by Tabor Evans
Pettibone swore under his breath. "All right," he finally said. "A friend of mine has a summer cabin just up ahead. We can stay there for the night and leave early in the morning."
"Fine."
Longarm followed the railroad man on down the hill, and they struggled on for about another half hour before they came to the cabin. It wasn't much, and Pettibone had to break a window to get inside. But there was some food and blankets and even chopped firewood.
Much later, fed and warmed by the fire, Longarm smoked a cheroot and said, "I rode with a nice fella up from Reno in the train's mail car."
"That'd be Liam. Did he offer you a drink of that Irish whiskey?"
"He did," Longarm said.
"Then that's why you ran out of steam. Strong spirits rob a man of his vitality, you know."
"Are you a Mormon?"
"No, but I am a teetotaler. I swore off the stuff when I saw what it did to my father. It turned him into a raving maniac. He finally shot himself when I was about sixteen."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. It was the best thing he could have done for the family. It also taught me never to forget how fast liquor can ruin a good man."
"Do you smoke?" Longarm patted his coat pocket. "I've got a couple more cigars."
"Nope."
Longarm shook his head. "Pettibone, if you don't drink and you don't smoke, then you might as well be a Mormon."
"Listen to you," Pettibone said with amusement. "Why, you were gasping like a locomotive out there on the trail! It's that tobacco that robs your wind and ruins your lungs."
"A man has got to have a few pleasures in life."
Pettibone studied Longarm in the firelight. "I'll bet you have pleasures aplenty with the ladies, isn't that so?"
"I like 'em fine," Longarm replied. "But someday I might settle down and have a family. Like you."
"I don't think so."
Longarm curbed his annoyance. He didn't understand how this man could make such an important assessment, given that they were almost strangers.
"I was a sheriff once," Pettibone said after several minutes of strained silence.
"For a fact?"
"Yes. It was on the Comstock Lode. I was, for a few short and exciting months, the sheriff at Gold Hill."
"Sure, I've been through there dozens of times. Why'd you quit?"
"I killed an innocent man," Pettibone said quietly. "His only crime was that he was drunk."
"Did he go for his gun?"
"A knife. I thought he was passed out and when I reached down to drag him into a chair, he probably thought I was about to steal what little money he had left in his pockets. So he yanked out his knife and stabbed me in the side."
"Then he wasn't innocent if he used a knife against you, Pettibone."
"Oh, yes he was! You see, he didn't know what he was doing. And instead of kicking his boots to wake him up first so that sort of thing didn't happen, I just grabbed him. To make matters worse, when he stabbed me, I instinctively slammed the heel of my hand up into his nose."
Pettibone shook his head, his expression bleak. "It was pure reaction. There were dozens of witnesses and they all said that I was just trying to push him away, not drive nasal bones into the drunken man's brain."
Longarm smoked in silence. He could see how troubled Pettibone was over this unfortunate death, and felt sure that everyone had already said all the consoling words but none of them had counted. In Bruce Pettibone's mind, he was guilty of murder. Not a vicious or premeditated murder, but a murder caused by ignorance.
Pettibone looked up suddenly. "You've killed a lot of men, haven't you?"
It wasn't a question and Longarm didn't reply.
"Doesn't it bother you?"
"Sometimes." Longarm blew a smoke ring at the fire. He could hear the wind through the pines outside and he was very grateful that they weren't camped in the freezing snow.
"Will it bother you tomorrow if we have to kill those train robbers?"
"Not a whit," Longarm growled. "You saw the results of what they did to the train at this end. Well, it was about as bad at Laramie Summit. They killed women and old men. They didn't even know who they killed, and they didn't care that some of them lived for a while in the freezing cold and died in pain."
Longarm looked hard at Bruce Pettibone. "Listen to me," he said, his voice taking on an edge. "If you haven't the stomach for the fight, then you should return to the depot in the morning. I don't need a good family man who hesitates and gets himself killed for nothing."
"Maybe we can get the drop on the whole bunch and take them without firing a single shot."
"Not very damned likely," Longarm said. "The odds are that we will have a gunfight. The odds are that unless we drop two or three in the first volley, we won't live to see spring. So you need to decide if you are ready to fight or not."
After a long few minutes, Pettibone said, "I'll fight if they don't surrender."
"You just have that shotgun cocked and ready. In your mind, figure to unload both barrels. Otherwise, you're a dead man. Mark my words, Pettibone. The outlaws we are going to brace are tough, and they sure won't be willing to surrender so they can march to a gallows."
Pettibone nodded. "I guess that's probably the best way to look at it."
"It's the only way to look at it," Longarm told him.
Longarm fed the fire until it was hot, and then lay back on his blankets and drifted off to sleep wondering if he or Pettibone would survive the next day.
"Wake up," Pettibone said, jostling Longarm.
Longarm sat up out of a dead sleep and looked around. For a moment he forgot where he was, but then he spotted Pettibone. He could see that the railroad detective had rustled up and cooked some breakfast. Biscuits, salt pork, and mercy, even coffee.
"I ought to bring you along on these manhunts more often," Longarm said when he was served a heaping breakfast plate.
"Well, you complained so bad last evening about being weak and exhausted that I figured I'd better try and get your strength back if we're to have any chance of surviving the day."
Longarm glanced up from his plate. "You know, you can still back out. Just give me the loan of your shotgun and go on back to Donner Pass."
"Oh, no!" Pettibone said. "Besides, you've already got a six-gun on your hip and a Model '73 Winchester. I imagine that you're also packing some kind of hideout gun. So I just don't see that you need any more weapons. What you need is more hands, and mine will have to do."
"They'll do fine," Longarm said with a smile.
When they finished breakfast and packed their gear, they laced on the snowshoes and headed on down the trail. In less than an hour they saw the lake, shimmering like an emerald in the early morning sun.
"It's beautiful," Pettibone said. "I swear it's the prettiest sight that I've ever laid eyes upon--except for my wife."
"Of course." Longarm shielded his eyes against the rising sun. "Where is Agate Bay and the cabin?"
"Straight ahead." Pettibone replied.
Longarm followed the man on down into the volcanic basin that cupped Lake Tahoe. It was still very early and, if they were in luck, it was even possible that they could yet catch the gang asleep. Such men lived hard, and would stay up half the night drinking, playing cards, and whoring, and sleep late the next day.
Longarm hoped that was the case now. Otherwise, things were going to become very exciting indeed in the next hour.
CHAPTER 18
It was too fine a morning to die. Much too fine, Longarm decided as he advanced silently toward the cabin. He and Pettibone had already circled the hideout and discovered the outlaws' horses corralled back in the trees. Now it was just a matter of getting the drop on this bunch before they had time to wake up and mount any form of resistance.
Pettibone was advancing on the cabin from the opposite side, and it was decided that Longarm would be the first one through the door, going low, while the railroad detective would come
in standing up with his double-barreled shotgun ready to roar.
Longarm's heart was pounding as he stepped up to the cabin and placed his hand on the doorknob. He listened for any sign that the gang was awake, but heard nothing but snoring.
"Are you ready?" he whispered to Pettibone.
Pettibone gripped the shotgun in his fists and nodded.
Longarm turned the knob in his left hand, and when it was open a crack, he hefted his Winchester in his left hand while his right hand clenched his six-gun. Very slowly, he eased the door open, took a quick step inside, and dropped to one knee.
"Everyone freeze!" he bellowed. "You're under arrest!"
It was dim in the cabin. Too dim to see anything but shadows and silhouettes. But not too dim to detect movement. The outlaws all went for their guns. The entire room exploded with panic and gunfire. Longarm felt a bullet graze his neck and he flattened, gun belching bullets and fire. Behind him he heard Pettibone grunt, and knew the man was hit even as the shotgun boomed twice. Pettibone tumbled back outside, and the hammer of Longarm's gun struck an empty. He dropped the weapon, dragged his Winchester up, and began to pound heavy lead into the darkness.
In moments, the interior of the cabin was filled with gunsmoke and the wails of wounded and dying men. When the return fire died, Longarm scrambled back out the door and hurried to Pettibone's side. The railroad detective had been hit by a bullet across his temple which had also ripped away the top half of his right ear. Pettibone was bleeding, but more dazed than anything.
"Don't let all that blood buffalo you," Longarm said. "You're going to live to earn a railroad citation for bravery. Reload that shotgun because we might not be finished."
Even as Longarm was speaking, Eli Wheat crashed through the cabin's lone front window. He rolled in the snow, then jumped up and sprinted toward the trees.
"Stop!" Longarm shouted, dragging his Winchester to his shoulder. "Damn you, Eli, freeze!"
But Eli didn't freeze. He spun around and fired back at Longarm, narrowly missing, probably because snow or even blood was fouling his vision. Cursing, Eli whirled and vanished into the forest running hard. Longarm had no chance to drop the killer before he disappeared.
"Listen to me, Pettibone!" Longarm yelled. "If there's anyone left alive in this cabin with a mind to escape, you've got to drop them with that shotgun. Do you understand me?"
"Yeah," Pettibone said, lowering a bloody hand from where the top of his ear had been.
When the railroad man began to reload, Longarm knew that Pettibone was going to be able to guard the cabin door and take care of himself.
"I'll be right back," he vowed before he whirled and raced after Eli.
Eli was fast and he was desperate. Wherever he crossed patches of snow, Eli left a crimson stain. Longarm knew that the man would never be taken alive. His tracks angled to the lake's shoreline. In some places, the shore was soft with mud and Eli had sunk deep but kept running. Just ahead there was a small peninsula where the pines crowded the edge of the water. When Longarm was within fifty yards of that place, Eli jumped out of the trees and opened fire.
Longarm felt a bullet whine past his face. He dove into the moss and muck alongside the lake and tried to bring his rifle to bear on Eli, but the man was gone again.
"Damn!" Longarm shouted, jumping up covered with mud and half-frozen muck. He slogged onward knowing that he made a great target.
It was not until Longarm had crossed the peninsula and broken back into the open that he saw the fugitive had commandeered a rowboat and was madly rowing across the big lake. Tahoe, unlike the much smaller and shallower Donner Lake, had not frozen, although it was rimmed by shore ice. Longarm searched in vain for another boat, and when he saw that Eli would escape, dropped to one knee and took aim at the rowboat's hull.
"Eli!" he shouted. "Turn around and row back!"
Longarm's voice carried strongly across the freezing, choppy water. "You hear me!" he yelled. "This is Deputy Custis Long and you're not getting away from me again! Now stop and row back!"
"Go to hell!" Eli screamed, oars flashing in the morning sun.
Longarm could have shot Eli, but he wanted him alive. The man was still less than three hundred yards out, but he was pulling away fast. Longarm had no choice. He fired, and saw the hull of the wooden rowboat splinter at the water line.
"Aim lower!" he muttered to himself.
His next bullet struck the waterline, ricocheted like a flat rock, and then exploded through the wooden hull. Longarm heard Eli scream as much in fury as in fear. Eli yanked off his jacket and desperately tried to plug the hole.
Longarm began to methodically riddle the rowboat. Each bullet ripped through the hull right at the waterline. He was careful not to hit Eli because he was sure that the killer would leap into the water and swim back resigned to face that Denver hangman.
But Eli fooled him. The man just kept rowing even as his boat took on more water and began to sink.
"You can't make it!" Longarm yelled. "Jump and swim back!"
"Go to hell!" Eli screamed. "I can't swim!"
Longarm lowered his rifle and came to his feet. He stood rooted to the muddy shore as Eli spun the oars and the rowboat slowly sank. Longarm felt sure that the outlaw would leap into the water and attempt to cling to the wooden hull, and maybe that was Eli's intention. But the rowboat was old and water-logged, so the thing just sank.
"Help! Help me, Deputy Long!" Eli screamed, hanging onto an oar and trying to make it support his weight. The oar, however, was too light.
The corners of Longarm's mouth twisted down as he watched the drowning. Eli Wheat fought the freezing water for several minutes, and then he disappeared in a swirl of bubbles.
When Longarm returned to the cabin, he found Bruce Pettibone inside, attending to the wounded and the dying.
"How many are going to make it?"
"Big Tom Canyon is dead. Hawk Jenkins is too. Two-Fingered Earl is lung-shot and he just drowned in his own blood. Indian Red Lopez won't last through the next hour."
"Who does that leave?"
"Hamilton and Orr. Both are wounded but they're going to live."
"Good. We'll need confessions and evidence against Senator Howard."
"I've already gotten it. They're so spooked that I didn't even have to ask about the senator. They volunteered the information."
"How are you doing?"
"I thought I was a goner," Pettibone admitted. "I saw my entire life flash before my eyes."
"For a fact?"
"No," Pettibone said, "but it sounded good. I'll be fine. Maybe I'll look a little funny with just half a right ear, but I'm not complaining."
"And neither will your wife and children," Longarm said.
"What happened to the one that came out through the window and you chased after?"
"He drowned in the lake."
"Drowned?"
"That's right. If they manage to fish out his body, they won't find any bullet holes. At least none that proved fatal."
Pettibone looked around at the slaughterhouse filled with dead and dying men. He shook his head. "I won't ever forget what happened here."
"Me neither," Longarm said, stepping out of the cabin and dragging in some clean, cold air.
The next day there wasn't much else that people in northern Nevada talked or read about other than how Longarm and Bruce Pettibone had survived a terrible gun battle with the notorious train-robbing gang at Lake Tahoe, and how the only two surviving outlaws would turn state's evidence against Senator Howard in exchange for their lives.
Longarm had sent a telegram to Billy Vail telling his boss that the reign of terror against the Union Pacific and its innocent passengers was over. Billy's answering telegram had come back within the hour.
NICE WORK STOP NED ROWE CAUGHT IN CHEYENNE BY FEDERAL AGENTS STOP RETURN TO DENVER FOR CELEBRATION STOP GLAD TO HEAR THAT TAHOE FISHES WILL EAT WHEAT STOP
The last line of the telegraph gave Longarm a belly lau
gh. The first he'd enjoyed in a good long while. He briefly considered visiting Veronica Greenwald, but changed his mind. Betsy would take care of Veronica, who'd probably be married or teaching kids the next time that Longarm passed through Reno.
Besides, Longarm thought as he boarded the eastbound transcontinental, he wanted to stay a few days in Laramie with Milly, and then another couple days in Cheyenne to make sure that Wyoming's newest lady attorney was off to a successful start.
By then, Billy would be fit to be tied and have canceled the celebration. That would be a shame, but Longarm figured that a man could only spread himself around just so much.
The End
