Longarm and the Lone Star Legend

by Tabor Evans

  "Just hold it. you two," Longarm muttered as he scooted around on his butt to lean back against a rock, in that way managing to get his wind back while keeping them both within his field of fire.

  "Do you plan to murder me the way you did my father?" the girl spat.

  "Jessica Starbuck," Longarm said, smiling. "Pleased to meet you." And he was. Lord, she was lovely! She'd straightened up to stand with her hands on her hips. Her angry green eyes flashed daggers Longarm's way. Her hat had fallen off during the struggle, to reveal a tawny mane of honey-blond hair, glinting with a hint of copper beneath the strong Texas sun. She was in her twenties. She was long-legged and had high, full breasts, a slender waist accented by the gunbelt she wore, and a firm, pleasantly rounded bottom. None of her figure was in the least hidden by her tight denim jeans and wrangler's jacket. The clothes fit her like a second skin. "Miss Starbuck, you've got things a mite backward," Longarm continued. "I'm not one of your father's murderers. I'm the law."

  "The hell you are!" she snarled.

  "Easy, Jessie," soothed the fellow with her. "There is time. We will listen to what he has to say."

  Longarm glanced the man's way. He'd been standing so rock-still that Longarm had almost forgotten he was there. Probably what he wanted me to do, Longarm scolded himself. "My name is Custis Long. I'm a deputy U.S. marshal, working out of Denver. I've been assigned to investigate your father's death, ma'am."

  "How do I know that?" Jessica asked skeptically. "I don't see your badge."

  "Damn," Longarm swore. "My damned badge is in my damned wallet, which is in my damned coat, which is down with my damned horse."

  "What were you doing up here?" she demanded.

  "Just one minute, ma'am," Longarm said, his temper rising. "I'm the one holding the damned gun, so I'll ask the damned questions." He cooled down as he saw a glint of laughter in the girl's eyes, and before he knew it he found himself grinning back at her. "Sorry to lose my temper, but I tend not to take kindly to being ambushed."

  "What do you think, Ki?" Jessica asked her companion.

  The man shrugged. "He has the gun, what need would he have to lie? He could have killed us by now, if that was his purpose."

  "Thank you, Ki," Longarm laughed, getting to his feet. "Strange name, but then you're sort of a strange fellow, ain't you?" Longarm trailed off, examining the man. He was around thirty, and tall; about six foot two, Longarm estimated. The man had brown eyes and thick, straight, blue-black hair, worn longish just past the tops of his ears. He was dressed in well-broken-in, well-fitting denim jeans, a blousy, pullover collarless shirt of cotton twill, and a loose, many-pocketed leather vest. Longarm peered at his face. It was a white man's face, except for the eyes, which were almond shaped. He's half Oriental. Longarm told himself. He looked down at the man's feet. "You don't seem to be in the habit of wearing shoes or boots, Ki," he remarked.

  "My feet are quite tough," the man said in a calm voice.

  "I know they're tough, old son," Longarm said. "And you ought to know that I know. You seem to disremember the fact that you were scraping one up alongside my skull a few minutes ago."

  This time Jessica Starbuck laughed out loud, the sound rich and throaty. "Oh, I hope he really is a marshal, Ki," she drawled. "I hope he really hasn't anything to do with my father's death. It'd be a shame to have to kill him."

  "I guess that's a compliment," Longarm acknowledged dryly. "Now that we're all being friendly, I think I'll put my little pacifier away." He uncocked the derringer and slipped it back into his vest pocket. "Now what say you pick up your gun, and holster it, Miss Starbuck. I'll do the same with mine, and Ki here can keep his damned feet on the ground where they belong."

  "Folks hereabouts call me Jessie," she said as she bent to retrieve her gun. "Friends do, anyway." She eyed Longarm speculatively.

  "Folks tend to call me Longarm," he said. "And I reckon we three best be friends if we're going to get to the bottom of who it was murdered your daddy."

  Chapter 5

  "Just what were you two doing up here?" Longarm asked again, once he and Jessica Starbuck had gathered up their revolvers under the watchful eyes of Ki. and had walked a short distance to sit under the shade of a hardwood tree.

  "Marshal Farley rode out late last night to let me know that a fellow had stopped by his office to ask about what was known concerning my father's murder," she began.

  "I told him I was a federal deputy," Longarm said, frowning. "And I showed him my badge."

  "He mentioned that, of course," Ki interrupted. "But it is nothing to say one represents the law, and badges can be easily forged. We wished to watch your actions. A man's actions, when he thinks he is alone, are much more revealing than his words or credentials."

  "I trust my actions have convinced you," Longarm said. "I've been assigned to this case sort of on the sly. It won't help me find Alex Starbuck's killers if everybody in Sarah knows a federal lawman is on the job."

  "You mustn't blame Marshal Farley. Longarm," Jessica said. "He was a good friend of my father's. And telling us who you are doesn't mean everyone in Sarah will know. Your real identity is safe with us." As she spoke, she shrugged off her denim jacket. "Today's going to be a hot one…"

  Longarm tried not to stare. She was wearing a pearl-colored, thin silk blouse, with nothing at all on underneath it. Her nipples were tantalizingly visible through the sheer material.

  Making an effort to maintain his composure, he said, "Yes, ma'am, it seems as though it's going to be hot indeed." He longed for his frock coat, and for the sun to be directly overhead, signaling noon. That way he could banish the randy thoughts he was having by tucking a cheroot between his lips.

  As if she could read Longarm's mind, Jessie pulled her revolver out of its holster, but only to extract the spent shells. Longarm peered at the handgun with surprise, which Jessica evidently noticed. She handed him the weapon, saying, "My father taught me how to shoot. He used a double-action .44, the Colt Model T. Just like yours, unless I miss my guess."

  "I'm impressed," Longarm admitted. "Not many females know their way around either firearms or horseflesh."

  "I'm a special sort of female, a Starbuck," Jessie explained. Her bewitching green eyes sparkled, but there was also something straight-on, no-nonsense serious about the way she said it. "Anyway, the .44's recoil was just a hair too strong for my hand. During one of his business trips back East, my father visited the Colt factory in Connecticut. He commissioned that weapon as a gift for my eighteenth birthday. It's bored and chambered for .38 shells, but mounted on a .44 frame. The recoil's been reduced to the point where I could squeeze off all five of my pistol's rounds — and accurately too — before my father could fire his own .44 three times."

  Longarm was silent as he examined the weapon. Her gun was indeed a double-action Colt, finished blue-gray, with grips of polished peachwood. What money won't buy, he thought to himself. As far as Longarm was concerned, the jury was still out on Jessie Starbuck. Her daddy had bought her this toy. Longarm hoped her daddy had taught her how dangerous it was, and how one had to be responsible with it. She'd shot at him twice before even knowing who he was. True, she hadn't hit him, but was that because she hadn't wanted to, or hadn't been able to?

  "Isn't it beautiful?" Jessica asked. "The color reminds me of the Texas sky at dawn."

  "Just like a woman to go prattling on about how pretty a handgun is," Longarm chuckled, handing back the revolver.

  "There is nothing foolish about seeing beauty in an exquisite weapon," Ki said suddenly. He tossed his head to flip back the glossy mane of his ink-colored hair. His almond eyes traveled from Jessica's form to Longarm's face. "What is foolish is to ogle obvious beauty, forgetting one's manners in the process." Though his expression was impassive, there was a hint of warning in his tone.

  "Uh, yeah," Longarm muttered, thinking, Careful! Jessie might be this fellow's woman… He didn't cotton to muscling in on another fellow's claim. "I notice you ain't armed."r />
  "I don't often carry a gun."

  "Mighty dangerous, lying in wait for murderers with no weapons…"

  "I said I did not carry a gun," Ki corrected him. "I did not say I was weaponless."

  "What clue had you found when we made our move on you, Longarm?" Jessie asked.

  "You mean when you almost killed me, young lady," Longarm said sternly.

  "Oh, Marshal, if I'd wanted to kill you, I would have Jessie announced. "I don't miss unless I want to." She patted the revolver resting in its holster of cordovan leather. She wore it riding high, just behind the shapely curve of her right hip. "I don't often strap this on," she said, "I don't think it's right for a woman to go strutting around wearing a gun. That can cause needless trouble. But when I do pull a gun, I know how to use it."

  "Yes, ma'am," Longarm said. "Reckon you just wanted to distract me so as to take me alive, which you did. I have to give you that, though I got myself out of it. But the fact remains that you came up here fully intending to administer justice to a man you thought had something to do with your daddy's murder."

  "What's wrong with punishing the men who killed my father?" Jessica asked, eyes flashing.

  "The law will punish them. And I represent the law," Longarm cut her off, his own steely gaze flashing fiercely. "Vigilante justice is worse than no justice at all. Now I know this here part of Texas is considered Starbuck country, but it's also federal country. As a federal lawman, I'm telling you that if you try to take the law into your own hands again, I'll punish you, and I don't mean by taking you across my knee, which I'm starting to think you need, young lady. I'm talking about taking you off to jail. Is that clear?"

  "Get hold of yourself, Longarm." Ki growled.

  "You get hold of yourself, old son," Longarm snapped back. "You're so all-fired keen about seeing beauty, try and see authority when it's staring you in the face."

  Ki nodded. "You are correct, Marshal. I accept your admonition."

  "And you?" Longarm turned his gaze on Jessica. "Is what I said clear to you?"

  "Yes, sir," she pouted.

  "Fine. Now maybe we really can be friends." Longarm said, softening his tone.

  "What was it you found back there, Marshal?" Jessica asked again. "You can tell us now that the smoke has cleared, so to speak."

  "Shell casings, Jessie." Longarm climbed to his feet. "Come along, you two, and I'll show you."

  He led them to the pile of casings he'd found earlier, before all the excitement had started. Jessica picked one up and held it to the sun.

  "These are .25-caliber casings," she sighed. "My father had .25-caliber rounds in him."

  "I was going to ask if you knew that," Longarm said uneasily. "At first I thought these had been left by a hunter. Odd as hell, this low-powered a round being used to ambush a man."

  "That's what I thought," Jessie said. "But it's true. After my father died, I removed the seven bullets in him myself."

  "That must have been hard on you," Longarm remarked, surprised.

  "Hard or not, it had to be done," Jessie answered quietly. "I didn't trust the doctor in Sarah to do it. Oh, he's a fine physician, but an old-fashioned man. I was afraid he wouldn't tell me what he'd found." She nodded meaningfully at Longarm. "Like most of his sex, he has no idea what a good woman is capable of."

  "Not me," Longarm replied quickly. "I remember the capabilities of every good woman I've had the good fortune to know." He noted with satisfaction the blush he'd brought to Jessica's lovely features, as he knelt down to gather up the pile of shell casings.

  "Did you group them all together like that, Longarm?" Ki asked.

  "No sir. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

  "That one, or perhaps two rifles, did all the shooting?" Ki shrugged.

  "That can't be," Jessica broke in. "Willie said he heard all the shots fired in just a few seconds."

  "Who's Willie?" Longarm squinted up at her. "You mean there was a witness?"

  "Sort of," Jessica said slowly. "He didn't exactly see anything. Willie's an old hand at my spread, Longarm. He and my father were good friends from the old days, when I was just a little girl. My father and Willie would go riding together. Willie doesn't have any duties except during the roundup, when he acts as cook; he's sort of on pension at the Circle-Star outfit. That's our brand. Anyway, he and my father were together the day it happened. Willie was off chasing a stray calf when he heard the shooting. He said it sounded like a string of firecrackers going off on the Fourth of July. He said it only took him a few moments to ride to my father, and by then the shooting was over." Jessie shook her head, perplexed. "There's no way one or two men could have levered off thirty-odd-rounds in that short a time."

  "There's something purely crazy going on here," Longarm mused. He lined up three of the cartridge casings between his thumb and forefinger, holding them up for examination by Jessie and Ki. "See it?" he asked.

  "A long scratch running along each one," Ki said. "The scratch is identical on these three. Are they all like these?"

  "Every one that I've found," Longarm said. "Yes, there's something crazy going on, all right. Reckon I'd better have a talk with your Willie. How far is your spread from here?"

  "About three hours' ride," Jessie answered.

  "Five hours, all told, from town!" Longarm exclaimed.

  "Yep," Jessie said proudly. "We're just at where my land starts, right now. A soul could ride for two days and not leave Starbuck land."

  "Texas and Texans." Longarm grinned. "Would you mind if I camped out on some of this here Starbuck land? It would kill a day to ride back and forth between your spread and Sarah."

  "Marshal Farley said you were staying at the hotel."

  "Only last night. They don't have a room for me as of today. They're all booked up because of the roundup."

  "Well," Jessica smiled. "You are certainly not going to sleep outside. You'll stay with us. She winked. "That's Texas hospitality."

  "I'm obliged," Longarm said. "Where are your horses?"

  "Down below, on the other side of this rise," Ki answered. "We'll travel down to get them, and then ride around to meet you by the outcropping." Ki paused to lock Longarm's eyes with his own. "You have some theory about what has taken place here, do you not, Longarm?"

  Longarm ran a finger along both sides of his longhorn moustache. "Friend, the first thing a lawman learns is to keep his mind open to all sorts of theories, meanwhile collecting the facts. Then you fit your theory and the facts together, and if the two halves balance, you just may have an answer."

  Ki grinned. "A warrior once said, "To open one's mouth indiscriminately brings shame.'"

  Longarm shrugged. "I just believe in eating the apple one bite at a time."

  "Longarm! You are a poet!" Ki's strong, even teeth flashed white as he roared with laughter.

  "Don't know about that, old son," Longarm smiled. "But I do think you and I are finally starting to understand each other."

  Chapter 6

  It was past noon before the trio reached the Starbuck spread, so Longarm took advantage of the hour to light up his first blessedly sweet cheroot of the day. He offered one to Ki, who politely refused. Despite Jessie's smile, Longarm decided that it wouldn't have been proper to offer one to a lady, even if she was packing a .38.

  During the ride, they passed small herds of cattle tended by Circle-Star hands. To a man, the cowboys touched their hats and called out, "Morning, Miss Jessie," as she rode past.

  Longarm was impressed. He himself had spent some years as a hand, and he knew that unless cowboys truly respected a person, they could be taciturn to the point of rudeness, even if that person was paying the bills. These hands were clearly experienced men who could write their own tickets with any outfit. The fact that they addressed Jessica Starbuck with the respect usually reserved for a foreman said a great deal about the way she managed her outfit.

  Longarm was even more impressed when he caught his first glimpse of the Starbuck house —
or mansion, rather. It was built of stone, with the main, middle section looking to be three stories tall. One-story wings jutted out from either side. There was a bunkhouse for the hands, and a stable nearby. Trees were plentiful, lending a cool, shady feel to the home spread.

  As Jessie and Ki rode up to the veranda of the house, a young boy in denims appeared. He was one of the green hands fulfilling his apprenticeship by working for the spread's boss wrangler, the experienced ranch veteran who was in charge of the outfit's stable of horses. The boy gathered up the reins of Jessie's and Ki's mounts, and then looked inquiringly at Longarm's.

  "See that this man's horse is well cared for," Jessica ordered. "He'll be staying with us for a spell."

  A shape detached itself from the shadows beneath the veranda to reveal itself as a huge, hulking man, standing at least as tall as Longarm, but outweighing the deputy by at least twenty pounds. None of that extra weight looked like fat, either. He was dressed in a suit, complete with a string tie in place down the front of his grimy white shirt. "Hold it, boy!" the man snapped out at the young wrangler, countermanding Jessica's orders. "Just who is staying with us, Miss Jessie?"

  "This doesn't concern you, Higgins," Jessica said.

  "As foreman of there here outfit, I guess it'll be me who decides what concerns me or not. With all due respect, Miss Jessie." He grinned, his smile yellow-toothed and resembling that of a grizzly just before it cracks open a beehive. He ambled over to Longarm's horse, patting its flanks as he looked the gelding over. "Fine animal. Don't often see a hand with his own mount." He turned to stare at Longarm. "You signing on as a hand, boy?"

  "I'm signing on to dig your grave if you call me 'boy' again," Longarm told him. There was the sound of guffaws swiftly choked off. Four more men stepped out from the interior darkness of the veranda to lean against the railing.

  Longarm looked them over. They were wearing expensive Stetsons and shiny Justin boots, though the rest of their clothes were broken down and dusty. Their gunbelts were cracked and scuffed, cinched tightly about their waists. Longarm didn't have to examine their weapons to know that they'd be single-action weapons, working hands' weapons — not the kind of guns that man-killers carried. They were a wolf pack following their big bad he-wolf, Higgins. They could be troublesome when drunk, all of them against one man in the dark, but they were nothing but wind when stared down in broad daylight.