by Tabor Evans
"You all right, Marshal?" Longarm asked, flexing his fingers and then massaging his bruised knuckles as he gazed down at the man.
Denton wasn't all right. Longarm's blows had left his face a misshapen mass of welts and bruises. Furthermore, though his fall from the loading dock hadn't been a long one, only about four feet, the impact of his landing had emptied the last bit of oxygen from Denton's lungs. Bloodied, dazed, and unable to get his breath, Marshal Denton was a tragic sight as he lay between two spooked carriage horses who snorted and rolled their eyes in fear and suspicion.
"Tell you what," Longarm said. "I'll be along after I get Miss Greenwald settled. Okay?"
When Denton groaned, Longarm took that as a yes. "Okay," he said with a smile.
Longarm turned and walked back to the schoolteacher from Grover City, Iowa. "Doesn't look like anyone is going to be coming to meet YOU."
"No," Veronica said, trying to hide her disappointment. She pulled a letter from her purse and unfolded it. "This letter confirming my job was written by the principal of the Washoe School, a Mr. Arnold. He said to telegraph him when I'd arrive and he'd be sure that he was on hand to greet me."
"Well," Longarm said, sensing how badly the young woman felt, "maybe Mr. Arnold had a sudden emergency and couldn't get here on time. What's the address of the Washoe School?"
"It's on South Virginia Street."
"Heck," Longarm said with a smile, as he picked up his Winchester and baggage. "That'll be easy to find! Virginia is Reno's main street. Come along with me and I'll show you the town as we walk on down to meet your new employer."
Veronica brightened. "You are such a comfort! But did you really have to beat the living bee-jeezus out of that big, fat lawman?"
Longarm shrugged. "Well," he said, "I had a feeling that he was about to hit me so I needed to wallop him first. A rough fella like that will just knock you silly if he gets in the first good punch. So I wasn't taking any chances because he looked like a brawler. Truth of the matter is, I've had enough good whippings to last three lifetimes."
"You don't strike me as being the kind of man that anyone could whip, Custis."
"Well, that's not exactly true," he confessed as he led Veronica through the crowd and off toward Virginia Street. "One thing I learned at least ten years ago is that there are plenty of bigger and stronger men. When I was young, I didn't give a damn how big my opponent was, I'd wade in and stand toe to toe."
Longarm shook his head, remembering some of the awful poundings he'd taken when he was young and foolish enough to think that it was worth taking a beating in order to administer an even worse one.
"But you know, Veronica, after a few years and some broken bones and loose teeth, I learned my lesson. Now, I hit first and I hit hard. And if that doesn't work, I'm not averse to pistol-whipping some raging fool who needs a lesson in manners."
"I don't know how you are going to get back in good graces with that man."
"Maybe I won't," Longarm said, "but he won't likely be trying to boss me around anymore."
On the way down Virginia Street, Longarm explained how Reno had once been called Lake's Crossing, and had been a favorite resting place for the emigrant wagon trains that were about to struggle over the Sierras into the promise of a verdant California. The tragic Donner Party had made the mistake of resting their livestock too long, and then had suffered the consequences of their delay. Later, the builder of the Central Pacific Railroad, Charles Crocker, had renamed the town in honor of General Jesse Reno, a Union officer killed in 1862 by Indians. Since the discovery of the enormous bonanza on the Comstock, tons of gold and silver had been shipped down to Reno and sent both east and west on the railroad.
"This here is the Truckee River," Longarm said as they crossed the river that flowed through the town. "It spills out of Lake Tahoe, which is as pretty an alpine lake as there is in this country."
"I'd love to visit it someday-"
"I'll take you the first chance we get," Longarm promised. "I swear that the water is as clear as your skin and as blue as your eyes. You can see rocks fifty feet under the surface."
"It sounds magnificent."
"It is." Longarm stopped for a moment on the bridge. He dropped his bags, leaned his big Winchester up against the bridge railing, then gently but firmly turned Veronica around and drew her close.
Her eyebrows lifted. "What are you doing?"
"i'm going to kiss you good-bye," Longarm said thumbing back his Stetson and grinning impishly. "You see, once we are at that school and we meet your new boss, I won't be able to do that without embarrassing you."
"You've got that figured right."
"So," Longarm said, "I'm kissing you now. Right here on the bridge in the middle of this town with all these folks watching. Veronica, I want this to be a kiss that you will never forget as long as you live."
"I already know that I won't forget it," she said, dropping her own bag and valise, then melting into his arms.
Longarm had kissed a lot of girls, but Veronica Greenwald was second to none. Her lips were soft and yielding, and her lilac-scented perfume made him giddy. He felt a great stir of passion in his loins, and it took all of his strength not to do something that might have embarrassed them both.
When they finally broke their kiss, Veronica was breathing as hard as if she'd run five miles up a mountainside, and Longarm was a little out of breath himself.
"My, my!" he said. "We should do that again!"
"Oh, no you don't!" Veronica cried, pulling away and grabbing up her bags. "If we do that again, I won't be able to think when I meet Mr. Arnold, much less talk about teaching."
Longarm laughed outright. "All right," he said, grabbing up his rifle and bags as they resumed walking down Virginia Street, "let's get back to business."
They chatted some more, but Longarm could sense that Veronica was greatly distracted. He would have liked to flatter himself by thinking it was his kiss, but more likely it was the sights and sounds of bustling Reno, and also the fact that Mr. Arnold had not thought enough of her to get to the train station.
"What's the address?"
"It's one hundred and five."
"Ought to be in the next block," Longarm announced. "After we get you introduced, we'll see about getting you settled into a respectable hotel or ladies' boardinghouse, and then I'd better hunt up Marshal Denton. If we don't shoot each other on sight, I guess we'll probably reach some kind of an understanding."
"We're both going to be very busy in the coming days," Veronica warned him. "I'm going to be the best teacher in this whole town. Every bit of my energy will be used to get started on the right foot."
"I'm sure you'll be a huge success."
"I mean to be," Veronica said with obvious determination. "It will take some getting used to living out in the West, but I'm going to do everything I can to adjust. I've already fallen in love with those magnificent Sierra Nevada Mountains."
"They are beautiful," Longarm said, glancing up at the line of snowcapped peaks just a few miles to the west.
"And so, we may not have a chance to see each other very much for a while. I know all your energy will be directed toward catching that train gang."
"It sure will," Longarm agreed, "but when things settle down I'll come back to the school and look you up. We can go visit Lake Tahoe on a Sunday."
"It's a date," she said, "and..."
Longarm frowned, and his eyes followed Veronica's to the boarded-up Washoe School. It was a dilapidated wood-frame building with peeling paint and a brokendown picket fence. There was a note tacked to the door, and Longarm immediately sensed that the school was closed.
"I'd better read the note," Veronica said quietly as she stepped away from Longarm.
He felt awful, and wished there was something that he could do or say. But there wasn't, and so he just waited and watched the bags while Veronica went up and read the note.
She read it for a long time and when she finally returned, there
were tears running down her cheeks. "it went broke," she told Longarm when she came to his side. "The note said that the bank repossessed Washoe School and all its property in default of unpaid mortgage payments."
"Damn," Longarm muttered.
Veronica gulped. "I don't even have enough money for a train ticket back to Iowa!"
"Calm down," Longarm said. "I can advance you the fare."
"But I don't want to go back to Iowa!"
"Then I can help you find a decent place to room until you can find another job."
"But what if I can't find one?"
"You will," Longarm assured her, though he had no idea what he was talking about. But Veronica looked so devastated that he added, "Why, a good schoolteacher is as prized in Nevada as squirrel eggs!"
"Squirrels don't lay eggs," she sniffled.
He used the cuff of his sleeve to dry her cheeks. "I know. That's why they're prized."
Veronica tried to laugh, but failed miserably. "Come on," Longarm said. "I know a lady who will take you into her home. She's a fine person and you'll be welcome until we can figure out exactly what you want to do."
"I'm worried about you losing your job. You should be doing something better than squiring me around."
"Mrs. Appleton lives just a few blocks away. She's a widow with a great and generous heart. You'll love her and she'll enjoy your company."
"You are such a sweet, dear man," Veronica said, kissing his cheek. "I don't know how I can ever repay your kindness."
"Oh, I imagine that I'll think of something," he said with a happy smile.
Betsy Appleton had been a madam for many years, but Longarm did not think he ought to mention that. She'd been very successful, saved some money, and invested a good deal more. She lived in a huge Victorian home on Fourth Street, not far from the Truckee River. It was a beautiful home, but Betsy had a soft spot for abandoned cats, dogs, and girls in just that order. The last time Longarm had visited Betsy, the old gal had had twenty-three cats and seven dogs, none of them housebroken.
"What's that smell?" Veronica asked as they mounted Betsy Appleton's huge veranda.
"Aw, she keeps a few cats and dogs inside."
This fact was vociferously confirmed a moment after Longarm knocked. All the dogs and cats set up a deafening chorus.
"I'm not sure about this," Veronica said with growing apprehension.
"You don't even notice the noise or smell after a few hours," Longarm assured her. "And Betsy sure could use some help feeding and cleaning up after them."
"Custis!"
Veronica would have turned and bolted away, except that Longarm grabbed and held her until Betsy opened her door.
"Custis!"
"Betsy, darlin'," he said, stepping up to give the sweet old gal a big hug and kiss on the cheek.
"And who is this lovely child?"
"Miss Veronica Greenwald, and she needs a little help right now, Betsy. Do you think she could stay until she finds a teaching job?"
Betsy was now in her sixties, but her skin was creamy smooth and her eyes were bright and trusting. "Why, of course! I'm sure that she'll love the children."
As they walked into the parlor, Betsy's "children" swarmed all around them. Big dogs. Little dogs. Pretty dogs. But mainly mangy dogs. Barking and yapping, with the cats in the background meowing. It was a real menagerie, and the odor of cat and dog droppings was almost overpowering.
"Of course she'll love your children, Betsy!" Longarm exclaimed, feeling light-headed in the closed room. "Why, Veronica was just telling me as we walked over here how much she loved animals."
"What a kind soul!" Betsy looked at Veronica. "What a dear heart you are. We shall become very good friends."
"I'm sure," Veronica said as a big, black dog began to lick her ankles, causing her to jump about like a car pet flea.
"Well, I have to run," Longarm hollered over the noise. "But I'll be back before you know it."
"Custis!"
Longarm could not bear to see Veronica's desperate expression, so he whirled and ran. He told himself that at least Veronica would be safe with Betsy Appleton, and might even be able to establish some control over the animals and housebreak them.
In any event, Veronica would have plenty of Betsy's "children" to teach.
CHAPTER 15
Longarm found Marshal Bill Denton's office, and checked to make sure that his gun was resting easy in its holster before he entered.
Denton wasn't in sight, but there was a young deputy on duty, and when he saw Longarm stroll through the door he paled.
"Hello there, young fella!" Longarm flashed his badge. "Deputy Marshal Custis Long from the Denver office. And what would your name be?"
The deputy, who had been reclining in an office chair, jumped to his feet, hand moving toward his six-gun.
"Whoa!" Longarm called, his own gun flashing up to draw a bead on the man. "Now what the hell is the matter with you? Haven't we got enough trouble with train robbers without trying to shoot each other?"
The deputy gulped. He was a tall, gangly fella with peach fuzz on his pimpled cheeks and a protruding Adam's apple that was bobbing up and down with fear.
"Yes, sir!"
"Well, then, sit back down and let's get acquainted," Longarm said, returning his six-gun to its holster and resting his Winchester against a wall. "Where is Marshal Denton?"
"He's in the hospital, Mr. Long! You beat the shit out of him and when he fell off that loading dock, he screwed up his back."
"Damn," Longarm said, "I am genuinely sorry about that. I hope he isn't froze up or anything."
"No, he's not froze but he's in some pain. Doctor says you also broke his nose and cracked his jaw. He's going to be out of commission for a couple of months."
"Damn," Longarm repeated. "I didn't realize that he'd taken that fight so hard."
"What fight? From what I hear, he never got in a punch. And believe me, no one has ever whipped Marshal Denton in a fair fight."
"There isn't such a thing as a 'fair fight,' " Longarm said. "I'll bet you that Marshal Denton has pistol-whipped plenty of men or dropped them with a single punch."
"Yeah, sure! But he's the marshal!"
"He was in serious need of a lesson in manners," Longarm said. "You see, we're all in this together. And unless a man who wears the badge proves himself incompetent or corrupt, there's an unspoken rule that we treat each other with courtesy and respect. Your marshal broke that rule, and when he laid his hand on me, I had little choice but to teach him a hard, hard lesson."
"Well, he's going to kill you when he can get up and walk."
Longarm clucked his tongue. "I don't know how men like Denton ever last in government service. And as for 'killing me,' well, I'll just face that if and when it happens."
"It'll happen."
"Maybe." Longarm sat down heavily. "I always thought that a man should not worry too much about the future. Most of our fears never materialize. Those that do aren't ever as bad as we expect them to be."
Longarm smiled disarmingly. "Now, what is your name?"
"Deputy Ronald Dudley."
"Glad to meet you, Ron. We have our work cut out for us on this railroad case. Have you been up to Donner Pass to see the damage?"
"No. The marshal told me that he was going to go up there with you, but ... well, he won't be even getting out of the hospital for a while."
"the man should have been up there hours after the wreck, looking for clues or leads."
"Reno is a pretty wild town, Mr. Long."
"Custis. You call me Custis."
"Yes, sir. Well, Custis, there are just the two of us and this is a tough town."
"No tougher than Rock Springs or Cheyenne and they only have one lawman." Longarm frowned. "Ron, we need to get up to Donner Pass first thing. When does the next train leave?"
"In about fifteen minutes. It's the same one that you rode in on. It's still got to get over the hump before it ends its run in Sacramento."
<
br /> Longarm was hungry and tired, but he knew that he could not afford to delay this trip for even a day. "Grab your coat and let's go, Ron.
"I can't leave here now! There's no one else to keep a lid on this town! Why, what if someone robbed the bank? Or there was a murder?"
"If it happens, it happens and we'll just have to take care of it when we return."
"Dammit! I just can't go!"
Longarm could see that the young man was determined to remain at his desk no matter what. "All right," he said, "I'll go on up myself and see if there is anything left worth noting. Have you had any snow or rain since the derailment?"
"One storm came through and dropped a few inches of snow."
"Well, then, I'm probably wasting my time even going up there, but I'd better do it anyway. I'll leave my bags here since I haven't had time to check into a room."
"They'll be safe."
"I wonder," Longarm said, making it clear that he was not the least bit impressed with the deputy.
As he started out the door on his way back to the train, Ron called out, "There's a railroad official handling the investigation from their side of things. He is definitely the man you want to talk to!"
Longarm stopped in the doorway and turned. "What's his name and where can I find him?"
"His name is Bruce Pettibone. I never even met the man, but I'm told he can be found at Donner Pass or else at the railroad's western headquarters in Sacramento."
"Thanks," Longarm said.
"Will you report what you found?" Ron smiled weakly. "Marshal Denton is going to want to know what you're up to."
"Why? So he can back-shoot me when he's able to crawl out of his hospital bed?"
"He's a better man than that," Ron said defensively. "You two just got off on the wrong foot."
