Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter (11 page)

It was another five minutes before the first riders came walking their horses through the cleft. That was another advantage of the opening. A number of men couldn't come riding at top speed through it. It was strewn with rocks and it was narrow, so they had to take their time and they had to be careful.

Longarm was already sighted on where he wanted to fire. He waited until the fourth man in line filled his sights, and squeezed off a shot. The man went backward out of the saddle. Before he could get anywhere near the ground, Longarm had already levered another shell into the chamber and fired at the third man, the one in front of the one he had just shot. He too went flying off his horse, throwing his hands in the air.

There was a general commotion as the two men in front tried to turn back and those behind, uncertain what was happening, bulged forward. It was what Longarm had hoped would happen. Now, he fired at the backs of the two men trying to get away. One sagged forward over the neck of his horse, and the other grabbed at his shoulder and seemed to dismount more than fall. Fresh targets were presenting themselves, and he fired into the pack of men that were coming forward with the two shots he had left. He saw more confusion as one of the two men fell. His carbine was now empty and as quickly as he could, he grabbed up the cartridges he had laid out on the rock and rammed them home into the magazine. There was some shooting, but none of it seemed directed his way. They were just firing. Most of them were shooting handguns. Now there was just a mass of men in the opening, none of them going or coming. He fired six rapid shots into the bulk that he could see. He continued firing into the center of the confusion of men. He saw some bodies fall, but now they seemed to be retreating. Again, he reloaded. Longarm could feel the heat of the rifle barrel through his calloused left hand. As he threw his rifle up to his shoulder again, he could see that the opening was clearing out. He fired two more shots, but he doubted there were any results.

Longarm waited, watching. He could see men on the ground, some moving, some lying very still. A horse was down, and a few others were running around riderless, their bridles trailing on the ground. It was time, he thought, for him to make a quick departure before he could be seen or recognized or even located. He didn't think any of them had known where the fire had come from. Bending low, he raced around the outcrop to where his mare was waiting. Holding his rifle in his right hand, he stuck a boot in the stirrup and swung aboard. Then he sat off riding the mare at a high lope heading toward the north, circling around the foothills of the mountains. He kept going that way until the rise and fall of the land would hide him from view of the entrance to Ashton's place.

When he was certain he couldn't be seen, he turned to the northwest, toward town. He wanted to come into town from an angle where it would look like he hadn't been anywhere near Ashton's place. As he rode, he kept circling further and further to the west to circle around and come in from the west. Finally, he pulled the mare down to a trot, and then to a slow walk, and then let her amble her way into the back side of town. He directed her to the livery stable and then stopped her. She was a little fatigued. She'd had some pretty good runs that morning. He dismounted and handed the reins to the stable boy, along with a quarter. He said, “Rub her down, sonny. Take right good care of her. She's been hard at work.”

Longarm turned and walked around the hotel, stepped up on the porch, went through the front door, and then went through the dining room. His stomach was telling him it was well past time for breakfast. The clock on the wall said it was ten minutes after eight, and that was mighty late.

As he crossed the lobby, he saw Finley coming down the stairs. He stopped until the rancher or land broker, or whatever he was, could reach the ground floor and come up to him. “Well, good morning, Mr. Finley,” he said. “I'm just now going in for breakfast. Would you care for coffee?”

Finley cocked his head. “Just going in for breakfast? My heavens, Mr. Long. You keep odd hours for a man used to trading livestock. I thought you boys tried to make most of your deals before the sun got up.” He laughed slightly. “So you couldn't see the merchandise so good.”

Longarm said, “Well, as it happens, that is exactly what I've been doing. Actually, I've just been looking some of the country over to see how it might fare as a place to hold some horses. I need some sort of intermediate pastureland since I am doing more business to the south and it's a good long run from Oregon.”

“Didn't I see you ride out east of here?”

Longarm let a beat pass before he answered. He slowly shook his head. “No, I've been all around, but I don't think I've been to the east that I know of, been looking more to the west. That's mainly mining country to the east, isn't it?”

“Yeah, and that's where Ashton's place is.”

Longarm shook his head again. “No, I wouldn't know anything about Mr. Ashton. On your advice, I completely forgot about him.”

Finley nodded. “Well, I've got to get about the day. I'd like to get finished up here and get on back home.”

Longarm said, “Did you ever say where that was?”

“What?”

“Home.”

“No, I guess I didn't. Well, you take it easy, Mr. Long.” Then he turned and was gone out the front door of the hotel.

Longarm watched him thoughtfully for a moment before walking into the dining room and sitting down tiredly. He'd had a big morning. When the waiter came over, he ordered coffee and ham and eggs and flapjacks. He said, “And I wish you'd put some whiskey in my coffee.”

The waiter said, “I reckon we can do that, sir.”

Longarm nodded. “Much obliged.”

About ten o'clock that morning, the town was abuzz. Sometime before, two men riding hard had come in to fetch the doctor out to Vernon Ashton's headquarters. They had rushed him and pushed him and practically shoved him on his horse. Fortunately, the doctor was a young man and able to stand the hard ride they apparently were going to put him through. During the time he was gone, the town did nothing but talk about it.

The two men who had come in were closemouthed. They had given no indication of the trouble. Indeed, they had said not a word to anyone who had questioned them about their need for the doctor. They wouldn't say if Ashton was sick, or if any of the hands were sick, or if any of the ladies who lived out there were sick. They had refused any news of any kind.

It wasn't until a little after one o'clock in the afternoon that the doctor returned. He came back looking haggard, with blood on his shirt and on his pants. You could see from the way he rode his horse into the livery stable and dismounted that he'd had a lively time of it. He took his doctor's bag and then walked down the sidewalk, while everyone stopped and stared at him, and then went into his office.

For quite a while, no information could be learned. The doctor had a clerk, a young man named Bill, who received his visitors and took their payments if they offered them. At first, Bill wouldn't talk. Not a word could be gotten out of him, but finally the doctor closed his office and went home. Bill went into the Elite Saloon, and was immediately surrounded by the curious. He didn't know much, but after a few drinks, he was willing to tell what he did know. He said that the doctor had treated four gunshot wounds, that three of them were very serious, and that the men might not live. The one not so serious had resulted in a broken arm, and that man would be all right. The doctor didn't know if a fight had broken out amongst the men themselves, or if there had been an attack of some kind, or just what had happened. Bill said that the doctor had been taken straight into a bunkhouse, and that he had worked on the men on a table in there, and that he had been paid and that was all Bill knew.

Of course, they wanted to know where the other men had been shot, and if there had been other men lying around that might have been shot but were past the doctor's help. Bill couldn't answer any of that. They wondered how much the doctor had gotten paid. Bill did know that, but he thought he ought not say. And he didn't until he had been bought two more drinks. After that, he said with some amazement that the doctor had received a hundred dollars for making the trip and for his doctoring.

It was all anyone could talk about. Ashton was always a mystery and always a fund of curiosity. Now this had happened, and it was anybody's guess what it meant. It scared some people that it might mean that Ashton could be in trouble to the point that he might leave the area. That put a fright into any number of merchants. One was heard to say that if anybody had attacked Vernon Ashton and had shot up his men, that man ought to be strung up. And he, by golly, would be the one to put the rope around the neck of any party that would give such a fine man as Vernon Ashton a hard time. The owner of the saloon and casino was seen walking around, staring several men in the face. It was as if he was making certain that they had not been a part of such mischief. It was well known that the trade from the Ashton ranch made up a good part of his business.

Listening to it all in snatches and bits, and from what he could overhear without making himself conspicuous, Longarm could see why Finley had warned him that the town was solidly behind the reclusive man in the castle. Of course, the town didn't know that all that business he was giving them was paid for with counterfeit twenty-dollar bills, probably taken out in saddlebags. That was one good thing about paper money. You didn't need a wagon team to haul it as you did with gold, and you could carry a great amount stuffed into somebody's saddlebags or a carpetbag.

Standing out in the street, casually listening to the conversation going on, Longarm noticed Finley looking his way. He gave the man a friendly wave and sauntered toward him. “Well, wonder what the hell happened out at Ashton's?” Longarm said.

Finley fixed him with a pair of hard blue eyes. “I reckon you'd know as well as I would.”

The tone of his voice startled Longarm. “Why would that be?” he asked. “Hell, I'm just a stranger. I don't know a damned thing.”

“Well, where were you this morning when all this was happening?”

Longarm drew his head back. “Look here, Finley. I've done told you that. I'm schooling a gelding that needed some work, and I rode out in the exact opposite direction. Ask them down at the livery stable which direction they saw me coming from; don't take my word for it. What business is it of yours anyway? Do you work for Ashton?”

Finley shook his head. “No, but what affects this town could affect me, and what affects Ashton affects this town. Do you follow my way of thinking?”

Longarm said, “I follow it, though I can't say I much care for it.”

He turned and walked away, considerably nettled. Finley had been the only man in the town that he had felt like being friendly with, and now Finley was turning out to be the biggest busybody. Of course, the man was right. Longarm had been out early, and he had been doing some work at about the time the dynamite had exploded and people were getting shot. But still, Finley shouldn't be drawing such quick conclusions.

Longarm went back to his room, poured himself a glass of the Maryland whiskey, and sat down on the bed with the whiskey and a cigarillo to have a think. The best he could figure, including the shooting at the notch in the wall, he had taken out about fifteen of Ashton's men. Maybe he hadn't killed fifteen, but he reckoned he had let some light through at least that many. He wondered what the rest of them were thinking. He had heard some of the townspeople say that the two men who had come in to get the doctor were as mad as wet setting hens, and that it would be a smart idea for people to stay clear of the ranch for the time being because all the riders had orders to shoot first and then find out who they shot later. None of the townspeople seemed willing to debate the point. It made Longarm think. His plan had been to go ahead and take his second step that very next morning at around two o'clock, but now he wasn't sure. He felt certain they would be patrolling the perimeters, especially the side of the pasture where he had set off the dynamite initially. It might be to his advantage to give them twenty-four hours to think the matter over.

He hated the idea, however, mainly because he wanted to finish the job and get the hell out of Silverton. It was a tiresome place to stay. There wasn't much to do except gamble in the cheap casino, where only a jughead would risk his money at the house odds. You might as well just send it over rather than bother to play. That left poker, and the only decent game he had found had been the one he had played with Finley that first night. Well, he guessed he could always try at Ashton's again, but it probably was wisest to wait twenty-four hours, even though he was very anxious not only to leave, but also to lay his hands on Vernon Ashton. Thoughts also flashed through his mind about the Spanish-looking woman he had seen on the stair landing. She was a right comely young lady and very well built, especially in the breast and hip area. He was a breast man for certain. He wasn't particular as to size, but he did like them firm and he did like them to have big nipples. She looked like the kind to have big rosettes and big nipples.

Those thoughts made him smile to himself. Here he was, a long way from any female comfort, and he knew better than to be thinking about breasts and nipples. There was certainly no help in this town except for whores. He had never paid a whore in his life, and didn't reckon he'd ever start. Of course, he had never charged one either. He reckoned they were all square.

The day dragged on. He ate lunch, and then spent some time in his room, resting and drawing a map on paper of Ashton's layout. He had fixed it in his mind, but he wanted to make sure he knew what outbuilding was where, what outbuilding was likely to contain men, and just how far it was to the house, the best estimate he could make.