Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter (3 page)

BOOK: Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter
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Longarm said, “I can see where I am. You want me to go charging up a canyon with about thirty or forty hired hands shooting at me while this guy buries all the swag and I get shot dead.”
Sump cleared his throat. “I was given to understand from your immediate supervisor, Chief Marshal Billy Vail, that you are a man of some mental resources and that you would find a way to infiltrate this operation and to get close to Mr. Ashton and the counterfeit goods before he could hide them or destroy the evidence.”
Longarm grimaced. “A few more compliments like that and I can go to making arrangements with the undertaker. No, Mr. Sump, I don't have that kind of mental resources, whatever that means, and I damned sure don't have any idea how I'd infiltrate this man's operation, whatever infiltrate means. All I know is that I've been given a job that I think should be yours. What do you think of that?”
Sump didn't have the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Well, that's not the way it worked out, Deputy Long. We asked for the Marshals Service to assist us in this matter. We were given permission to use any and all of their resources. Your chief marshal said you were the best resource he had. So, it's your job.”
“I suppose I just can't up and say I won't do it.”
Sump nodded slowly. He was not a man who seemed to smile very much. He said, “Yes, you can do that, Marshal. I would imagine that it would result in your immediate dismissal.”
“Is that the same thing as being fired?”
“It's the same thing as being fired without any hope of getting your pension.”
Longarm gave him a look. He quickly decided he didn't like this man. He said, “If I go up into this canyon, I don't think a pension is going to do me any good at all.”
Sump was wearing a bowler hat. He took it off, wiped his forehead on his arm, and then put the severe black creation back on his head. “That's entirely up to you, Marshal... or Deputy. Excuse me. My job is to tell you everything I know.” He stood up. “I have done that. Now, let's see what results you can get.”
 
Longarm said to Pauline, “Sump. S-U-M-P. Ladell Sump. Can you imagine a man walking around with such a name?” He cocked his head at her. “I mean, I don't like the sonofabitch anyway, but I sure don't like him with a name like that. Coming in here, telling me what I got to do and how I've got to do it, and all that.”
He was sitting on the bed, dressed. She was sitting in the chair across from him looking very trim in a light cotton frock. It made his mouth water as he looked at her breasts straining at the thin material of her bodice. She said, “Custis, I don't quite understand just what your job is this time. You didn't exactly tell me about it, so I have no way of knowing.”
He shrugged. “Aw, honey, there ain't no point in talking about it. It's just another damned job. They all start to run together after a while. Go here, do that. Fetch this man, fetch that one. Catch this one, catch that one. Doesn't matter whether he's stolen a horse or robbed a bank or what he's done—the job still pays the same. Are you going to miss me while I'm gone?”
She looked down and fluttered her eyelashes. “That depends on how long you're going to be gone.”
Longarm shrugged. “I don't know. All I know is that I'm not looking forward to being gone from here and gone from you.”
She said, “Well, how long do you think it will be? A week? Two days? A month?”
Longarm shrugged again. “I don't know. I would guess however long it takes to do the job. Maybe I can get it done in a week. If I can, that's what I'm going to do. How come you're asking that? Is there a certain amount of time that I'd better not be gone beyond? Are you going to take up with another fellow if I'm gone longer than, say, two weeks?”
She gave him the faintest of smiles. “I didn't say that.”
Longarm laughed. “No, but you damned well hinted at it, you little vixen.”
She said, “I just wanted to give you a reason to hurry back as quick as you can.”
He winked at her. “You already did. Earlier this morning.”
It was not long until noon. She had come into his room that morning, and they had made love. Now, she was dressed to go to her shop and he was dressed to go on the train. Pauline had taken time off to be with him during these last few hours of the morning, and he had been grateful. He said, “Well, honey, I'm going to get back just as fast as I can.”
“Just make sure it's in one piece.”
“I sure hope to hell it is,” he said. “But as much as I know about this job, I can't guarantee anything. Now, why don't you give me a quick kiss and run along to your dress-making business. I've got a bunch of stuff to do before I get on that damned train. I've got two horses to load and some other errands to run.”
He stood up and walked toward her. She rose as he did, and he gave her a lingering kiss on the mouth. After that, he watched her as she walked out the door. He shrugged as it closed, and said under his breath, “Damn you, Billy Vail. And damn you, Ladell Sump. Ladell Sump. What a name.”
 
Longarm left his boardinghouse with his saddlebags over his shoulders and carrying a small valise. His saddlebags contained an extra .44—.40 revolver, the handgun of his choice. It was a .40-caliber Colt on a .44-caliber frame. The .40-caliber was strong enough to stop a man, but the .44 frame was heavier and sturdier in the hand and caused less barrel deviation. His rifle was in his saddle boot at the livery stable, where the two horses he intended to take with him were being kept. In the valise were two changes of clothes and a blanket, just in case he had to sleep out. He had packed his saddlebags with some jerked beef, cheese, crackers, and canned goods he had bought at a store near his boardinghouse. Longarm's landlady had given him a good breakfast, and he had had a good lunch at a cafe nearby. He walked to the livery stable and took out his two horses. One was a big, strong bay gelding that was fast and had a little staying power. Longarm was also taking a small dapple-gray mare that he knew to be calm and confident under gunfire and that could keep a trail for twenty-four hours if need be, if she wasn't pushed too hard. The gelding was a four-year-old. The mare was pushing eight. He had the stable boy bring them out and follow him as he walked to the depot.
He still had not the slightest idea how he was going to get close to Mr. Vernon Ashton, or even how he was going to ask him to quit making counterfeit twenty-dollar bills. First, Longarm had to get in the general vicinity of where the man lived. Then he would have to see what the ground looked like, what the situation looked like, and plan from there. He had never been much of a hand for planning a campaign a hundred miles away from the site of the action.
Longarm had ordered a stock car the night before, and now he loaded his horses into the slatted car that came complete with feed and hay and water. He made himself a seat on a bale of hay, and put his saddle and his rifle and his other gear down close to hand. The horses, as always, had been nervous walking up the ramp and into the unusual confines of a stock car. But soon enough, they were busy with the feed and the water, and had quit looking around in amazement at finding themselves in such a place. Longarm gave the stable boy a half dollar for his help, and then pulled the sliding car door shut. There was still a good half hour until train time, but he figured he'd make do with his time. He had brought along four quarts of his special Maryland whiskey, and he figured that some of that would do him to drink.
Before the train started off, he spent some time inspecting his weapons, making sure that they were in working order. Both of his handguns had just been cleaned. One was a rimfire, double-action Colt with a six-inch barrel that he used for close-in work. The other was a single-action, the mate to the first pistol, except it had a nine-inch barrel. He didn't use it often, but whenever he needed something between a handgun and a rifle, it was a mighty convenient weapon. The rifle held six rounds, the same as the handguns. Both the handguns had floating firing pins, so there was no necessity of keeping an empty cylinder under the hammer. He had one last weapon. His belt buckle was big and concave and inside it was a .38-caliber derringer, held in place with a steel spring. More than once, it had been his final resort and it had saved his life.
Longarm sat back, not thinking much of anything, just waiting. Finally, the train started with a jerk and a flurry of smoke and steam and the clanking of cars. Little by little, it began to pull away from the station in Denver. He looked through the slats at the size of the city. He was always amazed at how it was growing. All around were mountain peaks and valleys. It was rough, hard country, and it took rough, hard men to handle it. He wondered if he would be rough and hard enough to handle a man who was doing something Longarm hadn't even known could be done.
The horses had seemed to take the train's start well enough, though they had spooked and jumped around a little bit. Now that the going was easier, they had settled down, and were eating grain and were looking perfectly content to take a train ride. Silverton was only a hundred miles away, straight across the peaks and valleys, but it took considerably longer by way of the railroad, which had to wind around the mountains and the chasms and the deep valleys. Normally, it was about a six- or seven-hour trip. Longarm hoped he would get in earlier. It was late July, and it usually got dark about 7:30. He was hoping to get to the area in time to maybe have a chance to ride out and have a look at what he was up against. But with the pace of the train being what it was, he figured he'd be spending the night in a hotel room in Silverton. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could find a poker game. And maybe, if he was really lucky, he'd find some talkative strangers who could tell him a little something about this Vernon Ashton.
He thoughtfully pulled one of the bottles of Maryland whiskey out of one of his saddlebags, uncorked it, had a good pull, and then shoved the cork back home again and replaced the bottle. It was the kind of whiskey that was smooth enough that you didn't need to chase it with water to put out the fire. He'd always been partial to it, but he couldn't always get it, so he always tried to take as much of it with him as he could. He remembered a time in Colorado when a desperado had jumped him in his hotel room. The man had come in firing. He had missed Longarm with his first four shots, but he had busted the three quarts of good whiskey that were sitting on the bedside table. Longarm had almost had tears in his eyes as he'd finally shot the man in the chest, knocking him out in the hallway. If he'd had his way, he would have rather had the man take an ear off him, or maybe wound him slightly in the shoulder, than break that much whiskey. But that was life in the Marshals Service, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.
The train rocked along. After a time, Longarm went over to the door of the car and slid it back so he could see out. Sometimes, the train would run alongside a gorge or a deep valley, and he could see down a thousand feet to the rocks and the grass and the trees below. He kept a good grip on the slats of the car. Just the sight of that much empty air made him about half dizzy. It was a long ride, and he was anxious to get there and get on the ground to see what he could find out. Finally, Longarm sat down and made another meal out of the biscuits, the jerky, and the cheese. The horses looked contented enough. But then, what the hell did they know? They didn't have to figure out how to get up a canyon and make their way into a house where a man was making twenty-dollar bills illegally.
He dozed off and on, and then, after what seemed like an eternity, he could feel the train slowing, and he knew the next station was Silverton. He got up, got his horses rigged, and put his saddle on the gray mare and the saddlebags on the four-year-old gelding. When they came skidding to a halt, there were a couple of railroad roustabouts that brought a ramp up to his car and shoved it into place. One at a time, Longarm led his horses out of the stock car. They didn't like stepping on the springy boards of the ramp, but they came along well enough.
After that, he cinched up the saddle on the mare and then transferred his saddlebags behind him. His valise he tied to the saddle horn of the big saddle. Then he walked into the train depot, looking for the passenger agent. He found him behind his grilled cage, a small, stooped man wearing a green eyeshade. Longarm asked him where the best accommodations in town were.
The man glanced up and gave Longarm a measured look. “Well, stranger,” he said, “there's three, so you can take your pick. There is Mrs. Bender, who runs a boardinghouse right at the edge of town. Can't miss it. Got a big sign out in front. She has clean beds and she sets a pretty fair table. Then the Nugget Saloon has got rooms upstairs. They'll cost you a little more because you'll be that much closer to the gambling. Then there's the Silverton Hotel. It's kind of run-down, but it's still pretty fair. As good as you'll find in this part of the country.”
Longarm thanked the man, and then stepped aboard the gray and started toward the town. He elected for the Silverton Hotel because he knew they would have a livery stable and he wanted his horses close at hand and he wanted them seen to properly.
The hotel was about a half mile away. The bay gelding he led right alongside his right leg as they jogged toward the center of the town. He reckoned it to be one of those places with somewhere around a thousand in population—two thousand when times were good, five hundred when times were bad. At one time, it had been a boomtown in silver, and he could see from the deserted buildings that the town had once been two or three times its present size. Now, it had settled down to just a steady run of silver, and a set number of miners were kept employed in the one mine that was left.
BOOK: Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter
11.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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