Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter (5 page)

Longarm could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck. Did the whole town know that Ashton was in the counterfeiting business? He said noncommittally, “Is that so?”

Finley nodded his head. “Yes. Vernon Ashton and his operation are important to this town. They spend a lot of money here, and you're going to find that a lot of the folks are not interested in someone coming around and messing things up, if you take my meaning.”

Longarm tried to look innocent. “Well, what are they doing? Are they doing something illegal?”

Finley shook his head. “I couldn't tell you that, Mr. Long. I don't know that much about Ashton or his men or what they do. Like I told you last night, he ain't got no sheepherders out there, he ain't got no cattlemen, and he ain't got nobody chasing billy goats. Now, what he needs with forty well-armed, well-mounted men is beyond me. He makes me nervous, but maybe that's just my own problem.”

“Well, do they come into town and create a big wad of trouble?”

Finley shook his head. “No. As a matter of fact, it's just the opposite. Never more than six or seven or eight of them come in at one time, and they are just as polite as someone in your aunt Martha's parlor. No trouble, no fights. You couldn't ask for a better-behaved bunch of men. They're even young, most of them in their late twenties and early thirties. I'd say there's not a man of them, except for his foreman, who is approaching forty. They come in, drink their whiskey, have their time with the girls upstairs in the Nugget Saloon, buy what they need at the stores, and then they get on out of town before a fresh bunch comes in. They kind of rotate them, if you understand what I mean, so they don't stay out there on that ranch too long.”

“So it's a ranch, is it?”

Finley looked up at him. “Well, I call it a ranch only because it's a bunch of grass. I don't call it a ranch because it's full of cattle. As far as I know, there is no cattle out there. Maybe they keep a few head for butchered meat, but on that amount of land, he could run a thousand head. He ain't got nowhere near that number on that beautiful highland's prairie. He's got plenty of good horses, though. Plenty. Several animals you might even call racehorses.”

“And this Ashton just lives out there by himself?”

Finley shrugged again. “Mr. Long, you're going to have to ask someone who knows more than I do. I've been coming here for a good number of years.” Finley stopped and thought a moment. “I guess Ashton got set up there about five or six years ago. I can't be sure of that. He just kind of grew from nothing. And I've never been on the place, I've never spoken to the man, but I have seen him from across the street. That's the best I can tell you.”

Longarm said, “Doesn't that strike you as kind of funny, his hired hands being so polite and nice and all? I've never seen a bunch of riders when they came into town that didn't cause some kind of trouble. You say his bunch doesn't cause any?”

Finley took a sip of coffee. “I've never heard of them causing any trouble. I find it passing strange myself, but then I don't live here, Mr. Long. You have to remember that. I've just got some property scattered around the area, and I come down here to look after it every now and again. Ashton is just a curiosity to me. But I will tell you this—these folks around this town are damned interested in keeping him happy and seeing that nobody interferes with his business. If I were you, I wouldn't go around asking a whole bunch of questions.”

Longarm said, “Well, hell. What does a man do if he's got his curiosity up?”

Finley cast a thoughtful eye at Longarm. “If he's got any sense, he keeps his mouth shut where some areas are involved.”

“Well, I can't see how a man can sit out there on a big patch of grass without any cattle and pay that many hired hands and stay afloat and keep his head above water. How does he make a living? Does he have a mine out there?”

“Mr. Long, I can't tell you any other way than I have already done, but I don't know any more about Mr. Ashton and his business than what I've told you. If you're that interested, why don't you ride out there and ask him for that job you say you want? I do have to tell you, I don't think you're going to get a job tending cattle if that's what you have in mind.”

“I don't remember, Mr. Finley, telling you I was looking for a job.”

“I sure got that impression last night.”

“Well, it happens that ain't the case. It happens that I am in the horse-breeding business. I have heard that this Ashton fellow will pay top dollar for good horseflesh.”

Finley scratched his chin. He hadn't shaved that morning, and it made a little
.scritch-scratch
sound. He said, “Then I guess I misunderstood you. I didn't get that impression off of you last night.”

“I am in the horse business.”

“Well then, I don't see why you don't just ride on out there and see what Mr. Ashton thinks of your stock. I assume that if you are trading stock, you have some with you.”

Longarm had almost put himself into the trap. He did not have the quality of horseflesh with him that he was talking about, and he said, “No, not really. This was just a stop on my way west, where I am looking to pick up some orders from some cattle ranchers in Oregon and out toward there. I heard about this Ashton, and it made me curious. All I have with me is some ordinary riding stock. But I don't think it would hurt to go out and proposition Ashton, and see if he's interested in looking at some good blooded stock that I could bring his way.”

Finley said, standing up, “Well, I wish you luck, Mr. Long. Me, I've got to get out there and look at my small plots of land. I ain't like Mr. Ashton. I don't own a big broad prairie right in the middle of a bunch of nice land. I've never seen a better place to finish off high-grade beef in all my life, and he's out there, running around, doing I don't know what.”

Longarm stood up also and put two dollars on the table. “Does he keep a wife or a girlfriend?”

Finley shook his head again. “I don't know whether you keep a wife or a girlfriend, Mr. Long, and I don't know the same thing about Mr. Ashton. Good day to you, sir.”

Longarm watched him walk away. His mind was working, trying to find a crack to lever himself onto the so-called ranch of Vernon Ashton. It was clear to him from what Finley had said that there wasn't much use hanging around town asking questions, trying to get advance information on the doings out at Ashton's place. Longarm was going to have to saddle up and go have a look for himself.

Back in his room, he checked his firearms, including the derringer that fit in the conclave buckle of his gun belt. He made sure his revolvers were loaded and cleaned, as well as his Winchester carbine. It was just habit. There was very seldom a time when they weren't clean and fully loaded. But you didn't get as old as Longarm was by being careless.

He had the mare saddled and brought around. He put his extra six-gun into his saddlebags, filled his canteen, slung it off his saddle, rammed his rifle home in the boot, and then stepped aboard and set off. The clerk at the hotel desk had given him directions. He'd said, “Oh, it ain't hard to find, Mr. Long. You just go out south of town. Take that road that runs right through there. After about a mile, you'll see a small sign with nothing on it but an arrow nailed to a post that points off at about a forty-degree angle to the left. You can see it aimed toward the mountain peaks. Take it in that direction.

“There will be a sort of buggy road that you can follow. It ain't no proper road, it's just used enough that you can tell where it's going. Follow that. It's going to climb on you some because Mr. Ashton's place is about a thousand feet higher than where we are, so you'll be moving on up. Keep following that road and keep sighted in on those peaks.

“Pretty soon, you'll come to a close place between two mountainsides. You get in through there—plenty of room for your horses. It's narrow on account of the size of the Rocky Mountains on each side of you. Get on through that notch in the mountains, and then a great big, wide green-as-grass prairie will open up in front of you. It's bordered on each side by the peaks of that string of small mountains that runs this way off the Rockies. Now, after that, you just ride toward the end of that pasture. In there, you'll run into Mr. Ashton's house. You can't miss it. It's a big one. It's made out of rock and brick and some lumber. It's about the biggest house in this part of the country. But I imagine before you go very far, you'll have a guide.”

Longarm hadn't bothered to ask what he meant by that. He could guess. One of the forty or so riders that worked for Ashton would intercept him. The question was whether Longarm could talk the guide into taking him up to the house to meet Ashton. He supposed that it all depended on how good his line of bull was about being a horse trader, a horse breeder, and in the horse business in a big way. He didn't reckon he'd impress a man like Vernon Ashton just talking about ordinary hundred-dollar saddle ponies.

Now, in the bright sunshine of late morning, he passed down the main street of the town, and leaving it behind, putting the mare into a slow lope. He was following the mountain wagon road that he supposed went to a silver mine and then, maybe, on to the next town. Before long, Longarm saw the signpost sticking up like a scarecrow. It was blank, but it had an arrow pointing off to one direction, and he veered to his left and slowed to a pace suitable for the rough footing underneath.

Just as the clerk had told him, the ground began to climb. In some places, the incline was steep enough that the mare was huffing and blowing a little bit. From time to time, Longarm stopped to give her a chance to catch her breath. He figured they were up around 7500 feet, which was a little higher than the mare was used to operating. Finally, he came to the cleft in the solid wall of rock. With a little urging, he got the mare into it, and then came out on the other side.

Sure enough, there before him lay one of the greenest stretches of grassland he had ever seen. If a man couldn't make a living raising cattle on that kind of grass, he couldn't make a living doing anything. Longarm wondered why Ashton wanted to fool around with counterfeiting with such a beautiful setup. The pasture must have been fifteen to twenty thousand acres in size. It went on as far as he could see in the distance, with each side backed up to the mountains so that it was a natural enclosure. He could even see mountain streams leaping out of the rock and flowing down into the green grass. He didn't know if they were springs or late-melting snow. All he knew was here was a man with land and grass and water aplenty, and he was printing money that was worthless.

There was a trail of sorts to his right. He took it, and put the mare into a slow lope since the path was smooth and level. He didn't see anyone and didn't expect to see anyone, not for a ways at least. It was his understanding that it was about four or five miles to Ashton's headquarters. He had gone no more than a half mile when he heard a summons from above and just behind him. A voice called out, “Halt! Halt, you! On the horse, halt!”

Longarm pulled the mare to a slow stop, and then turned back in the saddle and looked up. Twenty yards up the side of the mountain, securely positioned behind several boulders, was a man wearing a big hat with a rifle pointed straight at Longarm.

Longarm said, “Don't get excited, fellow. I'm just here to see Mr. Ashton.”

“What do you want to see him about?”

Longarm swiveled his head around to the front. A man had come walking down from the side of a rocky outcropping, and had stepped out into the path directly in front of Longarm. He too was carrying a rifle.

Longarm said, “Well, right now, that's my business. Right now, I'm wondering why I'm getting met with rifles when I ain't done a damn thing. I'm just here on a business trip. What's all the artillery for?”

“We're just here to make sure you don't make too much noise,” the man in front said. “Mr. Ashton doesn't like too much noise. We want to make sure you keep your business nice and quiet. You understand?”

Longarm nodded. “Yeah, I understand. I don't get it, but I understand. What happens now? Do I just sit here?”

The man in front shook his head and walked up to Longarm. “Turn over all your firearms,” he said.

“Why should I do that?”

The man shrugged. “I don't give a damn if you do or not, but you're not going another foot toward Mr. Ashton's until you turn over all your firearms. And that means all of them. Any that you've got in your saddlebags, that one you got in your boot, and certainly that one in your holster. They'll be right here when you come back. That is, if you come back.”

Longarm said, “What the hell is this all about? This is a hell of a way to be neighborly.”

The man, who was about thirty and hard-faced, said, “We ain't trying to be neighborly. In fact, we ain't your neighbors. So either turn over the firearms, or get the hell out of here.”

Longarm seemed to be considering, though he had already made up his mind to surrender his weapons. It didn't much matter to him one way or the other. All he wanted was to look the place over to see where he could penetrate the defenses under the cover of darkness, some way to enter on the sly. He reached down, pulled his rifle out of the boot, and handed it to the hard-faced young man. He said, “That's a good rifle, and the sights were straight on it when I handed it to you. I'd like to get it back in the same shape.”

The man nodded. “If they're straight, they'll be straight when you pick them up. You be straight with us and we'll be straight with you.”