by Tabor Evans
Longarm followed Jimmie into the barn and helped him bring out and saddle the sorrel. "Any idea where Ned is going?"
"Nope. But he has a habit of hammering the ends of his horseshoes to a point. You won't have any trouble picking his tracks out. There's a big lightning-shot pine tree about a half mile southwest of here. Ned passed not fifty feet to the north of it and then headed directly toward the north fork of the Laramie River. My hunch is that he's skirting the Union Pacific."
"You think he might be planning to join the gang and help stage another robbery?"
"That possibility has entered my mind." Jimmie toed the dirt. "That fella that you shot, he must have been part of the gang. My thinking is that Ned set him up for you to kill so he could get his share."
"You've got a real suspicious mind," Longarm said. "You should have been a lawman."
"Ain't got the stomach for it. But I do know Ned Rowe. He's no damned good and he's a con man. He figured to let you make a killing for him when he set up that fella with the roan pony."
"But why would Ned leave town now?"
"I dunno," Jimmie said. "I'm just telling you that he did and I figure that, if you overtake him, you'll probably find out a hell of a lot more about that gang."
"Thanks," Longarm said as Jimmie removed the sorrel's halter and replaced it with a bit and bridle. "Jimmie, I just received a telegraph from my boss in Denver saying that there has been another train wreck."
"In Wyoming?"
"No. At Donner Pass. After I catch up with Ned, I'll intercept the railroad and trade in my horse for a train ticket to Donner Pass."
"It would be damned interesting to see if Ned is planning to go thereabouts too, wouldn't it?" Jimmie asked with a lazy smile. "'Cause you see, if I was a betting man--which I'm not--I'd bet my boots that Ned Rowe is fixin' to do the very same thing you're fixin' to do."
"You don't say?"
"I do say."
Longarm paid the man, tipping him well. "If anyone asks, I rode southeast on my way to Denver."
"Sure thing," Jimmy said, sticking out his hand. "Good luck. If I was a younger man, I'd up and ride after them train-wreckin' bastards."
Longarm mounted his sorrel. "Did you have some friends on that wrecked train?"
The blacksmith's expression turned wintry. "Yeah, I had me a son-in-law that's got both legs broken. The doctor says he'll always walk with a limp and probably never be able to swing up on a horse again. I'm not sure what he's going to do to support my daughter and grandson in the years ahead."
"He could work for you."
"He can if he wants," Jimmie said. "But I'm hard to get along with, and he favors holding a rope to a blacksmith's hammer."
"He'll learn that blacksmithing is steadier than cowboying and a better life for a family man," Longarm said.
He rode out a few minutes later, careful to keep off the main street. When he had passed beyond the outskirts of town, he put his heels to the sorrel's flanks and headed for the lightning-blackened pine that Jimmy had described. And sure enough, there were the tracks of the horseshoes. Most shoes were squared off at the ends, but for some reason, Ned Rowe forged and hammered them off in points. It was going to make following the blacksmith very easy.
For the next three hours, Longarm pushed the sorrel hard. The trouble was Ned Rowe was in just as much of a hurry. Longarm followed the palomino's tracks, which paralleled the Union Pacific for about twenty miles, then angled due north into some low hills. It was not until sundown that Longarm spotted the glint of metal on the horizon, and guessed that it was the reflection of a concho or even polished spurs or a bit. He was within a mile of overtaking the Laramie blacksmith.
"That will be Ned Rowe," Longarm muttered into the teeth of a cold wind sweeping in from the north.
Longarm followed the tracks for another quarter hour and when he came to a low ridge, he tied his horse to a bush and then went ahead on foot until he reached the crown of the ridge. There he flattened and crawled up to take a peek at the country just beyond.
What he saw was a long, winding valley cut by a meandering stream. Farther out were cottonwoods, a small ranch house with corrals, and some crude outbuildings. And riding up the valley as bold as brass was Ned Rowe on his palomino horse. When the man drew near the house, he drew his side arm and fired it into the air to announce his arrival. With the shot, a pair of men suddenly emerged from the house.
Longarm watched as Rowe dismounted and was enthusiastically greeted. After a few minutes, they all went inside to escape the biting wind.
Longarm eased back from the crown of the ridge and considered his next move. Night was fast falling, and there was an ominous cut to the wind that told Longarm he might be in for another snowstorm or at least a hard rain. The prospect of remaining out on those exposed Wyoming plains was not appealing. For another thing, the three men in the ranch house might be totally innocent of any crime and have nothing to do with the train robbery, despite Jimmie's well-formed suspicions.
Longarm decided to wait another hour. Then it would be dark and he could sneak up on the ranch house and attempt to eavesdrop. If he were detected, he could always try to get the drop on Ned and his friends. He'd then interrogate them until he either had confessions or was convinced that they were innocent.
That decided, Longarm passed the next frigid hour hugging the crown of the ridge. He watched the lights go on in the ranch house and the sun go down in the west. It was a beautiful sunset, but the dark clouds that were momentarily fired by the sunset had the look of rain or snow. One way or another, Longarm decided, he wasn't going to spend the night out on this barren plain and freeze his ass off waiting for something to happen.
When it was time to go, Longarm tightened his cinch and rode down into the valley. It was an excellent site for a cattle ranch and the grass, though brown now, was thick and would be rich feed for cattle and horses next spring.
The ranch house was ablaze with lights, and even though a cold rain began to fall, Longarm had no trouble finding his way to the place, nor did he fear being detected by the three men before he had the drop on them. There was a barn and he rode into it, grateful for the shelter. The sorrel nickered wearily as Longarm unsaddled it and then fed it hay in the middle of the barn floor.
When Longarm left, he pulled the heavy doors shut and hurried across the muddy yard. The ranch house had a front porch, and Longarm stepped lightly onto it drawing his six-gun. He ducked under a front window and listened, hoping to hear something that could make his job easy.
But Ned Rowe and the three men were playing cards and joking among themselves, as near as Longarm could tell over the sound of hard rain falling on the porch's tin roof. When Longarm tried to peek into the window, he discovered that the panes were so filthy both on the inside and outside surfaces that clarity was impossible.
After about fifteen minutes, Longarm realized that he was stiffening from the cold. The wind was icy and he needed to get inside, but he was not ready to barge in the front door because he was almost certain this would result in a bloody gunfight.
Pulling his Stetson low on his forehead, Longarm ducked back under the window, crossed the front porch, and edged along the house until he came to a back door, which he was able to open without a hitch. He drew his gun and stepped into the kitchen, then tiptoed forward until he stopped less than ten feet from Ned Rowe and his card-playing friends.
"And I'll raise you twenty dollars," Ned challenged.
"Then I'll call you!"
Ned won with three jacks, but Longarm hardly paid the game a moment's thought. What was most interesting was that the three men were betting with a stack of what appeared to be railroad stock certificates. The type that had been stolen during the train wreck.
"Hands up!" Longarm called, stepping into the room with his gun in his fist. "You're all under arrest!"
Ned Rowe's jaw dropped, and he jumped to his feet throwing his hands overhead. But the other pair, not knowing Longarm was a federal
marshal and a dead shot, made the mistake of going for their guns.
Longarm's Colt bucked solidly in his fist, and an outlaw crashed over backward with a bullet through his heart. The second man was very fast, and actually cleared leather before Longarm's slug ripped into his shoulder and spun him completely around. The man cried out and his Colt skidded from his grasp.
"Ned," Longarm said, "you want to reach across with your left hand and yank your gun from its holster, then drop it to the floor."
"Jeezus!" Ned choked, trying to smile. "It's you! Deputy, I'm sure glad that you came in when you did. I was just about to..."
He started to lower his hands, but Longarm yelled, "Keep your mouth shut and your hands high, Ned!"
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Ned cried. "We was just playing cards. And you spooked Fergus and Johnny! You didn't need to shoot them!"
Longarm removed Ned's gun. "Keep your hands over your head and turn around."
"I don't know why you're doing this!" Ned said angrily. "I've tried to help you every bit I can since you came to Laramie. I even figured to get some leads for you out here."
"I'll bet," Longarm said drily.
"Well, I was! These boys are outlaws! I figured that they'd know who was responsible for that train wreck."
"So you just happened to start playing poker using stolen railroad stock certificates as money. Is that it?"
"That's what we were using?" Ned managed a grin. "Hell, Deputy, I didn't know what they was! I swear that I never learned to read."
Longarm didn't believe a word of that. He went over to examine the wounded man, who was writhing around on the floor clasping his riddled shoulder.
"Settle down," Longarm said, mustering up all the sympathy he felt was warranted for a man who'd tried to shoot him.
"Jeezus but you're a cold-blooded bastard!" Ned exclaimed, staring at the dead man. "You killed Johnny!"
"Better him than me."
Longarm turned his attention back to Fergus. "Here, he said, pulling out a handkerchief and punching it against the wound hard enough to make the outlaw bellow with pain. "Plug it up and hope the bleeding quits before you do."
Fergus accepted the handkerchief. His hand was trembling and his face was white with fear. "Am I lung shot?"
"No."
"Am I going to die?"
"Depends," Longarm said.
Fergus stared up at him, waiting. Finally, he blurted out, "Depends on what?"
"Depends on if I'm willing to take you to the nearest town and hunt up a doctor."
Fergus pulled the handkerchief away from his wound, and his eyes widened with panic because the handkerchief was already soaked with blood. "I'm bleeding real bad!"
"I want to know who is wrecking and robbing trains," Longarm said, glancing over at Ned. "I want names."
"I don't got any names!" Fergus shouted. "I'm a damned horse thief, Marshal! I never robbed a train before!"
"Yeah?" Longarm pulled a cheroot out of his coat pocket and took his time lighting it. He blew smoke in the wounded man's face. "You can say that, but I got a feeling that you're a liar. Who derailed the train at Laramie Summit?"
"I don't know!"
Longarm grabbed Fergus by the shirtfront. "You were playing with stocks taken from that train's safe! Now don't tell me you know nothing! Not if you want help!"
But Fergus stubbornly shook his head back and forth.
"I don't think he knows anything," Ned Rowe said quietly.
Longarm took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He focused his attention on the Laramie blacksmith. "All right," he said easily. "Let's assume he doesn't know anything. So what do you know?"
"Me?"
"Yeah. The game is over, Ned. I want to know the truth. Who's behind the train robberies?"
"I've been helping you!"
Longarm went over to the man. He pressed the barrel of his Colt to Ned's crotch.
"Mister," Longarm said, "I'm cold, hungry, and tired. Furthermore, counting the dead man on the floor, I've killed three men that have crossed me in less than two days. Killing you and letting this self-admitted horse thief bleed to death just doesn't bother me a whole hell of a lot. Give me names!"
"I don't know anything!" Ned pleaded, sweat starting to bead across his forehead.
"You're a liar, soon to be a eunuch."
"What the hell is that?"
"You know what a gelding is?"
"Sure, but..."
Longarm cocked back the hammer of his six-gun. "Figure it out for yourself, Ned."
The man's eyes bugged with terror. "Oh, please!"
"Names, dammit! I need names."
"I didn't do it! I wasn't there and neither was Fergus!"
"Maybe not," Longarm gritted. "But you were helping them somehow. You were in on the train wreck."
Ned licked his lips. "All I did was to shoe some of their horses and... and sell 'em some fresh mounts. I didn't know that they were going to send the damn train rolling down a mountainside!"
"I don't believe you," Longarm said. "Say good-bye to women, Ned!"
"All right!" Ned screamed. "I helped them set it up! But neither me nor Fergus ever rode with them. I swear it!"
Longarm had been getting the truth out of men long enough to know when they were too afraid to lie, and Ned was finally telling the truth.
"Names!"
Ned gulped. "Blake Huntington was the brains behind it and you killed him."
"What about his rich Uncle Clarence?"
"The old man didn't know a damn thing about any of it. I'm sure of that much. In secret, Blake hated his uncle. Called him a damned fool and worse."
"More names."
"Big Tom Canyon and a fella they just called Hawk. They was in on it. They're the ones that I helped. The others I saw were just faces. That's all they were, I swear it."
"I've heard of Big Tom Canyon. Who else?"
"There was someone important in Reno. I never heard his name but Blake spoke about him. He has money and he was the one that seemed to be calling the shots."
"What the hell does that mean? Be specific, damn you!"
"He's a politician. They said he was a state senator and that he made his money on the Comstock Lode, but lost most of it a couple years back on mining stocks. All I know is that he was the one that they were counting on to handle things if they went wrong."
"What about Eli Wheat?"
"They talked about helping him escape if he wasn't killed. That's all I know."
Longarm stepped back. There was a train that he still might be able to catch if he was willing to brave this damned storm and ride southwest until he intercepted the Union Pacific. But he'd have to hurry and he'd have to take this pair with him and keep them under arrest until he could find a jail along the rail line. The next one that he knew about wouldn't be until he reached Rock Springs.
"All right," Longarm said, "let's get ready to ride."
"In this weather?" Ned cried. "It's storming out there and the rain will probably turn to snow."
"How far is it to the next Union Pacific depot?"
"Hell, that's clear over at Lookout! It's a good twenty miles or more!"
"Then we'd best stop talking and get to riding," Longarm said, walking over and throwing open the front door. "Help Fergus stand up and let's move!"
As they stepped out into the cold rain drenching the Wyoming prairie, Longarm realized that this was going to be one hell of a tough night.
CHAPTER 11
Longarm barely remembered the little combination depot and coal and water station at Lookout. If he was in luck, he would find a competent telegraph operator who could relay a message back to Billy Vail about the vital information he'd just gained from his captives.
Longarm had to prod his prisoners hard to get their horses ready to leave the ranch. The wounded man named Fergus was especially difficult and argumentative.
"I'll probably bleed to death in the saddle before we reach that train!" he wailed.<
br />
"You'll bleed to death for sure if you don't climb into that saddle and quit talking," Longarm warned. "Because I'll shoot you again."
Ned Rowe was more cooperative. He decided that Longarm had bought his story, and now was trying hard to be cooperative. Longarm saw little reason to change the man's false impression of things and risk turning cooperation into desperation.
"Damn, it's cold!" Ned exclaimed, tightening his cinch.
"Quit jawin' and mount up," Longarm said.
"I sure wish that we could at least wait until tomorrow morning," Ned groused. "We could freeze to death before we reach shelter."
"That's a chance we'll just have to take." Longarm snapped, watching the heavy rain sheet off the roof to cascade across the barn's open doorway like a waterfall.
"I can't get on my horse!" Fergus choked. "Not with this bad shoulder."
Longarm watched the man struggle. Each time Fergus started to lift his leg over his cantle, he lost his balance and fell back.
"All right," Longarm said, starting to go over to help the man.
He was still on his way over when Fergus made his move. "Yaw!" he shouted, leaping into the saddle and booting his horse through the barn door and out into the heavy rain. In less than two seconds, the man had vanished.
"Damn!" Longarm swore. He mounted his horse. "Dismount!"
"What?" Ned cried.
"I said dismount!"
Ned dismounted, and Longarm grabbed his horse's reins.
"Hey!" Ned shouted. "Are you leavin' me?"
"I'll be right back," Longarm yelled. "And you'd better be here."
Longarm shot out of the barn dragging Ned's saddled horse. He was furious at the wounded man for making a run for it in such bad weather. Before he'd galloped across the yard, the rain had soaked him to the bone. It took him no more than three or four minutes to overtake Fergus, who was bent over his saddle horn and riding for his life.
When the wounded man saw Longarm overtaking him, he cursed and tried to urge his horse into a gully running strong with rainwater, but the animal skidded to an abrupt halt and Fergus lost his seat. The wounded outlaw spilled headfirst into the gully and rolled down into the muddy torrent.
