by Tabor Evans
Caine’s eyes swam in his head. A number of black-ringed holes peppered his face and neck. “Gonna send you to hell, you badge-wearin’ son of a bitch. Ain’t nobody done ever shot me and lived to tell of it.”
With what appeared every bit of strength he had left, Caine partially raised one arm and fired a shot that knocked a heel off Longarm’s boot and sent the surprised marshal to his knee. On his way to ground, the astonished lawman snapped off a single round that hit Caine over the right eye, knocked the Boss of the Plains hat off his head, and snatched him backward into the dirt like he’d been roped for branding.
Longarm hopped back to his feet like a man trying to disguise the fact that he’d fallen in public, then quickly drew a death-dealing bead on brother Ezra. The younger of the brothers appeared to have got the worst of the initial blast from the Greener. He shuffled up to Ezra and toed the man in the side. The wounded gunman groaned, but only once. Willard Allred stepped up beside Longarm and, without even taking aim, fired a single shot into the downed man’s chest.
Longarm holstered his pistol as Willard levered a fresh load into the Winchester’s smoking breech. “Know you probably don’t approve of what I just done, Marshal, but the way I’ve got it figured, ain’t no point lettin’ any of ’em take up space in a jail. Besides, gutless juries ’round here ’bouts have a bad habit of lettin’ his type loose on the public with little or no punishment for their nefarious deeds,” Allred said.
Longarm stared down at Ezra Caine’s lifeless body. Dung flies had already begun to buzz around the man’s corpse. “Good thing he, at the very least, had a weapon in hand. Mighta looked kinda bad otherwise.”
Allred ambled over to the corpse of Quincy Ballentine. He toed the body onto its back, bent over, and rifled through the dead man’s pockets. After several seconds, he stood, held out a bulging leather pouch, and said, “Look. Must be a couple a thousand dollars in here, Marshal Long.”
Longarm gazed at his own feet, then turned away as though trying not to hear what Allred was saying. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then made a waving motion behind his back. “Put it in your pocket, Willard. Quincy don’t have any use for the money, and if we leave the pouch on ’im, one of Fort Worth’s policemen’ll probably end up with it.”
Willard shoved the bag of paper money and coins into his coat pocket, then followed Longarm to the wooden walkway next to the White Elephant. They sat down next to one another and watched as scores of cowboys, tradesmen, store owners, bartenders, cattle buyers, gamblers, drunks, women of questionable background, and others gathered around, pointed, whispered, and gawked at the blood-soaked, bullet-riddled corpses that bedecked the dusty street.
Allred propped the rifle agaist his knee. A faint twinge of regret colored his voice when he said, “Been a right gory couple a days, Marshal. Ain’t kilt this many men since the war.”
Longarm glanced over at the grizzled old reb, then patted him on the shoulder. “You can take some degree of comfort in the knowledge we did what had to be done at the time, Tater. No shame in any of our actions. No shame at all.”
“Suppose so,” Allred mused. “Still and all, though, it’s been a bloody couple a days.”
In pretty short order a tall, cadaverous-looking gent lugged a heavy box camera up and efficiently went about taking as many pictures as possible. He’d set off his flash bar at least twice when Marshal Sam Farmer and one of his men appeared on the scene.
Longarm and Allred stood when Farmer strode up. Fort Worth’s marshal pulled a chewed toothpick from between his teeth, then said, “Well, see you went an’ beat us to ’em, Marshal Long.”
“Not really,” Longarm said. “They came lookin’ for a fight. Appears someone told ’em ’bout me a-rescuin’ the Poleman girls. Quincy didn’t take the news well. Tried to get ’em to throw up their hands and let me take ’em in. Had every intention to turn ’em all over to you, Sam. You can see how the whole dance all turned out.”
Farmer shook his head. Over his shoulder, as he stepped into the street for a better viewing of the shot-riddled bodies, he said, “Yeah, I can see how it turned out alright.”
Willard touched Longarm’s elbow, then tapped the leather bag in his pocket. “How ’bout we step inside the Elephant, and you let me buy a round of drinks.”
Longarm passed a rather pleasant week in Fort Worth after the fiery dustup with Quincy Ballentine and the Caine brothers. Surprised everyone when the weather turned a bit cooler and a welcome rain settled the ever-present, drifting dust. Mornings he lounged in the El Paso Hotel’s sumptuous lobby, sipped coffee, and studied the local newspapers. Around about noon every day, he and Willard Allred strolled over to the White Elephant and had lunch. Nights, Allred watched as Longarm played poker with Luke Short and a pair of former Kansas lawdogs named Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp, who traveled in the company of a pale, sickly dentist named Holliday.
He visited with Mattie Wayland as often as possible. Her recovery proved depressingly slow and painful. Young fellow claiming kinship to the Poleman girls showed up early that second week. Said he’d fallen out with his pap over the whole sordid affair as concerned his sisters, and wanted to take the girls to a place where none of them were known. He quietly spirited the girls away late one night without giving anyone a chance to say good-bye.
Marshal Sam Farmer escorted Longarm to Fort Worth’s Union Depot the morning he left town. The Denver, Texas, and Fort Worth Railroad’s Baldwin engine chuffed and snorted ominous clouds of billowing steam onto the loading platform as they walked up.
Farmer shook Longarm’s hand, then said, “Well, glad you got to spend at least some of your time off relaxing, Marshal. Woulda been a shame for the entire trip to have been as tangled as that first week.”
Longarm flashed his pearly whites. “Enjoyed every minute of it, Sam. Hope to get back this way soon. Maybe have two whole weeks as pleasant as the one that just passed.”
Longarm glanced over Farmer’s shoulder and noticed Willard Allred pull up to the depot’s passenger platform driving a shiny new cabriolet. Inside sat Mattie Wayland. “Excuse me, Sam. There’s a lady here to see me off.”
Scrubbed, shaved, and dressed in a new outfit from head to foot, a grinning Willard Allred hopped off the driver’s deck, doffed his hat, and gallantly swung the cab’s polished door open. “Damned nice rig, Tater.”
“Seems as how I recently came into some unexpected money. Thought I’d provide my better customers with a real special ride.” Allred’s smile broadened. “Had the doc give them poor gals from Springtown enough to start on a different trail, as well. Felt mighty good, too.”
Longarm patted the old soldier on the arm, then removed his hat and leaned beneath the sheltering hood. “Doc Wheeler know you’re out runnin’ the streets, Mattie?”
Still showing the effects of her terrible beating, Mattie Wayland forced a split-lipped grin, then said, “No, and you won’t tell him, will you?”
“’Course not. But I’m sure he’d be worried if he knew what you were doing.”
“I know. Had to say good-bye, though. Couldn’t let you leave town without making sure you knew how much I appreciate all you done for me.”
“Totally unnecessary. Any man worth his salt would’ve done the same.”
She grimaced, but leaned forward, caressed his face, then planted a tender, chaste kiss on Longarm’s cheek. “No. No they wouldn’t have,” she whispered. “There aren’t many men like you around these days, Custis.”
He stood, stuffed the hat back on his head, then took her hand and kissed it. “Hope we meet again, darlin’. Sooner the better.”
“Oh, we most certainly will meet again, Custis darlin’. Just as soon as I can get well enough to make it to Denver, I expect a second taste of our night at the El Paso.”
Longarm bowed like a true Southern cavalier, then tipped his hat. “Ah, Mattie darlin’, I’m an easy man to find.” He flashed a broad smile, “Hell, darlin’, I’m just ‘by God’ easy, perio
d.”
