Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter (16 page)

“Hell, are you going to be gone that long?”

Longarm shrugged. “It depends on how long it takes me to do my business. Do you know where they keep the counterfeiting machinery?”

The man gave him a blank look. “The what?”

“Where they make those counterfeit twenty-dollar bills.”

The wounded man shook his head back and forth slowly. He said, “Mister, I don't know what you're talking about. Counterfeit twenty-dollar bills? I've never heard of such a thing.”

Longarm believed him. It was very possible for only a few select individuals to carry on a counterfeiting operation. There was no need for even the guards to know what they were guarding. He started toward the door, carrying his rifle loosely in his left hand. He said, “Where does this door go?”

The man on the floor said, his voice getting weaker, “It shoots over to the main hall. Take it over to the big staircase. That will take you right into Mr. Ashton's office. I don't know where the other two men are, so don't hold me accountable. When you go through that door, I reckon you better be looking both ways.”

Longarm stepped to the door with his rifle in his right hand. He reached out with his left and turned the knob. The door opened inward, and he pulled it to him, letting it go by him. The hall was alight with lanterns hanging from the ceiling. He took a quick look around the door frame. It was a small hall, and empty. He walked a few steps to the one door that led off it. Again, he followed the same procedure. As he held the rifle at his ready, he turned the knob and pulled it to him. Again, there was nothing but empty space.

This time, the door had opened onto the main upstairs hallway. It was a good eight feet wide and long. At the other end, he could see the curved banister of the stairs where he had seen the beautiful Spanish-looking young woman a few days before. The hall was lit with several chandeliers. He guessed it to be about twenty-five feet long. He moved slowly. There were two doors that opened off to each side.

He came to the first door on his left, and eased his rifle to his right hand and then pushed open the door with his left. It was dark. In the dimness, he could see the outline of a canopy bed and other furniture. He could see no movement. He pulled the door to, and then opened the one across from it. The room was practically empty, with only a few chairs and a table. He didn't know its purpose. Then he came to the second door on his left. He opened it. Much like the first one, this was also a bedroom. Both of the rooms were big, just as one would expect for such a large house. After he looked the big room over, he pulled the door to as he had the other ones. If someone were to slip up behind him, if he had overlooked them, he wanted at least some sound when they emerged.

He turned, and was about to go to the next door on his right when it suddenly opened. He jerked the rifle up into a firing position, his finger on the trigger. He froze, staring in amazement.

It was the Spanish girl. She just stood there, wearing a very thin housedress. It could just as easily been a bed gown, except that it buttoned up the front. She stood there, staring at him. Staring hard. For a second, Longarm didn't know what to say. Then he stammered out, “Excuse me. I'm mighty sorry if I've disturbed you. I ... uh ... I was looking for ... uh ... Mr. Ashton.”

She didn't bother to answer him. Instead, she stepped out of the room and came directly toward him. As she moved, she put her hands up and began unbuttoning the flimsy dress. It was so thin, he could see the nipples of her breast through the material and see the dark patch of pubic hair at her crotch. He could feel his groin swell, and feel that copper taste come into his mouth. Her eyes were riveted on his, holding him tightly with her look. He sat the rifle down by his boot, not knowing what to do.

Now, she was pressing her body up against him. She reached up and pulled his head down and kissed him full on the mouth. He could feel the softness of her lips and the wetness of her tongue. He could feel himself growing too small in that space in his jeans. But he had no time for this. He could feel her arms going around his neck. He tried to pull away. This was absurd. He was able to pull his mouth away in order to say, “Miss, miss. What are you doing?”

But she was putting her hands on his member, rubbing him with her nimble fingers. It was impossible for him not to come to full erection. He could feel her fingers fumbling at his buttons. She was pulling him down, down, down toward the floor just with the weight of her arms around his neck. He didn't know what to do. The next thing he knew, his member was free and she was holding it in her hands. She had pulled him down to his knees and she was on hers, and then she somehow rolled onto her back, opening her legs and pulling him onto her.

His head was afire. His senses reeled. He couldn't think. He heard the thud as he dropped his rifle. Then all he knew was that she was guiding him into her. He could see the flash of white skin and the pink depths that awaited him. He tried to regain control of the situation. He was in the middle of the hall in the enemy's house with this girl. It was no time to be doing what he was doing. Ever since he had stood at the door at the top of the stairs, the hair at the back of his neck had been up. Now, it was rising even more. Almost as if by instinct, he glanced up. There was a man at the head of the stairway. He had a rifle in his hand.

Without pause, Longarm jerked the revolver out of his holster and flung himself flat on top of the girl. He fired just as the man brought the rifle to his shoulder. Longarm saw the slug catch the man in the middle of his belly. It had not been the shot he had wanted, but it did have the effect of ruining the man's aim. The rifle fired, but the bullet went whining overhead helplessly. The hard-faced young man had taken a step backward. He tried to lever another shell into the chamber. Longarm took careful aim this time, and fired. The bullet caught the man in the chest and he staggered back, his spine against the railing of the stairs. He stood there, his fingers dropping the rifle on the hard wooden floor. It clattered noisily. He turned to try and walk down the stairs. Longarm shot him again. This time, he could see the bullet hit the man in the shoulder. It spun the man around and he went falling, tumbling down the winding staircase.

Longarm stood up. His erection was gone. He looked down at the woman lying on the floor. Her dress was still up around her hips and for an instant, he admired the view. She had unbuttoned her dress enough so that her breasts were showing. They were big and taut and tight. They were just the way he liked them, with big brown nipples.

He said formally, buttoning his pants, “Ma'am, I'm right sorry, but I'm busy right now. Maybe we can finish this business a little bit later.”

Then he stepped past her, over her leg, and went down the hall, his revolver at the ready. He had picked up the rifle, but he was carrying it loosely in his left hand. It was getting too close for rifle work. He figured the rest of the way, he'd be using a pistol, but he didn't want to leave the rifle with the girl. She apparently was capable in more than one way. She had nearly done him in with her body. He didn't want her to do him in with his own rifle.

He found the gunman dead halfway down the stairs. Longarm took a moment to pick up the man's rifle and jack all the shells out of it before slinging it back down near the man's body. He took the man's pistol as well, and emptied the cartridges out. Then he took time to reload his own revolver. As far as he knew, there was one man left. He didn't know who he was or where he was, but Longarm hoped he wouldn't be hiding behind the skirts of some really good-looking woman.

Longarm finished the descent of the staircase, and stood in the big hall. He knew to his immediate left was the big library and then Ashton's office. But he didn't know what was ahead and to the right. He thought there was a back door, and perhaps that was where the other gunman was waiting. He was still shaken by the near calamity of the gunman and the woman. More than anything else, it struck him as a hell of a way to get killed, in a hell of a position and a hell of an activity. If the story ever got out about him like that, he might as well be dead because he'd never be able to live it down. He had enough of a reputation with the ladies as it was, and there was no need for a story to get out that he had died in the saddle, so to speak.

He decided he would check to the right first. He pushed under the stairs and to some big double doors. He opened one of them slowly. It was dark inside, and he ducked down and half crawled into the room to get his bearings. It would be a good place for an ambush. When his eyes adjusted, he could see a long table and a number of chairs. It was a dining room. He kept looking around. He could see a door that opened toward a back wall. That should be the kitchen, but he couldn't be certain.

He rose to his feet and walked around the dining room table to the left. When he reached the swinging door that led to the kitchen, he hunkered down again and slowly pushed it open. It was dark inside, but warmer, and had the smell of a place where food was prepared. He got just inside the door, sweeping the room with his pistol and his rifle. There was not a sign of anyone there.

He continued on around the dining room table until he came to the door on the opposite side of the room. It too was a big double door. He pulled one side open toward him, ducking as he did. Just as he guessed, it led into the front parlor. There was a little light coming through the front windows, and he could see better. It was a big formal affair with a lot of overstuffed furniture. It didn't look like it got much use. Now, Longarm was ready to check out the part of the house that he thought might prove more interesting.

He walked back down the dining room table, and exited quickly out the door, half expecting to be met by someone who had observed his entrance into the room. There was no one there. He was in a small hall-like area, with a door immediately to his right that either went to a room or went outside. He thought there was a back door, and he thought there was a man watching it.

Longarm could feel the hair prickling on the back of his neck again. He looked at the door. It was just an ordinary door, but he had a feeling that it was a very dangerous door. He thought there would be some close work inside, so he leaned his rifle against the wall, reached around to his rear belt, and pulled out his spare revolver. He checked it again to make sure it was loaded, and then drew his other revolver out of the holster. He wanted to have all the firepower he could. He reached out and gently turned the doorknob as he had before. He pushed the door, ducking down again as he did.

Nothing happened. He was just in a small dark room, lit partially by the light behind him. The only thing he could tell was that it was some sort of storage area for the kitchen, since there were cases of canned foods, sacks of flour, sacks of dried beans and peas and other bulk food. Just ahead was another door, this one with a glass in the top. He eased over to it, bending down, and tried to see through the window glass. He couldn't tell where it went. It could have been the door to the outside. He couldn't imagine why you would put a window glass in the top half of an interior door, but then he couldn't be sure. The hair was still standing up on the back of his neck. He gripped his revolvers more closely and squatted down just to the left of the door. With his right hand, he carefully turned the knob and then swiftly drew the door back.

The black night was suddenly lit by the twin muzzle blast of a double-barrel shotgun. Longarm could feel the full charge of pellets go whistling right over his head. Instinctively, he fired with his left hand. His right hand, holding the other revolver, was still shoving the door aside. He felt as if something had tugged at his arm as the charge had gone overhead.

Now, he fired again at where the barrel blast had been. He fired with his left revolver and then with his right hand, shooting two, three, four, five times. He heard a moan, then a sigh, and then the soft sound of something collapsing. He was outside. The steps led down to the ground. He went slowly, aware that he only had three or four cartridges in his guns. He was amazed that he'd had to fire so many times to hit the man. But then, in a few steps, he discovered the reason why.

There was a large wooden box sitting just a few feet from the back door. It was about four feet high and about four feet wide. It apparently contained some kind of machinery, since it had shipping stickers all over it. Behind it lay another one of the hard-faced narrow-eyed gunslingers that Ashton seemed to have cut out with a cookie cutter. Longarm walked around the box that the man had been hiding behind and looked down at him. It was coming now toward dawn, and Longarm could make him out quite distinctly. He stirred him with the toe of his boot, but the man was dead. He turned and went back up the steps through the back door of the house, through the dark room, and back out into the wide hall underneath the stairs. To his right was a library, and beyond that was supposedly Ashton. If the man who was bleeding to death was telling him the truth, he had killed the last of the four gunmen.

He wondered what surprises Ashton was going to have in store for him.

Longarm walked over to the big double doors that led into the library, and twisted the knob of one handle. He pushed the door back. It was big and heavy, but it rode smoothly on its hinges. As it opened, he stepped further away from the entrance just in case there was somebody there, waiting to fire. He had one gun in his holster now and the other in his hand. He took time to reload. It almost emptied his pockets. Now, with just one revolver in his right hand, he started forward. He could see the door beyond the big library that led into Ashton's office. It was outlined by the light from within.

Longarm had taken several steps into the library when he felt someone behind him. He whirled, and suddenly felt soft arms going around his neck and moist, soft lips pressing against his. It was the girl again. He kept both hands up in the air trying to pull away from her, but she was holding him, her arms encircling his neck, her mouth glued to his. He stumbled on the rug, his spurs dragging in the thick carpet. To catch himself, he went down to his knees. She was with him. He glanced toward the open door of the library, but there was no one there. He turned his head with some difficulty, since the girl was holding him so tight, and looked toward Ashton's office. He had not opened the door.