by Tabor Evans
"What doesn't make sense?"
"That Blake Huntington could be a train robber. He sounds more like a fortune hunter to me."
Milly pushed herself up so that her exposed breasts were practically hanging in Longarm's face. "Let me tell you something else about Blake before we put each other into a state of bliss."
"I'm listening."
"Blake knows all about that train wreck."
"So?"
"So he was part of it!"
"Nonsense. Milly, he probably just read the papers. I saw the Cheyenne paper down in the lobby. It was all over the front page, and I'm sure that some of the local citizenry have been up there gawking at the wreckage."
"Oh, yeah? Well how many people knew that you were on that train with Eli Wheat?"
"It was no secret."
"And that Wheat escaped?"
"Still no secret."
"Well," Milly said, her lips starting to nibble at Longarm's earlobe again even as her fingers played with his big rod, "Blake Huntington was staying at this hotel during the train wreck. It would have been very easy for him to have joined the robbers and then derailed the train and returned that same evening."
"Yes, that would have been possible. How did you learn that Blake was staying here then?"
"Clarence told me that they had spent four days together out hunting elk in a tent camp just before arriving in Laramie late last week."
"And there can be no mistake about that?"
"No," Milly said, spreading her legs and climbing onto Longarm as she worked his swelling manhood into a stiff pole. "Old Clarence might be out of shape and a little piggish when it comes to satisfying women, but there is nothing wrong with his memory. The top end of that old Englishman is still in fine working order."
Longarm grinned as he felt Milly ease down on his swollen rod. He laced his hands behind his head and watched as she began to work over him in slow, tight circles. The way she moved caused her big breasts to swing enticingly, and when Longarm could stand it no longer he pulled them down to his mouth.
"Oh, yes," Milly said, "with you I can make it, Longarm. With the others, it's just pretending."
"No pretending now," he said, his own hips beginning to move in slick unison to her motion.
Milly was a well-lubricated lovemaking machine. All you had to do was fire her engine. After that, she was capable of running forever. Longarm concentrated on the ceiling, and forced his mind to detach from the building heat in his crotch. Milly liked it to go a long, long time. Maybe even, he thought, glancing out at the window and thinking he saw a hint of light, maybe even until dawn.
"Oh, baby," she purred, "you got what Mama needs!"
Longarm growled, and soon he and Milly were lost in a swirling cloud of passion.
Longarm slept until nine o'clock, then left Milly sleeping and went downstairs for breakfast feeling a little sore in the pants. Milly could do that to a man, and Longarm hoped that he wasn't walking bowlegged. He ate a big breakfast and bought a local newspaper. The Laramie Gazette wasn't much of a paper, but what news there was focused on the train wreck. Longarm read every column of print and there wasn't a thing about him and his escaped prisoner, Eli Wheat.
Longarm was on his second cup of coffee when Clarence Huntington, along with a younger man who fit the description of Blake Huntington, strolled into the dining hall and were ushered to a table. Unfortunately, Longarm was not near enough to overhear their conversation, but he could see that both men appeared listless and were probably suffering the aftereffects of a night of drinking and debauchery.
For the next half hour, Longarm watched the pair. When that grew wearisome, he decided to leave. Suddenly Ned Rowe rushed in, out of breath.
"Deputy Long!" he called as he crossed the dining room leaving the odor of manure in his wake. "I found that horse with the broken shoe used in the train wreck!"
Longarm swore in silent fury. Blake Huntington as well as the entire roomful of diners had stopped talking and riveted their attention on the excited blacksmith.
"Yes, sir!" Rowe said, dropping into a chair across from Longarm. "I found that horseshoe, all right!"
"Keep your damned voice down!" Longarm hissed across the table. "This isn't supposed to be told to the entire town!"
Ned's face fell. "Oh," he said, looking around and realizing that everyone was waiting to hear more. "Well, dammit, how was I supposed to know? Anyway, I found the horse!"
"Let's get out of here," Longarm said, feeling thoroughly disgusted. "We can talk about it outside."
"Talk about it, hell! You can see the horse for yourself!"
Once they were outside, Longarm said, "Show me the horse."
"Sure. Follow me!"
As they hurried down the boardwalk, Longarm tried to assess the damage that might have occurred in the dining room of the Outpost Hotel. If Blake Huntington was a member of the outlaw gang that had derailed the Union Pacific Railroad train and then robbed its mail car safe, he would now be warned and therefore all the more wary. If he was not, then Ned Rowe's excited announcement would have little effect.
"The fella that brought this horse in is a tough-looking hombre, I'll say that. He told me to shoe the horse and that he'd be back for it in an hour."
"In an hour?"
"That's right. But I'm not sure what I'm going to tell him when he returns and his horse isn't shod."
"That won't be your worry," Longarm said. "It'll be mine."
"Well, there the horse is," Ned told him, pointing to a thin roan gelding. "He looks damned hard-used, don't he?"
"He sure does."
Longarm went over and picked up the roan's right front foot. He inspected the broken shoe and said, "This is the horse, all right."
"What are we going to do?"
"Shoe the animal," Longarm said after a moment.
"You mean you're not going to arrest the man?"
"I'd rather follow him awhile and see what he's up to," Longarm said, realizing that he had little choice but to explain. "Most likely, he'll lead me to other members of the gang."
"Yeah!" Ned chuckled. "That sure makes good sense. Maybe we can scoop up the whole bunch!"
"There's no we in this," Longarm said. "You just shoe the horse quick and then act natural when its owner returns. I'll follow him."
"But I want to help!"
"Stay out of it!" Longarm snapped. "This isn't your line of work. If there's a capture and reward, I promise it will come to you. But don't mess me up, Ned."
"I know how to take care of myself," Ned told him in an injured voice.
"I'm sure that you do," Longarm said. "But it would just be better if you played your part and left me to handle the rest of it."
Ned didn't act pleased to be excluded, but after more persuasion he agreed to do as Longarm insisted.
"I better get to work," Ned stated. "That fella could be back any time and he's expecting me to be finished with his horse."
"I'll be watching," Longarm promised. "I'll be hiding back in your shop. Everything will turn out just fine."
"I hope this one is a murderer and that there is a big reward on his head."
"Yeah," Longarm said, moving into the dim recesses of the blacksmith's shop.
Longarm waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, he struck a match and saw that it was almost noon and that Milly and Blake Huntington would be meeting for lunch.
"Pssst!" Longarm hissed. "Ned!"
The blacksmith had long since finished a hurried shoeing job on the roan, and was once again looking up the street for its owner.
"Pssst! Ned!"
"What?" the blacksmith snapped.
"Come in here for a minute."
Ned took one last look around and marched inside. He was angry and disappointed that the roan's owner had failed to appear as promised. "Deputy, just what the hell do you suppose happened to that guy?"
"I don't know," Longarm said, "but I've got to be somewhere else for the next fifteen or twenty minute
s."
"You're leaving?"
"I have to go," Longarm said, realizing that an explanation was warranted but unwilling to offer one to the blacksmith. "If our man returns, stall him awhile. I'll return as soon as I can."
"What if he won't be stalled?"
"Then follow him!"
Ned swore in anger. "You said you wanted to follow him alone."
"Look, Ned," Longarm said, "I have to go for a few minutes. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He rushed outside and almost collided with a man.
"Deputy Long!" the man shouted, stabbing for his sixgun.
Longarm's own hand made a hurried cross draw for his Colt. He dragged his gun out and fired twice. Then he rolled and fired once more.
The man emptied his gun into the dirt, then pitched forward and was dead before he struck the ground.
"Dammit, that's not what I wanted!" Longarm swore, kneeling beside the dead man and quickly rifling his pockets for clues. All he found was money--about a hundred dollars, which he stuffed in his coat pocket.
"Hey!" Ned Rowe exclaimed. "If you're keeping that fella's money, what in the hell am I going to get out of this?"
"Is this the man we were waiting for?"
"Damn right."
"Then you get the roan horse and saddle," Longarm said, furious with the way things had turned out. "That is, if you keep your mouth shut."
"But what about all that money?"
"It belongs to the Union Pacific."
Longarm reloaded his Colt. He pulled out his pocket watch and noted that it was ten minutes after twelve. There was still time, if Milly kept Blake Huntington occupied over lunch, to search the suspect's room for clues that would link him to the train robbery.
But he had to move fast.
"Hey!" Ned Rowe shouted. "Where are you going? We got a dead man here!"
"I'll be back!" Longarm called, hurrying away before the shots brought a curious crowd.
CHAPTER 8
"Morning, sir!" the hotel desk clerk sang out as Longarm shot past on his way to the stairs.
"Morning!" Longarm called out as he took the steps two at a time.
He skidded to a halt in the upstairs hallway, and then walked slowly to Blake Huntington's room. First he knocked on the door, and got no answer. Then he tried his own key in the door just in case. When it got him nowhere, he produced a small wire device that had served him well in the past. Sticking it into the door's lock, he took only moments to get the door open. Then he stepped inside, gently closed the door behind him, and moved swiftly to inspect the room.
Longarm was still furious about having to kill the outlaw with the roan horse. If the man had not recognized him and called out his name, things might have worked out fine. But the dead outlaw had recognized him, while Longarm could not put a name on the man he'd killed. Even so, he was sure he'd seen the owner of the roan horse someplace.
"Put your mind on the business at hand and stop fuming about what you can't change," Longarm said, forcing himself to concentrate on searching the room.
One thing that was obvious was that, while Blake Huntington might be a gentleman, he was also slovenly. There was a dirty pile of underwear wadded up and pitched in the corner, several empty whiskey bottles on the floor, and an overflowing tray of Royal Crown cigarette butts spilled across his night table.
Longarm went through the dresser first, hunting for some tie-in to the railroad robbery. He found nothing. The top of the dresser was littered with small change, matches, several empty sardine cans, and the tins of other meals quickly consumed.
"One thing for sure," Longarm said. "If he had money, he wouldn't be supping on tinned goods. The man is a fraud."
Longarm searched through the clothes closet, the bathroom, the luggage, and even riffled the pages of several books. He found nothing that would incriminate Blake Huntington or in any way tie him to the train derailment.
"Damn!"
Longarm spied a trash basket filled with more whiskey bottles, a crumpled, week-old newspaper, and some more smelly food tins. Marshal Billy Vail had often preached that a lawman could find more evidence in a trash basket than almost any other place. Longarm carefully went through the contents, and only when he decided there was still nothing of interest and began to stuff everything back did he notice that the Laramie newspaper contained an advertisement for the Union Pacific, with a timetable for the service across the Laramie Summit to Cheyenne. The advertisement was boldly circled, and beside it were the penciled words "ELI AND DEPUTY."
Longarm's pulse quickened. These three words would not constitute evidence in a court of law, but they told Longarm that, without a shadow of doubt, Blake Huntington was a member of the train-robbing gang. That meant that Huntington was the only real link that Longarm now had with the gang, and that the man would have to be shadowed until more was revealed.
Longarm tore the page out, neatly folded it, and then stuffed it into his pocket. Satisfied that his inspection was complete, Longarm started for the door. Just as his hand clamped onto the knob, he heard the metallic click of a key being inserted in the outside lock.
Longarm whirled and sprang for the window. He tried to open it, but the thing was frozen shut. And even if it had been wide open it would have been a long, long drop to the alley below. He twisted to see the door handle turning, and heard Milly's forced laughter.
Longarm dove for the carpet. He rolled over onto his back, and barely managed to squeeze under the bed just as the door opened.
"Well, now!" the man said in his slightly British accent. "I can see that the hotel needs to get someone up here to do some housekeeping, don't they!"
"I'll say," Milly replied.
There was a moment of silence, and then the bedsprings groaned and sagged to rest against Longarm's chest. He heard the sound of kissing, and then felt the bedsprings moving as the couple began to roll around. Then heavy breathin , and then clothes hitting the floor.
Longarm ground his teeth and cursed himself for not leaving earlier. The last thing he wanted was to be under the bed while this pair coupled.
The bedsprings began to squeak and Longarm could hear Milly start to moan, and he knew from the sound of it that she was faking.
"Oh, baby," the Englishman panted. "What you got is what I want. Roll over."
"No," Milly said quite firmly.
"Aw, come on, beauty! You'll like it!"
"No, I won't! It hurts that way!"
Blake's voice hardened. "Just do it!!"
"No! Blake, stop it!"
Longarm heard fear in Milly's voice. She began to plead and then struggle with the man. The springs pressed down on Longarm as the pair fought, and when Longarm heard the sharp sound of flesh being struck by flesh, he knew that he could not remain a bystander any longer.
"Please!" Milly cried. "Please stop!"
"You bitch!"
Longarm tore a gash across his chest as he struggled out from under the bed. Blake Huntington was on top of Milly and she was bleeding from the mouth. Longarm jumped up, grabbed the naked man, and hurled him across the room to bounce against the far wall.
Blake Huntington was all man and all mad. Cursing and spitting, he charged Longarm with murder in his eyes. He drove a knee at Longarm's groin that was deflected. But before Longarm could smash Huntington, the man gouged his eye and tried to tear it out of its socket with his thumb.
Longarm struck out powerfully. His knuckles hit bare flesh. Huntington grunted in pain. He backed up, snatched a heavy water pitcher from the dresser, and charged Longarm with every intention of smashing his brains out. Longarm could have drawn his gun and shot the man, but he needed him alive. So he dove for Huntington's ankles. The Englishman's momentum carried him over Longarm and into the window.
The glass shattered and Huntington's scream was hideous, but it ended abruptly when he struck the alley below. Longarm jumped up and ran to the window. Blake Huntington was sprawled on his back, covered with glass and blood. His neck was
twisted at a very unnatural angle and he was staring up at Longarm while his naked body twitched.
"Honey!" Milly cried. "He hurt me bad!"
Longarm was also in great pain. The vision in his left eye was blurry. He grabbed Milly's clothes and then pulled her to her feet. Wrapping a blanket around her, Longarm hissed, "Let's get to my room!"
Milly was sobbing, but she understood the sense of urgency. She snatched up an errant shoe and hurried after Longarm toward the door.
"It's too late," he said. The hallway was filled with people who had heard the screaming and yelling.
Longarm took a deep breath. He produced his badge and said in his most officious voice, "Everyone go back to your rooms! I'm United States Deputy Marshal Custis Long and everything is under control!"
He managed to reach his door and get it unlocked. "Get inside and get cleaned up," he told Milly. "I'll be along soon."
"But-"
"Just do it!"
He pushed Milly into his room, then slammed the door shut and used his key to lock it. Glaring at the other guests, Longarm repeated, "It's all under control! Now for the last time, get back into your rooms!"
Only one man stood firmly, Clarence Huntington, who had rushed up the stairs. "Where is Blake?"
Before Longarm could stop the man, Huntington barged into Blake's room. His eyes took in the scene, and came to rest on the shattered and bloodstained window.
"No," he whispered.
Longarm jumped into the room behind the man. "I'm a United States deputy marshal and your nephew was beating a woman to death. I tried to stop him and when he attacked, he accidentally tumbled through the window."
Clarence pivoted, and Longarm saw the old man dig into his coat pocket for what was almost sure to be a derringer. Longarm jumped forward. As the derringer came up, Longarm's fist exploded against Clarence's jaw. The old man's eyes crossed and he staggered. He was tough and he was game. Longarm had to hit him twice more: first a brutal uppercut to his protruding belly that lifted Clarence to his toes and turned his face fish-underbelly white, then a left hook that knocked Clarence halfway across the room before he struck the wall and collapsed in a semiconscious heap.
Longarm pressed the flat of his palm against his throbbing eye and walked heavily over to Clarence. "You're under arrest," he said to the old man. "For trying to shoot me and maybe for having something to do with the destruction of railroad property and the murder of innocent passengers."
