Longarm and the Yuma Prison Girls

"Well, I'm not willing," Longarm said. "Anybody else?"

"Mrs. Anastopolos is kinder, but she's Greek and doesn't speak very good English. Mrs. Chang is Chinese and-"

"She doesn't speak good English either."

"Yeah," the doctor countered, "but you're not going to be much for talking until that sore throat starts to feeling better."

"True," Longarm agreed, "but I thought that Dr. Ormly's medicine would take care of that."

"In a few days, if we're lucky."

Longarm pointed a finger at the man. "Dr. Hubbard, luck hasn't got much to do with this. I'm counting on you to pull me through. I've got to get back to Yuma."

"Excellent climate for what ails you," Hubbard said with a tired grin. "And I suppose that you've been in so many gunfights that the idea of dying of pneumonia must surely take some getting used to."

"I'm not going to die," Longarm said, realizing that Hubbard was teasing him in order to lift his low spirits. "But isn't there anyone more... personable who wouldn't mind bringing up my meals?"

"Well, there is that new girl who is working at the Sagebrush Cafe. She's short, only about five feet tall, but fills out her blouse about as well as a man could hope to see. Her name is Willa. Willa Handover."

"Does she act married or engaged?"

"She isn't," the doctor said, "but she's got every bachelor in Wickenburg eating out of her hand."

"Do you think that she'd be willing to bring my meals up here?"

"I doubt it," Hubbard said. "But I enjoy being served by Willa as much as the next red-blooded American male. I'll ask her tonight when I have supper there."

"You don't eat at home?"

"My wife of twenty-three years died last summer," the doctor said, his grin fading, "of pneumonia not much worse than yours. But she wasn't nearly as young or as strong."

"I'm sorry," Longarm said, meaning it. He had liked Dr. Hubbard from the first moment the man had entered his hotel room and jammed a thermometer into his mouth.

"Here," the doctor said, pulling a couple of bottles of the elixir out of his medical kit and opening one. To Longarm's surprise and amusement, he upended the bottle and took a sample for himself.

"Yep, Marshal, it's the right stuff."

"Was there any doubt?"

"There isn't now," Hubbard said with a wink as he snapped his bag shut and eased off the hotel bed. "Got to go now."

"Will I see you after supper?"

"Yep."

Longarm took a long slug of the bottle and smacked his lips. The medicine was good. "Better give me a couple of extra bottles," he said.

"Better give me some cash."

Pants pocket, Doc."

Hubbard pulled out the last of Longarm's cash and counted it solemnly. Looking up, he said, "Doesn't the government pay you fellas enough money to do your job?"

"This trip has been a lot more expensive than any of us back in Denver expected. Would it be too much to ask you to wire my boss, Marshal Billy Vail, for some extra cash and to let him know what I'm up to?"

"I'd be happy to do that."

"I don't suppose you have paper and pencil on you?"

"I do," the doctor said.

Longarm didn't feel much like writing Billy a telegraph message, but he knew that one was long overdue so he scribbled, "Billy, Send more money. Pneumonia in Wickenburg but will recover shortly. Mrs. Ortega cleared and safe in Yuma. Will arrive there next week. Send a hundred dollars."

The doctor read the telegraph message and raised his eyebrows. "You are definitely too optimistic about getting out of this bed next week. But I like the sound of the hundred dollars. It ought to cover my fees quite nicely."

"Like hell," Longarm said, breaking into another fit of coughing that nearly doubled him up in his bed.

Dr. Hubbard patted Longarm's shoulder and quickly left him to his private misery. Longarm upended the bottle of elixir, and sighed as the sweet but fiery medicine trickled down his ravaged throat. He sneezed and blew his nose and groaned.

"Sonofabitch," he croaked, "I don't need this kind of grief."

He must have fallen asleep, because it was dark outside his window when the doctor, whom he'd given a key to his hotel room, knocked and then opened the door.

"Marshal, have you died yet?"

Longarm jerked into wakefulness. He felt a little better, he guessed. "No such luck, Doc."

"Then I guess you'll want Willa to bring up some supper after all. Something soft to swallow for that sore throat."

"She's going to do it?"

"I told her I sent a telegraph to Denver asking for a hundred dollars expense money. I take it that she is going to consider herself a big expense. About like me."

"I'd be willing to pay her a whole lot more than you," Longarm said, forcing a smile.

Hubbard sat down beside him on the bed and turned up the wick to his bedside lamp. He produced a thermometer and Longarm dutifully opened his mouth. "I hope you washed the damn thing this time."

"Not since I shoved it up Abe Benford's ass," the doctor said without cracking a smile as he jammed the thermometer between Longarm's teeth.

Longarm started to chuckle, but that caused his throat to ache, so he just lay still and suffered in silence until Hubbard removed the thermometer and eyed it critically. "Temperature is still about a hundred and two," he said. "But that's not going to fry your brains."

"What brains I have left."

"I'm glad you said that and not me," the doctor told him as he pulled out his stethoscope and rechecked Longarm's lungs, saying, "I'm sure you realize that I'd rather do this with Miss Handover."

"Goes without saying, Doc."

"Cough."

Longarm coughed.

"Sounds awful."

"Thanks for the encouraging words."

Hubbard stood up and put away his instruments. He glanced over his shoulder at the door. "I told the cook over at the Sagebrush Cafe that I wanted you to eat a lot, but nothing that was going to aggravate your sore throat."

"Good. How long until Willa arrives?"

"Ten or fifteen minutes, but you sure don't look like any prize with your face all scratched up."

Longarm turned his lamp down low. "Better?"

"Turn it out and it would be even better yet."

"Once Willa gets here and I've had my supper, I'll try to get her to help me do that," Longarm said, knowing that he was bluffing and in no condition to do much more than lie still and breathe.

"In your pitiful condition, a woman like Willa would send you to an early grave."

Longarm suspected that the doctor was only half serious, and so he clamped his mouth shut and resolved to stop the banter.

"Nothing but food, lots of liquids, and rest," Hubbard warned as he headed for the door again.

"Be sure and lock it on your way out," Longarm croaked.

"What's the matter, having second thoughts about Willa?"

"Nope, but a man in my line of work makes a lot of enemies over the years," Longarm explained. "And I just don't feel up to killing any bad men today."

"Understandable," Hubbard said. "Willa can get her key at the front desk."

Longarm thought that was just fine. He drank a little more elixir, turned down the bedside lamp even lower, smoothed his hair, and wished he felt up to a shave and a bath. He was a dirty mess, with mud still caked in his hair and the creases of his skin. No doubt about it, Willa Handover wasn't going to be dazzled by his pitiful appearance.

She arrived in fifteen minutes, just like Dr. Hubbard had predicted, and the moment Willa sashayed into his room, Longarm felt a whole lot better.

"Marshal Long," she said, setting a big tray of steaming food down on his bed, "you look awful."

"I feel even worse."

Willa's soft, warm fingers touched his bruised and battered cheek. "I'm going to help you feel better, Marshal."

"For the money?"

She laughed. "Partly, but also because my father was a lawman and he was the finest person that ever walked the streets of Tucson, Arizona."

Willa leaned forward and kissed Longarm on the forehead. "You're burning up and it isn't with desire for me."

"It could be."

"Not a chance," she told him as she got a napkin out and spread it across his raspy chest. "Now, we'll start with the vegetable soup with bread, not crackers."

"Sounds good."

"And then we've got some beef stew, and we'll finish up with some vanilla pudding. How does that sound?"

"Everything you say sounds good."

She laughed. A nice, throaty, sexy laugh. Longarm felt like laughing too, only he knew better than to try. "Tell me all about you," he said as she dipped a spoon into the vegetable soup and brought it to his lips.

"I'm a girl who likes strong and wealthy men."

Longarm took a gulp of the soup. It was excellent. "I'm neither."

"You're at least strong," Willa said, looking into his eyes. "And as for the wealth, well, a girl can't have everything."

"I sure am glad you're not the Widow Wallace," Longarm whispered.

She gave him a quizzical look and then kept the soup coming.

CHAPTER 17

Longarm wrapped himself in Willa, his body thrusting mightily as the young woman moaned under his weight, breasts heaving as if she had climbed some great mountain. When Willa began to cry out with passion, Longarm covered her sweet lips with his own and then their bodies stiffened, fire coursing into fire.

"Oh," Willa gasped, "I can't get enough of you, Marshal."

"You're wearing me down to the bone," he said with a smile. "You seem to have forgotten that I'm a sick man."

"Yeah, sure," she said, hugging him tightly. "If you were completely healthy I think you might have put me in my grave, but I'd be there with a smile on my face."

Longarm chuckled. "I don't know how to thank you for taking care of me this past week. I wish I didn't have to board that stagecoach this morning, but I've no choice."

"I know," she said. "But you'll be back through, won't you?"

Longarm's answer was hesitant. "I might, but I can't be certain. My original orders were to return a bunch of prisoners to Denver."

"Why won't they let you have a few weeks of vacation with me?" Willa asked. "You need rest."

"You're not giving me much."

"I did the first day. You were in bad shape when I came to visit you the first time."

"I suppose that I was. Dr. Hubbard kept looking at me like I had one foot in the grave. He was pretty relieved when I got that hundred dollars of expense money from Denver."

"Dr. Hubbard barely makes a living. People pay him with milk, eggs, butter, chickens, and about everything except cash. He needed your government money, Custis."

"What about you?" Longarm gazed into her blue eyes.

"Willa, you haven't asked me for a cent."

"No," she said with a smile, "not yet."

"I'm giving you fifty dollars," he decided out loud. "I know you've lost wages and tips because you've spent so much time with me this past week."

"Thanks. It was a pleasure."

"I've got to go," Longarm said, pushing off of her warm, soft body and pausing to admire it one last time. "No man ever had a better nurse."

"Any time," she said, enjoying the admiration she saw reflected in his eyes. "Any old time."

Longarm dressed quickly and strapped on his gunbelt. His lips raised in a slight smile and he said, "My belt is one notch farther out, thanks to your cooking."

"You're still too skinny," she told him. "You could use another twenty pounds, easy."

"I guess."

"And I could put them on you in about two weeks, if things change and you find you can stop over for a while on your way back from Yuma."

"Not likely, but I'll keep it in mind. Besides, for every two pounds I gain, I work one of 'em off in bed with you, Willa."

She giggled, but when he came over to kiss her goodbye, her eyes were shining with tears and she hugged his neck tightly, not wanting to let him go.

"Time for us both to get back to work, Willa," he said, feeling his own throat lump. "Time for me to climb on that early morning stage to Yuma."

She took a deep breath and said, "And I guess I ought to go back to the Sagebrush Cafe and serve breakfast."

Longarm slipped fifty dollars into her dress pocket and blew Willa a kiss good-bye. He had already paid Dr. Hubbard, which did not leave him much cash. But he had sold both his horse and Lucy's strawberry roan for a pretty good price, so he knew that he would be just fine.

"Back to Yuma, huh, Marshal?" the driver said fifteen minutes later as Longarm pitched his saddlebags and bedroll inside.

"That's right."

"Well, we've only got two other passengers to keep you company today. The Reverend Bertram B. Cheshire and his wife, Agnes. They'll keep you awake."

Longarm glanced inside the stage. It was still empty, meaning the reverend and his wife had not yet arrived. "What does that mean?"

"Are you a church-goin' man?"

"I go to weddings and funerals."

"Well," the driver said with a wink, "you'll sure hear the word of God. I expect that old Bertram will want to put the fire of redemption in your soul."

Longarm expelled a deep breath. "Thanks for the warning," he said, climbing into the coach and wanting nothing better than to rest quietly as this stagecoach carried him back to Yuma.

"They're real nice people," the driver said. "Agnes can get a little tedious, but she's probably got a picnic basket packed with food, and they're both generous people."

"Glad to hear that."

"But don't be carrying whiskey and takin' snorts in their presence," the driver warned. "Both Bert and Agnes are just death on drink."

"I haven't any whiskey," Custis said. "But it sounds as if maybe I should buy a bottle. Perhaps that way they'd write me off and leave me in peace to rest."

"Doubt it," the driver said, "but if you did that, you'd miss out on the picnic basket."

"Life is full of hard choices," Longarm said, climbing inside and taking his seat.

Five minutes later, the reverend and his wife appeared. He was a little man, bald with round spectacles and a slight hitch in his gait. Longarm judged the reverend to be in his mid-sixties, and despite his slight limp and diminutive size, he looked lively and cheerful. Agnes was quite his opposite. She was a very large woman. Agnes dwarfed her husband and wore a shapeless print dress, pink crocheted sweater, and her shoes were so tight the tops of her feet sort of puffed out. She looked crabby and critical to Longarm, and her brows were knitted in disapproval. Longarm could see right away that Agnes would take up the entire bench, while he and the reverend would be forced to share the opposite seat. It was, he thought, a good thing that there were only the three of them traveling down to Yuma.

"My dear, let me help you up," the reverend said, giving Longarm a glance.

"You can't help me," Agnes complained. "I need a strong man."

She looked into the coach, sizing Longarm up and then snapping, "What about you, young man?"

"I'm not in good health," Longarm said, not at all wanting to try to boost Agnes up and through the stagecoach door. "Why don't you ask the stationmaster if he's got a box or a ladder that you can climb onto?"

"Humph!" Agnes snorted, clearly displeased with a suggestion that Longarm thought entirely sensible.

"I think that would be a good idea," the reverend said cautiously.

"Very well! Find a ladder, Bertram!"

"I'll get you something," the driver promised. "We've got a big stepping box that comes in handy once in a while."

Agnes colored a little because the driver's implication was that she was among a very few passengers who were either too fat or too infirm to get into the coach without extraordinary measures being taken in their behalf.

In a few moments, two of the stage line employees were dragging a heavy wooden structure that was built so sturdily out of two-by-sixes that it would have supported a milk cow.

"There you go, Agnes," the reverend said. "Ladies first!"

Longarm felt the entire coach lurch on its leather straps when Agnes stepped on board. The big, sour-faced woman almost lost her balance, and might have tumbled back out the door and crushed her husband if Longarm hadn't grabbed her chubby wrist and hauled her the rest of the way inside.

"Easy now," he said as she collapsed on her side of the coach.

"Don't 'easy now' me! You sound as if you're talking to a horse instead of a lady."

"Sorry, ma'am."

"He meant no offense," the reverend said as he spryly hopped up the loading ramp and popped onto the seat beside Longarm. "Agnes, this is the legendary Deputy Marshal Custis Long."

"Yes," she snapped, "the one that killed all those men on the road to Prescott and that has been sleeping with that tramp Willa Handover! You're going to burn in hell, Marshal!"

"Agnes!"

Longarm bristled and looked to the reverend. "I remember a few passages from the Holy Bible and one of 'em says, 'Judge not lest ye be judged.' It seems that your wife has forgotten that bit of the gospel."

Even in the dim interior of the coach, Longarm could see the way that Agnes swelled up in anger like a scalded toad while her husband seemed to shrink into the seat cushions.

"He's right, Agnes. We should not judge the sinner lest we be judged by the Lord for our own sins."

"Shut up and save it for the pulpit, Mr. Cheshire. I don't appreciate having to travel with this... this wretched sinner."

Longarm had heard about enough. It was all that he could do to bite his tongue and exit the coach.

"I'm riding up top with you," he said, climbing up to join the driver.

"You're going to miss out on some good food."

"It'll be worth it," Longarm said, "just to breath some clean air."

The driver nodded with understanding. "I didn't think you'd last very long down there with Agnes, but I figured we'd at least get out of Wickenburg before you come up from down below."

"Well," Longarm said, jamming a cheroot between his teeth, "you figured wrong. Now let's go!"

The driver snapped his whip and the stage rolled out of town. Longarm was still so riled that he chewed his cheroot right down to a nub before they'd gone a mile.

CHAPTER 18

When Longarm finally returned to Yuma, he went straight to see Judge Harvey Benton and found the man presiding over his court. Longarm cooled his heels in the hallway for almost an hour before the bailiff led a disreputable-looking man out wearing a pair of handcuffs.

"Yuma Prison for drunk and disorderly!" the prisoner wailed. "My God, what kind of justice is that!"

"It's the kind of justice that repeat offenders like you will get in his court," the bailiff said without a hint of sympathy. "What do you expect? This is the fifth time you've been hauled in here in the last two months."

"But... but I didn't get drunk for three days straight this time! And I didn't steal but five dollars and change."

"Well," the bailiff said as they marched down the hallway, "I guess you'll have plenty of time to sober up and change your ways. A year in prison might be the best thing that ever happened to you."

"It'll kill me is what it'll do!"

"No, it won't," the bailiff said. "People come out of there a whole hell of a lot healthier than when they come in. Lighter, sure, but also healthier."

"Oh, God!"

Longarm shook his head. He couldn't muster up much sympathy for the prisoner because a thief was a thief. Furthermore, Longarm had seen too damn many drunks go on rampages and kill innocent people. When honest men got drunk, they stayed honest, but a bad one always showed his true colors.

Longarm stepped into the judge's quarters. "Judge Benton?"

The judge looked up from his bench, and when he saw Longarm he smiled with relief. "I was beginning to wonder what happened to you, Marshal."

"Well," Longarm said, "I had some problems."

"I'm listening."

Longarm told the judge about how he'd arrested Hal Brodie for the murder of Lucy's husband. "Of course, he strenuously objected and even threatened me, saying that it was just his word against that of the Mexican girl."

"I'm sure he'll be convicted and sentenced," the judge said, "But where is the man?"

Longarm told Benton about the surprise attack on the muddy and slippery road leading down from Prescott to Wickenburg and how Brodie had plunged to his death.

"But I was lucky enough to kill Padilla and Lopez. Juan Ortega, Don Luis's brother, escaped, but I should be able to find him on my way back through Prescott."

"I'm afraid," the judge said, "that you're still going to have to take our female prisoners to Colorado."

Longarm almost burst a blood vessel. "Judge, haven't I got enough trouble without having to nursemaid a bunch of women back to Colorado!"

"Yes," Benton said sympathetically, "you most certainly have. But these prisoners have to be transported to Denver by a federal marshal."

"But Judge, I-"

"I'm going to reduce the number of prisoners from one dozen to ten, and I'll assign you two excellent Arizona prison guards to help you. I promise, the task will not be difficult or dangerous."

"Any time you have custody of women, things get complicated," Longarm said angrily. "And don't forget, I'll need to find and arrest Ortega."

"Yes," the judge said, "and I know you'll do that without great difficulty. But before you leave Yuma, you must take custody of the ten women prisoners and deliver them to Denver. I've been in touch with your Denver office. A Marshal William Vail. We've exchanged several telegrams and he has assured me that you are the ideal candidate for this job."

"Excuse my French," Longarm growled, "but that's just pure horseshit."

Benton's eyebrows knitted. "Marshal," he said sternly, "you've been ordered to perform an important job and you will do it. Perhaps not very cheerfully, but you will do it."

"Yes, sir."

The judge relaxed. "When would you like to depart with the prison wagon and your charges?"

"Early tomorrow."

"That can be arranged."

Longarm turned to go. He was steamed about this, but there seemed nothing to do but follow orders. Besides, once back in Denver, he'd have three glorious weeks of paid vacation coming and have a wonderful time.

"Marshal Long?"

Longarm stopped at the door and turned. "Yes?"

"I'm going to write a commendation for you and send it to the Governor of Colorado. What you've done for us down here in Arizona is truly remarkable."

"You don't need to do that."

"Of course I don't," Benton said, "but I'm going to anyway. You're a credit to your profession, and that brings me to the sad fact that Marshal Haggerty is probably a discredit to his profession."

Longarm didn't say anything. He didn't like the idea of criticizing a fellow law officer, even one that appeared to be corrupt.

The judge leaned forward, his face very intent as he studied Longarm. "Is the marshal in Prescott a discredit to your profession?"

"I don't know," Longarm said truthfully. "I guess, if I can take Juan Ortega alive, I'll make him answer that question."

"If Haggerty was in on this killing, or even if he was just aware of it and failed to carry out justice in the hope of monetary reward, then he needs to be removed from office at once."

"Yes, sir."

"Good luck, Marshal!"

"I'll need it."

"I don't think so," the judge said. "Men like you don't rely on luck. You're just too good."

Despite his anger, Longarm found himself warmed by the flattery. He bade the judge good-bye, and went to find Lucy and tell her that she was no longer a suspect in the murder of her husband.

Longarm found Lucy shopping in one of Yuma's better mercantile stores, and when she saw him she let out a squeal of delight and rushed into his arms.

"Custis! Whatever took you so long to return!"

"Come outside and I'll tell you all about it," he said, not wanting to speak about his adventures and neardemise in front of the other customers, who were straining to overhear without being too obvious with their curiosity.

Lucy quickly paid for a few items and they left to walk down the street. When no one could overhear them, Longarm quickly told Lucy about the death of Hal Brodie, Manuel Padilla, and Renaldo Lopez.

"Only Juan Ortega escaped, and I expect I'll find him in Prescott."

"Yes," Lucy agreed. "And I'm coming with you."

"That wouldn't be a good idea," Longarm said, telling her about the ten Yuma Prison female inmates. "I will have to stay with their prison wagon."

"Then I'll go ahead of you."

"No."

"Custis, my home is in Prescott! You can't order me not to return."

"Just... just stay here out of harm's way until I arrest or kill Ortega. You can return after that."

Lucy didn't look pleased, but Longarm knew that he was doing the right thing. "It will only be a few days at most," he added. "But to be on the safe side, give it a week."

"I'll give it five days," she decided. "And what about Maria Escobar? Can she return to Prescott?"

"Check with Judge Benton," Longarm said. "But I don't see any reason why she couldn't return with you. Especially since Juan Ortega is the only man who would have any reason for seeing her dead."

"All right," Lucy agreed. "Five days."

"You got any money?" Longarm asked. "I'm low on funds."

"Of course, and I'll buy you supper, after we have a little time together in my hotel room."

"Shameful woman," Longarm said, slipping his arm around Lucy's waist.

She pushed it away and said, "Later."

Longarm grinned because he knew that they would probably be in Lucy's bed within fifteen minutes.

The next morning, Longarm awoke to a knock on Lucy's door. He reached for his six-gun and said, "Who is it?"

"Deputy Jasper Hawkins, Marshal. We got the prison wagon and the wimmen down in the street and we're ready to roll. How come you ain't ready and waitin'?"

Longarm looked at his pocket watch lying on his bedside table. He was amazed to see that it was ten o'clock. "Be right down!" he called, rolling out of bed and splashing cold water in his face.

Lucy groaned but did not awaken. They had made love off and on most of the night, and she was probably as exhausted as he was. Longarm decided to let her sleep.

"So long, darlin'. I figure that the next time I see you when I pass through Prescott, you'll be the town's leading lady. Probably have a new husband to take care of your ranch. Maybe have a couple of kids and a good life. At least, I hope that's the way of it."

Longarm felt a little shaky from his recent illness and his long night of lovemaking as he quickly dressed and then packed his bags. But the shakes disappeared when he saw the ten hard-faced women prisoners staring at him through the prison wagon's bars.

Two of them, both big and buxom, whistled derisively when he emerged, and Longarm felt his cheeks warm despite the coolness of the morning.

"Marshal," an older deputy with a hefty paunch and tired brown eyes said, coming forward to extend his hand, "I'm Deputy Prison Supervisor Amos Putterman. I'm in charge of the prisoners, and I guess you've already met my assistant, Deputy Hawkins."

"Yeah," Longarm said.

Putterman made a big show of dragging out his cheap pocket watch, consulting it with a frown, and saying, "We expected to get an early start this morning."

"Well," Longarm said, "sometimes things don't always work according to our set schedules."

Putterman didn't like that remark, but Longarm did not care. He climbed up onto the roof of the prison wagon and spread out his bedroll so that he could nap through the morning. The women below began to hoot and shout and bang the ceiling of their wagon, but Longarm was unfazed.

"Let's roll," he said.

The two prison employees climbed up, and Hawkins took the lines while Putterman collected a ten-gauge shotgun, which he cradled across his chubby legs. Just before the wagon lurched forward, Putterman turned and said, "How come we got to pass through Prescott? That's miles out of our way."

"I know," Longarm said. "But I've got business there."

"Your business," Putterman said, "ought to be helping us deliver these noisy bitches to Colorado!"

Longarm took an immediate dislike to Putterman. "They may not be ladies," he said with steel in his voice, "but if I hear you refer to them as bitches or anything other than women, I'll knock your teeth down your throat so far you'll have bite marks on your ass."

Putterman's jaw dropped and he gripped the shotgun so hard his knuckles went white. But he seemed to know better than to say anything, because he turned around and sat in stiff silence.

Longarm stretched out on the top of the prison wagon and his bedroll and watched the clouds scud across the deep indigo sky. It was going to be a fine day, he reminded himself. A fine day followed by a fine week, and they would have a peach of a time on this trip back home to Denver.

"Liar," he muttered to himself.

CHAPTER 19

"How long are we going to have to wait here?" Putterman demanded.

Longarm levered a shell into his Winchester. He had ordered Putterman to drive the prison wagon into some trees about a half mile from the Ortega ranch house. Far enough that the women couldn't give anyone a warning if they set to howling.

"I expect that I'll be back in less than one hour," Longarm told the man.

"You gonna need some help?" young Hawkins asked hopefully. "If you do, I better come along."

"The hell you say!" Putterman snapped. "Hawkins, you take orders from me, and I'm not about to let you go off on some private feud leaving me alone with these... women."

The young prison guard looked crushed, but Longarm was secretly glad that he didn't have to tell Hawkins that he would rather try to take Juan Ortega captive alone.

"Just keep the women under control," Longarm said.

Longarm regretted those words the moment they were out of his mouth. They were overheard by the women, who began to shout and screech like banshees.

"Damn," Longarm said, hoping that they could not be heard from the ranch house.

"Now you've gone and done it," Putterman said with disgust. "Tell 'em they can't do a thing like that and they'll do it to spite you every time."

"So I see," Longarm said, hurrying away.

He could hear the prisoners for the next quarter mile, and then their voices grew faint, and finally they vanished altogether. Longarm circled the ranch house, keeping out of sight. Having been inside before, he felt confident that he could make his way into the house without arousing anyone. He just hoped that Ortega hadn't fled to Mexico. Mainly, Longarm was counting on the man's greed tying him to this ranch.

Longarm came in from behind the house and slipped over the courtyard wall. Moving swiftly past the fountain, he entered the large living room, gun clenched tightly in his fist. He was reminded once again of what a beautiful home this was and how it and Lucy could tempt almost any man to plot and then commit a heinous act of murder.

The first person he saw was another maid, but she did not see him and he waited for her to move on. When she did, Longarm crouched behind a large walnut cabinet and listened to the sound of voices coming from what were probably bedrooms up the hallway.

Juan Ortega's voice was easily recognizable, and Longarm moved swiftly down the hall until he came to Ortega's door. He waited until he heard the voices stop and an inner door open and close, then he opened Ortega's door. The brother of Don Luis was sitting alone at a huge desk, writing furiously when Longarm entered the room.

"You're under arrest, Ortega."

The man stiffened and his hand dropped out of sight. Longarm did not bother to ask what he was reaching for, but shot him in the shoulder. Ortega was seated in a plush leather chair, and the force of Longarm's bullet was so powerful that the front of the chair lifted and the man almost toppled.

Ortega's gun clattered to the tile floor and he cursed fervently as he tried to stop the blood from pouring out of his shoulder.

"Ortega, just put your hands up on the desk where I can see them!"

Ortega placed his left hand on the polished surface of the desk but shook his head. "Marshal, I cannot lift my arm! Your bullet..."

Longarm thought the man was probably telling the truth. The slug from his six-gun did appear to have shattered Ortega's shoulder. Longarm walked over, grabbed Ortega by the shirt, and hauled him to his feet.

"You're going to prison," Longarm announced. "You helped Brodie kill your own brother so that you could gain an interest in this land. Then, when you became convinced he would implicate you, you staged that attack on the road down to Wickenburg. You'll be in prison for the rest of your life, Ortega."

The Mexican's lip curled. "If I have to go, I will trade you some information for a lesser sentence."

"What information?"

Ortega's expression turned crafty. "Maybe about another lawman, eh, Marshal?"

Longarm snorted with derision. "No deals."

Ortega was caught by surprise, and his thin lips turned downward with bitterness. "Marshal Long, I'm not going to rot in the Yuma prison while Haggerty gets away free!"

"I suspected Haggerty was somehow a part of this. Are you willing to testify against him without any promises?"

Ortega vigorously nodded his head.

The maid that Longarm had seen earlier appeared with a pistol in her shaking hand. "Senorita," Longarm said, "I am a United States marshal. Put that gun away."

"Your badge, senor?"

Longarm quickly showed her his badge before she accidentally shot him. Satisfied, the maid dropped the six-gun.

"I need some bandages," Longarm said. "And hurry."

A few minutes later the maid returned with clean bandages, and Longarm managed to staunch the flow of blood. He tied Ortega's hands loosely behind his back and led him outside.

"Marshal!" the maid cried.

Longarm turned. "What?"

"What am I to do now?"

"Clean and care for the house as usual," Longarm told the frightened woman. "Senora Ortega and Maria Escobar will return very soon."

The maid crossed herself and looked exceedingly happy at this news. Longarm was happy as well.

"Haggerty will kill me if he can," Ortega grated through clenched teeth. "And he'll kill you too."

"He may try," Longarm said, "but he won't succeed."

When Longarm returned to the prison wagon with Ortega, the women prisoners stared through the bars of their wagon at Ortega with great curiosity.

"What are we going to do with him?" Putterman demanded.

"He's a prisoner," Longarm said, "so we'll put him in the wagon."

"With all those women?" Hawkins asked, jaw dropping.

"He's hardly in any shape to take advantage of them." Longarm reminded the young deputy.

"It isn't him that I was thinking about doin' the abusin'," Hawkins said. "They're the ones that are going to have the fun with the poor sumbitch."

Longarm shrugged his shoulders and unlocked the door of the prison wagon. When Ortega realized the company he was going to be forced to keep, the pain on his evil face gave way to unbridled panic.

"No, please! Do not put me in there with those whores! I beg you."

"Shouldn't have called them that," Longarm said as the ten women cursed an spat at the Mexican. "I got a feeling that was a big mistake."

Ortega renewed his struggles with even more desperation, but all his efforts were to no avail as Longarm forced him into the prison wagon. The women crowded around prodding and poking the terrified Mexican. When Ortega's screams took on a higher pitch, Longarm conceded that he might have made a poor decision. However, he did not think that the women would actually kill Ortega, though some of them were certainly capable of the act.

"Let's go," Longarm said, climbing back onto the roof of the wagon.

"Your new prisoner may be dead by the time we reach Prescott," Putterman said.

"Too bad," Longarm replied, wondering again about a snake who'd had a hand in the murder of his own brother.

CHAPTER 20

It would have been a pleasant enough journey to Prescott if Juan Ortega had not kept screaming for mercy. Longarm lay stretched out and dozing on his bedroll until Putterman finally pulled the prison wagon to a halt at the edge of town.

"Well, Marshal Long, how do you want to handle this?" the prison supervisor asked.

Longarm sat up and rubbed his eyes, wishing he'd lately gotten more sleep. He yawned and slowly swung his long legs over the side of the wagon.

"Might as well just roll on in and pull up in front of Marshal Haggerty's office. I don't expect he'll try and run."

"What if he decides to shoot it out?" Hawkins asked.

"That's his choice."

"What the kid is really asking," Putterman said with more than a trace of exasperation, "is are we going to be in the line of fire?"

"Worried?"

"Damn right!" Putterman exclaimed. "People get killed all the time by stray bullets. Besides, we're responsible for these women."

"Somehow," Longarm said cryptically, "I don't think it's the prisoners that you're really worried about."

Putterman didn't like to hear that because it was the truth. Longarm said, "Why don't you just pull up at the livery and make arrangements for the team? They're going to need some rest."

"What are we supposed to do with the women and that Ortega fella, providing he's still alive?"

Longarm leaned far over and peered into the wagon. He could see Ortega lying stretched out on the floor and he was a real mess. The women had bloodied his face and Ortega's shirt and pants were torn open. Longarm didn't even want to think about what had happened to his prisoner because it might cause him to start feeling very guilty.

"All right," Longarm said a few minutes later when the wagon came to a stop. "I'll go arrest Marshal Haggerty and we can cram everyone in his two jail cells."

"That'll be cozy," Hawkins said.

"Very cozy," Longarm agreed, climbing down and checking his six-gun.

"If the marshal kills you first," Putterman called, "I'm not waiting around. I'll pull out for Colorado without you!"

"You do that," Longarm yelled back.

Longarm was aware of the attention that he was attracting as he strode down the boardwalk towards the marshal's office. It was almost as much attention as their caged prisoners were receiving.

When he came to the door of the office, Longarm drew his six-gun and took a deep breath. He placed his hand on the doorknob and started to open it and step inside, but suddenly he saw Marshal Haggerty's reflection in the front window and the man was moving awfully fast.

Longarm jumped aside, kicking the door open and flattening against the outside wall. A great blast of shot filled the doorway, shredding its frame. Longarm stuck his gun around the frame and fired once. The shotgun boomed a second time and Longarm dropped to his belly, scooted into the doorway, and fired again. His first two shots had been merely to distract, for he had not yet located his target. But now he saw the big marshal hauling his gun up to fire.

"Freeze!" Longarm shouted.

"Like hell!" Haggerty bellowed, as his gun thundered in his meaty fist.

But Longarm had already rolled and fired all in the same motion, and his bullet ripped into Haggerty's gut right over his belt buckle. The man's feet jittered on the floor and Longarm shot him again, this time through the chest. Haggerty's eyes rolled up into his head. His feet stopped dancing and he stumbled back until he struck his jail cell bars. Then he twisted as if he were trying to run and hide, and held himself erect against the bars of his cell.

Longarm came to his feet and stepped inside the office, watching Haggerty hang onto the bars and then begin to slide to the floor.

"Dammit, Haggerty," Longarm complained, "it makes me sick when a lawman goes bad. Hurts every one of us who tries to live up to the law. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Haggerty's forehead thunked hard against the jail cell, so hard that the bars rattled, and then he sighed and collapsed.

Longarm punched the expended shells from his sixgun and went over to the marshal's body. He extracted the cell keys from the man's pocket and opened both cells in preparation for receiving their wagonload of prisoners.

"Better not put you in one," Longarm mused aloud to the marshal. "Better to drag you outside for the under taker."

And that's what Longarm did. He dragged the heavy marshal outside and a little ways up the street, then laid him out, saying to a gaping spectator, "Go get the undertaker."

"Yes, sir!"

Longarm paused to catch his breath. The marshal must have weighed a quarter of a ton. Longarm became aware of the big staring crowd, and he supposed that he owed them a brief explanation. If for no other reason, then so that Lucy would no longer be under suspicion.

Longarm spoke very loudly although this aggravated his still-aching throat. "Folks," he began, "I'm a U.S. deputy marshal, and the sad truth of the matter is that your own marshal was in cahoots with Juan Ortega, Manuel Padilla, Renaldo Lopez, and Hal Brodie. They all plotted and took part in the murder of Don Luis Ortega."

Longarm paused to let them absorb this startling news, then continued his explanation. "The important thing that you need to understand is that Mrs. Ortega had nothing to do with her husband's death. The only one of the killers still alive is Ortega, and he's going to rot in Yuma Prison."

The crowd stared, and Longarm batted dust from his clothes. "So now that you all know what happened, why don't you all just go on about your business? Your undertaker has got work to do and you folks need to hire a new marshal."

"How about you?" a man dressed in a fine black suit called. "We'd pay you even better than the federal government."

"No, thanks," Longarm said. "I got three weeks of paid vacation coming when I deliver those female prisoners to Denver, Colorado."

"You'd be better off staying here," the man dared to argue. "But we respect your decision and we'll find an honest lawman this time."

"Good," Longarm said, heading back up the street to tell Putterman to unload the Yuma Prison girls and whatever they'd left of Juan Ortega.

The End