Longarm and the Train Robbers

"I think," Veronica observed after about an hour, "that the storm is passing on."

Longarm gazed out the window and then at Veronica. "There is no doubt that the sun is going to shine again."

"Mat's an odd way of putting it."

"I just meant that your eyes are as blue and lovely as a summer sky and your smile is warmer than any sunlight."

Veronica blushed. "My, you are a flatterer!"

"I'm an honest man."

"Not entirely."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that just before you came, the conductor passed through saying that an outlaw had been shot by a deputy in the mail car."

"I see. Then why, Miss Greenwald, did you pretend not to know?"

"I'm sorry. I wanted to hear you tell me what happened." Veronica smiled. "Really, Mr. Long, why did you tell me that the prisoner was poisoned?"

"Because he was! He died of a very sudden and severe case of lead poisoning."

It wasn't meant as a joke, and Veronica did not laugh or even smile. She just blinked, her eyes large and luminous behind her glasses as she regarded her companion for a moment and then turned to stare out the window.

At Rock Springs, Longarm sent Billy Vail another telegram:

EN ROUTE TO RENO STOP NED ROWE ESCAPED NEAR LARAMIE STOP OTHER PRISONERS ALL CONTRACTED FATAL DOSE OF LEAD POISONING STOP REPLY TO RENO AT ONCE STOP

"A fatal dose of lead poisoning?" the telegraph operator asked with raised eyebrows.

"Just send the message, okay?"

"Sure thing."

Once his telegram had been sent, Longarm hurried outside. He considered visiting the sheriff, who was his friend, but when he passed by the man's office, it was locked and empty.

Longarm was amazed at how Rock Springs was growing. The streets were filled with wagons and pedestrians. And while there were some ranches and farms in the neighborhood, as evidenced by a handful of cowboys, Rock Springs was unquestionably a railroad town. Its coal mines, owned by the Union Pacific, were among the largest west of the Mississippi River and of vital importance to keeping the railroad moving. Because of the prominence of coal mining, there were huge open-pit mines nearby and dozens of spur tracks leading off to those gaping pits.

Like Laramie and Cheyenne, Rock Springs could boast a colorful past. In 1861, a Pony Express rider, detouring to escape marauding Indians, had discovered the sweet-water springs flowing out of a massive rock formation. This had given Rock Springs its name. Later, the site became a stage station, and when the Union Pacific arrived, the town had already mushroomed into one of the largest in the territory, and boasted a growing population and evidence of continuing prosperity.

About ten years earlier, a significant Chinese population had been recruited to Rock Springs by its mine owners in order to defeat a miners' strike. Longarm recalled that a mob of whites had soon attacked and pillaged the thriving Chinatown and set it on fire. The leaders of the mob had put a twenty-dollar bounty on every Chinaman, and six hundred dollars had been claimed before the Governor of Wyoming had sent federal troops in to stop further loss of life among the terrified Chinese. Now, as Longarm hurried up K Street, he could see that Chinatown had been rebuilt larger than ever.

"I want a bath and a shave," Longarm told the Chinaman in the barbershop.

The man bowed and hurried away, his long, braided queue bobbing like a cork on a fishing line. In minutes, Longarm was soaking in a copper tub while the Chinaman washed, dried, and pressed his clothes, then poured Longarm a cup of delicious herb tea and waited to give him the finest shave of his life.

Two hours later and only a dollar shorter, Longarm returned to board the train. He caught his reflection in the train windows, and was satisfied that he was looking almost human again.

Veronica barely recognized Longarm when he took his seat. "What a difference two hours can make!" she exclaimed. "How could you get so much done in such a short time?"

"The Chinese are amazing people," Longarm explained. "They can do miracles and are extremely quick and efficient."

Veronica smiled. "I have to admit that I didn't realize how handsome a man you are, Custis."

"I hope that we have a chance to become better acquainted in Reno."

"I doubt that will be possible."

"Oh?"

"You told me that there was another train wreck at Donner Pass. I'm sure that every bit of your time and energy will be directed toward that terrible crime."

"Well, it will," he said quickly. "But these things don't usually take forever to clear up. I was thinking about afterward."

"Afterward what?"

Longarm took Veronica's hand. "Afterward we might go for a long buggy ride and then have dinner."

"That would be lovely... if it's all that you have in mind."

He decided to act mildly offended. "Why, Miss Greenwald! Whatever are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that when you fell asleep this afternoon you had what appeared to be a very... stimulating dream."

"I did?"

"Yes. Very! You were calling a woman by name."

"I was?" Longarm could feel his cheeks warming.

"A Miss Martha Noble... at first."

Longarm gulped. "You mean there were others?"

"Oh, yes! Surely the name of a woman named Milly is enough to quicken your desire, eh, Mr. Long?"

Longarm sighed. There was really nothing he could say, so he excused himself and went for a short walk and to smoke a cheroot. Maybe by the time they arrived in Reno, Miss Greenwald would be inclined to forget about his amorous past.

CHAPTER 14

When the train finally pulled into Reno, a federal marshal was standing in the depot waiting for Longarm. His tone and manner were decidedly unfriendly. "Custis Long?" he asked around a wad of chewing tobacco.

"That's my name." Longarm said, noting the man's badge and the worn six-gun strapped low on his hip. Longarm stuck out his hand.

The marshal ignored the offered handshake. He was a big, heavy-set man with muttonchop whiskers and a potbelly. He had deep-set eyes and a fist-busted nose. Longarm pegged him for a one-time rounder.

Spitting a long stream of tobacco juice onto the depot floor, the marshal barked, "Follow me."

Longarm bristled, taking an instant dislike to this man. People who knew Longarm quickly learned that a smile and a request would work wonders, but that a command would have quite the opposite reaction. "I'll be along soon enough."

"You'll come now!"

Longarm smiled, but there was no warmth in his expression when he drawled, "The hell you say."

The marshal had been about to turn and lead them out of the throng of milling train passengers, their friends, and their families when Longarm's words pulled him up short.

"Listen to me," the marshal said, swinging around and jabbing a finger at Longarm. "You may be someone out in Colorado. I don't know and I don't care. But this is Nevada and you're going to be working for me and taking my orders. And the first order is get your skinny ass moving and follow me!"

Longarm glanced over at Veronica Greenwald, who was standing nearby and gave him a nervous smile. Longarm had promised to wait and make sure that there was someone to greet Veronica from the new school where she was supposed to work. Unfortunately, it didn't look like anyone had bothered to welcome her to the West and serve as her escort.

"What's your name, Marshal?" Longarm said, turning his attention back to the big man.

"Denton. Bill Denton. Now-"

Longarm cut the man off short. "Well, Denton, you see this young schoolmarm waiting for someone to greet her?"

Denton scowled at Veronica. "Yeah. What about her?"

"I'm going to help her find the school where she is starting a new teaching job."

Denton exploded. "Don't you understand English? I said you're coming with me right now!"

Longarm gave up on the big fool. He turned on his heel toward Veronica, but Denton grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

Longarm drove a powerful uppercut to Denton's protruding gut. The marshal was caught flat-footed with surprise. His mouth, twisted in anger, formed a big circle, and his eyes bugged as he sucked for air and tried to recover.

Longarm hit him again. And again. Denton weighed in at least fifty pounds heavier than Longarm, who was not about to give the marshal a chance to recover. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Longarm drove Denton into a retreat across the depot floor. Each time the marshal tried to plant his feet and retaliate, Longarm's fist hammered his jaw or turned his big gut to jelly. Denton's nose cracked and flowed heavily. His lips were soon mashed to pulp, and one of his eyebrows was ripped by a slashing right uppercut. He was grunting with each blow, and when Longarm drew back and smashed him one final time, Denton flew off the baggage loading dock and landed on his back between two carriages waiting for hire.

"You all right, Marshal?" Longarm asked, flexing his fingers and then massaging his bruised knuckles as he gazed down at the man.

Denton wasn't all right. Longarm's blows had left his face a misshapen mass of welts and bruises. Furthermore, though his fall from the loading dock hadn't been a long one, only about four feet, the impact of his landing had emptied the last bit of oxygen from Denton's lungs. Bloodied, dazed, and unable to get his breath, Marshal Denton was a tragic sight as he lay between two spooked carriage horses who snorted and rolled their eyes in fear and suspicion.

"Tell you what," Longarm said. "I'll be along after I get Miss Greenwald settled. Okay?"

When Denton groaned, Longarm took that as a yes. "Okay," he said with a smile.

Longarm turned and walked back to the schoolteacher from Grover City, Iowa. "Doesn't look like anyone is going to be coming to meet YOU."

"No," Veronica said, trying to hide her disappointment. She pulled a letter from her purse and unfolded it. "This letter confirming my job was written by the principal of the Washoe School, a Mr. Arnold. He said to telegraph him when I'd arrive and he'd be sure that he was on hand to greet me."

"Well," Longarm said, sensing how badly the young woman felt, "maybe Mr. Arnold had a sudden emergency and couldn't get here on time. What's the address of the Washoe School?"

"It's on South Virginia Street."

"Heck," Longarm said with a smile, as he picked up his Winchester and baggage. "That'll be easy to find! Virginia is Reno's main street. Come along with me and I'll show you the town as we walk on down to meet your new employer."

Veronica brightened. "You are such a comfort! But did you really have to beat the living bee-jeezus out of that big, fat lawman?"

Longarm shrugged. "Well," he said, "I had a feeling that he was about to hit me so I needed to wallop him first. A rough fella like that will just knock you silly if he gets in the first good punch. So I wasn't taking any chances because he looked like a brawler. Truth of the matter is, I've had enough good whippings to last three lifetimes."

"You don't strike me as being the kind of man that anyone could whip, Custis."

"Well, that's not exactly true," he confessed as he led Veronica through the crowd and off toward Virginia Street. "One thing I learned at least ten years ago is that there are plenty of bigger and stronger men. When I was young, I didn't give a damn how big my opponent was, I'd wade in and stand toe to toe."

Longarm shook his head, remembering some of the awful poundings he'd taken when he was young and foolish enough to think that it was worth taking a beating in order to administer an even worse one.

"But you know, Veronica, after a few years and some broken bones and loose teeth, I learned my lesson. Now, I hit first and I hit hard. And if that doesn't work, I'm not averse to pistol-whipping some raging fool who needs a lesson in manners."

"I don't know how you are going to get back in good graces with that man."

"Maybe I won't," Longarm said, "but he won't likely be trying to boss me around anymore."

On the way down Virginia Street, Longarm explained how Reno had once been called Lake's Crossing, and had been a favorite resting place for the emigrant wagon trains that were about to struggle over the Sierras into the promise of a verdant California. The tragic Donner Party had made the mistake of resting their livestock too long, and then had suffered the consequences of their delay. Later, the builder of the Central Pacific Railroad, Charles Crocker, had renamed the town in honor of General Jesse Reno, a Union officer killed in 1862 by Indians. Since the discovery of the enormous bonanza on the Comstock, tons of gold and silver had been shipped down to Reno and sent both east and west on the railroad.

"This here is the Truckee River," Longarm said as they crossed the river that flowed through the town. "It spills out of Lake Tahoe, which is as pretty an alpine lake as there is in this country."

"I'd love to visit it someday-"

"I'll take you the first chance we get," Longarm promised. "I swear that the water is as clear as your skin and as blue as your eyes. You can see rocks fifty feet under the surface."

"It sounds magnificent."

"It is." Longarm stopped for a moment on the bridge. He dropped his bags, leaned his big Winchester up against the bridge railing, then gently but firmly turned Veronica around and drew her close.

Her eyebrows lifted. "What are you doing?"

"i'm going to kiss you good-bye," Longarm said thumbing back his Stetson and grinning impishly. "You see, once we are at that school and we meet your new boss, I won't be able to do that without embarrassing you."

"You've got that figured right."

"So," Longarm said, "I'm kissing you now. Right here on the bridge in the middle of this town with all these folks watching. Veronica, I want this to be a kiss that you will never forget as long as you live."

"I already know that I won't forget it," she said, dropping her own bag and valise, then melting into his arms.

Longarm had kissed a lot of girls, but Veronica Greenwald was second to none. Her lips were soft and yielding, and her lilac-scented perfume made him giddy. He felt a great stir of passion in his loins, and it took all of his strength not to do something that might have embarrassed them both.

When they finally broke their kiss, Veronica was breathing as hard as if she'd run five miles up a mountainside, and Longarm was a little out of breath himself.

"My, my!" he said. "We should do that again!"

"Oh, no you don't!" Veronica cried, pulling away and grabbing up her bags. "If we do that again, I won't be able to think when I meet Mr. Arnold, much less talk about teaching."

Longarm laughed outright. "All right," he said, grabbing up his rifle and bags as they resumed walking down Virginia Street, "let's get back to business."

They chatted some more, but Longarm could sense that Veronica was greatly distracted. He would have liked to flatter himself by thinking it was his kiss, but more likely it was the sights and sounds of bustling Reno, and also the fact that Mr. Arnold had not thought enough of her to get to the train station.

"What's the address?"

"It's one hundred and five."

"Ought to be in the next block," Longarm announced. "After we get you introduced, we'll see about getting you settled into a respectable hotel or ladies' boardinghouse, and then I'd better hunt up Marshal Denton. If we don't shoot each other on sight, I guess we'll probably reach some kind of an understanding."

"We're both going to be very busy in the coming days," Veronica warned him. "I'm going to be the best teacher in this whole town. Every bit of my energy will be used to get started on the right foot."

"I'm sure you'll be a huge success."

"I mean to be," Veronica said with obvious determination. "It will take some getting used to living out in the West, but I'm going to do everything I can to adjust. I've already fallen in love with those magnificent Sierra Nevada Mountains."

"They are beautiful," Longarm said, glancing up at the line of snowcapped peaks just a few miles to the west.

"And so, we may not have a chance to see each other very much for a while. I know all your energy will be directed toward catching that train gang."

"It sure will," Longarm agreed, "but when things settle down I'll come back to the school and look you up. We can go visit Lake Tahoe on a Sunday."

"It's a date," she said, "and..."

Longarm frowned, and his eyes followed Veronica's to the boarded-up Washoe School. It was a dilapidated wood-frame building with peeling paint and a brokendown picket fence. There was a note tacked to the door, and Longarm immediately sensed that the school was closed.

"I'd better read the note," Veronica said quietly as she stepped away from Longarm.

He felt awful, and wished there was something that he could do or say. But there wasn't, and so he just waited and watched the bags while Veronica went up and read the note.

She read it for a long time and when she finally returned, there were tears running down her cheeks. "it went broke," she told Longarm when she came to his side. "The note said that the bank repossessed Washoe School and all its property in default of unpaid mortgage payments."

"Damn," Longarm muttered.

Veronica gulped. "I don't even have enough money for a train ticket back to Iowa!"

"Calm down," Longarm said. "I can advance you the fare."

"But I don't want to go back to Iowa!"

"Then I can help you find a decent place to room until you can find another job."

"But what if I can't find one?"

"You will," Longarm assured her, though he had no idea what he was talking about. But Veronica looked so devastated that he added, "Why, a good schoolteacher is as prized in Nevada as squirrel eggs!"

"Squirrels don't lay eggs," she sniffled.

He used the cuff of his sleeve to dry her cheeks. "I know. That's why they're prized."

Veronica tried to laugh, but failed miserably. "Come on," Longarm said. "I know a lady who will take you into her home. She's a fine person and you'll be welcome until we can figure out exactly what you want to do."

"I'm worried about you losing your job. You should be doing something better than squiring me around."

"Mrs. Appleton lives just a few blocks away. She's a widow with a great and generous heart. You'll love her and she'll enjoy your company."

"You are such a sweet, dear man," Veronica said, kissing his cheek. "I don't know how I can ever repay your kindness."

"Oh, I imagine that I'll think of something," he said with a happy smile.

Betsy Appleton had been a madam for many years, but Longarm did not think he ought to mention that. She'd been very successful, saved some money, and invested a good deal more. She lived in a huge Victorian home on Fourth Street, not far from the Truckee River. It was a beautiful home, but Betsy had a soft spot for abandoned cats, dogs, and girls in just that order. The last time Longarm had visited Betsy, the old gal had had twenty-three cats and seven dogs, none of them housebroken.

"What's that smell?" Veronica asked as they mounted Betsy Appleton's huge veranda.

"Aw, she keeps a few cats and dogs inside."

This fact was vociferously confirmed a moment after Longarm knocked. All the dogs and cats set up a deafening chorus.

"I'm not sure about this," Veronica said with growing apprehension.

"You don't even notice the noise or smell after a few hours," Longarm assured her. "And Betsy sure could use some help feeding and cleaning up after them."

"Custis!"

Veronica would have turned and bolted away, except that Longarm grabbed and held her until Betsy opened her door.

"Custis!"

"Betsy, darlin'," he said, stepping up to give the sweet old gal a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

"And who is this lovely child?"

"Miss Veronica Greenwald, and she needs a little help right now, Betsy. Do you think she could stay until she finds a teaching job?"

Betsy was now in her sixties, but her skin was creamy smooth and her eyes were bright and trusting. "Why, of course! I'm sure that she'll love the children."

As they walked into the parlor, Betsy's "children" swarmed all around them. Big dogs. Little dogs. Pretty dogs. But mainly mangy dogs. Barking and yapping, with the cats in the background meowing. It was a real menagerie, and the odor of cat and dog droppings was almost overpowering.

"Of course she'll love your children, Betsy!" Longarm exclaimed, feeling light-headed in the closed room. "Why, Veronica was just telling me as we walked over here how much she loved animals."

"What a kind soul!" Betsy looked at Veronica. "What a dear heart you are. We shall become very good friends."

"I'm sure," Veronica said as a big, black dog began to lick her ankles, causing her to jump about like a car pet flea.

"Well, I have to run," Longarm hollered over the noise. "But I'll be back before you know it."

"Custis!"

Longarm could not bear to see Veronica's desperate expression, so he whirled and ran. He told himself that at least Veronica would be safe with Betsy Appleton, and might even be able to establish some control over the animals and housebreak them.

In any event, Veronica would have plenty of Betsy's "children" to teach.

CHAPTER 15

Longarm found Marshal Bill Denton's office, and checked to make sure that his gun was resting easy in its holster before he entered.

Denton wasn't in sight, but there was a young deputy on duty, and when he saw Longarm stroll through the door he paled.

"Hello there, young fella!" Longarm flashed his badge. "Deputy Marshal Custis Long from the Denver office. And what would your name be?"

The deputy, who had been reclining in an office chair, jumped to his feet, hand moving toward his six-gun.

"Whoa!" Longarm called, his own gun flashing up to draw a bead on the man. "Now what the hell is the matter with you? Haven't we got enough trouble with train robbers without trying to shoot each other?"

The deputy gulped. He was a tall, gangly fella with peach fuzz on his pimpled cheeks and a protruding Adam's apple that was bobbing up and down with fear.

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, then, sit back down and let's get acquainted," Longarm said, returning his six-gun to its holster and resting his Winchester against a wall. "Where is Marshal Denton?"

"He's in the hospital, Mr. Long! You beat the shit out of him and when he fell off that loading dock, he screwed up his back."

"Damn," Longarm said, "I am genuinely sorry about that. I hope he isn't froze up or anything."

"No, he's not froze but he's in some pain. Doctor says you also broke his nose and cracked his jaw. He's going to be out of commission for a couple of months."

"Damn," Longarm repeated. "I didn't realize that he'd taken that fight so hard."

"What fight? From what I hear, he never got in a punch. And believe me, no one has ever whipped Marshal Denton in a fair fight."

"There isn't such a thing as a 'fair fight,' " Longarm said. "I'll bet you that Marshal Denton has pistol-whipped plenty of men or dropped them with a single punch."

"Yeah, sure! But he's the marshal!"

"He was in serious need of a lesson in manners," Longarm said. "You see, we're all in this together. And unless a man who wears the badge proves himself incompetent or corrupt, there's an unspoken rule that we treat each other with courtesy and respect. Your marshal broke that rule, and when he laid his hand on me, I had little choice but to teach him a hard, hard lesson."

"Well, he's going to kill you when he can get up and walk."

Longarm clucked his tongue. "I don't know how men like Denton ever last in government service. And as for 'killing me,' well, I'll just face that if and when it happens."

"It'll happen."

"Maybe." Longarm sat down heavily. "I always thought that a man should not worry too much about the future. Most of our fears never materialize. Those that do aren't ever as bad as we expect them to be."

Longarm smiled disarmingly. "Now, what is your name?"

"Deputy Ronald Dudley."

"Glad to meet you, Ron. We have our work cut out for us on this railroad case. Have you been up to Donner Pass to see the damage?"

"No. The marshal told me that he was going to go up there with you, but ... well, he won't be even getting out of the hospital for a while."

"the man should have been up there hours after the wreck, looking for clues or leads."

"Reno is a pretty wild town, Mr. Long."

"Custis. You call me Custis."

"Yes, sir. Well, Custis, there are just the two of us and this is a tough town."

"No tougher than Rock Springs or Cheyenne and they only have one lawman." Longarm frowned. "Ron, we need to get up to Donner Pass first thing. When does the next train leave?"

"In about fifteen minutes. It's the same one that you rode in on. It's still got to get over the hump before it ends its run in Sacramento."

Longarm was hungry and tired, but he knew that he could not afford to delay this trip for even a day. "Grab your coat and let's go, Ron.

"I can't leave here now! There's no one else to keep a lid on this town! Why, what if someone robbed the bank? Or there was a murder?"

"If it happens, it happens and we'll just have to take care of it when we return."

"Dammit! I just can't go!"

Longarm could see that the young man was determined to remain at his desk no matter what. "All right," he said, "I'll go on up myself and see if there is anything left worth noting. Have you had any snow or rain since the derailment?"

"One storm came through and dropped a few inches of snow."

"Well, then, I'm probably wasting my time even going up there, but I'd better do it anyway. I'll leave my bags here since I haven't had time to check into a room."

"They'll be safe."

"I wonder," Longarm said, making it clear that he was not the least bit impressed with the deputy.

As he started out the door on his way back to the train, Ron called out, "There's a railroad official handling the investigation from their side of things. He is definitely the man you want to talk to!"

Longarm stopped in the doorway and turned. "What's his name and where can I find him?"

"His name is Bruce Pettibone. I never even met the man, but I'm told he can be found at Donner Pass or else at the railroad's western headquarters in Sacramento."

"Thanks," Longarm said.

"Will you report what you found?" Ron smiled weakly. "Marshal Denton is going to want to know what you're up to."

"Why? So he can back-shoot me when he's able to crawl out of his hospital bed?"

"He's a better man than that," Ron said defensively. "You two just got off on the wrong foot."

"No," Longarm corrected, "I offered him my hand in friendship and cooperation and he looked at me like some kind of bug. He didn't ask me to come with him, he ordered me. Men like your boss never seem to learn that you get along better in life when you treat people as equals. Wouldn't you agree, Deputy Dudley?"

Ron blushed and dipped his pointy chin.

"I'll report back," Longarm said. "And if there is a bank robbery or murder, you've only to ask and I'll assist you in any way that I can."

"Thank you very much," Dudley said with an embarrassed grin. "I ain't been on this job more than a few weeks. I don't even know if I'm cut out for it, but I just got married and I needed work. My wife is scared to death that I'm going to get beat up or shot."

"It goes with the territory," Longarm said. "My advice to you is to treat people with respect and not follow Denton's bad example. He might be big and strong enough to bully people, but you aren't."

"I know that, sir."

Longarm paused. "I can't advise you on what to do, but I will say this. The old adage says that it is not the size of the dog but the size of the dog's fight that counts. I've known some deputies that didn't weigh much more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, and they commanded all the authority and respect they needed or ever wanted. And I've known big, tough men like Denton who bullied men and then got waylaid or ambushed and sent to Boot Hill."

Longarm heard the sound of the train whistle announcing its imminent departure. "Ron, you go ahead and talk softly, but learn how to use both a gun and a rifle better than any man in this town. If you do that, and people see that you're serious about your job, they'll treat you right and there won't be a problem that you cannot handle."

"Yes, sir!"

Longarm barely made it to the train. It was slowly rolling west toward the steep Sierra foothills when Longarm swung on board the caboose. Gasping and wheezing in the cold, thin air, he staggered into the mail car and collapsed on a bench with the heavy Winchester still clenched in his hand.

A railroad signalman with ruddy cheeks and an Irish smile said, "Welcome back aboard, Marshal Long! Thought you'd left us for good. Glad to see you again."

"Thanks. You wouldn't happen to have a little whiskey hidden about somewhere, would you?"

"Are there shamrocks in Ireland?"

Longarm laughed. "I do believe there are."

"Then," the man said with a twinkle in his eyes, "there is Irish whiskey to be found in this car!"

There was actually quite a bit of Irish whiskey stuffed into hidden places on board. And as the train struggled mightily up a steep grade built along the rushing Truckee River, Longarm and signalman Liam O'Neil enjoyed it to the fullest.

"How far are you goin'?" Liam asked as he passed the bottle to Longarm.

"To the wreck at Donner Pass."

"Oh," Liam said, with a solemn shake of his head. "Now that was an awful thing! A terrible thing!"

"I was on the train that was blown off the tracks at Laramie Summit," Longarm said. "So I know how bad it is."

"Oh, I hope you catch 'em! It would be a fine day for this railroad and we'd celebrate."

"I'll catch them," Longarm vowed, looking out the window at the rugged mountains that they were trying to crest.

He thought of the gang member he'd shot at the Laramie blacksmith shop, of Blake Huntington's dead and glass-cut body lying in an alley behind the Outpost Hotel, of the fella he'd killed in the shootout at the ranch house, and finally of Fergus in the mail car.

"Liam, I take no satisfaction in saying this, but I've already killed four men that were part of that train-robbing bunch. I'll never know exactly what role each played, but they were all somehow connected."

"And were they also a part of the gang that did the evil work at Donner Pass?"

"I think so." Longarm took a pull on the bottle of Irish whiskey. "Do you live in Reno?"

"I do!"

"Then do you know the name of an important state senator that made a fortune on the Comstock Lode, but then lost it again on mining stocks?"

"That sounds like Senator George Howard. He's up for reelection and it's almost sure that we'll vote the bastard out of office."

"He's incompetent?"

"He's a crook!" Liam's voice turned hard. "He's got his hands into every dirty game in western Nevada. More is the wonder that he hasn't been hanged by the vigilantes before now."

"Where does he live?"

"in Reno. Somewhere over in the fancy part of town." Liam raised his eyebrows. "And why would you be askin'?"

"I've got my reasons."

"Is he in cahoots with this gang?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to, Marshal. I can see the hunter's lust gleaming in your eyes. You're like an Irish setter hunting pheasants in the field. You've the nose for blood and the heart for the hunt."

Longarm shrugged and took another drink. "What do you know about this fella named Bruce Pettibone?"

"Oh," Liam said, eyebrows lifting, "there's a good man!"

Longarm was surprised. It was his experience that most railroad detectives and administrators were long on corporate politics and short on good sense. "For a fact?"

"Sure! Mr. Pettibone is a fine man and a brave one too! He's tracked down and shot outlaws who tried to rob the Union Pacific. He has!"

"Well," Longarm said, "in that case, I'm looking forward to meeting Mr. Bruce Pettibone."

CHAPTER 16

The trip up to Donner Lake was slow but picturesque. The lower, sage-covered hills gave way to Douglas fir and ponderosa pine and the air became even colder. From the sheltered comfort of a coach, Longarm watched freighters using oxen, mules, and horses as they struggled up the winding and muddy road toward Lake Tahoe.

The train passed through immense wooden snowsheds that jutted out from the mountainside to shunt off avalanches and keep the tracks open after the worst of the winter storms. A good thousand feet below Donner Summit snow blanketed the ground, and Longarm knew that it was going to be almost impossible to find any evidence around the wreck of the train. He knew that most of whatever new information he would learn would have to come from Bruce Pettibone.

The train passed above Donner Lake, frozen and glazed with fresh snow. When they arrived at the depot, Longarm was the only passenger to disembark. The train did take on two freezing passengers, and then waited to load some cargo before pulling out of the depot for Sacramento.

"Good luck to you!" Liam shouted. "You catch and hang them bloody train-wreckin' bastards!"

"I'll do my best," Longarm called, watching as Liam went to help another train employee load some heavy wooden crates into the mail car.

The train depot at Donner Pass wasn't much. In the summertime, there was a heavy influx of people seeking the cool relief of the mountains. There were a few log cabins nearby, but most of those were down near the lake. Longarm entered the depot and headed for the ticket cage.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I'm looking for Mr. Bruce Pettibone. Is he around?"

"Yep. But you'd better hurry outside because he's about to board that train for Sacramento."

"He can't do that!"

The ticket man shrugged. "There are very few men that can tell Mr. Pettibone what to do. But it's a free country and you're welcome to try. You can see him through that window. Short, handsome fella in the red woolen mackinaw."

Pettibone was a round bundle of energy and motion. Barely five and a half feet tall, he was uncommonly wide-shouldered. Longarm's first impression was of a beer barrel with arms and legs. He was baby-faced, but obviously not young because his hair was shot with silver.

"Mr. Pettibone!" Longarm called, hurrying after the man.

Pettibone turned. "Yes?"

Longarm fumbled for his badge. "I'm a federal deputy marshal from Denver and I believe that the Laramie Summit derailment was committed by the same people that also derailed the train at Donner Pass."

"What makes you think so?"

"It's a long story."

"I'm sorry, Deputy, but I've got to return to Sacramento."

The man started to walk past, but Longarm blocked his path. "I need your help. The people who wrecked your train are the same ones that sent the train I was riding in over the edge of a mountain just east of Laramie Summit."

"My investigation tells me that is entirely possible. However, I'm working alone on this case."

"Do you have any suspects?"

"No, not really, but-"

"I've killed four of the men that belong to the same gang that you are hunting." Longarm looked Pettibone square in the eyes. "And I have names."

Pettibone blinked. "You have names?"

"That's right."

Pettibone glanced at the men as they finished loading the crates. The train blasted its steam whistle, and he and Longarm could hear the couplings strain as the big drivers that had pulled the train up the mountain began to roll forward.

"Give them to me!"

But Longarm shook his head. "I'll be damned if I'm going to help you or your railroad if you won't cooperate in this investigation."

Pettibone's face darkened with anger. The train began to move slowly. "If you have suspects, I can work from Sacramento while you operate out of Reno. We can use the telegraph and probably be more effective than if we worked together."

"We work together here or not at all," Longarm said bluntly. "And unless your career depends on you getting on board that train, I suggest you miss it and take me out to the wreck. I want to see it and hear everything that you know."

"Is that right?" Pettibone exclaimed with exasperation. "Well, when in tarnation would I get to hear the names of your supposed suspects?"

"Right afterward."

Pettibone was a man torn between exasperation, curiosity, and desire. Very likely he considered that Longarm could not deliver the promised goods or that the names he had were worthless. Very likely he also had someone waiting at the Sacramento depot for him who would be very disappointed if he did not show up.

"Give me just one of your suspects' names!"

Longarm balanced his Winchester across his chest. "All right," he agreed, "let's start at the top of the dung heap. The mastermind who planned and probably financed the derailment of both trains is no less than State Senator George Howard."

Pettibone gaped with astonishment. He seemed to have trouble finding words. Finally he stammered, "It's taken me thousands of hours of investigation to reach that same conclusion! How did you-"

"Your Sacramento train is leaving," Longarm said. "the question I have is, are you going or are you staying with me until we break this case?"

Pettibone took a deep breath. "I'm staying," he decided. "Let's go back inside where we can talk in my office."

On the way in, Pettibone called to the ticket man to locate the depot's telegraph operator. "Tell him to wire the Sacramento depot where my wife and two sons will be expecting me in about three hours. Tell him to say that I have been delayed and will come home as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir!"

"This way," Pettibone growled as he strolled across the depot lobby and used a key to unlock an unmarked door.

Pettibone's office was in a clutter, which was a credit to the man as far as Longarm was concerned. Show Longarm a neat lawman or detective and he'd show you a man that did not have enough to do.

"Sit down," Pettibone ordered.

"No," Longarm said, dropping his bags and leaning his Winchester up against a scarred file case. "I want to inspect the site of the derailment and then hear what you know before I tell you anymore."

"I'm in charge here!"

Longarm shook his head. "You know, that's exactly the same attitude that got Marshal Denton all banged up and admitted to the hospital."

"Denton is in the hospital?"

"Yep." Longarm massaged his bruised and skinned knuckles, and the meaning was very clear.

Pettibone's scowl melted and he even grinned. "Well, I'll be damned! I thought that I was the one that was finally going to have to take that big bastard down a peg or two."

Longarm said nothing.

"Listen," Pettibone continued, "any man that can whip Denton is a man that I can respect. Do you have any proof about Senator Howard?"

"Not yet."

Pettibone frowned. "All right," he said. "Have you ever worn snowshoes?"

"Once."

"Good! We'll strap on a couple pairs and go for a walk in the woods. It's just up the tracks about a mile, but you won't be able to reach the wrecked cars. They tumbled far down in a frozen gorge."

"That's what also happened at Laramie Summit," Longarm said. "These boys that are derailing the trains aren't delicate or fair-minded, are they?"

"No," Pettibone said, "they damn sure aren't."

It took the better part of an hour to reach the site of the train wreck, and there really wasn't a lot to see once they arrived, but then Longarm did not need to see much.

"The method of derailment is the same," Longarm announced. "They dynamited the track just as the locomotive passed over it."

"Not dynamite," Pettibone corrected. "They used nitroglycerine."

"at?"

"It's banned because of its instability and power. The Central Pacific had to resort to its use when they were building the Sierra summit tunnels. Nitroglycerine has so much power that it once leveled an entire city block over in San Francisco. The stuff is extremely unstable but very, very powerful. It would take several cases of dynamite to lift a locomotive off the tracks, but just a jar of liquid nitroglycerine."

"All right," Longarm said, "I'll go along with that. But so what?"

"I've been checking on every chemist in California and Nevada. One of them has to be mixing and handling that stuff. I'm expecting a telegram any day that will link Senator Howard to a criminal who also happens to be a skilled chemist."

"Why don't we just keep an eye on the senator?"

"Because he is too smart to ever get personally involved in this. He'll use intermediaries. The only way we nail him is to catch someone who deals with him and is willing to testify against the senator in court."

"So where do you suggest we start?"

"We start with your list of names. Are you ready to give them to me now?"

Longarm supposed he was. One by one, he reeled off the names that Fergus had given him, and as he did so, Pettibone's grin widened.

"You like what you've heard?"

"Damn right I do! Big Tom Canyon, Two-Fingered Earl, Shorty Hamilton, and most all the others are living in a cabin not twenty miles from here. They're at the north shore of Lake Tahoe."

it was Longarm's turn to grin. "You don't say!"

"I do say. But we'll never get them arrested without evidence."

Longarm patted his six-gun. "Evidence is usually found at the source. I'm going to that cabin and find it."

"Whoa!" Pettibone cried. "You can't just..."

"Just what?"

"Go busting in there!"

"Watch me," Longarm said. Pettibone was better on snowshoes than Longarm and managed to get in front of him. "You don't even know which cabin they're at."

"I'll find it. You said it's the north shore of Lake Tahoe. Now kindly step out of my path."

Pettibone shook his head. "Tell me, Deputy Long, have you always been so headstrong and impetuous?"

"I'm not one for planning and jawin' a whole hell of a lot, if that's what you mean."

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Are you coming or not?"

"I'm coming," Pettibone said, "though I'm half afraid that you're bound to make my wife a widow."

"You can stay if you want," Longarm told the man. "I'll not hold it against you."

"That's mighty kind, but I wouldn't miss this roundup for anything."

"How can we get there the quickest?"

"By not taking off these snowshoes."

Longarm nodded. "I've got a rifle back at your depot and if you have a shotgun or something, that might help."

"I do have one."

"Are you any good in a gunfight?"

Pettibone expelled a deep, frosty breath. "I honestly do not know. I'm pretty good with my fists."

"You'll do," Longarm decided, working on intuition and professional judgment. "Now let's find that cabin!"

CHAPTER 17

Longarm had never spent such a miserable afternoon as he did that day trying to keep up with Bruce Pettibone on snowshoes. The railroad detective was inexhaustible, and seemed intent on driving Longarm until he dropped. Fortunately, the air was crisp and the trail already broken and mostly leading downhill. They skirted Bald and Lookout Mountains to the southwest and crossed any number of frozen creeks as they hurried through the heavy pine forests.

When the sun began to slide behind the mountains and Longarm still could not see Lake Tahoe, he shouted, "Hold up there, dammit!"

"What's wrong?" Pettibone asked, his breath coming in short, frosty bursts.

"What's wrong is that you're about to kill me!"

"But this is all downhill!"

"Uphill or downhill, I'm bushed!" Longarm adjusted his Winchester, which he had rigged on a sling and thrown over his shoulder. "I don't figure I want to go much farther today. Pettibone, what do you say we make a camp and get an early start in the morning?"

"You mean sleep in this damned snow?" Pettibone looked appalled.

"We can make a dry camp if we start preparing it before dark. Maybe cut some pine boughs and-"

"Listen," Pettibone said. "Storms up here come fast and frequent in the winter. Now, even if I had enough blankets--which I don't--I wouldn't even consider spending the night out here."

"Then what can we consider, being as how I'm about to collapse from fatigue?"

Pettibone looked up at the dying sun. "I say we have just another three miles to the lake. Their cabin is at Agate Bay and we could be there soon after dark."

"Yeah, but what is the damned hurry?"

Pettibone looked disgusted. "It's just that, since you decided we should do this, I'd like to get it done."

"There's no sense in charging into all those men half-cocked," Longarm said. "In any case, I'm too damned cold and tired to be any good in a fight."

Pettibone swore under his breath. "All right," he finally said. "A friend of mine has a summer cabin just up ahead. We can stay there for the night and leave early in the morning."

"Fine."

Longarm followed the railroad man on down the hill, and they struggled on for about another half hour before they came to the cabin. It wasn't much, and Pettibone had to break a window to get inside. But there was some food and blankets and even chopped firewood.

Much later, fed and warmed by the fire, Longarm smoked a cheroot and said, "I rode with a nice fella up from Reno in the train's mail car."

"That'd be Liam. Did he offer you a drink of that Irish whiskey?"

"He did," Longarm said.

"Then that's why you ran out of steam. Strong spirits rob a man of his vitality, you know."

"Are you a Mormon?"

"No, but I am a teetotaler. I swore off the stuff when I saw what it did to my father. It turned him into a raving maniac. He finally shot himself when I was about sixteen."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It was the best thing he could have done for the family. It also taught me never to forget how fast liquor can ruin a good man."

"Do you smoke?" Longarm patted his coat pocket. "I've got a couple more cigars."

"Nope."

Longarm shook his head. "Pettibone, if you don't drink and you don't smoke, then you might as well be a Mormon."

"Listen to you," Pettibone said with amusement. "Why, you were gasping like a locomotive out there on the trail! It's that tobacco that robs your wind and ruins your lungs."

"A man has got to have a few pleasures in life."

Pettibone studied Longarm in the firelight. "I'll bet you have pleasures aplenty with the ladies, isn't that so?"

"I like 'em fine," Longarm replied. "But someday I might settle down and have a family. Like you."

"I don't think so."

Longarm curbed his annoyance. He didn't understand how this man could make such an important assessment, given that they were almost strangers.

"I was a sheriff once," Pettibone said after several minutes of strained silence.

"For a fact?"

"Yes. It was on the Comstock Lode. I was, for a few short and exciting months, the sheriff at Gold Hill."

"Sure, I've been through there dozens of times. Why'd you quit?"

"I killed an innocent man," Pettibone said quietly. "His only crime was that he was drunk."

"Did he go for his gun?"

"A knife. I thought he was passed out and when I reached down to drag him into a chair, he probably thought I was about to steal what little money he had left in his pockets. So he yanked out his knife and stabbed me in the side."

"Then he wasn't innocent if he used a knife against you, Pettibone."

"Oh, yes he was! You see, he didn't know what he was doing. And instead of kicking his boots to wake him up first so that sort of thing didn't happen, I just grabbed him. To make matters worse, when he stabbed me, I instinctively slammed the heel of my hand up into his nose."

Pettibone shook his head, his expression bleak. "It was pure reaction. There were dozens of witnesses and they all said that I was just trying to push him away, not drive nasal bones into the drunken man's brain."

Longarm smoked in silence. He could see how troubled Pettibone was over this unfortunate death, and felt sure that everyone had already said all the consoling words but none of them had counted. In Bruce Pettibone's mind, he was guilty of murder. Not a vicious or premeditated murder, but a murder caused by ignorance.

Pettibone looked up suddenly. "You've killed a lot of men, haven't you?"

It wasn't a question and Longarm didn't reply.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Sometimes." Longarm blew a smoke ring at the fire. He could hear the wind through the pines outside and he was very grateful that they weren't camped in the freezing snow.

"Will it bother you tomorrow if we have to kill those train robbers?"

"Not a whit," Longarm growled. "You saw the results of what they did to the train at this end. Well, it was about as bad at Laramie Summit. They killed women and old men. They didn't even know who they killed, and they didn't care that some of them lived for a while in the freezing cold and died in pain."

Longarm looked hard at Bruce Pettibone. "Listen to me," he said, his voice taking on an edge. "If you haven't the stomach for the fight, then you should return to the depot in the morning. I don't need a good family man who hesitates and gets himself killed for nothing."

"Maybe we can get the drop on the whole bunch and take them without firing a single shot."

"Not very damned likely," Longarm said. "The odds are that we will have a gunfight. The odds are that unless we drop two or three in the first volley, we won't live to see spring. So you need to decide if you are ready to fight or not."

After a long few minutes, Pettibone said, "I'll fight if they don't surrender."

"You just have that shotgun cocked and ready. In your mind, figure to unload both barrels. Otherwise, you're a dead man. Mark my words, Pettibone. The outlaws we are going to brace are tough, and they sure won't be willing to surrender so they can march to a gallows."

Pettibone nodded. "I guess that's probably the best way to look at it."

"It's the only way to look at it," Longarm told him.

Longarm fed the fire until it was hot, and then lay back on his blankets and drifted off to sleep wondering if he or Pettibone would survive the next day.

"Wake up," Pettibone said, jostling Longarm.

Longarm sat up out of a dead sleep and looked around. For a moment he forgot where he was, but then he spotted Pettibone. He could see that the railroad detective had rustled up and cooked some breakfast. Biscuits, salt pork, and mercy, even coffee.

"I ought to bring you along on these manhunts more often," Longarm said when he was served a heaping breakfast plate.

"Well, you complained so bad last evening about being weak and exhausted that I figured I'd better try and get your strength back if we're to have any chance of surviving the day."

Longarm glanced up from his plate. "You know, you can still back out. Just give me the loan of your shotgun and go on back to Donner Pass."

"Oh, no!" Pettibone said. "Besides, you've already got a six-gun on your hip and a Model '73 Winchester. I imagine that you're also packing some kind of hideout gun. So I just don't see that you need any more weapons. What you need is more hands, and mine will have to do."

"They'll do fine," Longarm said with a smile.

When they finished breakfast and packed their gear, they laced on the snowshoes and headed on down the trail. In less than an hour they saw the lake, shimmering like an emerald in the early morning sun.

"It's beautiful," Pettibone said. "I swear it's the prettiest sight that I've ever laid eyes upon--except for my wife."

"Of course." Longarm shielded his eyes against the rising sun. "Where is Agate Bay and the cabin?"

"Straight ahead." Pettibone replied.

Longarm followed the man on down into the volcanic basin that cupped Lake Tahoe. It was still very early and, if they were in luck, it was even possible that they could yet catch the gang asleep. Such men lived hard, and would stay up half the night drinking, playing cards, and whoring, and sleep late the next day.

Longarm hoped that was the case now. Otherwise, things were going to become very exciting indeed in the next hour.

CHAPTER 18

It was too fine a morning to die. Much too fine, Longarm decided as he advanced silently toward the cabin. He and Pettibone had already circled the hideout and discovered the outlaws' horses corralled back in the trees. Now it was just a matter of getting the drop on this bunch before they had time to wake up and mount any form of resistance.

Pettibone was advancing on the cabin from the opposite side, and it was decided that Longarm would be the first one through the door, going low, while the railroad detective would come in standing up with his double-barreled shotgun ready to roar.

Longarm's heart was pounding as he stepped up to the cabin and placed his hand on the doorknob. He listened for any sign that the gang was awake, but heard nothing but snoring.

"Are you ready?" he whispered to Pettibone.

Pettibone gripped the shotgun in his fists and nodded.

Longarm turned the knob in his left hand, and when it was open a crack, he hefted his Winchester in his left hand while his right hand clenched his six-gun. Very slowly, he eased the door open, took a quick step inside, and dropped to one knee.

"Everyone freeze!" he bellowed. "You're under arrest!"

It was dim in the cabin. Too dim to see anything but shadows and silhouettes. But not too dim to detect movement. The outlaws all went for their guns. The entire room exploded with panic and gunfire. Longarm felt a bullet graze his neck and he flattened, gun belching bullets and fire. Behind him he heard Pettibone grunt, and knew the man was hit even as the shotgun boomed twice. Pettibone tumbled back outside, and the hammer of Longarm's gun struck an empty. He dropped the weapon, dragged his Winchester up, and began to pound heavy lead into the darkness.

In moments, the interior of the cabin was filled with gunsmoke and the wails of wounded and dying men. When the return fire died, Longarm scrambled back out the door and hurried to Pettibone's side. The railroad detective had been hit by a bullet across his temple which had also ripped away the top half of his right ear. Pettibone was bleeding, but more dazed than anything.

"Don't let all that blood buffalo you," Longarm said. "You're going to live to earn a railroad citation for bravery. Reload that shotgun because we might not be finished."

Even as Longarm was speaking, Eli Wheat crashed through the cabin's lone front window. He rolled in the snow, then jumped up and sprinted toward the trees.

"Stop!" Longarm shouted, dragging his Winchester to his shoulder. "Damn you, Eli, freeze!"

But Eli didn't freeze. He spun around and fired back at Longarm, narrowly missing, probably because snow or even blood was fouling his vision. Cursing, Eli whirled and vanished into the forest running hard. Longarm had no chance to drop the killer before he disappeared.

"Listen to me, Pettibone!" Longarm yelled. "If there's anyone left alive in this cabin with a mind to escape, you've got to drop them with that shotgun. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah," Pettibone said, lowering a bloody hand from where the top of his ear had been.

When the railroad man began to reload, Longarm knew that Pettibone was going to be able to guard the cabin door and take care of himself.

"I'll be right back," he vowed before he whirled and raced after Eli.

Eli was fast and he was desperate. Wherever he crossed patches of snow, Eli left a crimson stain. Longarm knew that the man would never be taken alive. His tracks angled to the lake's shoreline. In some places, the shore was soft with mud and Eli had sunk deep but kept running. Just ahead there was a small peninsula where the pines crowded the edge of the water. When Longarm was within fifty yards of that place, Eli jumped out of the trees and opened fire.

Longarm felt a bullet whine past his face. He dove into the moss and muck alongside the lake and tried to bring his rifle to bear on Eli, but the man was gone again.

"Damn!" Longarm shouted, jumping up covered with mud and half-frozen muck. He slogged onward knowing that he made a great target.

It was not until Longarm had crossed the peninsula and broken back into the open that he saw the fugitive had commandeered a rowboat and was madly rowing across the big lake. Tahoe, unlike the much smaller and shallower Donner Lake, had not frozen, although it was rimmed by shore ice. Longarm searched in vain for another boat, and when he saw that Eli would escape, dropped to one knee and took aim at the rowboat's hull.

"Eli!" he shouted. "Turn around and row back!"

Longarm's voice carried strongly across the freezing, choppy water. "You hear me!" he yelled. "This is Deputy Custis Long and you're not getting away from me again! Now stop and row back!"

"Go to hell!" Eli screamed, oars flashing in the morning sun.

Longarm could have shot Eli, but he wanted him alive. The man was still less than three hundred yards out, but he was pulling away fast. Longarm had no choice. He fired, and saw the hull of the wooden rowboat splinter at the water line.

"Aim lower!" he muttered to himself.

His next bullet struck the waterline, ricocheted like a flat rock, and then exploded through the wooden hull. Longarm heard Eli scream as much in fury as in fear. Eli yanked off his jacket and desperately tried to plug the hole.

Longarm began to methodically riddle the rowboat. Each bullet ripped through the hull right at the waterline. He was careful not to hit Eli because he was sure that the killer would leap into the water and swim back resigned to face that Denver hangman.

But Eli fooled him. The man just kept rowing even as his boat took on more water and began to sink.

"You can't make it!" Longarm yelled. "Jump and swim back!"

"Go to hell!" Eli screamed. "I can't swim!"

Longarm lowered his rifle and came to his feet. He stood rooted to the muddy shore as Eli spun the oars and the rowboat slowly sank. Longarm felt sure that the outlaw would leap into the water and attempt to cling to the wooden hull, and maybe that was Eli's intention. But the rowboat was old and water-logged, so the thing just sank.

"Help! Help me, Deputy Long!" Eli screamed, hanging onto an oar and trying to make it support his weight. The oar, however, was too light.

The corners of Longarm's mouth twisted down as he watched the drowning. Eli Wheat fought the freezing water for several minutes, and then he disappeared in a swirl of bubbles.

When Longarm returned to the cabin, he found Bruce Pettibone inside, attending to the wounded and the dying.

"How many are going to make it?"

"Big Tom Canyon is dead. Hawk Jenkins is too. Two-Fingered Earl is lung-shot and he just drowned in his own blood. Indian Red Lopez won't last through the next hour."

"Who does that leave?"

"Hamilton and Orr. Both are wounded but they're going to live."

"Good. We'll need confessions and evidence against Senator Howard."

"I've already gotten it. They're so spooked that I didn't even have to ask about the senator. They volunteered the information."

"How are you doing?"

"I thought I was a goner," Pettibone admitted. "I saw my entire life flash before my eyes."

"For a fact?"

"No," Pettibone said, "but it sounded good. I'll be fine. Maybe I'll look a little funny with just half a right ear, but I'm not complaining."

"And neither will your wife and children," Longarm said.

"What happened to the one that came out through the window and you chased after?"

"He drowned in the lake."

"Drowned?"

"That's right. If they manage to fish out his body, they won't find any bullet holes. At least none that proved fatal."

Pettibone looked around at the slaughterhouse filled with dead and dying men. He shook his head. "I won't ever forget what happened here."

"Me neither," Longarm said, stepping out of the cabin and dragging in some clean, cold air.

The next day there wasn't much else that people in northern Nevada talked or read about other than how Longarm and Bruce Pettibone had survived a terrible gun battle with the notorious train-robbing gang at Lake Tahoe, and how the only two surviving outlaws would turn state's evidence against Senator Howard in exchange for their lives.

Longarm had sent a telegram to Billy Vail telling his boss that the reign of terror against the Union Pacific and its innocent passengers was over. Billy's answering telegram had come back within the hour.

NICE WORK STOP NED ROWE CAUGHT IN CHEYENNE BY FEDERAL AGENTS STOP RETURN TO DENVER FOR CELEBRATION STOP GLAD TO HEAR THAT TAHOE FISHES WILL EAT WHEAT STOP

The last line of the telegraph gave Longarm a belly laugh. The first he'd enjoyed in a good long while. He briefly considered visiting Veronica Greenwald, but changed his mind. Betsy would take care of Veronica, who'd probably be married or teaching kids the next time that Longarm passed through Reno.

Besides, Longarm thought as he boarded the eastbound transcontinental, he wanted to stay a few days in Laramie with Milly, and then another couple days in Cheyenne to make sure that Wyoming's newest lady attorney was off to a successful start.

By then, Billy would be fit to be tied and have canceled the celebration. That would be a shame, but Longarm figured that a man could only spread himself around just so much.

The End