Longarm and the Secret Assassin

“What did he do for Red Skoal?”

“General ranch work.”

Longarm found it difficult to believe that anyone working for Red would not have been involved in theft of some kind, but there wasn’t any point in saying that to this man. So after his meal, he went over to the hotel and looked up young Randy Thomas, who was sitting in the lobby attempting to read a week-old newspaper. After the introductions, Longarm sat down with the kid and studied him closely.

“They say that you took a bad blow to the head and are having headaches.”

“I am,” Randy admitted. “It’s been more’n a week now and I still feel real bad. Don’t know if I’ll ever get back to my old self.”

“I expect that you get dizzy too,” Longarm said, “especially when you stand up too fast.”

“I do!” Randy frowned. “How’d you know that?”

“I’ve had a few hard knocks to the head myself. And I wanted to tell you that you will fully recover. When you are hit that hard, the doctors tell me you either suffer permanent brain damage and usually die, or you fully recover. You’re definitely going to recover.”

The kid brightened. “I sure am glad to hear that. I was just thinking that I might be all washed up with no way to support myself.”

“You’ll be fine.” Longarm leaned closer. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

In halting words, the kid told Longarm about the few moments he’d seen The Assassin and then how he’d been ordered to turn around and how he didn’t remember anything after that.

“The light wasn’t good, so I’m not even sure that I’d recognize that sonofabitch if I ever saw him again.”

“What do you think happened to the woman?”

“You mean Betty?”

“Yes.”

“He probably pistol-whipped her too. Then he must have forced her to go with him. She wouldn’t have ever gone by choice.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because,” Randy said, “Betty loved the Bar S. And I heard Red once say that she stood to inherit the spread if anything happened to him.”

“Do you know if he had a will made out?”

“No.”

“Do you know the Marble brothers?”

“I … I guess I do.”

“And there’s a fella named Jake Mill that was a member of their gang. I’m told that he lives in Cortez.”

“Could be he does.”

Longarm’s voice hardened. “Don’t play games, Randy! The man who pistol-whipped you and took that woman has already killed Hank Trabert and his father and brother, and now he’s killed Red and the hand with the broken neck.”

“Johnny. His name was Johnny Webb.”

“All right. So this man, The Assassin, has killed five men since I’ve started tracking him out of Denver, and there are three more members of the Marble gang that have no idea that their lives are in real danger. Maybe I can arrest The Assassin before he completes what he has set out to do. But I need to know anything you can tell me. Mostly, I need to know where this Jake Mill and the Marble brothers are so that I can get to them before The Assassin does.”

“Is that what you call him? The Assassin?”

Longarm dipped his chin. “For lack of a better name.”

“Well,” Randy said, “I can’t tell you a thing more than I already have.”

Longarm gazed deep into the kid’s troubled eyes and figured he was telling the truth. “Randy,” he said, coming to his feet, “you’re going to be all right. But maybe you should go to Denver and see a doctor, just in case.”

“Got no money.”

“Can you get someone to take you?”

“I suppose, but …”

Longarm scribbled Billy Vail’s name and the address of the Federal Building where he and Billy worked. “You look up my boss and give him a letter that I’m about to write. Tell him that I’m heading for Cortez and that The Assassin has killed Red and Trabert and is after Jake Mill and the Marble brothers.”

“I’ll do that, but …”

“Here,” Longarm said, digging a roll of bills out of his pocket and counting out some money, then scribbling down the name of a Dr. Marston with a busy medical practice in Denver. “There’s thirty dollars and the name of a good doctor. You tell him I sent you. And as for Billy, well, he’s got a reputation for being a very soft touch and he’ll also help you out.”

“Why are you doin’ this for me?”

“Because I know how bad you feel,” Longarm replied. “And because if I’d gotten to The Assassin, you wouldn’t be in such pain.”

“Weren’t your fault.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Longarm said. “But anyway, go to Denver and have your head checked out.”

“I got a friend that lives there. Maybe he’ll let me stay the winter and when I get better, I can get a job again. Ain’t no work up here in South Park.”

“Then good luck to you,” Longarm said.

“You’re the one that’s going to need the luck!”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Maybe Betty will kill him for you. She’s a tough one.”

“Maybe. If he doesn’t kill her first.”

“You think she’s already dead?”

Longarm gave the question some thought, then shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he answered. “This man is a killer, but he seems to have some regard for children and for women. Could be that you’re alive today because you’re so young.”

Randy cradled his head in his rough, calloused hands. “Since it happened, I been wondering if I wouldn’t have been better off dead.”

“Don’t even talk like that,” Longarm said. “Get to the doctor. After he examines you, I’m sure that you’ll feel a lot better about your future.”

Randy nodded. “How long will these headaches go on?”

“Could be another few weeks.”

“I’m half tempted to stay drunk.”

“Now that,” Longarm assured Randy, “would only make the headaches even worse.”

“You tried it, huh?”

“I did,” Longarm said. “Dr. Marston will give you some medicine that will help. But mostly, it will just take a lot of time.”

“As long as it does heal and these headaches go away, I can wait it out.”

“Good!”

Longarm left the kid and decided to ride directly out to the Bar S Ranch and poke around. Maybe he’d find something useful, but he doubted it.

Chapter 15

It didn’t take Longarm very long to check out the Bar S Ranch and see that any evidence that might have existed had already been obliterated by curiosity seekers and a sloppy undertaker. Longarm walked around for about twenty minutes, followed by a hard-faced and unfriendly-looking man who called himself George.

“I told you there was nothing left to see,” the man growled as Longarm untied the reins from his horse. “Everyone in South Park came flockin’ in here to see the bodies and offer their two bits worth on what must have happened.”

“I understand that Red died hard.”

“Shot in the belly, then the head,” George said, spitting tobacco. “We figure that he had to have taken the gut slug first. He’d have suffered something awful, of course. Finally, the killer must have gotten bored and just put poor old Red out of his misery.”

“And the other dead man they found?”

“Died of a broken neck.”

“What do you think happened to the woman?”

“You mean Betty?”

“Yeah.”

“I think she was taken against her will. I figure whoever killed Red took Betty for pleasure. She was one hell of a good-lookin’ gal.”

“Maybe she’ll try to kill him,” Longarm suggested.

“Maybe. Betty isn’t a full-blooded Ute, you know. Her father was a Mexican. She’s got a lot of fire, if you understand what I mean.”

“Did they ride off together?”

“Nope. Took Red’s buggy and hitched a couple of saddle horses to the back of it.”

This was important news to Longarm. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am! The buggy was gone and it was the only decent thing on four wheels that Red owned. He and Betty used it all the time. You’d see ‘em riding around the valley every damned Sunday. It’s black with a red fringed top. Stands out so you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Longarm said, mounting Splash.

“You look more like an outlaw than a lawman,” George said. “You look mean.”

“I am,” Longarm replied. “You have to be mean in my business to stay alive.”

“You damn sure better find the sonofabitch that gut-shot, then executed Red and took Betty.”

“I’ll do my best,” Longarm said. “I think they went after the Marble brothers, or maybe another member of their gang named Jake Mill.”

George blinked, then said, “Jake was gunned down in Cortez a few weeks ago.”

“Is that right?”

“For a fact! He was ambushed. He was a hell of a fine man, you know. Tough sonofabitch too.”

“Is that right?”

“it is.”

“What about the Marble brothers?”

“They’re also right handy with their guns. But Jake was the best of the bunch.”

“Do you know exactly where I can find the brothers?”

“They keep on the move.”

“Well,” Longarm said, starting to rein away, “maybe I’ll see you around. I’ll be passing through Cortez and asking about Jake Mill.”

“No need for that, Marshal. I told you he’s dead.”

“I have to make sure. Someone must have buried him and I need that information for my investigation. I’ll be seeing you around, George.”

“I doubt it.”

Longarm frowned. “Why?”

“Either the Marble brothers or whoever the hell gut-shot Red will kill you first.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Longarm said. “A lot of men have tried, and a lot of men have died.”

“Jake would have killed you for sure, Marshal. Nothin’ he liked better than to kill some sonofabitchin’ lawman.”

“Well, then, I’m glad he was killed for that just saves me the trouble,” Longarm said as he reined his horse around an started to ride on.

Longarm hadn’t ridden twenty feet when he heard George curse. Instinctively, Longarm threw himself from Splash as George opened fire. Striking the ground, Longarm rolled over twice, dragging his own gun up and firing. His bullets struck George in the chest.

The man folded to his knees trying to raise his weapon and fire again.

Longarm hurried over to George and saw that the man was dying. “Who are you really?”

“Go to hell!”

“You’re Jake Mill, aren’t you?”

Jake’s eyes burned with hatred but he locked his teeth, unwilling to cooperate.

“Well,” Longarm said, “I guess that Jake Mill wasn’t such a top gunman after all. In fact, you were piss-poor, in my professional opinion.”

Jake choked with rage. “Tom and Dave will get you! Your luck can’t last forever!”

Longarm collected the man’s gun. “Luck had absolutely nothing to do with me beating you to the draw. I knew you were a damned outlaw.”

“How!”

“This gun. You’ve cut notches on its handle. Pretty stupid thing to do, Jake. Besides that, you’re wanted for murder and I had your description. I wasn’t sure it was you until you began to brag about how good Jake Mill was with a gun. After that, there was no doubt in my mind.”

“But … but you turned your back to me!”

“Yeah,” Longarm said, “but I was making my play knowing that you would be taking your time thinking you could drill me. So you see, I had you figured out right from the start and you never really had a chance.”

The outlaw tried to curse, but instead began to cough up blood. Longarm went back to his horse and remounted. Jake was almost gone, and Longarm figured that someone would eventually come along to bury the sorry, back-shooting bastard.

Longarm pushed his horse hard, and arrived in Durango three days later. He and Splash were tired and hungry, so he wasted no time in getting the paint into a good livery and himself into the best hotel in town. He had a bath, a shave, and a steak in that order. When he stepped out of the cafe, the sun had gone down and Longarm was feeling human again. Human enough to even go in search of a couple of whiskeys and maybe a low-stakes game of monte or poker.

There was another reason why he thought it would be a good idea to socialize, and that was to ask questions about the Marble brothers. Longarm’s information said that they wouldn’t be in Durango, but one could never be certain. This was their backyard, and people in these parts could be expected to know of their comings and goings.

Longarm knocked the trail dust off his coat and went out to socialize. Durango was a pretty little town, but it wasn’t all that big. He stopped at a saloon named the Flying Beaver and ordered a whiskey.

“Nice town,” he said with a smile to the bartender.

“We like it.”

“So do I. You lived here long?”

“About twenty years,” the bartender said, not acting all that friendly. “Drinks are four bits each.”

“Here,” Longarm said, paying the man and leaving him an extra dime. “And here’s to your good health!”

Longarm’s hearty salute didn’t even raise a smile out of the taciturn bartender, but he wasn’t ready to quit yet. “Nice saloon. I like the way you’ve got it fixed up with all the animal heads mounted on the walls and this fine mahogany bar. Yes, sir, this is a real fine little establishment.”

Instead of being flattered and pleased like any normal human being, the bartender just growled, “You wanna buy the gawdamn joint? Sell ‘er to you cheap.”

“Sorry, but I’m not interested.”

“Then who cares about what you think the place looks like?” the bartender snapped as he marched off to serve his regulars at the other end of the bar.

“Grouchy sonofabitch,” Longarm muttered, finishing his whiskey and heading for the door without so much as even a wave of farewell.

The Square Peg Saloon looked to be a friendlier and much busier watering hole. Longarm went inside and had to wait a few moments in order to shoulder his way up against the bar and hail a bartender, who called, “What’ll it be, stranger?”

“Whiskey!”

“Imported and in a bottle … or homegrown and served out of a mason jar?”

“Imported.”

“Coming right up!”

Longarm thought the bartender was kidding about the homegrown whiskey until he saw him refilling another man’s glass from a big mason jar.

“Four bits of a shot of Old Respectable, a fine brand of whiskey if I do say so myself,” the bartender said to Longarm, arriving with an impressive-looking green bottle.

“Thanks,” Longarm said. “Have you lived in this part of the country long?”

“Not nearly as long as I hope to,” the bartender said, hurrying away.

Longarm turned to his right and looked into the glassy eyes of a drunkard who was clinging to the edge of the bar and swaying as if he were bracing himself against a high wind. “Howdy,” the man said with a lopsided grin. “Wanna buy me another drink?”

“No,” Longarm replied, taking his whiskey and moving down the bar in search of someone who might give him a few leads on the Marble brothers.

He spotted an opening at the bar and eased up to a reasonably sober-looking cowboy. “How you doin’?” Longarm asked.

“I’m lookin’ for a pretty gal named Alice and not seem’ her right now,” the cowboy said, craning his head all around. “That’s how I’m doin’.”

“I see some gals over there,” Longarm said, pointing them out to the cowboy.

“Them’s new whores to town and they want more money than I got left. Besides, I am crazy about Alice. But she’s probably with some other fella.”

“I suppose,” Longarm said. “You happen to know either Dave or Joe Marble?”

The cowboy finally looked at Longarm. “Of course. Everyone knows ‘em.”

“You seen them in town lately?”

“Nope, but then, I ain’t been in town much myself. Just got paid and now I can’t even poke Alice until someone else has had his fill of her.”

“Do the Marble brothers live around here?”

“Naw, they sold their place a couple years ago and they keep on the move.” The cowboy regarded Longarm closely. “Why you askin’ about them boys?”

“They owe me.”

“Well, you ain’t likely to collect anything but a damned bullet.”

“They’re pretty tough, huh?”

“Yep, and as techy as teased snakes.”

“I see. Maybe they’re in Cortez.”

“Probably,” the cowboy said. “I heard that’s the last place they were spotted.”

“How long ago?”

“About two weeks. Last I heard, they were rustlin’ cattle again. Mostly, though, they rob banks and stagecoaches. Them boys are good at it and always have a lot of money.”

“I see.” Longarm tossed down his drink and ordered one for the cowboy and another for himself. He and the cowboy talked awhile more, but then Alice appeared and the cowboy jumped up and disappeared.

Longarm finished his drink and played a few hands of poker, hoping to learn more about the comings and goings of the Marble brothers. But no one at the card table was in a mind for loose talk, so Longarm quit the game and went up to his room and went to bed.

He awoke the next morning to the sound of a battle going on between a screaming woman and some man who was giving her a hard time. Longarm dragged himself out of his bed, stretched, and reached for his six-gun. He heard the woman hit the hallway floor, and then heard her cry of pain cut short.

Longarm jumped to the door and unbolted it, then stepped outside to see that there were two very big and very drunk men standing over a young woman that he recognized as Alice.

“Step back!” Longarm ordered.

“You better mind your own business!” one of them ordered.

Longarm cracked the man across the bridge of his nose with the barrel of his gun. The man reeled away in pain, and the other fella made a play for his holstered gun and also got pistol-whipped for his stupidity.

“Now get out of here before I shoot you both!” Longarm shouted at the retreating pair.

When they were gone, Longarm helped Alice to her feet. She was disheveled and had a nasty bruise across one side of her face, but was otherwise in pretty good shape.

“You’re a little small to be taking on a pair like that, aren’t you?” Longarm asked.

“I thought better of them,” Alice replied. “I don’t usually make that bad a mistake.”

“Well, I hope not,” Longarm told her, “or you could wind up dead the next time.”

“Who are you?”

“Custis. And your name is Alice.”

“How’d you know that?”

“An admirer of yours told me,” Longarm explained. “I didn’t catch his name but he was a lovesick cowboy.”

“That would have been Monte. For some fool reason, he keeps asking me to marry him—even when he’s sober!”

“Maybe you should marry the man. He seems like a fine fella and he adores you, Alice.”

“But he’s a cowboy. I can’t go out and live in some line shack while he nursemaids a bunch of cows. Uh-uh, that’s not the life for me.”

“Maybe he’d change his line of work and get a town job.”

“Maybe,” Alice said, looking doubtful. “But I’m not too sure that he’d be very happy living in town.”

“Yeah,” Longarm said, “but I can’t imagine you’re very happy now either.”

“You got that right. Say, mister, would you mind if I use your room to clean up a little?”

“Not at all,” Longarm said, leading the way.

He stretched out on the bed and watched as Alice used his washbasin to freshen up. She opened a small handbag and applied some makeup in order to partially hide her fresh and angry bruises.

“How old are you?” Longarm blurted out.

“Old enough to know better than to take on two ornery sonofabitches at once.”

“Marry Monte,” Longarm urged. “Then start over fresh.”

She turned and really looked at him. “You don’t look like no preacher but you sure sound like one.”

“I’m a United States deputy marshal.”

“You are!”

“Yes.”

“Lemme see a badge.”

Longarm dug his badge out of his coat, causing Alice to cluck her tongue with surprise. “Well, no wonder you took care of them two sonofabitches the way you did! Why didn’t you arrest and throw them in jail for beating me up?”

“I’m after bigger prey,” Longarm explained. “And I really would appreciate it if you would not tell anyone that I’m a marshal.”

“Sure, if that’s the way you want it.”

“It is.”

“Who are you after, Marshal?”

“Joe and Dave Marble. Do you know anything about them that might help me?”

To Longarm’s surprise, Alice laughed outright. “Why, I know the size of their peckers! And I know that Dave’s is longer than his brother’s, who grunts like a pig when he’s coupling. Tom is slow, but sometimes he gets too drunk to get it up, and once he even fell asleep while I was undressing! Can you imagine?”

“Not hardly,” Longarm said, “but I need to know how to find them.”

“They’re in Cortez.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Alice said. “The word is that they stole some cattle and are peddling them off a few at a time.”

“Thanks,” Longarm said, collecting his gear as he prepared to take up the outlaw trail again.

“Hey, Marshal. I owe you for this. You want a little fun this morning?”

“No, thanks.”

Alice blinked with surprise. “I know I look a little rough, but I can make you howl like a lobo wolf.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I’m betting that you are smart enough to marry Monte the next time he comes to town.”

Alice, despite her bruises and pains, put her hands on her shapely hips and laughed. “Why, I do believe you are the strangest marshal I ever met. All the others either wanted to arrest or hump me, one or the other.”

“Get out of here,” Longarm said with an easy grin. “I’ve seen a lot of pretty young girls like you, and the ones that keep whoring all wind up either dead or diseased. It’s no life for any woman, Alice. You’re smart enough to figure that out for yourself.”

“Well,” she said, going over to the door, “Monte did say that his parents have a little spread over in Arizona. He told me that we could get married and they’d let us build a cabin and give us some cattle to start a herd.”

“Sounds good. Did he say where the ranch was?”

“Near a town called Prescott.”

“One of my favorite parts of Arizona,” Longarm said. “Marry the kid and go there. Let him raise cattle and you start raising children and see how good life can be, Alice.”

She shook her head and sighed. “Gawdamn, Marshal, I think I’ve plumb figured you out at last.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep. You’re a romantic. That’s exactly what you are. A romantic. I bet anything that you can even spout a sonnet or two, can’t ya?”

Longarm blushed, and then he shooed Alice out the door before he started thinking about getting romantic with her himself. Once those bruises healed and she started living clean and getting her rest, that girl was going to be beautiful.

Ten minutes later, Longarm was striding into the livery.

“Why, you look like a new man!” the owner exclaimed with a wide grin.

“How is Splash?”

“I’ve curried him to a shine and grained him. I’d say he’s ready to ride.”

“Thanks,” Longarm said, paying the man and saddling the paint himself. “How long will it take me to reach Cortez?”

“You’ll be there by sundown, if not sooner.”

“They got a hotel and a livery?”

“Yep, but none as good as mine.”

“I’ll be back through,” Longarm promised.

“Marshal, you be careful when you brace the Marble brothers,” the liveryman said, looking concerned. “They’re real bad.”

“How’d you know that I was a marshal and that I was after the Marble brothers?”

“Everyone in town knows it. Why else would you have been asking about ‘em last night?”

“Yeah,” Longarm said drily, “why else? By the way, did you happen to see a carriage pass through town with a couple of horses in tow?”

“There are a lot of ‘em passin’ through Durango every day.”

“This one was real nice with a black top and red fringe.”

“By jingo, I did see that buggy. Was a man and a real pretty Indian girl at his side.”

“I think she is his hostage.”

“I doubt that,” the liveryman said.

“Why?”

“She was all tight up against him with her arm linked around his waist. She looked real happy.”

“Well I’ll be …” Longarm didn’t finish. Instead, he just tightened his cinch before he stepped into his saddle and headed off for Cortez.

Chapter 16

The Assassin was starting to have second thoughts about what was most important in his life. Before meeting Betty, the only thing that held any meaning was revenge. But now, after almost a week with this woman, he was ready to believe that he could again find happiness. That he might live for something more than to kill the last of the men who had caused the death of his wife and son. Revenge was sweet, but it was a sweet poison that starved rather than nourished the soul. The Assassin wondered if he might be able to fall in love once more. To have even considered this possibility a few weeks before would have been completely unimaginable.

It was a fine day to be alive. Since they had left Durango and headed west toward Cortez, the country had undergone a significant change. Now it was lower, more open, and the high mountain evergreens had been replaced by sage and pinyon as well as juniper. The air was warmer, the colors softer, browns and grays instead of dark greens.

“This looks like sheep country to me,” Betty remarked. “Better sheep than cattle country.”

“Do you know something about sheep?”

“I know a lot about sheep.”

Smith was driving the buggy, and now he turned and looked at her with undisguised curiosity. “How?”

“My father was a sheepman. When I was a girl, we used to summer in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and winter on the high New Mexican deserts. We were nomads. We owned no land, only many thousands of sheep.

“Did your father prosper?”

“For a time. But he didn’t realize that greedy cattlemen would fence the lands so that we could not move our flocks between the summer and winter ranges. In time, there was no place to go except to the worst of the desert. For this reason, our sheep began to starve. We had to almost give them away one winter. That was the year that my father got drunk and shot a rancher who had fenced off his last passageway to the high mountains and our last hope for summer range.”

“He shot the rancher?”

“Yes, and killed him.”

“Then what happened?”

“My father and mother fled to Mexico, but they were caught and hanged.”

“Why did they hang your mother?”

“Because,” Betty said, “she and my father put up a fight and killed a couple more gringos just north of El Paso.”

“Where were you when all this was happening?”

“In Taos with my Aunt Monica. She was ill and I loved her very much.”

Smith shook his head. “It sounds like a tragic time for you. Did your aunt at least recover?”

“No. She died that same winter.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“And what happened then?”

“I went to work in a cantina,” Betty said, her eyes clouding with sadness. “I worked there several years. I … I had many men, some good but most bad. And I lost a baby. I almost died, and then Red found me and took me to the Bar S, where I have lived ever since.”

“Were you really happy living with him?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no,” Betty said after a long pause. “You see, Red Skoal was mostly nice to me. He saved my life, but I knew that he was an outlaw and had killed many men. And sometimes, when he drank too much, he was very rough with me, but he was always sorry the next morning.”

“And you don’t blame me for killing him?”

“No, because he was one of the men that killed your family. He told me about that, you know.”

“I don’t want to hear of it,” Smith said, shaking his head back and forth. “Not ever.”

She kissed his pale cheek. “I will never speak of that or of Red again. You have my word of honor.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “And I promise I will treat you with kindness.”

“Maybe that is not enough for me now. Eh?”

Smith knew what she wanted to hear, and he said, “All right, I love you, Betty. I will always love you.”

“And be faithful?”

“Yes.”

“And even marry me?”

He glanced sideways at her with a big smile. “Of course. It would make me very proud to have you for my wife.”

Betty radiated happiness. “Maybe I can even give you another fine son.”

Smith opened his mouth to tell her that he did not want another son. That it was all his heart could stand to risk loving another woman. But when he looked very deep into Betty’s eyes, he knew he could not tell her this because she very much wanted a son of her own. So he nodded in agreement and pretended not to notice when she wiped away her tears.

Cortez was a burgeoning livestock center where one was as likely to meet outlaws as cowboys or Indians. The Navajo and Hopi peoples mixed and traded freely with whites and Mexicans, and the architecture of the town was a mix of frontier shanty and old Santa Fe adobe. When Jim Smith and Betty drove up the center of town, they hardly attracted a glance because the townspeople were accustomed to seeing a lot of passing strangers.

“I’m not going to waste any time in asking for their whereabouts,” Smith announced. “My experience is that the news of our arrival will travel fast. The best thing to do is to find the Marble brothers before they even know we’re looking for them.”

“They might be watching us right now,” Betty said nervously. “They know that I was Red’s woman.”

“Well,” Smith replied matter-of-factly, “that can’t be helped. Let’s just hope we see them before they see us.”

Smith left his team at a livery and collected their few traveling bags. After getting directions to a suitable hotel, he said, “We’re old friends of Tom and Dave Marble. Would you happen to know if they’re in town?”

“I saw Dave yesterday,” the liveryman announced. “But not Tom. I heard that they’ve had a little parting of the ways.”

“Oh?”

“You see, Dave got drunk and cut Tom’s cinch almost clean away as a practical joke. When Tom started to gallop out of town, his cinch broke and he took a real bad spill. Nearly broke his neck.”

“Some practical joke.”

“Yeah,” the liveryman agreed with a shake of his head. “Anyway, it knocked Tom out cold and everyone hoped he was dead. But he wasn’t. And when he came around and learned that his own brother had cut his cinch, they had a real donnybrook. Fought up and down the street and tore up the Medallion Saloon. Tom was always the toughest of the pair, and he just beat the living hell out of Dave. Then he took Dave’s good cinch to replace his own and galloped out of town.”

“Where did he go?” Smith asked.

“Out to their place about ten miles west of town, I reckon,” the liveryman said. “I ain’t seen their spread, but I hear it has a cabin and a good spring. He and some Indian are huntin’ wild horses. I’ve bought a few of ‘em myself. Pretty good animals, for mustangs.”

“Where is Dave right now?” Betty asked.

“My guess he’s drinkin’ and playin’ cards back at the Medallion Saloon. That’s his usual hangout.”

Smith pivoted to gaze down the street. “That the one?” he asked, pointing.

“‘Yep. But there’s no ladies allowed inside,” the liveryman said, eyes coming to rest on Betty. “Just whores, ma’am.”

“Thanks,” Betty replied as she took Smith’s arm and they started down the street.

“You’re not going in there,” Smith told her. “We’re getting a room at the hotel and you’ll wait there until this killing business is finally finished.”

“But …”

“Don’t argue with me,” Smith told her in a firm, but quiet voice. “If you were with me when I braced Dave Marble, I’d be thinking about you maybe taking a stray bullet instead of how I needed to drop Dave in his tracks. You could be my fatal distraction.”

“All right then,” she said as they approached the recommended hotel.

They had a room in less than ten minutes, and then Smith said a quick good-bye. “Betty, don’t you worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Dave is very cunning, very dangerous,” she warned, following him out into the hallway. “You don’t give him any chance at all or he will think of some way to kill you.”

“All right,” Smith called back over his shoulder as he hurried down the hall.

The Medallion Saloon was a pigpen with a filthy sawdust floor, cobwebs in the rafters, and a rough-looking crowd of heavy drinkers. Smith supposed he had seen the interior of worse-looking saloons, but they were beyond his immediate recollection.

He quickly spotted Dave Marble, although he might have missed identifying him if he hadn’t been told by the liveryman about how Dave had been beaten by his brother. Dave’s face was dark with angry bruises and his fist-busted lips were black smears of crusty scabs. One of Dave’s eyes was almost swollen shut and he looked as if he ought to be in a hospital instead of a saloon. The man was seated at the rearmost table with his back to the wall. He was surrounded by four other men, and although there was a deck of cards on the table, they weren’t playing.

Smith wondered if he should try to lure Dave away from his friends, then decided to hell with it. The urge for revenge was so strong in him that nothing would do except to walk right up to the outlaw and force a showdown.

“You’re Dave Marble,” he said, coming to a halt before the table.

“That’s right,” Marble said, looking up. “What of it?”

“You and your gang set fire to my house in Denver and killed my wife and son. Now I’m going to kill you.”

Marble had been slouched down in his chair, but now he straightened up in a hurry, raising his hands and saying, “Whoa, there, stranger! When did this awful thing happen?”

“A few months ago.”

“In Denver, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“I ain’t been in Denver for almost two years!”

“Stand up,” Smith rasped, hand shadowing the butt of his six-gun.

“Now wait a damn minute here!” Dave shouted. “You got the wrong damned man!”

“No I haven’t,” Smith assured him with a cold grin. “I already killed Skoal and Trabert, and now I’m going to kill you!”

Dave gulped and developed a twitch at the left corner of his mouth. “Now … now I don’t know who you are, mister, but you’ve got no quarrel with me. I tell you, I haven’t been to Denver in two years. You got the wrong man.”

“Stand up and make your play, or take a bullet sitting down,” Smith commanded, ignoring the protests. “Either way is the same to me.”

Dave threw up his hands. “If you kill me, it’ll be murder and you’ll hang! Ain’t that right, boys?”

His companions nervously nodded their heads.

“For the last time,” Smith ordered, “stand up and fight!”

Dave jumped up, heaving the table away from himself into Smith and diving for cover as he reached for his six-gun. The heavy table struck Smith in the groin, knocking him off balance. Before he could recover, a shot rang out and Smith felt a searing fire explode against his shoulder. He went reeling backward and then crashed over another table. His gun spilled from his hand and his head struck the dirty sawdust floor. Smith knew that he was about to become a dead man.

Dave Marble jumped forward, smoking gun clenched in his big hand. “You sonofabitch! Did you really get lucky enough to kill my friends?”

“Damn right!” Smith choked.

“You’re going to die real slow,” Dave said, raising his six-gun and taking aim at Smith’s knee. “I’ve got five bullets left in this gun and you’re going to feel every damn one of them.”

Smith tried to kick out and knock Dave over, but the man was smart enough to stay out of reach. He laughed scornfully at Smith’s feeble effort and again took careful aim.

The Winchester clenched in Betty’s fists boomed and caused Dave Marble to take an exaggerated goose step backward. His chin dropped to his shirt and he stared down at the hole in his chest as a bright crimson trickle of blood sprang from his mouth. Then, with his legs beginning to buckle, he looked up and stared at the woman standing in the doorway.

“Betty?” he croaked, trying hard to focus.

“That’s right.”

“But … why!”

“Because you deserve death!” she cried, levering another shell into the rifle and sending it scorching through his brain.

Betty rushed inside the saloon. Pointing her rifle at the most harmless-looking pair she could find, she yelled, “You and you, pick my friend up and bring him with me!”

A half hour later, a doctor left their hotel room, saying, “I’ll have to dig that slug out first thing tomorrow morning if you ain’t dead before then.”

“I won’t be,” Smith vowed.

“Just don’t move or you’ll start bleeding again!”

When they were alone, Betty said, “What are we going to do about Tom?”

“I’ll kill him too,” Smith promised.

“No, we’ll do it together,” she said. “That way, I know you will not be shot again.”

“I should have just shot Dave instead of giving him an explanation,” Smith said angrily. “That was my big mistake tonight.”

“We will have to do better with Tom, or he will kill us for sure,” Betty said, coming to lie down beside him.

“I guess you’re right,” Smith agreed, using his good arm to draw her close. “A whole hell of a lot better.”

“I’m glad you finally are making sense,” Betty whispered, kissing his pale cheek.

Chapter 17

It was late afternoon when Longarm galloped into the little Colorado ranching town of Cortez, and the saloons were already doing a brisk business. Longarm tied Splash in front of one called the Two Bits Bar and wearily strode inside. No one seemed to pay him the slightest bit of attention, and he ordered a whiskey and drank it down neat.

“Bartender?”

“You want another?”

“Yeah,” Longarm said, “but first I need some information.”

The bartender was in his thirties, a handsome man with his oily black hair parted down the middle and a dimple in each cheek. He leaned close across the bar and said with a smile, “Information might cost you more than my whiskey, stranger.”

“I’m looking for a man with burn marks on his neck who is traveling with a pretty woman that looks to be either Indian or Mexican. They would have hit this town driving a buggy. Black with red fringe on top.”

The bartender poured Longarm another shot. “Whiskey is two bits a throw, information one dollar.”

“Fair enough,” Longarm said, paying the man.

“The pair you describe,” the bartender said, after refilling Longarm’s glass, “is holed up at the Fairplay Hotel just down the street.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Fact is, that couple is famous in this town. Are you a friend of the Marble brothers?”

“No, but why do you ask?”

“Because the man braced Dave Marble but had the tables turned on him and was shot.”

“The Assassin was shot!”

The bartender frowned. “The Assassin? Is that what he is called?”

“By some, yes. Anyway,” Longarm said impatiently, “what happened then?”

“Well, that woman he was with came in and shot Dave Marble down with a rifle. Just drilled him twice as clean as you please.”

“She did?”

“I’m tellin’ you the truth.” The bartender straightened up and glanced down his bar. “Hey, boys, didn’t that pretty Indian gal kill Dave Marble last night?”

“Damn right!” a bearded man shouted. “Shot him deader than a doornail!”

The other patrons nodded in agreement, and one yelled, “Let’s have a toast for the Indian gal who did us all a big favor!”

Longarm raised his own glass and joined the toast. He was now a believer. Then he said, “And what happened to the couple after that?”

“The man was wounded in the shoulder,” the bartender said. “Our Doc Halsey dug the bullet out early this morning. The fella is in rough shape, but he’s expected to live.”

“And the woman?”

“She’s stickin’ to her man like a louse on a tall dog,” the bartender answered. “People around here are betting that Tom Marble is going to learn of this and come to kill ‘em both, but until then, they’re famous.

“We ought to help them two get away,” an old man with tobacco-stained whiskers interjected. “We ought to put ‘em in their buggy and send ‘em packin!”

“Sure,” another said sarcastically. “Then Tom will shoot up the town and probably kill a couple of us for our trouble. Uh-uh, I say it’s not our fight.”

“You chicken-shit sonofabitch!” the old man rasped. “You ain’t got the balls of a piss-ant!”

The insulted man made a lunge for the old codger, but Longarm stepped between the squabbling pair. “That’s enough of that,” he growled.

“Why you want to know about those two?” the bartender asked, pouring himself a shot of whiskey. “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I do mind,” Longarm said, unable to see any advantage to be gained by tipping his hand or revealing his true identity. “Anyway, point me to the Fairplay Hotel.”

“Can’t miss it,” the old man said. “Just six or seven doors down to your right.”

The Fairplay Hotel was clearly one of the town’s nicer establishments. It was clean and had decent furniture in its small but tasteful lobby. A desk clerk glanced up from a dime novel that he had been reading and managed a smile. “Afternoon,” he said. “Care for a room?”

“Maybe later,” Longarm replied. “Right now, I’ve come to visit some folks.”

“Are they expecting you?” the clerk asked.

“I’m looking for a man named Jim Smith. He’s with a woman named Betty.”

“Can’t say I know them.”

Longarm marched up to the desk and leaned on it for a moment saying, “If you don’t tell me what room they are in and give me a key to their door, I’ll have to break down every room in the house and rouse all your customers. It’ll be a lot worse that way.”

“Oh.”

“Give me the key,” Longarm ordered, reaching into his pocket and showing the man his badge. “And do it now.”

“Yes, sir!” the desk clerk snapped, jumping for a board where every room’s extra key was affixed to a separate hook. “Room Six! Just to your left.”

“Thanks.”

“You gonna shoot them?” the desk clerk asked. “I sure hope you don’t have to kill ‘em. They’re real nice and they did this town a big favor when they gunned down Dave Marble. Marshal, I …”

Longarm wasn’t listening. The hunt was about to end. He’d been tracking The Assassin for weeks now, always coming upon the aftermath of his destruction. That was not to say that each man Smith had killed didn’t deserve to die, not at all. In fact, The Assassin had saved the taxpayers a fair amount of time and expense. But he was a murderer himself and now he was about to be brought to justice.

Longarm placed his ear to the door of Room Number Six and listened. He couldn’t hear a thing, and didn’t see any light shining under the doorjamb, so he gathered that either the couple was sleeping, or they had made their escape unbeknownst to the clerk or anyone else in Cortez.

Longarm turned and tiptoed back to the desk. “When was the last time you saw them?”

“They sent out for some food and I brought it to their room a couple of hours ago. The man was pale, but he was sitting up in bed with his shoulder all bandaged. He smiled and even tipped me for my trouble. The woman said thank you.”

“Is there a window in that room?”

“Of course! All our rooms have windows.”

“Opening upon what?”

“Room Six has a window facing out in back with an excellent view of the mountains. Nice view of the mountains. In fact, they complimented me on the room and I said that I …”

Again, Longarm cut the conversation short by turning away and heading up the hall. But this time, when he came to Room Number Six, he slipped the key into the lock and gently turned it until he heard a faint click.

“Marshal?”

Longarm had been just about to open the door and rush inside when the clerk tapped him on the shoulder.

“Get out of here!” Longarm snapped in a hushed voice. “And don’t come back! There could be bullets flying!”

The desk clerk retreated back up the hallway, and Longarm returned his attention to the door. Squeezing the knob in one hand and lifting his gun from his holster, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping quickly inside.

It was dark, but he could see a man in bed with a bulky white bandage taped to his shoulder. The man smiled and said, “It’s too dim in here to see your face, but are you Tom Marble?”

“No, I’m Deputy Marshal Custis Long from Denver and you are under arrest for murder.”

“I see. Well, you do understand my motives, don’t you?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t excuse them and you’re still under arrest.”

“I’m wounded.”

“So I’ve heard,” Longarm said, keeping his gun up. “Where is Betty?”

“Right here,” she replied, stepping in from behind the door and shoving a gun into Longarm’s ribs. “Drop it, Marshal Long, or so help me God I will kill you!”

Longarm knew that she wasn’t bluffing. Betty had shot down Dave Marble, and she wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing to him.

“You’re making a big mistake, miss. Up until right now, you’ve done nothing that a little jail time wouldn’t fix. But this is obstruction of justice and-“

“You talk too much,” Betty hissed, prodding his ribs even harder. “Drop your gun or I’ll kill you!”

Longarm dropped his gun.

“Over against the wall with your hands up,” Betty ordered as she shut the door and bolted it behind her.

Smith lit the bedside lamp, and now Longarm got a very good look at The Assassin. Without the bandanna wrapped around his neck, you could clearly see the red, proud flesh, and Longarm was sure that there was a lot more of it covered by the blankets.

“Betty,” Smith said, dragging his own gun out from under the blankets, “frisk Marshal Long for any hidden weapons. Be very careful because I have heard that he caries a hideout derringer.”

Betty kept her gun in her hand as she frisked Longarm, discovering the derringer attached to his watch chain. She also found a knife in his boot top that he had taken to wearing during some of his manhunts after once desperately needing one to save his life.

“Anything else?” Smith asked.

“Not unless he’s got it stuffed up his butt,” Betty said, stepping away with her gun still trained on Longarm.

“Sit down on the floor, Marshal,” Smith ordered. “I’ve heard a great deal about you but we’ve never really met, have we?”

“No.”

“What are they saying about me back in Denver?”

“That you became a rogue killer. That you murdered Commissioner John Pinter by shoving him off the Federal Building’s rooftop.”

“Wrong!” Smith exploded. “Your mighty commissioner jumped off the roof because he was so damned deep in debt to the criminals there that they were about to blow the whistle on him. If they had, he’d have lost everything, including the respect and love of his dear wife.”

“Can you prove that?”

“All you have to do is return to Denver and dig up some of the dirt. You can start by asking a very unsavory fellow named Dude Conley. He’s the one that Pinter owed the most money to. But there were plenty of others, and they were all coming after your hallowed commissioner. He was finished and knew it. They would have destroyed his reputation, not to mention breaking his neck. So he took the easy way out and jumped off the roof.”

“Give me a few more names of the men he owed money to.”

“Don Prater. Sid Lowry. Big Mo Brown and Ronnie the Bull. You must have heard of them.”

“I’ve put some of them in jail.”

“Yeah, well, they’re all out now and they’re making an excellent living off people like your commissioner, Marshal.”

Smith beckoned the woman over to his bedside, and then took her hand in his own and squeezed it tight. “Back in Denver I was making your commissioner look very, very good. Crime was down and he was getting talked about as a likely candidate for a high political office.”

Longarm listened without comment for nearly an hour until he was confident that he was hearing the truth. That indeed Commissioner John Pinter, a handsome and congenial figure known in Denver society, had been a secret gambler and had lost his soul to the city’s criminal element. It was not so uncommon, and every one of the men that Smith had named were known to be high-stakes gamblers and extortionists.

“Even if what you are telling me is true,” Longarm said, “that doesn’t change the fact that you are guilty of murder. No one but the courts has the authority to judge and then execute the guilty.”

“They murdered my wife and child!” Smith screamed. “That gave me the authority!”

Longarm looked away. He suddenly found himself very sympathetic to this man, even though he knew Smith possessed a very dark and murderous side to his complex personality. But then again …

“I just want to kill Tom Marble,” Smith told him. “And then Jake Mill.”

“Jake Mill’s dead,” said Longarm. “I shot him at Red Skoal’s ranch.”

Smith looked surprised, then relieved. “Then that leaves Tom Marble. He’s the last and the worst.”

“And after you kill him?”

“Then I want to be left alone. I want to take Betty and become a … a shop owner or something equally as boring. I don’t ever want to hurt, much less kill, anyone again.”

“So what do we do now?”

Smith glanced at Betty, as if hoping for an answer. She looked away. “All right,” Smith said, “we’ll take you with us to find Tom Marble. But I’ll kill him, not you.”

“And then?” Longarm asked. “What are you going to do, kill me as well?”

“No!” Smith lowered his voice. “We’ll turn you loose somewhere out in the hills where you can’t get to a horse or any help for a few days. And during that time, maybe you’ll come to your senses and decide that I deserve absolution. That Betty and I deserve the chance to start over with a new life. I’m asking for nothing more than that. No medals or money for the scum I’ve rid the people of Colorado of. Just freedom and … justice.”

“I’m not a judge,” Longarm said quietly. “It’s not up to me to exonerate someone from the kinds of crimes that you have committed for revenge.”

“Sure,” Smith said, bitterness thick in his voice. “You’re just another lawman going by the book. Following the rules without exception. Right or wrong. Black or white. Guilty … or innocent. Is that it, Marshal Long? Have I pegged you correctly?”

“When,” Longarm asked, pointedly ignoring the question, “are we leaving to get Tom Marble?”

“Why not tomorrow morning? I’ll be much stronger by then.”

“Suits me,” Longarm replied.

“Turn around,” Smith ordered. “We’ll tie you up overnight. We’ll have supper brought in tonight, and tomorrow morning, after we have breakfast, we’ll ride out and settle this thing once and for all.”

“All right,” Longarm said, turning around and putting his hands behind his back. “You’re the man holding the winning hand this round.”

“That’s right,” Smith said. “And don’t you forget it. Up to now, I’ve never killed anyone that didn’t need killing. Don’t force me to make you the exception.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Longarm growled, feeling rope bite into his bare wrists.

Chapter 18

Surprisingly, they all slept well that night. Longarm was allowed to sleep in an overstuffed chair, but only after his ankles had been tied securely to its legs so that he could not possibly have attacked his slumbering captors without making enough noise to awaken them. And after a good breakfast in the room, Longarm’s ankles were untied and he was led up the street to collect poor Splash, who had not been fed or watered. Longarm complained about the mistreatment of his mount.

“It’ll take a while for the liveryman to get the buggy hitched,” Smith reasoned. “In the meantime, you can water and grain your paint horse, but Betty will have you under her gun at all times.”

“Thanks,” Longarm said drily.

The townspeople watched but did not interfere, which did not surprise Longarm. Maybe they knew he was a United States marshal, but they also knew that Smith and Betty had rid them of Dave Marble and were planning to kill his even more hated and dangerous brother, Tom.

As the three were leaving town with Longarm’s wrists tied in front of him, Longarm said, “A bartender told me that Tom Marble was staying just outside-“

“We already know where he’s staying,” Betty interrupted. “And we know that he is not alone.”

“Then maybe,” Longarm said, his patience wearing razor-blade thin, “you two vigilantes ought to at least consider letting me help you!”

“No, thanks,” Smith said, looking amazingly chipper for a man with a fresh bullet hole in his shoulder.

Two hours later, they came in sight of the little spread where Tom Marble was supposedly staying. They drew up about a half mile from the ranch house and studied it for a long time.

“What are we going to do now?” Longarm finally asked. “Or were you just planning to drive in there and allow us to be shot down from ambush?”

For the first time, Smith appeared undecided. Longarm also noticed that the man was not looking so chipper anymore. In fact, he was very pale and in considerable pain. Longarm had a hunch that his bullet wound had reopened because of the jarring buggy ride and that the man was now losing more blood.

“I suppose we could wait and go in after dark,” Smith gritted out, “but I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“Because you’re fading fast,” Longarm said. “Isn’t that the truth? You’re afraid that, if you wait, you’ll be in no shape to kill Tom. In fact, you’re afraid you might even bleed to death.”

“Let’s just go on in,” Smith wheezed, ignoring Longarm and turning to Betty. “Tom will recognize you but I doubt he’ll recognize me. What about you, Marshal? Will he recognize you?”

“Not likely.”

“Then let’s just drive on in as bold as brass,” Smith said, forcing the issue.

“Sure wish you’d untie my wrists and let me have my gun,” Longarm told them. “If you are killed, I’m also as good as dead.”

“Then you’d better hope we nail Tom before he nails us.”

Longarm studied the distant house and the corrals. There were two saddled horses tied to a tree shading the house. “Whoever is there has already seen us,” he said. “If we ride up to the cabin like this, they’ll realize that my hands are tied and they’ll shoot us down in cold blood.”

“Maybe not,” Smith said weakly.

“Dammit, man!” Longarm protested. “They’ll kill Betty too! Tom Marble will soon learn that she killed his brother. And how do you think he’ll react to that?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Of course you do!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Betty warned, trying to take control of the reins and drive on. “I’ll be all right.”

But Smith knew better. “Wait a minute,” he said quietly. “Betty, I’m afraid that the marshal is right this time. Tom would kill you.”

“But not if we kill him first!”

“We can’t take that chance,” Smith reasoned, “I’M not in very good shape. I could get killed and then you’d be entirely at the mercy of that bloody-handed sonofabitch.”

“But …”

“Untie our friend,” Smith gently ordered. “But don’t give him back his gun.”

“Dammit!” Longarm protested. “What can I do to help without a gun!”

“I don’t know. But given your reputation, you’ll probably think of something.”

Longarm wasn’t happy, but at least now he’d have some chance of defending himself and the woman. He made another attempt to talk them into allowing him to have his gun back, but got nowhere.

“All right,” he told them, “since you’re not thinking too clearly, I suggest we wait until after dark. That way, they won’t have a clear, long-range rifle shot at us.”

Smith used his handkerchief to mop cold sweat from his brow. He was starting to shake with the chills. “I … I don’t know,” he muttered. “Betty, what do you think?”

“I think he’s right,” she replied, staring at the ranch house. “There are men watching us. I can feel their eyes. They may even have looking glasses and have recognized me.”

“Okay,” Smith said, leaning his head back on the seat cushion and breathing heavily. “Let’s wait until dark then.”

“Mind if I dismount, hobble my horse, and let him graze while we wait?” Longarm asked. But Smith had already dozed off into a fitful sleep.

“Sure,” Betty finally said, examining her man’s bandaged shoulder.

“Has the wound reopened?” Longarm asked.

“Yes.”

“He might very well bleed to death,” Longarm said. “He needs to get back to that doctor you found in Cortez.”

Betty shook her head. “If we do not kill Tom here, then he will come to Cortez and kill us!”

“Not if you give me a gun and let me arrest him first.” Longarm dismounted. “It’s the right thing to do, Betty.”

“No! You would put Jim in prison!”

“I think he’d get a fair trial and … if what he said about the commissioner is true and he really didn’t kill him … well, he’d soon go free. Especially if I made the case that, when the chips were down, he acted responsibly and allowed me to finally do my duty.”

“What about the other members of the gang that he has already killed?”

“Self-defense,” Longarm told her. “You killed one of them too, remember? I’ll write up the report saying that you had no choice but to kill Dave Marble. Trabert. Red Skoal. They’re all cut from the same rotten bolt of cloth.”

“How do I know you are not saying this just to trick me?”

“You’re going to have to have a little faith,” Longarm told the worried woman. “It’s your call and you need to make the right one.”

She pulled Smith’s coat back and again gazed at the blood-soaked bandages. Longarm saw her bite her lower lip, and she was stiff with anxiety.

“I’m a man of my word,” Longarm said quietly. “And I can arrest Tom Marble as well as anyone else waiting in that ranch house. Trust me.”

“All right!” Betty jumped down from the buggy with a six-gun and rifle. She strode up to Longarm saying, “Here! Go and kill them all!”

“Not unless I have to,” Longarm said, examining both weapons. “Betty, you did the right thing. And if I should go down, you turn this buggy around and head for parts unknown. Don’t go back to Cortez because Tom will follow you there.”

“I’m afraid that Jim is bleeding to death!” she cried. “And there is nothing I can do to stop it!”

Longarm went to examine the man. The wound was hemorrhaging and the inside lining of Smith’s coat was soaked with fresh blood.

Longarm pulled off his own coat, then his shirt, which he tore into strips. “Maybe I can cinch this thing down tight enough to stop the bleeding until we get back to the doctor.”

“We are grateful and … and I think that you are a good man.”

“Thanks,” he said, knowing it might already be too late to save The Assassin’s life. “Let’s just hope that I won’t become a dead one.”

Longarm waited until sunset before he mounted Splash and started off to circle the ranch house. The pounding of his heart seemed much louder than the pounding of Splash’s swiftly moving hooves.

When he came to within a hundred yards of the cabin, Longarm dismounted and hobbled the paint, then went the rest of the way on foot. He reached the back of the cabin and stopped to listen, but could hear nothing. Even so, he knew that Tom and at least one other man was waiting.

Longarm waited about a quarter of an hour, and then he slipped around to the front of the cabin. He picked up a rock that lay beside the foundation and hurled it at a rusting five-gallon milk can that lay discarded in the yard. He missed the can, but the rock skipped across the ground and slapped one of the tied horses, causing it to jump back and snap its reins.

A muzzle flash exploded from the cabin’s doorway, and Longarm jumped out and fired almost point-blank. He heard a scream, and then another man jumped out shooting wildly. Longarm jumped behind a water trough and fired three rounds at the sprinting silhouette. He heard his slugs hit the man twice. The silhouette staggered badly and grunted in pain, and Longarm shouted, “Stop! I’m a United States deputy marshal and you are under arrest!”

In reply, the man twisted around and fired in Longarm’s direction, narrowly missing him. Longarm returned fire as the man crawled into his saddle and began to flee. Taking careful aim this time, Longarm drilled the fugitive in the back. He watched the big silhouette lift up in his stirrups, then throw his hands high into the air. After that, the fugitive tumbled off his running horse and crashed to the ranch yard, where he lay still.

Longarm lit a match and hurried to the doorway of the cabin. The first man he’d killed was an Indian, probably the Navajo horse thief working with Tom Marble. The second man was Marble himself and he was very dead.

A few minutes later, Betty whipped the buggy into the ranch yard and then slewed it around to a shuddering halt.

“Marshal!” she cried, a rifle pressed to her cheek and shoulder. “Is that you?”

“it is,” Longarm assured her.

“Thank heavens!” she cried, jumping down and giving him a big hug.

Longarm held her tight for a few moments, and then he went inside to find a lantern. While rummaging about in the cabin he heard Betty wail, and he hurried back outside with the lantern still unlit.

“What is it!”

“He’s dead!” she cried. “Jim is dead!”

It was true. The Assassin had bled to death, just as Longarm had feared. The best that could be hoped for was that the mysterious Jim Smith had at least enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing the last of the Marble Gang was also dead and justice had finally been served.

“Betty,” Longarm said, again drawing the grieving woman close, “I’m sorry, but maybe it all worked out for the best.”

“How can you say that!”

“Because,” Longarm softly answered, “I know he would have never been able to stop judging and killing those he thought deserved to die.”

Betty pulled away in the moonlight and glared up at him. “You know this because, except for the badge, he was like you!”

Longarm figured that she was a mite closer to the mark than he cared to admit, so he nodded, allowing Betty to rush back into his arms and have a good cleansing cry.