insulted us by calling us greasers.”

Leon Mercer let out a low moan of sheer terror. His drink was untouched on the bar. Suddenly he snatched up the glass and gulped down the fiery tequila, as if to fortify himself for the trouble he seemed certain was coming.

Longarm also figured things were about to go from bad to worse. He had known that Padgett could be crass and crude at times, and he’d figured that came from being a politician. It had to be difficult to hide your true feelings all the time and only tell people what you thought they wanted to hear. But he had certainly never expected the senator to come in here and provoke trouble so quickly and effortlessly. It was almost like Padgett wanted to start a fight.

That thought could have done with some more pondering, but there was no time for it. The untouched drinks still sat in front of the two Mexicans, and Padgett pointed at them as he said loudly, “Now I’m going to be insulted if you don’t drink those. There’s nothing wrong with them, and where I come from a man doesn’t dishonor another man by turning down a drink.”

“What does a dog know of honor?”

Longarm reached for Padgett’s arm. It was time for that better part of valor he’d heard tell of. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going back to the hotel.”

Padgett jerked his arm free. “Not yet. Not until these men do something with those drinks.”

The two Mexicans did something, all right. They picked up the glasses and splashed the tequila all over the front of Padgett’s suit. The senator gaped down at the wet mess in astonishment, then shouted, “By God, I won’t stand for that!” He lunged at the nearest of the Mexicans, swinging a fist at the man’s head.

Longarm darted forward, trying to get between Padgett and the other men. The senator’s fist brushed the side of his head, making his ear sting. Longarm ignored that and lowered his shoulder, driving into the chest of the Mexican and knocking the man back against his companion. Both men went down. Longarm jerked around and barked, “Get out of here! Now!” at Padgett and Mercer. Mercer was already tugging frantically on the senator’s arm, urging him to run.

“Damn it, this is my fight!” protested Padgett.

“Not any more! Now git!”

Longarm didn’t have time to continue arguing. One of the Mexicans was back on his feet, and Longarm saw the flicker of a knife in his hand. He ducked back against the bar as the blade lanced out at him like the tongue of a snake. As the Mexican slashed at him again, Longarm grabbed the bottle of tequila that still sat on the bar and used it to block the knife. The blade scraped off the thick glass, then Longarm brought the bottle down hard on the man’s wrist. With a yelp of pain, the man dropped the knife.

From the corner of his eye, Longarm saw Mercer prodding the reluctant Padgett out of the cantina and felt a surge of relief. At least the senator wasn’t going to get himself killed over some stupid, senseless argument.

Of course, he might not be able to say the same for himself, Longarm realized, because the second charro was back on his feet, and the man was reaching for the pistol in that tied-down holster. He was fast too.

Longarm slowed him down a little by flipping the bottle at him. The man had to put up an arm to bat it aside. That gave Longarm the chance to reach his own gun. He palmed out the .44 and brought it up level in one smooth motion. “I wouldn’t,” he said coldly as the Mexican’s hand touched the butt of his gun.

One of the three white cowboys, who had watched the whole fracas from the table, let out a whistle of admiration. “Whoo-eee! That fella’s faster on the draw than Marshal Earp down at Tombstone!”

Longarm had never had any interest in being known as a fast gun. He was fast enough on the draw to have stayed alive this long, and that was all he cared about. Now, as the Mexican slowly moved his hand away from his gun, Longarm nodded and said, “I’m obliged to you for seeing the light of reason, old son. Neither one of us has any business dying over what some loudmouthed blowhard has to say.”

“You know this amigo of yours is-“

“Is damned hard to swallow sometimes,” Longarm finished with a nod. “I sure do. And he ain’t really my amigo. But I have to look out for him anyway.”

The two Mexicans exchanged a glance that told Longarm they understood what he meant. It was his job to stand between Padgett and whatever trouble came up, even trouble of the senator’s own making, and they could respect him for doing just that. The one who was holding the sore wrist that Longarm had cracked with the bottle rasped, “Do not let him come in here again.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Longarm assured him. “I reckon he’s had enough local color to last him for a while.”

At least, Longarm damned well hoped so.

He holstered his gun, but he kept a close eye on the gents at the bar until he was out of the cantina. Squinting against the bright sunlight, he walked quickly toward the hotel. He was still plenty angry at Padgett for provoking the confrontation, even though no one had been hurt seriously. It was just a matter of luck that no one had gotten killed.

Going straight to the senator’s room, Longarm rapped on the door. Mercer opened it almost immediately, as if they had been waiting for him. The pallor on the face of the senator’s assistant was even deeper than usual.

“There you are, Marshal,” Mercer said. “We were afraid you might have been killed-“

“No thanks to your boss that I wasn’t,” Longarm snapped as he shouldered past Mercer. The smaller man got out of his way and shut the door behind him. Longarm faced Padgett, who stood near the window smoking a cigar. “What was the idea, Senator? You trying to start a war with Mexico? Or did you just decide it was time to start acting like an asshole?”

Padgett’s face darkened redly. “By God, I don’t have to take that kind of talk from you, Long!”

“The hell you don’t.” Longarm’s anger got the best of him, and he stepped forward and prodded Padgett in the chest with a finger. “You acted like you wanted to start that fracas, and I want to know why. Maybe you figured that I’d jump in—hell, you had to know I would!—and what you really wanted was to get me killed!”

Padgett stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Why in heaven’s name would I want you dead, Marshal?”

Longarm caught himself just in time. He almost blurted out, Maybe you’ve finally figured out why I’m really here. Instead, he said, “You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t think there’s any reason for me to keep riding hard on you.”

“But I’d hardly try to arrange things so that you’d be killed just because of that!”

Longarm had to admit the senator was right: That made a mighty feeble motive. He said, “You’ve been a little jealous right from the start of all the attention those Cassidy sisters have been paying me.”

“Good Lord! I’m a married man, Marshal. I couldn’t risk my reputation—my very career—by becoming romantically involved with women young enough to be my daughters!”

“Plenty of politicos have done that very thing, and lived to regret it,” Longarm pointed out.

Padgett looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes, I know, but I … I could never do such a thing, Marshal. You see, I … I love my wife. I may flirt with other women, but I’ve never been unfaithful to her.”

He was so obviously embarrassed by the admission that Longarm found himself believing it. Of course, that didn’t really change anything, since Longarm could think of only one really good reason for Padgett to want him dead, and the Cassidy sisters had nothing to do with it. Padgett might still be mixed up in that other matter. But there was an equal chance that he was innocent.

“All right,” Longarm said. “Sorry I accused you, Senator.”

“I realize I used very poor judgment in my remarks in that cantina-“

“You sure as blazes did,” Longarm confirmed grimly.

“But I didn’t mean anything by any of it. I really didn’t.”

Again, Longarm found himself believing the politician. That would be a bad habit to get into, he told himself, a downright dangerous habit. He took a deep breath and said, “No harm done. How about one of those cheroots you carry around?”

Padgett smiled and reached for his vest pocket without hesitation. “Of course! There you go, Marshal. I take it that we’re, ah, friends again?”

Longarm wasn’t aware that they had ever been friends, but it seemed important to Padgett, so he nodded and said, “Sure.” Leon Mercer stepped forward and lit the cigar the senator had given Longarm, and after puffing on it for a moment, Longarm asked, “When’s the race here in Tucson?”

“Tomorrow,” replied Padgett. “Then it’s on to Carson City the next day. Our stay here won’t be a long one.”

Longarm nodded. The circuit was about to swing north; then after a couple of stops it would turn east. He only had a certain amount of time to find out what he wanted to know before it was too late.

Those thoroughbreds, Matador and Caesar and the others, weren’t the only ones in a race. Longarm was too.

And the stakes in that match might just turn out to be life and death.

Chapter 10

There were no adjoining rooms in the hotel in Tucson, but Longarm had managed to get three rooms side by side. Senator Padgett was in the middle one, with Longarm and Leon Mercer flanking him. That arrangement was the best Longarm could do without actually bunking with the senator, and he wasn’t willing to do that just to keep up appearances. That evening when he turned in, he left Mercer in Padgett’s room, the two of them sitting at a table huddled together over a welter of papers. “These are the reports from the banking committee, Senator,” Mercer was saying as Longarm stifled a yawn and closed the door.

He went to his own room and glanced at the piece of broken matchstick he had left wedged between the door and the jamb. It was still visible a couple of inches above the floor. Satisfied that no one had gone through the door while he was away from the room, Longarm unlocked it, turned the knob, and stepped inside.

Something came whipping out of the shadows, passing within a couple of inches of his face before it struck the door. His hand was still holding the edge of the door, and he felt the faint shiver of impact through his fingers. Instinct sent him forward and down, diving into the room as he clawed for his gun. As he fell, he saw the thin curtains fluttering in front of the window. That window had been closed when he left, but now it stood open, admitting the night breeze that stirred the curtains. Clearly, it had let in more than a breeze.

Longarm had checked that window earlier and been convinced that no one could climb through it without going to a lot of trouble. There was no balcony outside. But someone had gone to the trouble of getting in that way, and the hombre was still here. Longarm saw his silhouette in front of the window. Flame licked out from the center of that dark shadow as noise filled the room. The sound of the gunshot hammered against Longarm’s ears.

He double-actioned the Colt in his hand, adding to the racket as he squeezed off two shots. A heavy grunt came from the dark figure as it was flung backward by the impact of the slugs. The man’s shape filled the window for an instant, then was suddenly gone. Longarm heard a soggy thump from the street outside as he scrambled to his feet. He lunged to the window and peered out, saw the sprawled shape in the street below the window.

Someone was pounding a fist against the wall of his room. “Marshal!” Padgett called through the wall. “Marshal Long, are you all right in there?”

“I’m fine,” Longarm shouted back. “Stay right there until I get back, Senator!”

Then he turned and hurried out of the room, running down the corridor outside to the staircase. He descended the stairs to the lobby of the hotel in several great bounds. The lobby was empty, but the porch of the hotel seemed to be almost full, he noted through the big glass front windows. As Longarm stepped onto the porch, which was lit by several lanterns hanging from its ceiling, he recognized most of the bystanders as horse owners, trainers, and others connected with the racing circuit, all of whom were staying here at the hotel.

“Step aside there!” he barked. “U.S. marshal coming through.”

A path opened in front of Longarm, and he moved to the edge of the narrow porch. The corpse lay right in front of the porch, and enough light spilled on it for Longarm to recognize the man as one of the Mexicans from the fight in the cantina earlier in the day. The man lay on his back, and Longarm could see the dark bloodstains on the front of the white shirt under the charro jacket. That was pretty good shooting, he noted, even if he did say so himself.

Longarm stepped down from the porch after checking to make sure the man wasn’t still holding a gun. He was fairly certain that the hombre was dead, but he searched for a pulse to verify it. Just as he had thought, there wasn’t one. A six-shooter lay several feet away, Longarm noticed, and he figured the Mexican had dropped it there while falling backward through the window in Longarm’s room.

“What the bloody blue hell is goin’ on here?” demanded a harsh, high-pitched voice.

Longarm looked up and saw a burly figure standing over him. The man wore a tin star pinned to his shirt. “You the town marshal?” Longarm asked.

“Deputy sheriff,” grunted the man. “Hey, I started askin’ questions first!”

Longarm straightened from his crouch next to the body. “I’m United States Deputy Marshal Custis Long.” He nodded toward the corpse. “This fella here just tried to ventilate me up yonder in my hotel room after throwing what I reckon was a knife at my head. He missed both times. I didn’t.”

“I can see that,” the deputy sheriff said. “You got anything provin’ you’re really who you say you are, mister?”

“Sure.” Longarm dug out his identification and handed the folder to the local lawman, who studied the badge and documents intently in the light from the porch. When shadows from the bystanders kept falling over Longarm’s papers, the deputy sheriff twisted his thick neck and snapped, “Everybody clear off! The shootin’s all over.” He glanced back at Longarm and added, “Ain’t it?”

“Far as I’m concerned, it is. Unless somebody starts trying to plug me again,” Longarm qualified.

The local badge returned Longarm’s bona fides as the crowd on the porch began to reluctantly filter back into the hotel. “Name’s Bullfincher,” said the deputy sheriff. “That fella there on the ground leakin’ blood is called Rodriguez. Heard tell he was a pretty bad hombre, but he never caused no real trouble here in town. You know why he’d want to kill you?”

“I had a run-in with him earlier in the day in a cantina,” Longarm said. There was no point in trying to hide that fact. Deputy Bullfincher would have likely been able to turn up witnesses to the fight without too much trouble. “He and another fella took offense at something somebody said.”

“That other fella’d be his pard Guzman, another bad ‘un. What’d you say to set ‘em off?”

Longarm shook his head. “Wasn’t me. I just stepped in to keep things from getting out of hand.”

“From the looks of it, you’re the one Rodriguez was holdin’ a grudge against,” Bullfincher pointed out.

“It does look that way,” admitted Longarm.

Bullfincher knelt beside the corpse, grunting with the effort of bending his heavyset body. A fast, efficient search of Rodriguez’s pockets turned up a clasp knife, cigarette makin’s, a few pesos—and a roll of twenty-dollar bills. Bullfincher let out a whistle of surprise. “I’ve heard rumors that Rodriguez and Guzman hold up stagecoaches from time to time. Reckon this must be some of the loot from one of those jobs.”

“Can I take a look at those bills?” asked Longarm.

“Sure, I guess so,” Bullfincher replied with a frown. He handed the money to Longarm, who unrolled the bills. There were five of them, all twenties. Longarm looked at them closely, rubbed his fingers lightly over their surface, then passed them back to Bullfincher. “You’re right, Deputy,” he said. “Must be holdup loot.”

Bullfincher tucked the money into his shirt pocket. “I’ll take it over to the Wells Fargo office later and turn it over to the agent. Right now, let’s go upstairs and take a look at your room.”

Longarm didn’t argue the point, though he wasn’t sure what the deputy sheriff was looking for. They climbed the stairs, ignoring the questions flung at them by the curious folks inside the hotel lobby. As their heavy footsteps echoed along the second-floor corridor, the door of Padgett’s room opened a crack and Leon Mercer peered out. Seeing Longarm, Mercer opened the door wider.

“Are you really all right, Marshal?” he asked. “Those shots were so loud, and the senator is quite concerned.”

“Senator?” echoed Bullfincher. “You didn’t say nothin’ about no senator, Marshal.”

“Hadn’t gotten around to it yet,” Longarm said dryly. “Come on, Leon. Bring the senator too.”

Padgett and Mercer emerged into the hallway, and Longarm quickly performed introductions. Deputy Bullfincher seemed more impressed to be meeting a United States senator than he had been by Longarm’s status as a federal lawman. “You can rest easy, Senator,” Bullfincher said. “One of our local badmen tried to settle a score with the marshal here for a run-in in a cantina earlier, but it didn’t have nothin’ to do with you. Normally Tucson’s a nice, quiet little town.”

Longarm knew that was hardly the case, but he didn’t bother contradicting Bullfincher. Padgett didn’t give him a chance to anyway. The senator said, “You’re wrong, Deputy. What happened tonight is my fault. You see, Marshal Long was protecting me when he got in that fight earlier. I provoked it.” He added quickly, “Not intentionally, of course.

Bullfincher’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. “You, Senator? Startin’ a fight in a cantina?” His tone made it clear how difficult that was for him to believe.

Padgett winced and said, “Let’s not spread that around, shall we? I never dreamed one of those men would come back and … and try to kill Marshal Long!”

“You hurt a Mex’s pride, he has a hard time gettin’ over it,” said Bullfincher. He pointed a stubby forefinger at the door of Longarm’s room, which still stood open. “Looky there. Rodriguez left you a souvenir, all right.”

A dagger with a long, thin blade was still stuck in the door.

Longarm stepped over to it, took hold of the handle, and wrenched the blade free. He handed the weapon to Bullfincher. “You’d better keep it for evidence. I don’t need it.”

“Yeah, I reckon you’re right. If there’s ever any question about any o’ this, that dagger’s proof Rodriguez tried to kill you. We’ll hold an inquest tomorrow, but there ain’t no doubt in my mind the jury’ll make a findin’ of self-defense.”

“The inquest will have to be tomorrow morning, Deputy,” Padgett said. “There’s a horse race tomorrow afternoon. That’s why we’re all here.”

“Shoot, yeah, we can do it in the mornin’, I reckon. Ten o’clock all right?”

Longarm nodded.

“Well, I better see about havin’ that body hauled off,” Bullfincher said with a sigh. “And you best sleep with one eye open, Marshal Long. If Rodriguez was gunnin’ for you, chances are Guzman is too.”

“We’ll all be careful, Deputy,” Padgett said. “Thank YOU.”

Bullfincher shuffled off. Leon Mercer rubbed a hand over his face and said in a low voice, “Dear Lord, what’s going to happen next?”

“Nothing, I hope,” said Longarm. “I want to get some sleep.”

“But how can you sleep knowing that somewhere out there a man may well want to kill you?”

“Leon, old son, I reckon there hasn’t been a night pass since I pinned on a law badge when somebody, somewhere, hasn’t wanted to see me dead.”

“Well, you can be nonchalant if you like,” Mercer said with a sniff, “but I know that I don’t intend to close my eyes this entire night.”

“Come on, Leon,” Padgett said, putting a hand on his assistant’s shoulder. “I never thought that I’d be the one saying this, but we still have work to do.”

“You’re right, of course, Senator …”

The two of them disappeared back into Padgett’s room. Longarm went into his own room, closing and locking the door behind him. He blew out the lamp so he wouldn’t be silhouetted. Then a quick look out the window told him how Rodriguez had gotten into the room. A knotted lasso hung out there, leading up to the false third floor. Rodriguez had climbed onto the roof, tied the rope onto something, placed it through the window above Longarm’s in the building’s false front, and climbed down hand over hand. Longarm took his own folding knife from his pocket, opened it, and cut the rope as high up as he could reach. Then he closed the window, took off his boots, coat, vest, and tie, and stretched out on the bed. He had seen Janice and Julie Cassidy in the crowd downstairs and had met their eyes long enough to assure them that he was all right. He hoped they wouldn’t wait until later and then show up at his door expecting a few hours of romping. Not that such a prospect wouldn’t be delightful—most of the time. Tonight, though, Longarm wanted to think.

He would have sworn that the bad blood between him and the two Mexicans had been put aside following the fight in the cantina. At least, enough so that Rodriguez shouldn’t have been lurking in his hotel room waiting to ambush him.

But there was nothing saying that Rodriguez couldn’t have had another reason for trying to kill him. An even better reason. A hundred better reasons, come to think of it, because while Longarm was willing to let Deputy Bullfincher believe that the money Rodriguez had been carrying had come from a stagecoach holdup, Longarm didn’t think that was the case at all. It was blood money, paid for his blood. He was certain of it. The bills had told him something else too.

For the first time, he was absolutely sure that his hunch had been correct. He was on the right trail.

And from here on out, it would probably just get more perilous.

As Deputy Bullfincher had predicted, the coroner’s jury found that Longarm had acted in self-defense in the killing of Rodriguez, and they stopped just short of congratulating him for a job well done.

Longarm headed for the racetrack as soon as the inquest was concluded. Senator Padgett was anxious to get out there and see how preparations for the race were going. Cy had put Caesar through some practice runs early that morning, and O’Malley reported that the times had been good. “The track’s fast today, Senator,” the Irishman said. “‘Tis a good feelin’ I be havin’ about this race.”

“I hope you’re right,” Padgett said. “I’m ready to win one for a change.”

Longarm found himself cornered in the paddock by Janice and Julie. “What in the world happened last night?” Janice demanded. “We heard a lot of shooting, and everyone said that you were involved.”

“They said you killed a man,” added Julie.

“I’m afraid that’s right,” Longarm said. “Didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was trying to kill me at the time.”

Janice shuddered. “I’m getting a little tired of the West. It’s so violent out here!”

“It can be,” admitted Longarm. “A lot of people are working to make it less dangerous, though.”

“Including you,” said Julie. Longarm acknowledged the comment with a nod and a half-shrug.

Janice linked her arm with his. “I’ll be glad when we reach Denver. At least it’s a civilized town!”

Longarm didn’t bother mentioning all the times he had come too damned close to getting killed right there inside the city limits of Denver. If Janice wanted to believe it was a civilized place, then so be it. He was more concerned at the moment with the way her breast was pressing softly and warmly against his arm. Julie took his other arm and leaned into it. “Walk us to Matador’s stall,” Julie said.

“My pleasure, ladies.”

And it was, just as it was his pleasure to eat lunch with them in the clubhouse a little later. Senator Padgett and Leon Mercer joined them, of course, as did the other owners. Longarm had met all of the other men at least briefly during the trip; Janice and Julie were the only females on the racing circuit this time around. For the rest of the day, Longarm paid more attention to the other owners, watching them closely, engaging them in idle conversation. They were a diverse group, as might have been expected. Three of the men were from Texas, two each from Louisiana and Kansas, and one apiece from Arkansas, Iowa, and Kentucky. Senator Padgett’s home state of Colorado was the farthest west of any man’s in the bunch. That didn’t surprise Longarm. Western horses were bred more for short, fast bursts of speed as they worked cattle, so that was what Westerners knew best. The long-legged thoroughbreds that ran the longer distances came mostly from the South and East, although like everything else in the country, they were spreading west.

By and large, the owners were a friendly group and got along well despite the natural rivalries. Longarm didn’t sense any real bitterness among them, certainly nothing that would lead to violence. Of course, he wasn’t expecting to find anything of that nature. He was on the trail of cold-blooded greed, rather than hot-blooded anger.

As he watched the race later that afternoon from Padgett’s box, Longarm began to worry that the senator would have a fit of apoplexy and fall down dead. Padgett was that excited as he jumped up and down, screaming and red-faced, while the horses swept around and around the track and Caesar gradually pulled ahead of the others. Longarm was no expert, but as far as he could tell, Cy was riding the ride of his life, doing everything right and not making a single wrong move. By the time the horses began flashing across the finish line, Caesar was a full three lengths ahead, the clear winner.

Padgett whooped and embraced Leon Mercer, jerking the smaller man off his feet in his exuberance. “We won, Leon, we won!” shouted Padgett.

“Indeed we … did, sir,” Mercer gasped. “I’m sorry, sir, but I … can’t breathe!”

Padgett released his assistant and turned to Longarm, who stopped him by holding up a hand. “I’m happy for you, old son, but don’t even think it,” Longarm warned.

“All right, but I’m buying all the drinks!”

Longarm grinned. “I got no problem with that.”

The three of them began making their way down toward the winner’s circle. Longarm also wanted to find the Cassidy sisters and congratulate them on Matador’s third-place finish. He knew they needed some wins in order to accumulate enough prize money to get their ranch back on its feet, but at least they had finished in the money in this race.

As he had been doing all day, Longarm kept an eye out for Guzman, the other Mexican from the cantina. Deputy Bullfincher had been convinced that Guzman would be gunning for him too. Longarm wasn’t quite so sure. Rodriguez had been paid to bushwhack him, but that didn’t mean Guzman had been too. Even if the person who wanted Longarm dead had enlisted Guzman in the effort, Guzman had surely seen what had happened to Rodriguez. Guzman could have returned the money to his erstwhile employer—or else kept it and pulled a double cross by taking off for the tall and uncut. Either way, Longarm didn’t think he had to worry overmuch about Guzman, but he still didn’t intend to take any foolish chances.

When they reached the winner’s circle, Padgett grabbed Cy and O’Malley both, hugging the jockey and the trainer in turn. “God, I’ve never been so thrilled in my whole life!” he said. “When Caesar reached the finish line, I thought I was going to die from the excitement!”

“We all did, Senator,” Mercer said dryly.

Several of the other owners arrived to pump Padgett’s hand and slap his back in congratulation, so Longarm took advantage of the opportunity to slip away and find the Cassidy sisters. They looked excited at Matador’s finish, but nevertheless somewhat disappointed.

“I really thought he’d win today,” Julie said as she stroked the shoulder of the big chestnut. Matador was sweating and his sides were still heaving from the exertion of the race.

“I reckon it was just Caesar’s day,” said Longarm, knowing the words were scant comfort. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

“I hope so,” Janice said with a sigh. “Coming on this trip was expensive, you know. If we don’t go home with a sizable amount of money, we won’t be able to cover our expenses and make the necessary repairs to the ranch.”

Longarm shook his head. “Wish I could help you, ladies, but I don’t know a damned thing about this kind of horse racing. And on what Uncle Sam pays me, I can’t loan anybody more than whiskey-and-cigar money.”

Both of the young women looked alarmed. “Please, Custis, don’t think we were hinting for any such thing!” Janice said.

“We can take care of ourselves,” Julie said.

Janice took one of Longarm’s hands in both of hers. “We’re just glad you’ve been along for most of the trip, Custis, because having you for a friend has meant so much to us.”

“It’s been my pleasure, ma’am. And I mean that.”

Janice smiled up at him and practically puffed, “It’s been our pleasure too. Quite a few times, in fact.”

Longarm had to grin at her boldness.

The aftermath of the race passed without incident, as did that night at the hotel. The next westbound train would pass through Tucson the following morning, and the circuit would continue. Though there were no races scheduled for California, the route of the group would take them through the eastern part of that state, following the rail line as it curved north and made connections with the Union Pacific Railroad, which would take them to Carson City and Reno. Several days of travel would be involved, Longarm knew. He didn’t mind. He didn’t expect anything to happen while they were on the train—although he would not have ruled out the possibility of another attempt on his life—and the interval would give him time to ponder everything that had happened. A couple of theories had started to take shape in his mind, and he wanted to test them out by taking every fact he could think of and holding it up to scrutiny.

He went to sleep that night thinking about the case, and dreamed about clues that proved too elusive for him to grasp.

Mountains and deserts had a bleak, spectacular beauty to them for the most part, Longarm had learned over the years, but such landscapes got mighty old and tiresome after a few miles, especially when they were viewed from the window of a moving train. It wasn’t like riding horseback through such terrain, when you were moving slowly enough to appreciate all the subtle differences. When he had to do too much traveling by rail, he usually wound up sitting as far back in his seat as he could, hat tipped down over his eyes, an unlit cheroot clenched in his teeth. That was the position in which he found himself a couple of days after leaving Tucson. It would be another day and a half before the group of travelers arrived in Carson City for the next race.

Longarm had done his pondering, then gone through it all again and yet again. He had ideas, but no proof of anything. As darkness settled down on the train while it rolled through the Southwestern landscape, he decided that the time had come to do a little more snooping around …

First, though, he would have to wait until everyone was asleep. He straightened from his half-reclined position, frowning at the twinge in his lower back from stiff muscles, as Senator Padgett announced that he and Mercer were going to the club car for dinner. “I’ll come with you,” Longarm said, placing his hands on his knees and pushing himself to his feet.

“We could bring something back for you if you’d like, Marshal,” Padgett offered. “Don’t feel as if you have to tag along behind me everywhere I go. I think we’ve pretty well established by now that any threat to me is over.” Padgett snorted. “I don’t know why Chief Marshal Vail didn’t relieve you of this job when you wired him while we were in Tucson.”

“I reckon Billy’s got his reasons,” Longarm said.

The main one being that Longarm hadn’t asked to be relieved, didn’t want to be relieved. This assignment wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot, and Longarm and Billy both knew it. In fact, if everything worked out the way Longarm hoped, it was about to start heating up again.

Janice and Julie Cassidy were already in the club car, and they insisted that Longarm, Padgett, and Mercer join them, which the three men did without hesitation. Dinner passed pleasantly, and when it was over, Julie seized a moment alone with Longarm to say quietly, “I hope you’ll come to see us tonight after everyone else is asleep, Custis.”

It was a mighty tempting invitation, the kind that any man, including Longarm, would have been thrilled to receive. But there was something else he had in mind to do first. Maybe if that other business didn’t take too long, he could stop by the sisters’ compartment.

“I’ll see what I can do, Miss Julie,” he promised, hoping they wouldn’t be too disappointed if they had to wait a while. Hoping too that he would still feel like seeing them when he finished his other errand.

The prospect of bedding the Misses Cassidy again only added to the anticipation that kept Longarm on edge all evening. He concealed what he was feeling as best he could, but he was greatly relieved when Padgett and Mercer finally turned in. Sitting just outside the compartment, as was his habit, he waited until he hadn’t heard any noise coming from inside for nearly half an hour, except for Padgett’s usual snoring.

Longarm stood up then and began making his way back along the train toward the baggage car.

The car was dark and deserted when he got there, as he had hoped it would be. He had overheard enough conversation among the jockeys the past few days to know that their running poker game had moved to the caboose and expanded to include the train’s brakemen and conductor. That was a lucky break for him, and he was going to take advantage of it. He dug out a Lucifer from his coat pocket, flicked it into life with an iron-hard thumbnail, and lit one of the lanterns hanging on the wall of the car. That gave him enough light to begin his search.

He proceeded methodically. This was hardly the first search Longarm had conducted. He went through the trunks and the carpetbags and the valises, opening even those that were locked without much trouble. His keen, experienced eye scanned the contents of each item. He took care not to disturb things so much that it would be readily apparent a search had taken place.

His disappointment grew as he went through more than half the baggage without finding a thing suspicious or even very strange. There were plenty of clothes, both clean and dirty, and a handful of books, both clean and dirty. Racing silks, extra tack, bottles of liniment good for both man and horse. Toys, corsets, suspenders, baby bottles, bird-cages, sheet music, hats, cosmetics, tools, musical instruments, stuffed and mounted fish … this baggage car contained all the odds and ends to be expected that might belong to a whole trainload of passengers.

But so far, not what he was looking for.

He came to the bags belonging to Senator Padgett, recognizing them from all the times he had seen them carried in and out of various hotels. Having spent most of his time with Padgett, he knew the senator about as well as anyone on this train. Knew him well enough, in fact, that it was doubly important he go through the man’s baggage, Longarm thought. He opened a valise and began looking at the contents by the light of the lantern hanging behind him.

It took only a moment for Longarm to find one of the things he had been searching for.

The false bottom of the valise had never been meant to hide anything from a diligent professional. Longarm felt the hidden catch in the lining and quickly emptied the valise of its innocuous contents. Then he worked the catch and lifted the false bottom.

Six bundles of money were beneath it, arranged so that they were only one layer deep. The bills were tied together with twine. Longarm picked up one of the bundles and riffled the edges of the bills. Twenties, all of them.

Unless he missed his guess, they were all counterfeit too, just like the bills that somebody had given Rodriguez to kill him. Rodriguez had died not knowing that he had put his life on the line for counterfeit money. The stuff was good, no doubt about that.

But then, it should have been good, considering it had been printed from the plates made by the master counterfeiter Edward Nowlan.

And here was a plentiful supply of the stuff, Longarm thought grimly, hidden in the bag of a United States senator.

Chapter 11

Longarm put the counterfeit bills back in Padgett’s valise and replaced the false bottom. Anyone checking on the money would assume that it had not been disturbed, which was exactly what Longarm wanted. He continued searching the other bags. He still hadn’t found everything he was looking for.

Nor did he over the next half hour as he completed the search. The phony money was the only bit of evidence he had uncovered. It would be safe enough where it was, he reasoned. He came up on the toes of his flat-heeled boots and blew out the lantern, then made his way out of the darkened boxcar.

The moon had risen while he was conducting the search, he saw as he stepped back out onto the platform between cars. Silvery illumination washed down over the craggy landscape and glittered on the snowcaps of distant peaks. Longarm made his way through the cars, balancing himself against the slight swaying of the train with the ease of a veteran traveler. The lamps were turned low, and most people were asleep. He reached the private compartment where the Cassidy sisters were staying and rapped lightly on the door.

It opened immediately, and one of the lovely young women looked out at him with a worried frown on her face. From her outfit, which was a simple traveling gown devoid of lace and foolaraws, Longarm judged her to be Julie. Even after all this time, he occasionally had trouble telling them apart—when they were dressed, that is.

His guess as to the identity of the blonde facing him was confirmed when she said anxiously, “Oh, Custis, I’m glad you’re here. Have you seen Janice?”

Longarm frowned back at her. “I figured the two of you would be here together.”

Julie took hold of his sleeve and practically pulled him into the compartment. She was stronger than she looked. “Janice said she was going to step out for a breath of fresh air. That was over half an hour ago, and she hasn’t come back. To tell the truth, I thought she might have gone looking for you, intending to have you to herself for a while. That was why I asked if you’d seen her.”

Longarm shook his head and said, “Sorry, I sure haven’t. But I reckon she’s bound to be all right. Nothing’s going to happen to her here on the train-“

He stopped abruptly, realizing that not everyone on board this train was really what they were pretending to be. His discovery tonight was proof of that. “Tell you what,” he went on. “I’ll take a look around, see if I can find Janice. Will you be all right here?”

Julie nodded. “Worried, but all right. Actually, I think I ought to come with you.”

“Nope,” Longarm said firmly. “I want at least one of you ladies where I know I can find you, where I know you’ll be safe.”

She clutched at his arm. “You don’t think Janice is safe?”

“I didn’t say that. We’ve got to eat the apple one bite at a time, and I reckon the first bite is to find your sister.”

He stepped out of the compartment and closed the door softly behind him, taking with him the image of Julie standing there with her lower lip caught between her white teeth, the worried frown creasing the tanned skin of her forehead.

Longarm knew that Janice was not behind him on the train, since he had just come from that direction. There were several passenger cars between this one and the engine, including the one where Senator Padgett’s compartment was located, so he decided to work toward the front. If he had to, he could always bring the conductor and the porters in on the search, but he wanted to avoid raising that much of a commotion if at all possible.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to go far at all. He made his way through the next car without seeing any sign of Janice, walked through the car after that with the same lack of results, then opened the door onto the platform between cars and saw two shadowy figures standing there in the moonlight. He recognized the sort of feathered hat that Janice preferred perched on the head of one of the figures. Standing next to her was a short, slender man. Longarm opened his mouth and was about to say something when the man suddenly threw his arms around Janice and pulled her against him.

Longarm stiffened and reached for his gun, but the sound of a wet, sloppy kiss, followed by the sharp crack of a slap, made him pause. Maybe he wasn’t interrupting anything except an ill-timed romantic overture.

“How dare you!” Janice said shrilly. “Unhand me this instant, Mr. Mercer!”

Longarm’s eyes widened in surprise, but now that he came to think of it, the gent on the platform with Janice was undoubtedly built like Leon Mercer. A grin plucked at Longarm’s mouth as he watched Janice put her hands against the man’s narrow chest and shove him away.

“I swear, I don’t know what you were thinking of, Mr. Mercer!” said Janice, her voice a mixture of irritation and exasperation.

“Neither do I, Leon,” Longarm said dryly as he stepped forward onto the platform and pulled the door shut behind him. No point in sharing this little domestic drama with anybody in the car behind him who happened to be awake at this late hour. “And you, Miss Janice,” he went on, “I didn’t expect to catch you sparking on a train platform with a respectable gent like Leon here.”

“Custis!” exclaimed Janice. “What are you doing-I mean, how did you-I wasn’t sparking with anyone!”

“Reckon I was mistaken, then. Sure looked to me like you and Leon were pretty wrapped up in each other.”

“Well, it wasn’t my idea, I assure you!”

Mercer said quickly, “It was all my fault, Marshal. I … I’m afraid I behaved like a dreadful cad. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I … I forced myself on poor Miss Cassidy.” His voice was miserable and embarrassed, but it took on a moonstruck tone as he looked at Janice and added, “She was just so lovely, standing there in the moonlight, and I couldn’t help myself.”

Janice sniffed. “I suppose all men have such animal urges, but I expected better of you, Mr. Mercer. You’re a gentleman. You should be able to control those impulses!”

Her injured tone might have struck Longarm as a little more genuine if he hadn’t remembered the way she had hauled his manhood out of his trousers and played a tune on it the very first day they met. The blushing-virgin act wasn’t very convincing now. Still, if she didn’t want Leon Mercer to kiss her, she had every right to stop him.

Mercer gulped uneasily in the face of Janice’s anger. “You won’t tell the senator about this, will you? Either of you?”

“Well … I suppose it wouldn’t serve any purpose to humiliate you,” Janice allowed grudgingly. “Just as long as I have your assurance that it will never happen again.”

“Never!” Mercer said hastily. “I swear it!”

She gave him a little smile. “I suppose I should be flattered, in a way. Why, to provoke such a response from a man I’ve always considered a bit of a cold fish …”

“That’s exactly what I am,” Mercer said. “A cold fish. But you are a beautiful woman, Miss Cassidy. A very beautiful woman.”

Janice lifted her chin. “Thank you. Now, you run on back to the senator, and we won’t say anything more about this. It will be as if it had never happened.”

“Thank you, Miss Cassidy. Thank you so much.”

For a second, Longarm thought Mercer was going to ruin things by slobbering all over Janice in his gratitude, but then he backed off and disappeared into the next car, heading back to Padgett’s compartment.

Janice chuckled and stepped over to Longarm, sliding her arm around his. “Can you believe that?” she asked. “I was just standing there talking to him, and suddenly that mousy little man had his arms around me, and—I swear it!—his tongue was halfway down my throat!”

“Leon got a mite carried away, all right,” Longarm said. “But he was right about one thing—you do look beautiful in the moonlight. And in any other light I can think of.”

Janice snuggled against him so that he could feel the warm, heavy weight of her breast on his arm. “Why, Custis, what a lovely thing to say. But I was just wondering … how did you happen to open that door at that very moment?”

“I was looking for you,” Longarm told her. “Your sister’s mighty worried about you.”

“Julie sent you out looking for me?” Janice sounded surprised. “There was no need for that. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself!”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure you are. But I reckon sisters are supposed to worry. That’s part of what makes ‘em sisters.”

“I suppose so. I just came out here for a breath of fresh air, you know … and then I ran into Mr. Mercer and we began talking. He surprised me. He’s really a very charming man when he wants to be, quite funny and intelligent. But he’s just so wrapped up in his work most of the time!”

“Leon’s the dedicated type, all right,” said Longarm. “You threw quite a scare into him tonight. I don’t figure he’ll ever bother you again.” He urged Janice gently toward the door. “Now we’d better get back to your sister, so that you can put her mind at ease.”

Longarm led her back to the compartment where Julie was waiting. When Julie opened the door and saw her sister standing there, she threw her arms around Janice and hugged her tightly. “I thought something terrible must have happened to you! Don’t scare me that way again!”

“Oh, poo, it didn’t amount to anything,” Janice protested. “I simply had to fend off the amorous attentions of the senator’s assistant, Mr. Mercer.”

Julie leaned back and stared at Janice. “Mr. Mercer?” she repeated. “Are you sure?”

“He was kissing me passionately. I think I’m usually aware of who’s doing something like that.”

Julie laughed. “I might have expected such a thing from the senator himself … but Mr. Mercer?”

Longarm leaned against the compartment door, which he had closed behind him, and watched the two of them dissolve into a fit of giggles. After a moment he reminded them he was there by saying, “I sort of had in mind doing some passionate kissing of my own …”

Julie turned and came into his arms. “Of course you did.” She lifted her lips to his, and the kiss clung for a long moment that had his pulse racing faster than any thoroughbred. “Thank you for rescuing Janice from the clutches of Mr. Mercer.”

“Wait just a minute,” Janice protested. “Custis didn’t have to rescue me. I handled the situation myself.”

Longarm chuckled and told Julie, “She sure did. Had poor old Leon shaking in his spats.”

Janice gently edged Julie aside and gave Longarm a kiss too. “But you were right there to help me in case I needed it,” she whispered. “I appreciate that, Custis.” Her hand dropped to his groin. “And I like to show my appreciation in tangible ways.”

Over the next hour, both sisters showed their appreciation in ways so tangible that by the time they were through, Longarm felt as if he’d been turned inside out and drained of every bit of vitality. It was almost enough to distract him from the real reason he had gotten mixed up with these racing folks in the first place.

Almost …

After the night he’d spent, he had every right to feel groggy, but he woke up clearheaded and alert the next morning. He knew now what he had to do. This case was winding down at last, and he was more than ready for it to come to a successful conclusion.

The train reached Carson City around the middle of the day after that. Longarm had been to the capital city of Nevada many times, but he still enjoyed the clear, cool air and the majesty of the Sierra Nevada rising just to the east of town. The state capitol building with its white dome rising into the blue sky was an impressive structure as well, having been built some ten years earlier of native stone and massive wooden beams. Longarm could see the capitol from the train station. He could also see the racetrack on the eastern edge of town. As usual, it was the immediate destination of most of the people who disembarked from the train.

Longarm stuck with Senator Padgett and Leon Mercer, also as usual. Mercer hadn’t been able to meet Longarm’s eyes squarely ever since the night before last, but Padgett didn’t seem to notice his assistant’s embarrassment. Padgett wasn’t the type to be too observant of the people who worked for him, Longarm thought. As long as they did their jobs and kept things running smoothly, that was all the senator cared about.

While the horses were getting settled in, Longarm wandered around the racetrack, familiarizing himself with the layout of the stands and the adjacent buildings. By the time Padgett was ready to head for the hotel, Longarm knew where everything was. He was satisfied that he would be able to find his way around in the dark.

The hotel was not far from the capitol, and Padgett had been able to book a suite of rooms. As Longarm walked into the sitting room, carrying his war bag and Winchester, he said, “I’ll bunk out here on that big ol’ sofa in the corner, Senator. You and Leon can each have a room to yourself.”

“Why, thank you,” said Padgett, the words sounding more sarcastic than sincere.

Longarm didn’t care. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t have to worry any more about riding herd on this arrogant politician.

The race was scheduled for the following afternoon. Longarm snatched a moment before it started to find the Cassidy sisters in the crowd. He gave each of them a hug and kiss, then said, “I’ve got a good feeling about this race, ladies. My hunch is that when it’s over, you’re going to have yourselves a winner.”

“I hope so,” Julie said fervently. “Matador’s workouts yesterday afternoon and this morning were excellent. If he’s ever going to do it, it might as well be now.”

“Of course he’s going to do it,” Janice said. “You just wait and see!”

“I’ll be pulling for him,” Longarm promised. “Now I reckon I ought to get back to the senator.”

He hesitated a moment longer, looking at the beautiful, anxious, hopeful faces of Janice and Julie Cassidy. If there was any justice in the world, he thought, Matador would come through for them today.

He made his way back to Padgett’s box and found the senator fidgeting nervously with a cigar, waiting for the race to begin. “Where have you been?” Padgett snapped at Longarm.

“Just wishing Miss Julie and Miss Janice good luck today,” said Longarm. He noticed how quickly Leon Mercer averted his eyes at the mention of Janice.

“Wishing them luck?” said Padgett. “Don’t you think you ought to be hoping Caesar wins instead?”

Longarm took his seat in the box and suppressed the surge of irritation he felt. “Senator, I reckon you’ve forgotten … just because I’m following you around trying to make sure you stay alive, that doesn’t mean I’m working for you. The Justice Department still pays my wages.”

“Of course, of course,” Padgett grumbled. “I just thought that since you’re sitting in my box, you ought to root for my horse.”

“Well, I wish you luck too, Senator. I wish everybody in the race luck.” Longarm held up his hands, palms out. “Other than that, I’m impartial.”

“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for.” Padgett stuck the cigar in his mouth and clamped his teeth down on it. “This is the worst part,” he said around the cylinder of tobacco, “waiting for the race to start.”

A few minutes later, the horses were brought to the starting line. The crowd filling the grandstands rose to its feet. The colors of the jockeys’ silks were bright in the afternoon sun. Longarm had no trouble picking out the green shirt worn by Cy and the red shirt that Matador’s rider sported. Both horses were toward the middle of the line. Not the Most advantageous position, but not the worst either.

The stillness of anticipation, of hundreds of held breaths, fell over the track as the starter prepared to fire his pistol. When the sharp crack sounded, the horses surged forward in a mighty burst of muscle and sinew. A many-throated shout rose from the crowd.

Longarm had seen enough of these races by now to be aware of some of the patterns that developed. He saw the fast starter kick out to the front of the pack and build up a short lead that soon began to shrink as the horse faltered and the others in the race came on more strongly. He saw the horses that liked the turns and those that preferred the straight-aways assert themselves in those places. The lead changed hands several times, and each time Longarm knew that that particular horse wouldn’t be able to hold it. They each fell back in turn, and others took their places. Caesar and Matador continued to run just ahead of the middle of the pack. Both horses were strong finishers, Longarm knew, and they were both staying in position to make their move.

Once around the track, then twice, and now the horses were in the final circuit. As they approached the last turn, Padgett leaned forward, his face brick red, and bellowed, “Now, Cy! Bring him on now, damn you!”

Cy couldn’t have heard that shout over the thunderous pounding of hooves down there on the track, but as if Padgett’s words had reached his ears, he began working the quirt harder on Caesar and drove the big blood bay forward at renewed speed. As the horses swept through the final turn, Caesar lunged toward the leaders, knifed among them, then darted ahead, wresting control of the lead for himself. Matador was still six horses back entering the home stretch.

Longarm bit back a groan. It looked as if Caesar was going to win again. He had honestly hoped—had felt certain—it was Matador’s day at last.

That was when a streak of chestnut-brown lightning erupted down the track, passing horse after horse. Matador was coming on; his jockey had held one last spurt of speed in reserve. But would it be enough now, or had it come too late? Longarm found himself yelling, “Come on, Matador, come on!” as the chestnut drew closer and closer to the bay. He ignored the glower that Senator Padgett sent his way and kept cheering for Matador. The finish line was close, maybe too close for Matador to catch up. His head was even with Caesar’s rump. Caesar was losing something, though, Longarm saw suddenly. The big bay’s gait wasn’t quite as smooth as it had been a second earlier. Cy should have waited to make the move, Longarm realized. Caesar didn’t have enough left to hold off Matador’s charge.

Matador’s head passed Caesar’s shoulder, and then the two horses were running neck-and-neck as the finish line loomed right in front of them. With one final lunge, Matador extended himself, and although it was extremely close as the two horses flashed past the finish line, everyone in the stands knew who had won the race. It was Matador by a nose. Longarm whooped and thrust both clenched fists into the air. Padgett cursed loudly, fluently, and profanely. He snatched off his soft felt hat, threw it on the floor of the box, and stomped on it in sheer rage and frustration and disappointment. Longarm turned to him, ignoring the way Mercer was desperately shaking his head in warning, and clapped a hand on the senator’s shoulder. “Look at it this way, Senator,” Longarm said, “at least your horse came in second.”

“Second!” Padgett repeated in an injured tone at the top of his lungs. “What damned good is second place? I won last time. From here on out, if I don’t win I might as well come in last every time!”

Longarm just shook his head. He couldn’t understand that reasoning. Second place wasn’t bad—in anything except a gunfight.

“I’m going to congratulate the Cassidy sisters,” he said to Padgett. “Don’t you reckon you ought to come along?”

“I’m going to go fire Cy! He never should have made his move when he did. He should have waited and made Matador commit first.”

Longarm didn’t point out that Padgett had been yelling for Cy to bring Caesar on for several seconds before the jockey had actually done so. If Cy had not waited as long as he had, the race wouldn’t have even been close.

Padgett sighed heavily and reached down to pick up his trampled hat. He tried to push it back into some semblance of its normal shape, finally gave up in disgust, and jammed the hat into his pocket. “All right!” he said. “I suppose I have to be a gentleman about this. Let’s go down to the winner’s circle.”

Trailed by Mercer, Longarm and Padgett made their way through the crowd in front of the grandstand and reached the winner’s circle after several minutes. Janice and Julie were there, tears of joy streaming down their faces as they hugged Matador, their jockey, their trainer, and each other. All the other owners were on hand to congratulate the Cassidy sisters, and their good wishes and excitement seemed genuine. Everyone was glad to see the lovely young blondes win for a change. They all knew how hard Janice and Julie had worked for this.

Padgett leaned over and kissed each of the sisters on the cheek. “Congratulations, my dears,” he said over the hubbub surrounding them, “I’m glad Matador won.” The words didn’t sound like they choked him—too much.

Longarm threw his arms around Janice and Julie at the same time. “I told you it was Matador’s day,” he said. “And it’s your day too.”

“Thank you, Custis,” Julie said somewhat breathlessly, “I’m glad you’re here to share this with us.”

“So am I!” said Janice. She pulled Longarm’s mouth down to hers, and whoops and cheers went up from the crowd as she kissed him.

Grinning, Longarm stepped back to let the twins bask in their glory a little while longer. He hated to think about ruining this celebration for them, but he still had a job to do, and for his purposes, this was the best place to wrap it up.

He slid his left hand into the pocket of his coat while his right hovered near the center of his body, not far from the walnut grips of his .44. His coat was pushed back a little, giving him easy access to the cross-draw rig. With his left hand, he took a bundle of the counterfeit money from his pocket. He had slipped into the senator’s room earlier in the day while no one was around and removed it from the false bottom of Padgett’s valise.

“Senator,” he said loudly, “I think you lost something.”

Padgett turned toward him, a puzzled frown on his beefy face, and Longarm tossed the bundle of bills at him. Instinctively, Padgett reached up to catch the money and exclaimed, “What-“

Longarm drew the Colt, leveled it, and cocked it in the same motion. The sight of the gun brought startled curses from several of the horse owners and the other bystanders, and quite a few of them began scrambling backward to get out of the way of any gunfire. “Don’t move, Senator,” Longarm said as the winner’s circle practically cleared out around them. A few yards away, Janice and Julie Cassidy were staring at him in a mixture of confusion and horror, as was Leon Mercer.

Padgett recovered his tongue first. “What the bloody hell is this all about?” he demanded furiously. “Put that gun down, Marshal!”

Longarm shook his head slowly. “You’re under arrest, Senator, for murder, conspiracy, and possession of counterfeit money.”

“Counterfeit money? Possession? You threw it at me!”

Padgett shook the bundle of bills at Longarm, his hand trembling from the depth of his emotion.

“There’s plenty more where that came from, hidden in the false bottom of one of your bags.”

“That’s a lie! I never saw this money before, or any other counterfeit money!” Padgett drew his shoulders back and puffed up his chest. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to, Marshal? By God, I’ll have your badge for this! I’m going to wire Marshal Vail right now-“

Padgett started to take a step forward, but Longarm pointed the muzzle of the .44 right at his forehead, making him come to an abrupt stop. “I know who I’m talking to,” Longarm said coolly. “I’m talking to a murdering bastard who used his positions—position the people of Colorado elected him to!—to organize a counterfeiting ring that could’ve brought the whole country’s economy crashing down if you hadn’t been stopped. Well, you have been stopped, here and now.” Longarm waggled the barrel of his pistol. “I know you’re carrying a gun, Senator. Take it out with your left hand, nice and easy, and put it on the ground.”

Leon Mercer took a step toward Longarm, saying, “Marshal, this is insane! The senator couldn’t have-“

“Back off, Leon, or I’ll crack this six-shooter right across that bald noggin of yours!”

Mercer’s eyes bugged out, and he stepped back with a frightened gulp.

Padgett regarded Longarm narrowly. “You’re going to regret this, Long,” he said. “You’re going to regret this more than anything you’ve ever done in your life.”

“I doubt it,” Longarm said with a smirk. “What I really regret is voting for you a time or two before, back when I didn’t know what a low-down skunk you really are.”

Goaded beyond endurance, Padgett let out a howl and flung the bundle of phony bills back at Longarm. He charged right behind the money, swinging a fist at the lawman’s head.

Longarm let the money bounce harmlessly off his chest and set his feet for the straight, hard punch he shot out with his left. His fist smashed into Padgett’s mouth and snapped the senator’s head back. Padgett flew backward, arms windmilling, and crashed down heavily on his rump. Blood welled between his fingers as he pressed his hand to his pulped lips and groaned thickly.

Longarm stepped over to him, bent, and jerked the little pistol from the holster under Padgett’s coat. “On your feet,” he said grimly as he stepped back again. “I reckon, Senator, that your next term’s going to be served behind bars.”

Chapter 12

Well, thought Longarm as he was leaving the Carson City jail an hour or so later, that had gone about as well as could be expected. The sheriff and the jailer had been mighty impressed by the fact that they now had an actual United States senator locked up in their hoosegow. “Don’t get used to it, boys,” Longarm had warned them. “Most of them politicians are just too damned slick for us poor lawmen to ever catch up to ‘em when they’re up to no good.”

The local badges had been disappointed when Longarm had said that he wanted to interrogate Padgett privately in the senator’s cell. It was federal business, though, so they had reluctantly agreed and left Longarm alone with his prisoner in the cell block.

Now Longarm paused outside the jail and lit a cheroot, inhaling gratefully on the smoke. For the first time in quite a while, he didn’t feel as if he had a bull’s-eye painted on his back. He could go on about his business now without having to worry overmuch about anybody trying to kill him.

The first thing he wanted was some dinner. He headed for the hotel, and as he expected, quite a few people were waiting in the lobby to ask him questions. Most of them were horse owners or other folks connected with the racing circuit. They had witnessed his arrest of Miles Padgett and were burning up with curiosity.

Longarm held up his hands to quiet the crowd that formed around him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you folks anything. The arrest of Senator Padgett is strictly a federal matter, and I’m referring all questions to the Justice Department in Washington.” He looked at a couple of reporters from the local newspaper, both of whom had their mouths open to shout questions at him. “That goes for you gentlemen of the press too,” Longarm said. “If there’s anything you want to know, you can wire Washington.”

“But that’s not fair, Marshal!” wailed one of the scribblers. “You’re right here! Why can’t you tell us all about it?”

“Because that’s not my job,” Longarm said. “My job’s to bring in crooks who violate federal law, and that’s what I’ve done. My part of it is finished.”

Stubbornly, he ignored the other questions that were called out to him and pushed his way through the crowd. As he went up the stairs to the second floor, anxious to get back to the suite, he reflected that he hadn’t seen the Cassidy sisters downstairs in the mob. He wondered where they were.

That question was answered a moment later when he unlocked his door and stepped into the sitting room. Janice and Julie were waiting for him there, Janice sitting in a wing-back armchair, Julie perched on the edge of the sofa. Both of them wore anxious expressions.

“We persuaded the desk clerk to let us wait in here for you,” Julie explained quickly before Longarm could say anything. “I hope that’s all right, Custis.”

Longarm took off his hat and tossed it on the sofa. “Sure. What fella wouldn’t like to come back to his hotel room and find a pair of beautiful ladies like you waiting for him?”

They ignored the compliment. Janice said, “Is it true? Have you really taken Senator Padgett off to jail?”

“That’s where he belongs,” Longarm said harshly. “Because of him, some good men are dead back in Albuquerque.”

Julie shook her head. “I don’t understand. I thought someone tried to kill the senator while we were in Albuquerque. At least that’s what Mr. Mercer told us a little while ago. The poor man’s so upset. I’ve never seen him so broken up. He refuses to believe that Senator Padgett could be guilty of anything.”

“Well, it’s good for a fella to believe in the man he works for.”

So Mercer had spilled the story of the assassination attempt to the Cassidy sisters. Longarm wasn’t particularly surprised. There was no point in keeping it a secret any longer.

“Is it true?” asked Janice. “Did someone try to kill Senator Padgett? Is that why you’ve been traveling with him ever since?”

Longarm sat down in the room’s other armchair and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. He wished he had a glass of good Maryland rye. Explaining was usually thirsty work.

“I’ve been traveling with the senator and the rest of you racing folks because I figured somebody amongst you was a killer.”

“You thought one of the other owners hired somebody to take a shot at the senator?” Julie exclaimed.

“Nope,” Longarm said patiently. “I knew none of you were responsible for that shooting at the racetrack in Albuquerque. I was.”

They both stared at him wide-eyed, utterly confused.

“It all goes back to a fella named Edward Nowlan,” continued Longarm. “He was a counterfeiter, maybe the best engraver of phony printing plates to ever come down the pike. Me and some other marshals caught up to him in Albuquerque and busted up his operation. Nowlan got himself killed in the shooting. But he wasn’t the boss of the whole thing; as good as he was at what he did, he was just another hired hand when you got right down to it. Somebody else organized all of it.”

“And you’re accusing Senator Padgett of being this mysterious ringleader?” asked Janice.

Longarm nodded and said, “When I saw that Nowlan had a ticket for a horse race in his pocket when he died, I wondered if there was a connection. Nowlan was known to be all business, didn’t care about anything except his engraving. It stood to reason that a fella like that wouldn’t be going to a horse race for fun. But he might have been planning to go to meet his boss.”

“The senator,” said Julie.

“I’m getting to that,” Longarm said. “When I went out to the race, I didn’t even know Padgett would be there, let alone that he was part of the circuit now. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized what a good cover it would be for the ringleader to travel around from race to race. He could drop off some of the phony money at every stop for his agents to pass. Except he didn’t have the money, because we confiscated it from the warehouse in Albuquerque where it was being stockpiled. We got the printing plates too, but we didn’t manage to keep ‘em because the other marshals were murdered and the plates stolen while I was at the race that first day.”

Janice shuddered. “You mean someone killed those men just to get some … some printing plates?”

“Those plates are worth a fortune to the right folks,” Longarm pointed out. “The boss could always rebuild the operation, as long as he had the plates.”

Julie took a deep breath and said, “All right, let me get this straight. You thought the ringleader of the counterfeiters was connected with the racing circuit and that he had stolen the plates back from your friends?”

“It was a hunch,” Longarm admitted, “but one that seemed to stand a good chance of being true. It was worth investigating, anyway. That was why I wired my boss and had him set up the phony assassination attempt on the senator.

“The gunman wasn’t really trying to kill Senator Padgett?” Janice asked.

“Nope, we just made it look good. Then, when I was assigned to protect him from any more assassination attempts, it gave me a perfect excuse to tag along with you folks and made it look too like the whole counterfeiting angle had been put aside for the time being. I didn’t know then that Padgett had anything to do with Nowlan and the plates.”

“So you were really after the leader of the counterfeiting ring, not some mysterious assassin?” Understanding was beginning to dawn on Julie’s face.

“And I knew I was on the right track too when somebody tried to kill me that first night.”

“What?” said Janice. “That’s the first I’ve heard of an attempt on your life.”

Longarm nodded soberly. “Somebody clouted me over the head with a two-by-four and tried to push me off the train while it was passing over the Rio Grande between Albuquerque and El Paso.” He saw Julie blush slightly, and knew she was remembering what else had happened on that train platform that night. “When I got back to the senator’s compartment,” Longarm went on, “he was unaccounted for. That was the first inkling I had that he might be involved with the case. If he was the ringleader, he sure wouldn’t want me tagging along. He’d be afraid I might stumble over some evidence linking him with the counterfeiters—which is exactly what finally happened. That pile of phony money hidden in his valise is proof he was involved up to his neck.”

“It’s amazing,” Janice said, “the way you were able to piece all this together, Custis.”

Longarm shrugged modestly. “I’ve tracked down more than a few no-good scalawags. They always slip up somewhere and give themselves away.”

Julie said, “It certainly sounds like you have a solid case against the senator. I guess we’ll have to believe what you’ve told us about him, whether we really want to or not.” She smiled sadly. “He was a bit crude sometimes, but I hate to think he was actually a cold-blooded killer.”

“Oh, he never got his own hands dirty, but he sure paid for those killings. He had me bushwhacked in Tucson too, and it’s no fault of his that I’m still here drawing breath.”

“What about the printing plates?” Janice asked. “Have you found them yet?”

Longarm’s jaw clenched. “Not yet. I spent an hour talking to Padgett after I locked him up, and he never said one word about where they were hidden. I reckon they’ll turn up sooner or later, though. The important thing now is that Padgett’s behind bars where he belongs.” The big lawman leaned forward and pushed himself to his feet. “And I’m mighty hungry. Will you two ladies join me for supper?”

“The dining room is liable to be a madhouse,” warned Julie.

Longarm reached for his hat. “Maybe so, but my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. I need to get on the outside of a surrounding.”

Both young women laughed. “Of course we’ll go with you, Custis,” Janice said. “We’d never turn down your company.”

As he went out arm in arm with them, Longarm said, “I’m mighty sorry about ruining your little celebration in the winner’s circle this afternoon. I wanted to take Padgett by surprise, so that he wouldn’t put up much of a fight. That seemed to be a good time and place.”

“You took him by surprise, all right. You took all of us by surprise.”

“At least Matador won. Another couple of days like this, and you two can afford to do just about anything you want with that ranch of yours.”

“That’s right,” Janice said with a smile. “If this keeps up, we’re going to be rich.”

The hotel dining room was indeed crowded, and Longarm was the recipient of at least a hundred curious stares. He ignored all of them and concentrated on enjoying his dinner with the Cassidy sisters.

They were having coffee after the meal when Janice looked up and suddenly gasped in alarm, “Custis!”

Longarm saw that she was gazing past his shoulder, and twisted his head so that he could see what was coming at him. Leon Mercer was stalking through the dining room with the awkward, determined, overly cautious gait of a man unaccustomed to drinking who has just put away a considerable amount of whiskey. His coat was rumpled, his tie was askew, and he wasn’t wearing a hat. Several strands of the dark hair that was normally combed across his balding head stood up in the air at odd angles. Mercer blinked rapidly as his bleary eyes tried to focus on Longarm. He said in a loud, angry voice, “Ah, ha! So there you are, you traitor!”

Carefully, Longarm placed his napkin beside his plate and stood up, turning as he did so to face Mercer. “Hello, Leon,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“You can march right over to the jail and release the finest politician who ever drew breath!” Mercer said thickly. “You had no right to lock up Senator Padgett!”

The dining room had fallen silent, and every eye in the place was fixed on this confrontation. Longarm said, “The senator broke the law, Leon. I didn’t have any choice but to arrest him.”

“That’s insane! It’s not … not possible! Miles Padgett is an honorable man-“

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you,” Longarm cut in. “What’s done is done.” His tone was gentler as he went on. “Looks to me like you’ve had a few too many jolts of Who-Hit-John, Leon. Maybe you’d better go back up to your room and try to get some sleep. That’d be the best thing in the world for you.”

“Sleep?” Mercer repeated in a high-pitched, incensed voice. “Sleep? How can I sleep when an innocent man has been thrown behind bars by a brutal minion of the law? What have you done to him? If you’ve hurt the senator, I … I’ll kill you!”

With that, he reached under his coat and jerked out a small pocket pistol.

Longarm grimaced. The gun in Mercer’s hand wasn’t much more than a toy, but somebody could still get hurt if he started waving it around and it went off. One long, quick stride brought Longarm close to Mercer, and his fingers closed around the wrist of the smaller man. His other hand caught hold of the pistol’s cylinder so that it couldn’t turn. A sharp twist was all it took. Mercer yelped and let go of the gun.

Longarm stuck the pistol in his coat pocket. Mercer put his hands over his face and began to sob. “Come on now, Leon,” Longarm said as he put an arm around Mercer’s shoulders. “I ain’t going to hold this against you, because I know how upset you are. Here, let me help you upstairs.”

Mercer pulled away from him with a burst of unexpected strength. “No! Stay away from me! I won’t let you arrest me too!”

“I got no reason to arrest you, Leon. I don’t reckon you knew a thing about what Padgett was up to. He fooled you just like he fooled everybody else.”

That seemed to make Mercer feel even worse. He dropped into an empty chair and started crying harder. Longarm looked around for help.

Janice stood up and came over to him. “Perhaps I can talk to him,” she said. In a whisper, she added, “We both know Mr. Mercer is rather fond of me.”

Longarm recalled how Mercer had grabbed Janice on the train and kissed her. Mercer wasn’t in any shape now for such shenanigans. “All right,” he said. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

While Longarm and Julie watched, Janice talked to Mercer in a low-pitched voice, and after a few minutes, she looked up at Longarm to say, “I’ll see that he gets back to his room. I think he’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Janice?” asked Julie.

Janice continued patting Mercer on the back as she rolled her eyes at her sister. “I’ll be fine,” she said. She took hold of Mercer’s arm and helped him to his feet, and then the two of them made their way out of the dining room.

“Janice has a good heart,” Julie said. “She’ll straighten out Mr. Mercer.”

“Maybe so,” said Longarm as he sat down again. Julie reached across the table and rested her hand on his. “I suppose you’ll be leaving the racing circuit now.”

“No reason for me to keep traveling with it,” he said.

“Then we’ll have to make your farewell special. We haven’t really finished celebrating Matador’s victory, you know.” Longarm had to grin. He was all for celebrating.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time for a proper celebration tonight. When they reached the Cassidy sisters’ room, Longarm had to content himself with a long, hot kiss from Julie, who wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him. Her breasts flattened against his chest and he felt himself responding, especially when her tongue slipped into his mouth and began exploring wetly. Not wanting either of them to get too worked up to stop, Longarm gently disengaged himself from her embrace.

“What’s wrong?” Julie asked with a frown. “I thought we were going to have a good time.”

“Well, Janice isn’t here,” Longarm said.

“She won’t mind if we start without her,” Julie said with a wicked smile.

The prospect was appealing to Longarm. Although sharing a bed with both of the twins at the same time had been mighty pleasurable, there was a part of him that still found it odd and a mite uncomfortable. Deep down, he preferred the arrangement of one man and one woman, doing their damnedest to love each other to death. He was just an old stickin-the-mud, he told himself.

But more importantly, he had other things to do tonight. This case wasn’t finished yet, but it was sure closing in. Before the night was over, he hoped to discover everything else he needed to know.

“I’ve got to run an errand, Julie,” he said, trying not to wince at the mixture of anger and disappointment that appeared on her face.

“What sort of errand?” she demanded.

“Law business,” he answered vaguely.

“And it won’t wait?”

“Afraid not.”

“Well, will it take very long?”

“Don’t know,” Longarm replied honestly. “Might not. Then again, it could take most of the night.”

“Most of the night!” she practically yelped. “Custis, I … I don’t believe this.”

Longarm stepped over to her and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Then believe how sorry I am,” he said, and he meant every word of it—in more ways than one.

He slipped out of the room before Julie could protest anymore, but he carried the image of her face with him. It haunted him as he left the hotel and headed on foot for the racetrack.

Carson City, despite being the capital of Nevada, was a small town. The walk out to the racetrack was a fairly easy one on this cool, clear, high country evening.

The place was dark when Longarm got there, just as he had expected. He made his way directly to the stables. There was a watchman on duty, but he was an old man, probably had been a cowhand until the years had crippled him too much for that job, and he was dozing on a chair leaned back against the wall of the paddock. Longarm left him there sleeping and moved on into the wide aisle between the stalls.

Several of the horses whinnied when they caught his scent. Longarm said, “Shhh,” and softly sang a fragment of one of the many songs he had learned back in his cowboying days. The melodies were meant to soothe a restless herd of cattle on a long, lonesome trail, but they worked pretty well with horses too. Some of the thoroughbreds still stamped and snuffled in their stalls, but for the most part they quieted down.

Enough moonlight and starlight came in through the big, open doors of the building for Longarm to see fairly well as he made his way along the aisle toward the smaller door at the far end. That door, he knew, led into the jockeys’ dressing room and the storage room. All the riders’ gear was still there, even though the race was over, because the horses would be put through another workout in the morning before boarding the train for the run up to Reno. Longarm reached the door and tried the knob.

Locked.

He grimaced. That would slow him down a little, but it wouldn’t stop him. He took a ring of keys from his coat pocket and began trying them. The fourth one he slipped into the lock worked well enough to turn the tumblers, though it grated a bit as he did so. With a little pressure judiciously applied to the knob, it turned and the door opened.

Longarm eased it shut behind him after gliding into the storage room. He found himself in utter blackness, because this chamber underneath the grandstands was windowless. His fingers delved into his pocket and found a match. He scratched the lucifer into life, squinting his eyes against its sulfurous glare. Moving quickly before the match burned out, he located a lantern and lit it. A yellow, flickering glow filled the room as he lowered the lantern’s chimney.

The light showed him exactly what he expected to find: saddles perched on sawhorses, harnesses and bridles hanging from hooks on the walls, saddle blankets, extra stirrups, trunks full of assorted gear.

All of these things had traveled on the train in the cars where the horses had ridden. They had not been carried in the normal baggage car. Longarm had searched the regular baggage and found nothing except the counterfeit money hidden in Senator Padgett’s valise. If those printing plates were still anywhere in the vicinity, they had to be here somewhere. Of course, the ringleader could have passed them on to a confederate by now, but Longarm doubted that had happened. For one thing, knowing how valuable those plates were, the boss would not have wanted to let them very far out of his sight. He would want them somewhere close by, so that he could check on them often and make sure they were still all right.

Longarm started looking. He concentrated on the trunks full of equipment, since there were no hiding places on the stripped-down racing saddles. His frustration grew as a quarter of an hour, then a half hour, passed with him finding no sign of the plates. Surely his theory had not been wrong. The phony bills hidden in Padgett’s valise proved that the ringleader was part of the racing circuit. Longarm had eliminated all the other hiding places.

There were several personal bags belonging to the jockeys. Longarm started in on them next. He paid particular attention to Cy’s bag. Though he had written off the young man as a possible member of the gang, something could have been hidden in Cy’s gear without the jockey being aware of it. But there was nothing unusual to be found there, and Longarm had to bite back a curse as he tossed Cy’s bag onto the floor near Caesar’s saddle. Maybe his reasoning had been wrong, Longarm told himself. He had thought that his line of logic ran true from point to point, but maybe he had missed a turn. It had happened before, rarely to be sure—but it had happened.

The next bag belonged to Matador’s rider. Longarm opened it, took out a set of silks, and placed them to the side. He found a quirt in the bag as well, and in the bottom of it a set of cloth-covered weights such as all the jockeys carried. With a sigh, he started to put the heavy, rectangular weights back in the bag.

Then he froze abruptly. He hefted the weights in his left hand, a frown appearing on his face. With his right hand, he reached into his trousers pocket and found his clasp knife. He brought it out, opened the blade, and with utmost caution pressed the sharp tip through the thick cloth. He cut a long slit with the knife, then put it away. Turning the weights over, he pulled the slit open.

The counterfeit printing plates slid out of the cloth cover into his hand.

After a moment, Longarm realized he wasn’t breathing as he stared down at the pieces of gray, ink-stained metal. Three good men, three fellow marshals, had died violent deaths back in Albuquerque for these plates. There was no way of knowing how many phony bills were floating around that had been manufactured by Edward Nowlan using these plates. As Longarm had told Julie Cassidy, in the right hands they were worth a fortune.

And thinking about Julie reminded Longarm just where he had found them.

“Son of a bitch,” said Longarm, quietly but fervently. He had been hoping he was wrong about his suspicions, but it looked like his hunch had been correct. One or both of the Cassidy sisters was mixed up in this, all the way to their pretty necks. He recalled that they needed money to get their horse ranch in Missouri back on its feet.

What better way to get money than to print your own?

He had been listening with one ear for the horses in the stalls outside, knowing that if anyone entered the stable they would probably make some noise and alert him. So far, they had been quiet. So it came as a surprise when one of the floorboards suddenly creaked behind him. His left hand tightened on the printing plates and his right darted toward the gun holstered on his hip as he started to turn.

A cold ring of metal—unmistakably the barrel of a gun—was jabbed hard against his neck, and a man’s voice said in low and deadly tones, “Don’t move, Marshal.”

Chapter 13

“Howdy, Leon,” Longarm said, forcing his voice to remain calm and steady. “Be careful with that pistol, old son. We don’t want it to go off.”

“That’s right,” said another voice. “We don’t want blood all over the floor in here. The horses might smell it, and you know how spooky the scent of blood can make them.”

Longarm closed his eyes for a second. There was a cold, hard ball of something—disgust, maybe—in his belly. All he had to go by were a few minor differences in tone and inflection, but he felt pretty confident he was right as he said, “Hello, Janice. I was truly hoping I was wrong about you.”

She laughed. “What do you mean, wrong about me? You didn’t have a clue what was really going on. My God, you arrested Senator Padgett! He’s probably the only man in the world dumber than you.”

“All right, that’s enough,” snapped Leon Mercer. “What are we going to do about this?”

“You know what we have to do,” Janice said. “We have to kill him. But I want it to look like an accident.”

Longarm heard another pistol being cocked. “I’ll cover him. You drag that old man in here.”

The gun went away from Longarm’s neck. Mercer reached around him and plucked the .44 from the cross-draw rig. “Just so you don’t get any ideas,” Mercer said.

“Oh, I’ve got some ideas, all right,” said Longarm. “Just wish a few of ‘em had occurred to me earlier.”

They didn’t know about the derringer in his vest pocket. That might give him an advantage later on, but whether or not it would be enough to save his bacon, he didn’t know.

He heard Mercer’s footsteps retreating, and he said to Janice, “Mind if I turn around? I sort of like to see whoever’s pointing a gun at me.”

“All right. But be careful. I honestly don’t want to shoot you, Custis.”

Longarm kept his hands where she could see them as he turned to face her. She looked as lovely as ever in the lantern light, but those blue eyes had lost any warmth they had once possessed. Now they were like chips of ice.

“You couldn’t stop interfering, could you?” she said, and he thought he heard a trace of genuine regret in her voice. “You had to keep poking around until we have no choice but to get rid of you.”

Longarm hefted the printing plates, which he still held in his left hand. “These are worth a lot to you, aren’t they?”

“They’re worth the world,” Janice said fervently. “They represent not having to struggle anymore. I can get away from that horrible horse ranch at last.”

“Julie feel the same way?”

Janice laughed humorlessly. “Julie actually likes horses. She doesn’t know anything about my … arrangement … with Leon.”

“Did he recruit you to help him out in Albuquerque, or have you been part of the counterfeiting ring all along?”

“Leon organized the operation,” Janice admitted. “He financed Nowlan with funds that he diverted from the senator’s campaigns. But we met back East, while I was in school, and we each knew immediately that we’d encountered a kindred spirit. Leon influenced the senator to buy Caesar so that we could use the racing circuit as a cover for distributing the money.”

Longarm knew the only reason she was telling him all this was because she didn’t expect him to be alive much longer. That was confirmed a moment later when Mercer dragged the body of the elderly watchman into the stable. The man’s hat had fallen off, and Longarm could see the swollen lump on his head where somebody had clouted him. Longarm hoped the old man was just unconscious and not already dead—although if Mercer and Janice had their way, it wouldn’t really matter.

“I was thinking that there might be a fire here in the stables,” Mercer said as he straightened from his task. “A regrettable thing, of course, but at least some of the horses will survive. Too bad that Marshal Long and the watchman here will both die in their valiant effort to free the horses.”

Janice nodded. “I like it. That way any evidence will be destroyed in the fire.”

“Exactly.”

It could work, Longarm realized. Folks would be bound to wonder what he had been doing out here at the racetrack when disaster struck, but it would go down as an unanswered question. There would be nothing linking Janice and Mercer to his death.

“I want Caesar left in here to burn with Long and the old man,” Mercer said. He laughed harshly. “Not only is Padgett locked up for something he had nothing to do with, but he’s going to lose that precious racehorse of his too.”

Janice shrugged. “Some of the horses won’t make it out of the fire. It’ll look more realistic that way. I don’t care if Caesar is one of them. I want Matador out, though.”

“I thought you didn’t like horses,” commented Longarm.

Janice looked squarely at him. “I won’t hurt Julie if I don’t have to.”

“But if she got in your way, then she’d have to die too, right?” Janice lifted the pistol in her hand. “That’s enough out-“

Then Mercer yelled, “No!” as Longarm’s hand dipped suddenly toward the pocket where the derringer was hidden. He slashed at Longarm with the gun in his hand. Longarm twisted aside from the blow and drove his left elbow into Mercer’s side. Mercer gasped in pain and staggered to the side as Longarm palmed out the derringer.

Janice fired her gun at that moment, and what felt like a giant hand slapped the side of Longarm’s head. He toppled to the hard-packed dirt floor of the stable, the derringer slipping out of his fingers as he fell. Waves of darkness rolled toward him.

“Hurry!” he heard Janice saying, as if from a great distance. “That shot may draw attention! We have to hurry!”

He felt hands grab him and start to drag him, but then the darkness caught up to him and washed over him, wiping out everything else.

He woke to a loud crackling and the frantic whinnying of terrified horses. Thick, acrid smoke stung his nose and eyes. Blinking rapidly against the tears that filled his eyes, he rolled onto his back and kicked his way into a sitting position. He had already figured out that his hands were tied together behind his back.

Longarm’s head hurt like the very blazes, but his thinking was clear enough. Janice’s bullet must have creased him, he thought, clipping his head just enough to knock him senseless for a few minutes. He could sense that he had not been unconscious for long. Long enough, though, for the two of them to tie him up and start the fire that was even now consuming the stable around him.

He was sitting with his back toward the building’s entrance, he realized. As he started trying to turn around, someone suddenly grabbed his hands. A woman’s voice shouted over the roar of the fire and the screams of the horses, “Be still, Custis! I’ll have you loose in a minute!”

Longarm twisted his head and saw her kneeling behind him, and thought for a second that Janice had relented and come back to free him. Then, as a knife began to saw at the ropes around his wrists, he realized that it was Julie rescuing him, not Janice.

“What are you doing here?” he bellowed.

“I followed you!” Sobs wracked her even as she worked at his bonds, and he suspected not all of them were caused by the smoke. “I wanted to see what you were doing that was so mysterious! I … I almost wish I hadn’t found out!”

Longarm knew what she meant. She must have overheard the conversation he’d had with Janice and Mercer. Julie had to know now that her sister was part of Mercer’s murderous schemes.

The ropes parted under the knife in Julie’s hand. She had only nicked Longarm a couple of times while she was cutting him loose. As he pushed himself a little unsteadily to his feet, she caught hold of his arm and gestured toward his head with her other hand. “You’re hurt!”

Longarm knew she was pointing at the gash on his noggin where Janice’s shot had grazed him. “It’ll be all right! he assured her. “Now, you’d better get out of here while you still can!” He began looking around for the unconscious watchman.

The man had regained consciousness, but he was trussed up the way Longarm had been, and there was a gag in his mouth as well. His rheumy eyes were wide and bulging with fear. Longarm took the knife from Julie, bent over the watchman, and began cutting the ropes. Over his shoulder, he said again to Julie, “Get out of here!”

“I’m going to let the other horses loose!” she cried, ignoring his command.

Longarm bit back a curse as Julie darted away along the center aisle of the stable. Several empty stalls full of hay were blazing intensely, and flames were beginning to climb up the walls of the stable. If the fire continued to spread, not only would this building be engulfed, but the adjacent grandstands would probably go up in flames too. There was nothing he could do about that; the conflagration was already too far advanced. All he could hope for was to get himself and Julie and the old man out of there. The ropes fell away from the watchman’s wrists as Longarm finished cutting them. He tossed the knife aside and grabbed the old man’s arms, lifting him to his feet. “Move, old-timer!” Longarm shouted at him, pushing him toward the entrance.

By this time, Julie had opened a couple of the stalls that were still occupied. A glance around the stable told Longarm about half of the racehorses were gone, freed no doubt by Mercer and Janice as they started the blaze. The two horses Julie had just freed galloped wildly out of their stalls, forcing her to jump back out of their way. As the animals disappeared into the thickening smoke, Longarm hoped they wouldn’t get confused and run right back into the burning stable once they reached the outside. Horses had been known to do that very thing.

Longarm saw the watchman stumbling toward the entrance; then he turned toward the other stalls. He knew Julie wouldn’t leave until all the horses were rescued, so the quickest way for both of them to get out would be for him to help her. He flung open the gate on one of the occupied stalls, and the desperate horse inside lunged past him, heading for the entrance.

New voices made his head jerk around. He heard Janice Cassidy say, “I tell you, I think I saw Julie come running in here!”

“Damn it, Janice, come back here!” shouted Leon Mercer.

The smoke billowing through the stable parted at that instant, and by the hellish light of the flames, Longarm clearly saw Janice and Mercer near the entrance. Janice was trying to come farther into the stable, but Mercer had hold of her arm and was tugging her away. Suddenly, the terrified horse Longarm had just freed loomed up in front of them, racing away from the smoke and flames. Mercer yelped in panic, released Janice’s arm, and threw himself to the side, out of the way of the galloping beast.

Janice was not that fast—or that lucky.

Longarm winced as he saw and heard the horse run into Janice. She was knocked off her feet, and the horse’s iron-shod hooves thudded into her as he trampled her. Longarm looked away as one of the hooves struck Janice in the face, destroying forever the beauty that had been hers.

“Janice!” The horrified scream came from Julie.

The flames had reached the roof now. There was no time for anything except getting out of there. Longarm lunged toward Julie, grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward the entrance. She tried to jerk away from him as they passed Janice’s body, so he scooped her completely off the ground and tossed her over his shoulder. Lowering his throbbing head, he ran toward the open doors, following the clouds of smoke as they sought the night air. He had lost track of the watchman, and could only hope the old man had made it out safely. Mercer was gone too, having scurried away into the darkness as the horse was trampling Janice.

Behind Longarm, blazing beams began to plummet from the burning roof of the stable.

Fresh air had never tasted so good. Longarm drew great breaths of it as he stumbled to safety, carrying a coughing, struggling Julie Cassidy. He was coughing quite a bit himself. The heat and smoke had seared his nose, throat, and lungs. A pounding like the drumming of a mad Indian filled his head. But now that he and Julie were safe, one thought clamored wildly for his attention.

Leon Mercer was still out there somewhere.

Mercer had to have the printing plates. He was probably heading for the hotel, Longarm thought. He didn’t know if Mercer had seen him there in the stable or not. It was possible Mercer still thought he was tied up, perishing in the fire. In that case, Mercer would most likely return to the hotel and try to pick up the threads of his life. He had lost his partner, but he had the plates, and that was all Mercer really cared about, Longarm realized.

The man was in for one hell of a surprise.

A big, bulky shape appeared out of the darkness as Longarm set Julie on her feet again. She tried to run toward the stable, but Longarm caught her shoulders and held her back. At that moment, the roof collapsed, sending flames and sparks shooting high into the sky. Nothing in there could have survived the inferno. The grandstands were on fire now too, just as Longarm had feared.

Shouts of alarm made him look around, and he saw a large crowd running toward the fire from Carson City. Something nudged Julie, and Longarm felt it as well. Matador was there, bumping her shoulder with his nose, obviously seeking to make sure she was all right. The horse was what he had seen coming up to them out of the shadows a moment earlier, Longarm realized.

He saw one of the local lawmen, and grabbed the man’s arm. “Hang on to Miss Cassidy here!” he ordered. “Don’t let her go back in there!”

The man cast a dubious glance toward the burning stable. “Why would anybody want to?” he asked.

“Her sister’s in there,” Longarm said in a low, grim voice.

The man nodded, and he put an arm around the sobbing Julie, patting her awkwardly on the back. Longarm hoped he could trust the local badge to keep Julie out of trouble.

He had something else he had to do.

Grabbing Matador’s mane, he swung up onto the thoroughbred’s bare back. Matador danced around skittishly, unaccustomed to being ridden without a saddle, as well as to the much greater weight of Longarm, who would make two of some of the jockeys. “Come on, Matador!” Longarm called as he drove the heels of his boots into the chestnut’s flanks.

Matador lunged forward into a gallop. Longarm controlled the horse with his knees and the hold he had on Matador’s mane. The thoroughbred ran gamely through the night, pounding through the outskirts of Carson City before reaching the main street. Longarm swung Matador into the street and rode toward the hotel. The broad avenue was practically deserted at the moment, since nearly everyone in town was out at the racetrack watching the fire.

Longarm spotted one figure further along the street, however. A short, slender man who was hurrying toward the hotel as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself by actually running. At the sound of Matador’s hooves, the man looked back, and he stopped in his tracks for a second as he saw the big U.S. marshal galloping straight toward him.

Leon Mercer let out a harsh, strangled cry of surprise and fear.

Longarm swept down the street toward him like an angel on horseback, an avenging angel come to exact retribution for all the deaths Mercer had caused. Mercer jerked his gun from under his coat and brought the weapon up in a trembling hand. He began to fire, jerking off shot after shot.

Longarm heard a couple of the slugs whine past his head. Those were the only ones that came close enough for him to hear. He rode into the face of Mercer’s gunfire. The hammer of Mercer’s gun clicked on an empty chamber. With another inarticulate cry, Mercer flung the now-useless weapon to ward the onrushing Longarm and turned to run.

Veering Matador to the side, Longarm left the thoroughbred’s back in a long, flat dive that sent him smashing into Mercer, his shoulder catching the fleeing man in the small of the back. Both of them went down hard in the street, the impact jolting every bone in Longarm’s body. Momentum rolled him over a couple of times; then he came up on his hands and knees, fists clenched, ready to fight.

There was no one to trade punches with. Mercer lay flat on his back a couple of yards away, unmoving except for his mouth, which kept opening and closing although no sound came from his lips. His eyes were wide open.

Longarm got to his feet and went over to kneel at Mercer’s side. Mercer’s horrified gaze fastened on Longarm, and he said, “Can’t … can’t feel anything!”

Longarm saw then the odd angle at which Mercer’s head was resting. The man’s neck had broken when Longarm tackled him and both of them hit the ground so hard. That might have been his own neck, thought Longarm, had Mercer not hit the ground first and cushioned Longarm’s landing.

“Your neck’s broken, Leon,” Longarm said. “No telling what else got busted up inside. You might as well tell me where those plates are. I’m going to find them anyway.”

“In my … coat,” sobbed Mercer.

Longarm reached inside the coat and found the plates in an inside pocket. He took them out and held them so that Mercer could see them. “Too many folks died because of these,” he said, “including Janice Cassidy.”

“I … I never meant for Janice to be hurt! We … we just wanted … to be rich!”

“Money ain’t going to do you much good where you’re going, Leon, not even real money. No telling how long you’ll live, but I reckon you’ll spend the rest of your days lying in a bed in a prison hospital, rotting away.”

Even though Mercer couldn’t move, his eyes seemed to reach up and clutch at Longarm. “Don’t leave me like this, Long!” he pleaded. “Shoot me! Put a bullet through my brain!”

“Sorry, Leon,” Longarm said as he stood up. “If you remember right, you took my guns. I couldn’t shoot you now—even if I wanted to.” With that he turned and walked away, and behind him, Leon Mercer began to scream. The sound went on for a long time.

Chapter 14

Longarm unwrapped the soft cloth from the bundle in his hands and laid the two rectangular pieces of metal on the desk in front of him. “There they are,” he said. “That’s what all the fuss was over.”

Chief Marshal Billy Vail looked at the printing plates for a moment, then glanced up at Longarm. “Don’t look like much to die for, do they?”

“Or to kill for,” Longarm agreed as he sat down in the leather chair in front of Vail’s desk. It was morning in Denver, the hands of the banjo clock on the wall resting at a little after ten o’clock. Longarm was damned tired, having been on the train all night. He felt grubby too, having come straight here to the Federal Building from the depot. He had wired most of the details of the case to Vail from Carson City, but he wanted to get those damned plates off his hands as soon as possible. As soon as he was finished here, he intended to head for his rented room on the other side of Cherry Creek and see if he could scare up a tub of hot water from his landlady. He wanted a nice long soak, eight or ten hours of sleep, and then maybe a bottle of Tom Moore. All those things might make him feel human again.

“I’ll contact the families of the deputies who were killed in Albuquerque,” said Vail as he put the printing plates into one of the drawers of his desk. “I want to let them know that the man responsible for their deaths is going to pay.”

“Mercer’ll be paying for a long time too,” said Longarm. “The doc in Carson City said he ought to live, but he won’t ever feel anything from the neck down again.” A shudder ran through Longarm’s rangy body. “There at the end he was begging me to shoot him, Billy. Maybe I should have.”

“Hell, no,” snapped Vail. “Leon Mercer used his position as Senator Padgett’s assistant to set up a scheme that could have ruined the country’s economy, not to mention being responsible for the deaths of several people. It would have been even worse if you and Miss Cassidy and that watchman hadn’t made it out alive. Whatever happens to Mercer, he’s got it coming.”

Longarm chuckled. “I thought a lawman was supposed to be impartial, Billy.”

“Impartial, hell,” Vail said with a snort. He paused, then added, “By the way, Senator Padgett’s still got a burr up his tail about the way you treated him. Good God, Custis, did you have to slug the man? He is a senator, you know.”

Longarm took out a cheroot and rolled it between his fingers. “I explained all that to him back in Carson City. I was pretty sure he wasn’t really mixed up in the counterfeiting, but I had to make it look good for Mercer. And if I’d been wrong about Padgett, well, then, he’d have been behind bars where he belonged. Don’t see how anybody can be mad at me over that.”

“Still, I think it would be a good idea if you made yourself scarce around Denver for a while.”

Longarm sat up straight and said in an aggrieved tone, “Make myself scarce? Hell, Billy, I just got back!”

“I know that.” Vail reached for one of the many documents scattered on his desk. “I’ve got an assignment here that’s just right for you, though. There’s a big ruckus over in Kansas, at a place called Hugoton.”

Longarm held up his hands. “Just stop right there, Billy. You know I’ve never been one to shirk my responsibilities, but I’ve got something else I have to do first. I promised to escort a lady back to Missouri. Maybe I can stop by this place in Kansas on the way back and straighten ‘em out.”

“You’re talking about Julie Cassidy?”

Longarm nodded solemnly. “After that stable collapsed, there was no way of telling if her sister died in the fire or from being trampled by that horse. All that really matters is that Janice betrayed Julie. That hurts mighty bad—but I reckon Julie still loved her anyway. It’ll take some time for her to get over everything that happened.”

“And you expect to help her get over it, I suppose.”

“Don’t you go leering about it, Billy Vail,” Longarm warned sternly. “If you tell anybody I said it, I’ll deny it, but I reckon I’d rather help Julie get back on to her feet instead of off of ‘em.”

“Don’t worry, Custis, your secret’s safe with me.” Vail shoved the documents aside. “All right, go to Missouri. I suppose you’ve earned it.”

Longarm stood up. “Thanks, Billy.”

He lit the cheroot as he left the Federal Building and turned toward Cherry Creek. It was true, he reflected—he was more interested in helping Julie get over her loss than he was in bedding her. “Maybe you’re getting soft, old son,” he muttered to himself.

And yet … sooner or later, Julie would be over Janice’s death, and when that day came, she was liable to be mighty grateful to the fella who had helped her over the rough Spots.

A grin began to spread over Longarm’s face and his step grew a little jauntier as he walked toward home.