Longarm and the Wyoming Woman

by Tabor Evans

  The stand of cottonwoods did flank a creek, and Longarm led the way down into the wash, where there was at least some shelter from the driving wind and sleet. He tied the horses in the thickest of the trees to give them shelter, and then he pulled Addie from his saddle and carried her along the waterway, searching both banks for cover.

  He got lucky when he found a cut-out place under the bank. He laid Addie down and used his bare hands to enlarge what was going to have to be their night’s shelter. Afterward, he dragged limbs and logs over to help make a stout windbreak. Pulling Addie as far under the freshly enlarged cutback as he could, Longarm paused to assess their situation. It wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all, but it was far better than being caught in this storm on the exposed prairie.

  Addie was shivering and slipping in and out of consciousness. Longarm unsaddled their horses and covered Addie with horse blankets, then gathered as much dry wood and grass as he could get before everything around them was drenched. After striking four matches, he finally was able to cup his hands and get a few blades of grass to burn along with some brittle little branches. After that, it wasn’t difficult to get a good fire crackling.

  Longarm left Addie and barged back out in the storm to make sure that their horses were securely tied. He gave them handfuls of grain and hoped they would huddle up and not suffer too badly on this freezing and miserable Wyoming night.

  He used his rain slicker to cover part of the opening to his little cave under the stream bank, and dragged all their provisions as well as his Winchester and the shotgun under its cover. Satisfied that he’d done everything possible to weather this sudden storm, he finally squeezed back under the shelter bank shivering violently.

  Whiskey.

  He remembered that the store owner in Cheyenne had sold them whiskey and that he and Addie hadn’t drunk all that much of it on their first two nights out. Longarm found the whiskey and a dry cigar. He took a deep swallow of the liquor, and then lit his cigar in the campfire that was now burning brightly not a foot from where he huddled.

  “Could be worse,” he said, blowing smoke out in the hard wind and sleet and watching it disappear in an instant. “Could be one hell of a lot worse.”

  “Not much,” Addie said, startling him.

  Longarm turned to the woman, who was buried under horse blankets. “You’re awake again.”

  “Yes. How about a pull on that bottle?”

  “You’re the doctor,” he said.

  “That’s right, and whiskey is what I’m prescribing for my throbbing headache.”

  Addie took a generous swallow, then a second, and lay back against the dirt bank. She stared at the fire a moment and said, “Funny, but this isn’t the first time that I’ve been huddled under a cutback like this.”

  “No?” Longarm asked. Addie’s voice was a little slurred, but not so much that he couldn’t understand her words. “What happened? Did you get caught in another storm?”

  “Uh-uh,” she said. “One summer when I was about fifteen, I was riding out on the range by myself searching for strays. It was a nice enough day, but this one big dark cloud was overhead, and suddenly a bolt of lightning shot out of it and caused a prairie fire.” Addie shivered. “Have you ever been caught in one of those, Custis?”

  “Can’t say that I have. I’ve heard stories about them, though. They can really move fast. I’ve heard that, if they’re being pushed by a hard wind, they can outrun any living thing.”

  “You bet they can! And this one was coming straight for me pushed by a stiff wind. I knew that I couldn’t flank it, so I set my horse to running away and we raced for our lives. But I hadn’t gone a mile when I realized that my horse wasn’t going to get me out of the prairie fire’s way.”

  Addie’s voice caught in her throat and she was staring at the flames as if they were the prairie fire of long ago. “That fire was gaining on us and my horse was starting to falter.”

  “What saved you?” Longarm finally asked.

  “A riverbed like this.”

  She seemed to snap out of her reverie, and gazed hard through the flames toward the opposite bank of their streambed. “It was deeper and wider than this one, but it was there all the same. I bailed off my horse and jumped down into the water, then crawled up and under the bank. It wasn’t three or four minutes later that the fire hit the riverbed and jumped right over the top of me. It sounded like a runaway train.”

  “Was it pretty hot?”

  “Nope. All the time I was down under that bank, I was clawing at the dirt and burrowing in deeper and deeper. The prairie fire passed right on over the top and kept racing on for miles. Burnt two homesteads and families to ashes. Fortunately, our ranch wasn’t in its path, or it would have wiped us out just like those other folks.”

  “And what about your horse?”

  Addie swallowed hard. “He . . . he was burned to death. I found what was left of him and my saddle about a half mile away. I’ve always felt terrible about abandoning that animal.”

  “You had no choice,” Longarm told her. “You did the only thing you could do under the circumstances.”

  “I know. My father told me the exact same thing over and over. But it still hurts all these years later. He was a good pony, and I should have shot him before I jumped down into that riverbed and started digging for my life. All I was selfishly thinking about was saving my own life.”

  Longarm nodded at his flickering campfire and listened to the howling wind. “I know what you mean about being selfish at times,” he said. “And I honestly doubt there is anyone who doesn’t have some regrets. Who hasn’t thought about what they did and realized that they might have done things a little better. But looking back and having regrets is a waste of time, or so I’ve found it to be.”

  Addie studied him. “Do you have many regrets?”

  Cutis dipped his chin. “More than I can count. Mostly about the war and all the men I killed. They were not much more than boys mostly.”

  “Who would have killed you if you didn’t kill them first,” Addie reminded him.

  “I like to think that was the case,” Longarm replied, staring into the fire and taking another pull on his bottle. “Yes, sir, I’d sure like to think that was the case.”

  Addie reached out and touched him on the sleeve. “If you hadn’t been thinking quickly when I was spilled by the roan mare, we could still be out on the open prairie fighting for our lives in this early winter storm. You saved me again, Custis. That’s twice now.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “And I saved myself.”

  “Maybe one of these days I’ll save your life for a change.”

  “You have my permission,” he said with a short laugh. “Yes, ma’am, you sure do have my permission on that score.”

  Longarm, with a little help from Addie, finished off the whiskey and then his cigar. He pulled up the collar of his coat and saw that the driving sleet had turned to snow. But protected from the wet and wind inside their little earthen shelter, they were warm and in no danger.

  No, he thought, this storm isn’t going to do us any harm, but the real danger is waiting just up ahead in Buffalo Falls.

  Chapter 8

  The storm lasted until just before dawn, and when Longarm crawled out from under the riverbank, the snow was almost two feet deep. The air was cold and clear, and Longarm figured they could make good time reaching Addie’s ranch this morning. Their horses were eager to eat the last of the grain that Longarm had bought in Cheyenne, and Longarm walked the roan mare around, pleased to note that her limp was much less pronounced.

  “Our horses are still here?” Addie asked when Longarm returned to her shelter.

  “Yep. And your mare is still limping, but not nearly as badly. I’ll saddle both horses and we can be on our way to your ranch.”

  “I’m ready,” Addie told him even though her head was still aching. “It seems that we weathered this storm in good shape.”

  “Let’s just hope we can weather th
e storm in Buffalo Falls,” he told her. “When was the last time you heard from your father?”

  “About a month ago. He sent a letter asking me to empty our savings account in Cheyenne and borrow whatever money I could and come on home.”

  “Did he say that he felt he was in real danger from Wade Stoneman?”

  Addie bit her lower lip. “Yes. In the letter he said that Stoneman had offered him a ridiculously low price for our ranch, and when that low offer was turned down, Stoneman become threatening.”

  “A lot could have happened in a month,” Longarm told her. “Let’s just hope that your father is still alive and unharmed.”

  “He’d be tough to kill,” Addie said, clearly worried. “And he had a man working for him who was a former Indian scout and buffalo hunter. I met him once and his name was Casey. No last name, just Casey. But I could tell he was tough and not the kind to duck out of a fight.”

  Longarm digested this information without comment as he helped Addie onto her mare and then mounted his buckskin. He eyed the low hills in the distance, and they set off at a steady walk. The sun was up, there was no wind, and Longarm had the feeling that most of this snow would be gone in a day or two unless there was another storm.

  They arrived at the ranch just before noon and there wasn’t a soul in sight. The log farmhouse was large with a nice porch, and there were several barns and corrals. But it was very quiet. No horses. No dogs. No people. Just a penned red rooster and a few hens that got excited when they saw Longarm and Addie riding into the ranch yard.

  “It’s so quiet that it’s spooky,” Addie said, not waitingfor Longarm to help her down from her horse. “Maybe my dad is taking a nap. Father!”

  There was no sound other than the cackling of hungry chickens in their pen.

  She walked to the porch and gripped the rail. “Father! It’s Addie!”

  Still no sound. Longarm looked around and he had a bad feeling in his gut. He didn’t want to share that feeling with Addie, so he said, “Maybe your father and Casey went off to gather cattle or to get supplies.”

  “Or to Buffalo Falls to get supplies,” Addie said, taking an unsteady step. “But Father always had a big, unfriendly yard dog or two hanging around this place to scare off coyotes or people who showed up when he was gone. Custis, this doesn’t feel right to me. Something is terribly wrong!”

  “Here,” Longarm said, “let me help you up these porch steps.”

  They climbed the porch and went to the front door. Longarm pounded on the door and tried the handle. It was locked. He moved to the side and peered in through a glass window.

  “I don’t see anything, Addie. No one is home.”

  “There’s a hideout key under that flowerpot,” she told him, pointing. “Please get it and unlock the door.”

  Longarm drew his six-gun before he went through the front door. The smell of rotting food struck him forcefully, and he had a bad feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach. A table was overturned and a drinking glass was shattered on the living room floor.

  Addie stared at these things, and her voice sounded frightened when she called, “Father!”

  Longarm cautiously moved toward the stench. He had smelled death many times, but this was not the decay of a human body. Stepping into the kitchen, he saw cooked food that was only half-eaten on the table. A glass of water was half-full. A door leading out the rear of the house was half-opened. It was so cold inside the house that they could see their breath.

  “Oh, my God!” Addie whispered, her hand flying to her mouth as she took in the scene. “Something terrible must have happened.”

  Longarm thought so too when he stepped out of the back door following black drops of crusted blood. He followed the drops into some trees, and then he saw the shape of a man lying under the fresh snow.

  Addie saw the still outline at the exact same moment. “Father!”

  Longarm tried to grab Addie and hold her back, but she got around him too quickly, and then she was on her knees beside the body scraping off the mantle of snow.

  “Oh, no!” she screamed. “Father, no!”

  It appeared to Longarm that the man had been dead for at least a week. Longarm stood back and watched as Addie stroked the remains of her father. He could see two prominent bullet holes in Mr. Hudson’s back, and a third shot in the back of his head that had probably been fired from directly above. This head shot had exited the rancher’s gaping mouth. About ten feet away, there was a large brown dog that had also been shot to death. Its lips were pulled back from its fangs in a silent death snarl.

  Longarm just stood quietly for a few minutes letting Addie grieve. Then he pulled the girl up and held her close and let her cry her heart out. Finally, he said, “Addie, there’s nothing we can do for him now. Let’s go back inside.”

  “I can’t just leave Father out here!”

  “I’ll find a tarp or blanket and carry his body into the barn where it will be safe. We can bury your father here on the ranch or take him into town, but we need to do it right away.”

  Addie’s face was wet with tears. “He’d want to be buried next to Mother. We have a little cemetery here on the ranch.”

  Longarm nodded and helped Addie inside. He hoped that she didn’t notice the blood, but she did. Her face was pale with grief. Longarm thought she might handle this tragedy better if she had something to do, so he said, “Maybe you could get a fire burning in the hearth. It’s freezing in the house.”

  She nodded dumbly, and Longarm saw a wool blanket draped over an easy chair. He gathered the blanket and went back outside. After a few minutes, he had the decomposing body wrapped up and he carried it to the closest barn. The body would have been in awful shape and nearly impossible to move had it not been freezing cold.

  Longarm gently placed the body on the floor of the barn, and closed the doors on his way out. He wasn’t looking forward to returning to the house and facing Addie, but they had to accept the sad fact that they’d arrived here too late.

  Longarm spent two difficult hours that afternoon gouging out a proper grave in the half-frozen ground. Addie was grief-stricken and silent as they laid her father to rest beside her mother’s grave. She read from the family Bible, and then Longarm shoveled in dirt and filled the grave while Addie wept bitter tears.

  Afterward, they sat in the front room of the ranch house and mostly just looked out the window and wondered aloud who had killed Addie’s father.

  “It must have been Wade Stoneman or one of his men,” Addie said. “No one else would do such a thing to Father. He was well respected and a friend to all in this cattle country. I can’t tell you how many times he went to the aid of one of his neighbors.”

  “I’ll go into Buffalo Falls and start asking questions,” Longarm vowed. “What about this hand called Casey?”

  Addie looked up suddenly. “Yes, what about him? I’d completely forgotten that he was supposed to be helping protect my father.”

  “Do you think he might have betrayed your father? Perhaps even shot him?”

  “I don’t know,” Addie admitted. “I hardly knew the man, and only met him the last time I was here visiting last Christmas. Casey seemed like a good and trustworthy man. I know that I was relieved when he swore to me that he’d stay on and help Father fend off Wade Stoneman and anyone else who came to take the Lazy H by force.”

  “Maybe he was also shot to death,” Longarm said. “They might have ambushed Casey out on the range when he was chasing strays by himself.”

  She shook her head. “I just don’t know. Casey gave me the impression of being a very capable and cautious man. Someone who wouldn’t be shot or killed without a fight.”

  “If they cut him off from this ranch house, he wouldn’t have had much of a chance against three or four good riflemen,” Longarm reasoned. “They’d have shot his horse and then closed in around him. There wouldn’t be a lot that a single man could do out in this open country if he were badly outnumbered and his horse wa
s down.”

  “Yes. I can see that you’re right.”

  “On the other hand, Casey might have been the one who shot your father in the back. He could have easily done that if your father trusted the man.”

  Her eyes widened. “But why would Casey do a thing like that?”

  “Money,” Longarm said without hesitation. “It’s entirely possible that Wade Stoneman made Casey an offer that he just couldn’t turn down. Even good men have sold out and been bought when the price was high enough. You didn’t know the man. He might not have been as good or as loyal as you wanted to believe.”

  “I hope to God that’s not true.”

  “But it might be,” Longarm insisted. “I’ll need a real good description of Casey before I go to Buffalo Falls. And anything else you can tell me about him.”

  “I’m afraid that I really don’t know anything about the man. He didn’t talk much. It wasn’t that he was unfriendly, he was just real quiet. Father said he liked that about Casey.”

  “Describe the man,” Longarm said. “If he was paid to betray your father and kill him, he might still be in Buffalo Falls, and I want to get the drop on him before he figures out who I am and why I’ve come all the way from Denver.”

  “Well,” Addie said, trying to pull herself together and concentrate, “Casey was about your age. Mid-thirties. He was shorter than you, but probably stood almost six feet in his boots. I remember he had a prominent scar on his right cheek. He wore a full beard, but you could see that scar because the whiskers that had come through along the scar were snow-white.”

  “That ought to be a pretty easy thing to spot. Was Casey stocky or slender?”

  “Slender, but broad-shouldered. He favored a floppy brown hat, and the one side of the brim was pinned up to the crown while the other drooped partway over the scarred side of his face.”