Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter (4 page)

It was late evening, and the air was still warm and light. He could feel the altitude. Silverton was higher than Denver. Longarm figured it was about 6500 feet, and was set atop a high grassy plain that was ringed with mountains on all sides but the south.

As he pulled up in front of the hotel, Longarm noticed that the streets were mainly deserted. He figured that was because it was close to the supper hour. He reckoned most people with any sense would have their feet under the dinner table. He stepped down from the mare, dropping the reins to the ground, and walked into the hotel.

The man at the desk looked up. Longarm said, “I want a ground-floor room for a few days. I've got two horses out front and I want them seen to.”

The clerk said, “That will be two dollars a day in advance for you and a dollar apiece for the horses. Four dollars per day.”

Longarm could have pulled out his badge, and there wouldn't have been any talk about advance payment, but he had decided that he would just lay low on this particular trip and wait until it had become absolutely necessary to declare himself a lawman. He dug down in his pocket, pulled out a double eagle, and flipped it on the counter. He said, “Use that until it's gone, and then let me know when you need more.”

The clerk nodded. “Yes, sir. I'll get a boy out to see to your horses right away. Your room is number three, just down that front hall. You've got a view of the street.”

Longarm picked up his valise, nodded at the clerk, and started down toward his room.

 

After he had eaten dinner at the hotel dining room, he wandered down to the Nugget, the biggest saloon in town. They had faro, they had roulette, and there were a number of individual poker games going on. Poker was one of Longarm's favorite passions, as were Maryland whiskey and fine women, and he prided himself that he had reduced the game to one of skill more than luck. Billy Vail never failed to go off into the gales of laughter when Longarm said such things. But then, Billy Vail never noticed how much he was losing while he was laughing.

Longarm selected a chair at a game with five other players. They seemed to be anteing a half dollar and playing pot limit. It was the kind of game he liked, the kind where you could protect your hand with a big bet and keep someone from drawing out on you.

He nodded as he sat down. “Howdy, gents. Any rules?” One of the men said, “Play what you have in front of you. Check and raise. Other than that, play your best five cards.”

Longarm carefully counted out seventy-five dollars. He anted for the first hand. The cards came around in a game of stud, one down and four up, with a bet after each card. He caught a king in the hole with the first card, and then a king up on his second card. He bet two dollars.

The man who had given him the rules gave him a brief smile, and said, “Kings wired, neighbor?”

Longarm smiled back with the same amount of humor. “Always. What good is one king without another unless it's in a straight or a flush? How about that queen you've got showing? Got another little lady in the hole?”

The man said, “Sure enough. Like you say, what good is one without another?”

The hand went on, with the bets going up as the cards went around. Soon, the man with the queen and Longarm were the only two left in the game. The man with the queen had caught a pair of deuces besides the queen. If he had a queen in the hole, he'd have two pair. He bet twenty-five dollars into Longarm. Longarm was still holding only a pair of kings. He was holding a seven and an eight besides. After a long study, knowing that he was trusting luck and that this seemed as good a time as any to test it, he called the bet. Then he was dealt his fifth card. It was a seven. Then the man with the queen and the pair of deuces. It was a king. The man smiled at Longarm. He said, “Looks like I caught your king, neighbor. That kind of cuts down on the odds of you having one in the hole, don't it?”

Longarm said, “You could say that.” The only danger now was if the man had a deuce in the hole, giving him three deuces. If he had that, he had the winning hand. If not, Longarm had the best of the two pair with a pair of kings over sevens against a pair of queens over a pair of deuces. His sevens were high, and he cautiously bet ten dollars. The man raised him back twenty.

Now Longarrn had to study. It was a healthy raise, unless the man was holding a third deuce. He looked up at the man, trying to see the size of the pupils in the man's eyes. Sometimes you could tell how excited a man was by the pupils. They drew up and got small when a man was scared. This man's pupils seemed just an ordinary size. Longarm thought a moment, then called the raise and raised twenty back. Now the man stared at him. Longarm leaned forward in a comic way and opened his eyes. He said, “What do you reckon? They look about the same?”

The man suddenly laughed and turned his cards face-down. He said, “Hell, if you can't take a joke, forget it.”

Longarm pulled in the pot. He said, “I would have bet a pretty that you were laying there playing cat-and-mouse with a third deuce in the hole.”

“I wish I was. Did you have that pair of kings?”

Longarm gave him an innocent look. “Of course I had the pair of kings. You're not supposed to lie in poker, are you?”

The man smiled again. “No, no. Whoever heard of lying in poker?”

After about another hour or so, the game broke up as one player after another went bust. Longarm and his initial adversary were winning fairly steadily. Sometimes they went head up against each other in the big pots, but only when it couldn't be avoided. Longarm won his share, but the other man was also a skilled player. Finally, Longarm pushed his chair back and said, “I've had enough. I'm going to the bar and get a drink.”

The man across from him stood up also and said, “That sounds like a damned good idea. Mind if I join you?”

Longarm said, “Hell, you're the big winner. I reckon you ought to buy.”

The man gave a chuckle. “You can say I'm the big winner, but you saying it don't make it so. You and I both know who the big winner was.”

Longarm laughed and slapped the man on the back as they walked toward the bar. He said, “Have it your own way then. One thing I won't ever deny is being the big winner. I don't play poker to lose, and when I do lose, I'm generally in a foul mood.”

They each put a boot on the brass railing, and they called for a bottle of whiskey with two glasses. Longarm had been studying his acquaintance all evening. The man had never said his name, and Longarm had never said his. He took them to be of a close age. Longarm's face said forty, but his body said thirty. This man's face said forty, and his body also said forty. He was a little pudgy where Longarm was hard and slim. But he had a good-natured face and a glib tongue, and he wore a six-gun in a fashion that let you know he knew how to use it but that he wasn't in any particular rush. He had the hammer tied down with a leather thong. It was a way of saying, “I can use this thing if I have to, but if you draw on me before I have a chance to get this hammer free, then you are shooting an unarmed man.”

Longarm thought it was a good sensible practice. After they had toasted to luck and drunk off half the whiskey, he gave his name to the man. He used his regular name, Custis Long, because he doubted that it would be known. It was his nickname by which he was usually recognized.

The man put out his hand and they shook. He said, “Finley is my name. Joe Finley. Are you from around here, Mr. Long?”

Longarm shook his head and said, “No, Mr. Finley. I just got into town today. I'm sort of looking around to get the lay of the ranching business in these parts.”

Finley said, “That be so? Well, I kind of dabble in the cattle business myself. Might be I could tell you a little about the area, although I don't live here. I've got one place around here that I've been trying to improve so I could raise some cattle. At this high altitude, you can get some mighty fine grass into your livestock and raise some damned good beef. But it's hard to get that first crop of grass to come in. I've got a pretty good-sized pasture up north of here that I've been trying to get going. We've plowed it under three years running, and this might just be the year I let it come on and turn cattle in on it next year. It's going to be fall here pretty soon, and it'll be time to tuck it under if I'm going to do it.”

Longarm studied the whiskey in his shot glass. It wasn't Maryland whiskey, but it wasn't all that bad. He said, “I've heard that there is a man around here that hires a goodly number of riders. Would you have any idea about him?”

Finley's eyes narrowed, and his good-humored face seemed to crease and darken. He said, “Would you be talking about a man that don't seem to be in the cattle business or the horse business or the goat business or the sheep business, but yet he keeps about forty riders working for him? All of them hardcases? Would that be the gentleman you're talking about?”

Longarm said, “That could be. The name is Ashton. Vernon Ashton. It could be the gent I'm inquiring about.”

Finley said, “Well, I can't help you in that direction.” He tossed down his whiskey, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then flipped a five-dollar gold piece on the bar.

“Glad to have met you, Mr. Long, and good luck. It's about time for me to turn in now.”

Longarm took a half step after the man. “Hold up, Mr. Finley. You seem to know a good bit about Mr. Ashton. Maybe I'm walking into something I shouldn't be walking into. Maybe you could warn me off of him.”

Finley stopped and looked back at Longarm. There were the sounds of the crowded saloon all around him, but his words came through clear and distinct. “Yes,” Finley said. “You might be getting into something you might not ought to, but then it's not for me to say what you ought to be getting in to. Excuse the language, Mr. Long, but I don't know a damned thing about you. You may be just what Vernon Ashton is looking for.”

Longarm said, “I'd like to talk to you some more, Mr. Finley.”

The man nodded and turned toward the door. “I'm staying at the hotel,” he said. “I ain't hard to find.”

Longarm turned back to his drink. In a way, he was heartened. He had expected to find the whole town solidly behind Vernon Ashton, mainly because the man was supporting a big payroll, which could mean a lot of money in a town the size of Silverton. But also, he had expected to be met with hostility. He doubted that Vernon Ashton cared much to have his business inquired into. Longarm finished his drink and set his glass back on the bar. After that, he pushed back, turned slowly, and headed toward the door, his mind working. At least now, he had a little something to work on.

Longarm was up early, and hung around the lobby until he saw Joe Finley come down the stairs and head into the dining room. He waited a few moments for the man to be seated, and then walked into the room himself. A quick glance showed that the man was seated at a small corner table. Longarm ambled over and pulled a chair out. He looked down at Finley and said, “Mind if I sit down, neighbor?”

Finley looked slightly surprised, but not displeased. He shrugged and said, “Help yourself. They've got chairs for everybody. I believe this is what you call a common dining hall.”

Longarm sat down and pulled his chair up. Almost as soon as he was settled, a black waiter appeared at his elbow, poured him some coffee, and asked if he cared for cream. Longarm shook his head and said, “No, no need to weaken it down with any cow's squeezings. Only thing I like in this coffee that ain't coffee is a little Maryland whiskey.”

Joe Finley looked up at Longarm, startled. He said, “Don't tell me you're a Maryland whiskey man.”

Longarm nodded. “I'm a Maryland whiskey man enough that I brought four quarts with me on this trip. But you're the first man I've run into in some time that even knows what it is.”

Finley laughed shortly. “Well, don't be letting the secret out. That would mean that much less for us. Hell, I've been drinking Maryland whiskey ever since I was old enough and had enough money to appreciate the better things in life.”

Longarm said, “But where in the world did you run across Maryland whiskey? I take it that you're from this part of the country.”

Finley shook his head slowly. “No. The reason I know about Maryland whiskey is that I'm originally from Maryland. I've been out here for about fifteen or twenty years, and I have a hell of a time keeping it in supply. You know, they don't make much of that stuff. It's pretty hard to get it shipped to you in quantities less than a box car-load.”

Longarm got out a cigarillo and lit it and laughed slightly. “Well, a box car-load is quite a bit of whiskey, but maybe we could go in halves on one.”

Finley laughed, and a good feeling settled in between them. It had been Longarm's intention to befriend the man. He felt that Finley was someone who might furnish some help.

The waiter came and took their orders and they ate. They both had ham and eggs and stewed tomatoes. It was a surprisingly good meal for that part of the country, and Longarm was grateful for the silent time as they ate. It gave him a chance to think about an approach to the subject he wanted to talk to the man about. Finally, after they had put their forks and knives down, wiped their mouths, and settled down with their last cups of coffee, Longarm said, “Now, listen here, Mr. Finley. I may have given you the wrong impression last night. I don't know what those riders do that work for this man Ashton, but I got the impression from you that they generally are up to no good. What are they? A rough lot? A bunch of
pistoleros?”

Finley shifted his eyes and looked carefully toward the tables nearest them. He cleared his throat and said in a lowered voice, “Mr. Long, it ain't real good politics to discuss, out loud Mr. Ashton or his men or what they do.”