by Tabor Evans
The store owner nodded with understanding. He was a man in his forties, short and bald, but still fit-looking and rather handsome. “Sure! I know how to keep a secret, and from what I’ve heard of Wade Stoneman, the last thing you want to do is give him any warning. So don’t worry, I’ll keep what you’ve told me in strict confidence.”
“In that case,” Longarm said, spotting a well-stocked gun rack behind the counter, “why don’t you fix us up provisions for the trail? Also, I see that you carry quite a few rifles and shotguns.”
“I take them in trade for supplies when people are down on their luck. People have to eat, but they don’t necessarily have to own a rifle or shotgun.”
Longarm leaned over the counter and studied the rack of weapons with serious interest. “Which is the best rifle in that rack?”
The man carefully took down a fine Winchester repeater. “This one is hardly used at all. I haven’t test-fired it, but I’m sure it shoots straight and has no malfunctions. I’ll bet it hasn’t fired fifty rounds. At least, that’s what the man that traded it in told me.”
Longarm examined the rifle. “How much do you want for it?”
“Twenty-five dollars . . . and just to show you I’m a fair man, I’ll throw in a full box of ammunition.”
“Sold.” Longarm looked to Addie. “What about you?”
“I’ve got a Colt and a derringer packed away in my valise, and I expect my father still has my favorite rifle waiting up at the ranch.”
“Does he own a shotgun?” Longarm asked, spotting an extremely impressive shotgun on the store owner’s gun rack.
“Why, no. Why should he?”
“No good reason, I guess,” Longarm said. “But I like the peace of mind they can give a man who is outnumbered. Mister, how much for that fancy double-barreled shotgun with the light-colored stock?”
The store owner grinned. “Now that is a real crowd tamer and a mighty fine weapon that was made in some little country called Belgium . . . or maybe it was Spain. I forget. It’s beautifully engraved, as you can see, and you won’t find a finer shotgun anywhere, not even in Denver.”
“Those barrels are big. What gauge?”
“It’s an eight-gauge and I guarantee that it’ll blow off the barn doors at each end and then knock down a couple of horses.”
“Where’d you get a weapon like that?” Longarm asked, becoming even more interested in the beautiful shotgun.
“Glad you asked,” said the man, taking down the shotgun and holding it with near reverence. “You see, there was a rich English gentleman here hunting game birds this summer. But the shotgun kicked him so hard that he said it nearly broke his right shoulder. He had been shooting it on a guided hunt, and when he came to my store to unload that fine weapon, his arm was resting was in a sling and he couldn’t hardly move his shoulder. That’s why I purchased that fine sporting weapon for a fraction of its true value. Marshal, I’m willing to pass my good fortune on to you.”
“You got shells for this little cannon?” Longarm asked, taking the shotgun and hefting it for balance, then checking the barrel and breech. It was far too beautiful to kill men, but it had really caught Longarm’s eye and fancy. He wanted it very much.
“I do. Two boxes.”
“How much do you have to have for it?” Longarm asked, doubting he could afford the weapon.
“Hmm, well, I sure don’t want to give this beauty away, Marshal.”
“How much,” Longarm repeated.
“How about . . . how about this remarkable shotgun and two full boxes of shells for just sixty dollars.”
Longarm whistled and shook his head. “Afraid that’s a little rich for a working lawman.”
“Marshal, this gun would easily bring a hundred dollars in Denver. Easily! And it would bring twice that much money back East.”
The man was right. Longarm figured that, if he survived Buffalo Falls, he could take the impressive sporting weapon back to Denver and sell it for maybe a hundred fifty dollars. It would be a nice profit. Hell, that kind of profit would be worth a month’s salary . . . if he could bear to part with such a beautiful shotgun.
“Mister, you’re probably right, but I just don’t know if I can afford it,” he said more to Addie than to the store owner. “Provisions and a buying a horse, saddle, and that Winchester are taking up almost all of my travel money. If I spend another sixty dollars on top of all the rest for this shotgun, then I’ll be pretty near busted.”
“I’ll buy it for you,” Addie said without hesitation.
“Aw, I couldn’t let you do that!”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to,” Addie told him. “After all the money you saved me from losing in Denver, it’s the least I can do. Besides, you just might need it to help me and my father against Wade Stoneman.”
Longarm wasn’t a man to take gifts, but in this case if he declined Addie’s generous offer, he reckoned that it would be an example of a man being overcome by his foolish pride. “Okay,” he said. “But when this is over, if we’re still standing, then you can have the shotgun for your own.”
“I wouldn’t even want to think of shooting that cannon,” Addie said with a grin. “It would knock me over and probably break my shoulder. Uh-uh, Custis. When we walk out of here, this shotgun is yours and yours alone.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll come back for it and the Winchester when we get the horses bought,” he told the store owner. “If you could have the provisions in a sack, we’ll pay the damages just before we leave town.”
The store owner was very happy. He’d already made more than an average day’s sales in just a few minutes. “I’ll have everything ready, Marshal. Do you need two bedrolls . . . or one?”
Longarm could see how the man’s mind was running, and he started to say two, but Addie answered, “One good, heavy bedroll and a tarp will get us up to Buffalo Falls reasonably warm and dry.”
“Good enough,” the store owner said. “And how about a little whiskey for the cold nights on the trail? You could get snowed on at this time of the year.”
“Whiskey and a dozen cigars would be good,” Longarm said. “And we’ll want a couple of good-sized canteens and rain slickers to fit.”
“Done!”
Longarm started to leave, but then turned and said, “How much do you reckon this will all cost us?”
The store owner frowned and toted up the figures in his head. “I’d say about one hundred twenty-five dollars, give or take five dollars.”
“And that buys your word that you will keep silent about who I am and why I’m riding with this lady up to Buffalo Falls?” Longarm asked, his eyes piercing.
“Mister, you have my word on it! I’d keep my silence even if you didn’t buy a dime’s worth of hard rock candy.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Longarm said. “Where is Galloway’s Stable?”
The man gave them directions and they went up the street. Addie said, “Do you think that man will keep your secret?”
“At least until we’re out of Cheyenne,” Longarm replied. “But I saw a ring on his finger, so he’s married. Most likely, he’ll have to tell his wife, and then she’ll tell her friends who will tell their friends. I’d give it a day before the whole town knows my name and why we’ve ridden north.”
Addie wasn’t so sure that the store owner would break his promise. “You may be wrong and maybe that nice man will never say a word.”
“Hope you’re right.” Longarm looked ahead and saw the livery. “You want me to do the pickin’ and dickerin’ for our horses?”
“I’ll pick the horses,” Addie said. “I think I know more about them than you do. After that, you can dicker over the price. If I think you’ve done well, I won’t make a peep. But if I think you’re getting taken, I’ll have to step in and do the horse trading.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Longarm told her.
They bought the best two horses in Galloway’s Stable. A red roan mare with
a flaxen mane and tail for Addie, and a tall buckskin gelding for Longarm. They also bought saddles, bridles, halters, and blankets in addition to a couple of saddlebags.
“Where you headed?” Mike Galloway asked when the money changed hands.
“Maybe up into the Laramie Mountains,” Longarm said.
“Are you serious?” Not waiting for or expecting an answer, Mike shook his head. “Man, those mountains will already be covered with snow. You go up there and you might get buried in the stuff. We get blizzards this time of year here in Wyoming.”
“Then maybe we’ll ride south to Old Mexico,” Longarm told the liveryman because he didn’t appreciate being lectured. “No blizzards any time of the year in Mexico.”
Mike Galloway was a pugnacious-looking Irishman. He was a good and honest man, but he tended to be too free giving advice, and seemed a little on the self-important side for Longarm’s liking.
“Mexico? Mister, are you serious?”
“Why not?” Longarm asked while Addie rolled her eyes.
“Why that’s a long, long way!” the Irishman exclaimed. “You couldn’t get to Mexico in a month! Maybe three months. Why, you’d have to ride through Colorado, Oklahoma, maybe half of Nevada, and the corner of California. Hell, you’d have to ride all over the place to get there.”
Longarm had to struggle to keep from chuckling. “You’re right,” he agreed with a feigned tone of fatalism. “I guess we’ll just go down to Santa Fe, New Mexico, for the winter.”
Galloway nodded. “That sounds a whole lot more sensible, mister. Old Santa Fe is a real nice town to winter up in. Real nice.”
Longarm started to ask the know-it-all Irishman if he’d ever been in Santa Fe, but he knew the man would say he had and Longarm knew it would be a lie, so he just nodded.
They collected their newly purchased supplies, weapons, ammunition, and all the rest of their provisions and the bill totaled exactly $125. There was a nice-looking woman now behind the counter beside the store owner, and she was sure giving Longarm and Addie secretive looks, but trying not to stare.
“I told you,” Longarm said as he tied down their newly purchased provisions and mounted the tall buckskin.
“Told you what?” Addie asked, swinging up on her red roan.
“That he’d tell his wife right away. And I’ll bet you we don’t get to the end of the street corner before that woman scoots out of the store and rushes off to tell all her female friends.”
“You’re cynical, Custis. Give us ladies a little credit for discretion.”
“Whatever you say,” Longarm replied. “But when we hit the end of the street, turn around in your saddle and I’ll bet you a dollar that woman is out the door and on her way to gossip up a storm.”
Addie didn’t say anything, but when they reached the end of the street, she did twist around in her saddle for a moment.
“Well?” Longarm asked as they rode out of Cheyenne. “Was I right or not?”
“Don’t get me riled up,” Addie warned. “Because you’re going to need a doctor, friend, and straight shooter before this is over.”
Longarm suppressed a smile. He was right about the store owner’s wife, of course. But Addie was also right about him needing her to watch his backside when they hit Buffalo Falls.
Chapter 7
Longarm and Addie really pushed their horses for the first two days, but on a cold and blustery third day while galloping across the rolling hills, Addie’s roan mare stepped in a badger hole and did a complete somersault. Addie was pitched down hard on the prairie grass, and the mare had to struggle just to get back on her feet.
Longarm had been galloping stirrup to stirrup with the young woman, and when she and her horse tumbled, he reined up and then hurried back. Dismounting, he ran to the girl’s side. “Addie!”
She was dazed, hurt, and moaning in confusion. Longarm cradled Addie’s head in his lap and held her close, hoping that she hadn’t sustained a fatal spine or internal injury. This was a bad place to have a wreck. There was a storm bearing down on them and not a farm or ranch house as far as the eye could see. If Addie was badly hurt, he had no idea where they could get medical help.
“Addie!” He shook her gently.
After a few minutes, she finally stirred, but when she looked up at Longarm, she seemed unable to focus.
“Addie, it’s me, Custis! Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she whispered, sounding very tired and more than a little confused. “What . . . what happened?”
“Your mare went down into a badger hole and did a complete flip. I was riding just ahead and didn’t see it happen, but you must have hit the ground very hard. Maybe your horse landed on you. I don’t know. Can you move your hands and feet?”
Longarm’s greatest concern was that Addie had suffered a terrible spine injury, leaving her paralyzed. But to his great relief, Addie was able to move her extremities. However, she said that her vision was blurred and she felt sick to her stomach.
“You’re the doctor, but my guess is that you’ve suffered a real bad concussion,” he said. “I’ve had a few of my own and I know that this will pass after you’ve had rest.”
Addie tried to look around. “What about my poor horse?”
The mare had struggled up on three legs, and was hobbling over to join Longarm’s buckskin. “Addie, I’m afraid that your mare is also hurt.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Go see if she broke her leg, Custis. If she did, the poor horse will be in terrible pain and you’ll have to shoot her.”
“I’ll get you some water to drink first.”
Addie blinked and tried to grin. “Whiskey might make me feel better, but it wouldn’t be what a doctor would order.”
He eased her head back down on the dry brown grass. “I’ll get my canteen and check on your horse.”
“Dammit, Custis, I didn’t see that badger hole.”
“Some of them are covered over by grass or even filled up a little from the summer rains,” Longarm told her. “Hold tight and I’ll be right back.”
He rushed over to his buckskin and retrieved his canteen. Then he took a moment to catch the roan, who was now gently putting her injured left foreleg back down on the grass. Still, the mare didn’t want it to take on very much of her weight. Longarm gathered the mare’s reins and slowly led her around for a few moments. The mare’s leg wasn’t broken, but the horse was definitely lame.
Longarm tied the mare’s reins to his saddle horn, and then led both horses back close to Addie, who was trying to sit up.
“Your roan’s leg isn’t broken,” Longarm told her. “That’s the good news. The bad news is that she’s very lame.”
Addie swore like a soldier. “Help me to sit up, Custis.”
He eased her to a sitting position, and she closed one eye and said, “I’m seeing double so I do have a severe concussion.”
“We’ll make camp,” he told her, shouting into a rising wind. “It’s getting late in the day and these horses are worn out.”
“I think that you’re the one that’s worn out.”
“You got that right,” he agreed. They both heard the clap of thunder in the darkening sky. “Addie, how much farther is it to Buffalo Falls or your ranch?”
“I was hoping that we could get there soon after dark. Can you see those low foothills off to the east?”
Longarm followed her gaze. “Yeah.”
“Our ranch, the Lazy H, is right at the base of those hills.”
“Where the hell is Buffalo Falls?”
“About five miles to the northeast of our ranch.”
Since they were in trouble, Longarm wanted to make sure that he understood her correctly. “So your ranch is between us and the town?”
“Yes.” She gripped Longarm’s wrist. “Maybe we could ride double on your buckskin the rest of the way and still get to the ranch before midnight.”
But Longarm shook his head. “If we did that, we’d have to leave the mare. She’s in even
more pain than you are.”
“My fault. I was so intent on getting home and I wasn’t even watching for badger holes.”
Longarm knew that they needed shelter and that a storm was almost upon them. He studied the land and said, “There’s a stand of cottonwoods about a mile or two farther ahead, and that means there must be running water. There’s also bound to be enough cottonwood to give us fuel for a fire, and we’ve got rain slickers and plenty of food.”
“Is that rumbling thunder I hear so close, or is the sound coming from my aching head?” Addie asked.
“It’s thunder. The sky is darkening, and I’m afraid that we’re going to get drenched before too much longer.”
“Could be snow and not rain,” Addie said, shivering. “It’s not going to be a good night to be camping out here on the short grass.”
“I know that,” Longarm told her. “But you’re in no condition to travel and neither is your mare. Maybe by morning, you’ll both be able to go on.”
“We’ll have to be ready,” Addie said. “I left the main wagon road way back this morning and cut straight across the range to shorten the distance to our ranch. Nobody will come along this way and help us out here in these rolling hills.”
“We’ll make out fine,” Longarm said. “I’m going to lift you up on my gelding. Do you think you can hang on to the saddle horn until we reach the cottonwoods?”
“I think so,” she said, shaking her head as if to clear her vision. “But if I start to fall, then tie me to your saddle.”
Longarm hoisted Addie into his saddle, and then took a few minutes to shorten his stirrups so that she could ride easier. He collected the mare’s reins as well as those of his own horse, and set out leading them to the distant cottonwoods. The wind was getting stronger and the dark thunderheads seemed to be bearing down on them with bad intentions.
Longarm wasn’t even sure that he could make it to the cover of the trees, but he sure meant to try.
Longarm had underestimated the distance to the cottonwoods by at least a mile. And by the time he led Addie and the two horses into the shelter of those big, leafless trees, the wind was moaning and sleet was starting to pelt him in the face. Bare tree limbs were flailing wildly, and the wind was now a steady and icy blast coming all the way down from Canada.
