Longarm and the Great Divide

by Tabor Evans

It was a considerable hike across to the Nebraska side of things, each half of the divided street being wide enough for three wagons to pass abreast.

  A line of stakes had been pounded into the hard prairie soil smack down the center of the street. To keep delivery wagons from straying over to the “enemy” side? Or cattle? He had no idea what the purpose was. Perhaps it was only to make the residents on either side feel better about it all.

  Whatever the purpose it was no barrier. Longarm walked across to the Stonecipher side and stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of the Nebraska saloon.

  “Welcome, Deputy Long,” someone immediately greeted.

  Longarm grinned. It seemed someone in Nebraska was spying on the Wyoming contingent because there was not a familiar face among the—he paused to count—fifteen people in the place.

  Those fifteen, however, certainly seemed to know who he was. And the reason he was there.

  “Now let us tell you what the truth is,” a tall, nearly bald gent said, extending his hand to shake.

  Chapter 15

  “My name is Potts, deputy. Jason Potts. I own the saloon here.” Potts was grinning like he had a secret that Longarm was not privy to.

  “Potts. You aren’t . . .”

  Potts laughed out loud, a deep, hearty belly laugh. And Longarm caught on.

  “You and Jacob are brothers,” he said, thinking about the saloon owner from across the street on the Wyoming side of things.

  “That’s right,” Jason Potts said, laughing again. “Our pap ran a saloon back in Kentucky. You could say we grew up in the business.”

  “Then why . . . ?”

  “This feud between us?” Potts shrugged. “It just happened.” He laughed again. “Sort of.”

  “How’s come you two can’t share? I understand it’s the spring that you’re feuding over, so why can’t you just call it a draw and share that water?” Longarm asked.

  “It’s more than water. It’s . . . everything,” Potts said. Then his grin flashed again. “Jake and me haven’t been able to share, not ever. When we was boys we’d have a dozen toys on the ground between us, but we’d fight over one. We’ve always been like that.”

  “They tried to steal our business,” one of the men in the group put in. When Longarm raised an eyebrow he added, “They came over here and tried to lure our cowboys away to their side.”

  “You stake a claim on a particular batch of cowboys?” Longarm asked.

  The fellow nodded. “We trade with the Nebraska stockmen and their cowboys. The Double T and R Slash and the Rafter O. They’re ours. They’re Nebraska brands.”

  “And over on that side?” Longarm asked.

  “They do business with the TTL, the XOX, the MCX, and the XL Bar. They’re all Wyoming brands. The thing is, um, the state of Nebraska doesn’t recognize Wyoming brands. So any Wyoming beeves that wander across the line could be . . . I’m not saying they necessarily are . . . but those animals could legally be claimed over here.”

  “And if your livestock wander over there?” Longarm reached for a cheroot. A thin young man in the crowd quickly snapped a match aflame and held it for him.

  The question brought a chorus of scowls from the assembled gents. “Then the sons o’ bitches steal them,” Potts said.

  “Ah, so if your beeves stray into Wyoming, that crowd steals them. But if theirs happen t’ come over here, then you’re only gathering unclaimed stock if you take ’em and run ’em in with your herds.”

  “Not our herds exactly. We’re businessmen not stockmen,” Potts said, “but you have the general idea.”

  “But you have no choice except to share the water since that’s the only standing water around here,” Longarm said.

  “That pretty much explains the way of things,” Potts agreed.

  “And the letter to Marshal Vail?”

  “What letter?” he got back from the Nebraska contingent.

  “You boys don’t know anything about a letter that came from a place called Valstone?”

  “Not me.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Not none of us.”

  “Do you have a post office?” Longarm asked them.

  “Our general store has a mail counter in back.”

  “And across the way?”

  “Same thing. It’s a mail counter, not exactly a post office. We talked about applying for a regular post office, but we haven’t gotten around to it just yet.”

  “Interesting,” Longarm said. He scratched an itch on the side of his nose and smoothed his mustache tips, then dug into his britches for a coin. “I could stand a beer,” he said. “Maybe even a beer an’ a shot.”

  “Here, deputy. Let us buy,” came the return, a purely lovely sentiment, Longarm thought.

  And he was right about at least one thing. The beer and the whiskey in Jason Potts’s Nebraska saloon were much better than in Jacob Potts’s Wyoming establishment.

  Chapter 16

  “Hi, everyone. I’m sorry I’m late.” The voice came from behind him as he stood with a whiskey glass raised halfway to his lips. The voice was soft and husky and very feminine, and as he turned around he thought . . .

  “Oh, God. Liz?”

  The lady smiled. “Hello, Custis.”

  “My God, I can’t believe . . . what are you doing here?”

  Elizabeth Kunsler said, “Why, I came to the meeting, of course. All the merchants in Stonecipher are invited.”

  “But . . . you. What are you doing here? In the town, I mean. The last time I saw you . . .”

  “I was living in Omaha,” she finished for him. “I married. You remember James, don’t you? James Stonecipher. He discovered this spot and recognized the need for stores to supply the ranches in the area. So he developed the town. Jimmy died last year . . .”

  “I’m sorry ’bout that, Liz.”

  “Don’t be. He was a nice man but frankly not everything a woman could want. He did leave me fairly well off, though. I own all of the buildings in Stonecipher now. I live off my rents. And, Custis, when you are done here I would like to speak with you.” There was a twinkle in her bright blue eyes when she lowered her voice a notch and added, “In private.”

  He had known Liz—what was it—five years ago? Six? She was quite the dame then. A handful. Pretty, vivacious, and full of fun.

  On their first outing he hired a buggy and drove down along the Missouri. They found a cool, sheltered glade . . . and the first thing out of Liz’s mouth was that she was going in for a swim. She did, too. Stripped herself bare as a boiled egg and splashed around in the shallows.

  She admitted later that she could not swim a lick. But she did know how to have a good time.

  “Soon as we’re done here,” he told her. “Just tell me where.”

  Chapter 17

  “So who requested federal help with your law enforcement?” Longarm asked. “And why?”

  “That is simple enough, Custis,” Elizabeth Kunsler told him. “Neither town can afford a full time marshal, and if we did have one there would be the problem of jurisdiction. I mean, a marshal in Stonecipher couldn’t arrest a lawbreaker in Valmere and vice versa. A Nebraska lawman has to stop at the state line, don’t you see. That is where his authority ends. I assume it is the same over on their side.”

  “Yet you folks got together enough t’ ask for our help,” Longarm said.

  “And it took two months of very careful negotiation to accomplish that,” Potts put in.

  “Couple times there we thought we’d come to shooting over who was to do what,” a gentleman in sleeve garters and a derby hat said.

  “Couple times I wanted to pull a gun on those bastards,” another gent said.

  “In the end,” Potts said, “each side laid out our proposed wording and we pulled one out of a hat to decide.”

 
Longarm looked at Liz and said, “You were always a sensible girl. I’m surprised you couldn’t ride herd on ’em.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t permitted in the meetings,” she told him. “Something about me being a woman.”

  He grinned down at her. “Over on the Wyoming side, women have pretty much the same rights as men. Voting an’ everything. You did know that didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but that is over there. This is Nebraska, and women here do not have voting privileges. Or much of anything else.”

  “Don’t start that, Elizabeth,” Potts said. To Longarm he added, “Our Elizabeth wants to act like this is Wyoming. It isn’t, and we are quite happy with the way our laws run.”

  Longarm grunted. “What you all need, I think, is a peacemaker.”

  “Right, and that is where you come in. As a federal marshal you can cross back and forth. With you here a man who shoots up my place can’t get away from responsibility for it just by walking across the street. That’s all he needs to do the way things are now; he just walks across the street and he’s free from arrest.

  “Convenient,” Longarm said.

  “But bad for business,” another man put in. “The way it is now, a man can run out on a bill and escape paying just by stepping across that line.”

  “I can see how that would be a nuisance,” Longarm agreed.

  “Nuisance be damned. The cowboys all know about it, and some of them deliberately run up their bills over here then scamper across the line to keep from paying what they owe.”

  “Makes it hard for an honest merchant to turn a profit,” said the gentleman Longarm thought he remembered as being the proprietor of the general store on the Stonecipher side of town.

  “Or a dishonest one,” someone at the back of the room added, which made the storekeeper’s head snap back around but too late for him to see who made the comment.

  “I think I see the problem,” Longarm told the crowd.

  “The problem is them,” the storekeeper said. “They need to move their town away from us.”

  “And they need to quit stealing our water. That’s another thing. We developed that spring. The water is ours.”

  “Right. The water belongs to us. We should make them stop using it. That would certainly get some results. Do that and they would have to move away from here.”

  Longarm looked down at Liz and raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t look at me, Custis. I’m just a woman. I have no right to say anything. About anything.”

  “Frustratin’, ain’t it,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t know the half of it,” she said.

  “We’ll talk ’bout all o’ that later. Right now, I’m hungry. I assume you got a café over on this side,” Longarm said.

  “No café meal for you this evening,” Liz said. “You’re coming home with me for supper. We have a lot of catching up to do.” She hooked her arm into his and announced, “This meeting is over. I’m taking the deputy home for a good meal. We can worry about business tomorrow.”

  With that she turned him around and dragged him toward the door.

  Chapter 18

  Liz’s house was a modest bungalow, not the mansion he expected. She held his hand and led him inside. As soon as he closed the door behind them, Liz turned and melted into his arms.

  “You feel every bit as good as I remembered,” he told her.

  She laughed. “And your hard-on feels just like I remember.”

  Longarm bent his face to hers and kissed her long and deep. “D’you have house help these days?”

  “No, why?”

  “In that case it’ll be all right if I unbutton that dress . . .”

  “I can probably get myself out of it quicker than you can manage, Custis. Take care of your own clothes, and let’s see who gets naked the quicker.”

  “Deal,” he said and began stripping. Moments later he said, “You win. So what d’you want for your prize?”

  Liz looked down at the huge cock that was lightly throbbing in its erection. She laughed again and said, “That. I want that for my prize.”

  “Then I got no choice. You won it fair an’ square,” Longarm said. He took her into his arms again and kissed her. When they broke apart he said, “Where?”

  She turned and led him through the parlor into a modestly furnished bedroom. Liz had an exceptionally soft feather bed. She sank into it, holding her arms for him to join her.

  He did, springs creaking as he stretched out beside her.

  Elizabeth Kunsler was slender, no longer a spring chicken but with large, firm tits that seemed even larger on her thin frame. Her waist was tiny. Longarm could practically span it with his two hands.

  At the moment, however, it was not her waist that he was thinking of.

  He kissed her again, probing her mouth with his tongue, then moved lower, finding an engorged nipple and taking it into his mouth. Liz arched her back, practically pushing her nipple into his mouth as he sucked and teased.

  She eased him away from her nipple and gently pushed him onto his back.

  “You don’t mind?” she asked.

  Longarm laughed. “I remember what ’tis that you like, darlin’. Glad to oblige.”

  He lay there on the softness of the deep feathers while Liz moved to straddle him, facing toward his feet. With a whimper of eagerness she bent to him, first running her tongue around the head of his cock, then taking him into her mouth. Shallow at first. Then deeper. Sucking. Nibbling. Moaning with pleasure of her own as Longarm’s tongue flicked over her clitoris.

  He buried his tongue in her pussy, tasting the sweet nectar there. Then out again to concentrate on her clitoris.

  After what seemed like mere seconds Liz shuddered and stiffened.

  “That was quick,” he said, pulling away from her pussy far enough that he could speak.

  Liz raised her head from his cock, kissed the tip of it and said, “It’s been a long time, Custis. I don’t want any . . . entanglements in town here. That could be awkward. So I have the reputation of celibacy.” She laughed. “If you can believe that.”

  “Yeah, but I know you better,” he said.

  Liz could not answer. She had her mouth full of his prick.

  Longarm smiled. And resumed licking her pussy until she came a second time. And a third.

  And by that time his own sap was rising to the level of explosion, bursting forth in a powerful climax, spewing into Liz’s throat.

  She drank his come, and he hugged her close.

  Chapter 19

  Longarm woke slowly, for the moment unsure of where he was. Then memory returned and he smiled. Liz was lying close beside him, curled onto her right side, her back to Longarm.

  He reached over and ran his hand lightly over the swell of her rump. He felt a swelling of his own as, thinking about Liz, his cock became engorged.

  He rolled onto his side tight against her, his cock slipping in between her legs from behind. Longarm arched his back and slowly slid inside Elizabeth. She made a small sound and reached back to place her hand on his hip.

  He kept the rhythm slow and easy, coming after several pleasant minutes. Then he withdrew and leaned forward to kiss her between her shoulder blades.

  Liz mumbled something that he could not quite make out. He kissed her again and rolled over, sitting up on the side of the bed and reaching for his clothes.

  He was hungry and he knew if he woke Liz, she would get up and cook for him, but there seemed no need for that. Instead, he dressed and quietly let himself out of her bedroom.

  It was not yet daylight, but he could see lights in a café across the way on the Wyoming side. He let himself out into the chilly predawn, settled his hat comfortably on his head, and strode out into the darkness.

  * * *

  “Good morning. Are you open for business yet?” He
remembered the café owner from the day before but could not remember the man’s name.

  The brawny fellow smiled in greeting. “Good morning, Marshal. I won’t be open, not officially anyhow, for another half hour or so, but I can fix you something now if you like. Ham steak and fried spuds be all right for you? I can’t get any eggs out this far, but we have plenty potatoes.”

  “Just fine, thanks.”

  “The coffee is just starting to boil, so it isn’t ready quite yet. Won’t be long though. And the biscuits won’t be ready for a while, neither.” The man wiped his hands on his apron and reached for a knife to slice the ham for Longarm.

  “We seen you go over to talk to those sons o’ bitches yesterday,” the gentleman said over his shoulder as he worked. “Did you do any good? Did you tell them they got to move?” He sliced off a thick ham steak, complete with a rim of juicy fat, and slapped it into a skillet. The skillet went onto the stove. He opened the firebox and tossed in several chunks of dried cow shit. Longarm might have preferred that he at least wipe his hands again afterward, but a man can’t have everything.

  The cook scrubbed some potatoes and began slicing them, skin on. When he had what looked like a good pound of the spuds he dropped those and a large dollop of lard into another skillet and set that one beside the first.

  Longarm relaxed, smoking a cheroot, and idly watched the cook at his work.

  His leisurely morning came to an abrupt halt when a bullet flew through the open doorway to thump into the back wall of the café.

  Longarm threw himself down, Colt in hand.

  The cook looked around, annoyed but upright. “Oh, don’t be worried, Marshal. That’s probably some drunk cowboy from over Nebraska way. He’s likely pissed off ’cause he knows you’re about to close Stonecipher down and make those sons o’ bitches all move someplace else. I wouldn’t worry about it overmuch.” He used a spatula to stir the potatoes and flip the ham over onto the other side. “Coffee should be ready soon,” he said.

  By then Longarm was already out the door, moving at a crouch in the dim predawn light.