Longarm and the Banker's Daughter (9781101613375)

by Evans, Tabor

  The deer path climbed to a wagon trail. Longarm swung the dun westward along the trail and whipped its right hip with the rein ends, urging as much speed as he could. The horse lunged ahead, blowing, the air racking in and out of its tired lungs. Longarm gritted his teeth against the sound. The horse had had a tough descent down the slope of the dike and a tough ascent up the opposite hill. Riding double, even with Lacy, who didn’t weigh much over a hundred pounds, would be too much for it soon.

  “Come on, horse!” Longarm shouted, ramming his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Let’s mo-seeeey!”

  Shots grew louder behind him. He glanced back and with a sinking feeling he saw the entire pack of cutthroats galloping along the trail behind him. Their slugs blew up dust on either side of the trail, chewed into trees trunks, snapped branches. They were gaining on Longarm fast.

  Ahead, the trail curved. As the dun followed it, Longarm could feel its lunging strides shortening, the mount’s knees weakening. He’d decided to stop the horse and make whatever stand he could right here in the trail, when he saw the stone escarpment rising to the right of it. His pulse quickened. He knew without thinking what he was going to do.

  As soon as he was around the bend, the gang momentarily out of sight, he gave the reins to Lacy and yelled in her right ear, “Keep going as far as the dun’ll take you!”

  She’d started to respond when he shucked his Winchester and kicked free of the stirrups, lifted both feet to the horse’s back behind the cantle, and threw the rifle onto the scarp. Then he threw himself onto the scarp.

  “Longarm!” the girl screamed as she sped on up the trail with the faltering dun, looking wild-eyed over her shoulder.

  Longarm grabbed an arrow-shaped point of rock, wrapping both arms around it, hugging it like a lover. His rifle was on the crest of the scarp above it. He gritted his teeth and hoisted himself up and over the rock, rolling onto the top of the scarp, breathing hard, all his sundry aches and pains screaming at him, the pain in his head kicking up again wickedly. Suppressing it, he picked up the Winchester.

  Just now, Heck Gunn and Orlando Cruz came into view from around the bend, both men hunkered low in their saddles, Gunn holding a carbine, Cruz wielding two pistols as he cursed in Spanish and batted his heels against his palomino’s flanks. The other riders formed a ragged, single-file line behind their enraged leaders.

  Longarm dropped into a nest in the rocks about six feet below the crest, raised the carbine to his shoulder, rested the barrel on a stone thumb jutting in front of him, and lined up the Winchester’s sights on the jostling figure of Heck Gunn.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  Gunn’s horse—a brown-and-white Indian pony—screamed above the Winchester’s roar as its rider gritted his teeth beneath his top hat and flew straight back against the pony’s rump. As Gunn tumbled over the pinto’s tail, Longarm threw lead at the stunned Orlando Cruz, who had just turned to his partner as Longarm’s bullet smashed into Cruz’s face. Blood shone like a smashed tomato beneath the Mexican’s right eye, and the desperado screamed shrilly as he, too, was thrown off his horse’s jouncing ass.

  Longarm ejected the spent cartridge casing and lined up his sights on another rider and fired.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Two more riders were sent screaming back to the hell they’d ridden out of while their horses continued lunging on up the trail, one dragging its rider by a boot hung up in a stirrup.

  Boom! Boom! Boom-Boom!

  As two more cutthroats were sent to their dusty deaths, one of the horses pitching wildly, eyes white-ringed, Longarm swung around to track the last rider as he galloped up the trail in the direction of Lacy. Longarm seated a fresh shell, lined up the sights between the rider’s shoulders clad in black leather, and—ping!

  The Winchester’s hammer slammed onto an empty chamber.

  “Shit!” Longarm bit out.

  Boom!

  He jerked his eyes to the rider who’d gotten away from him. The man’s horse had turned sideways in the trail and was just now lifting its front hooves high off the ground and clawing at the sky, whinnying shrilly. Its rider tumbled straight back to hit the trail with a thud that Longarm could hear from sixty yards away.

  Dust wafted. The horse dropped down to its front hooves and ran off the trail’s south side, trailing its reins.

  Another thirty yards farther up the trail, Lacy stood in the trail near the splay-legged dun, lowering a pistol she held in her right hand. In her other hand she held the reins of the horse that had only a minute before dragged its rider up the trail. The pistol she held must have been that hombre’s, who lay unmoving in the trail to her right.

  Scowling in befuddlement, Longarm climbed down out of the rocks and onto the trail. He looked around at the unmoving gang members lying where he’d dropped them, blood pooling in the dust and tough, wiry blond grass beneath them. Gun smoke and dust wafted.

  He walked up the trail past the man Lacy had shot out of his saddle and stared at the girl standing between the blowing, sweat-silvered horses. She held the Remington .44 straight down across her bent knee.

  “You had the money, two horses, and a pistol,” he said, shaking his head, genuinely puzzled. “Why didn’t you just keep riding?”

  She looked as befuddled by her own behavior as he did. “I don’t know,” she said tonelessly, hiking a shoulder. “I reckon you could have left me back there, at the mercy of Gunn, and taken the money back to Jawbone.” She gave the puzzled lawman a poignant look. “But you didn’t.” She shook her head. “After all the bad things I’d done . . . you didn’t.”

  Longarm studied her, still not sure what to make of the girl. He stepped forward, wrapped his hands around her waist, and drew her toward him. She stood meekly, almost serenely before him.

  “Miss Lacy,” he said, sliding her hair back from her neck with the backs of his hands, “you might just make a woman, after all.”

  “On account of you.” She returned the smile, tossed the pistol in the dirt, wrapped her hands around his wrists, and squeezed. “I’d like to be your woman tonight, Longarm.” Her direct gaze was serious and genuine, owning a naked sincerity he’d never seen in it before. “Just one more time before you take me back to Jawbone. If that’s all right . . .”

  Longarm smiled and brushed his thumb against her chin. She looked more beautiful now than she had the first time he’d seen her. “Why the hell not?”

  Watch for

  LONGARM AND THE DEADLY RESTITUTION

  the 410th novel in the exciting LONGARM series from Jove

  Coming in January!

  And don’t miss

  SWEET REVENGE

  Longarm Lone Star Omnibus

  Available from Jove in January!