Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter (7 page)

A movement caught his eye, and he looked upwards toward the top of the stairs. Just behind the banister off the top story, he caught sight of a woman. She moved almost as soon as he raised his eyes, but he had seen enough to tell that she was a dark-haired beauty with a trace of Spanish blood in her. She had on some kind of dress made out of flowered material. It had only been a second, but he'd seen the bare shoulders and a smooth, lightly tanned bosom beneath the bodice of her gown. But all too quickly she had disappeared. He took a step in the direction of the stairs, but just then the door opened and the Chinese houseboy was back. He motioned Longarm toward the room. “You come. You come see big boss. He see you, fellow.”

Longarm stepped past him, taking off his hat as he did. Hell, he didn't like taking off his hat, but he was posing as a man selling horses, and that was what a horse trader would do if he was in a rich man's house.

Longarm walked into what he took to be a library—at least it had enough books to make one. He stopped halfway into the big room and looked around for someone or something he could report to. Just then, the small Chinese man came scuttling by him, went to the far wall, and opened another door. He motioned to Longarm. He said, “You come, please.”

Longarm walked past him, this time into what was clearly an office. There, against the big double window, was a long desk, and behind the desk was a man.

The man was writing with a pen on a piece of paper. He took a moment to finish, blotted his work, and then put his pen down before looking up at Longarm. He said, “Yes? My name is Vernon Ashton.”

Longarm walked forward to the desk. He didn't offer to sit down, although there were two chairs available. He said, “My name is Custis Long. I'm in the horse business.”

The man leaned back in his chair. “Oh, that's interesting. I am interested in horses. I like horses. I like to race horses. I like to own horses. I like to see my men mounted on good horses. Do you have good horses, Mr. Long?”

Longarm said, “I sure do.” He was surprised at the look of his host. Vernon Ashton was a small, delicate, middle-aged man with graying hair at the temples. He was wearing an open-necked silk shirt with a suede vest. It was clear that he was not a man who had ever done much hard work in his life. His skin looked as soft as a woman's. His teeth were white and even.

Vernon Ashton said, “Why don't you sit down and tell me about your horses? You must have impressed Mr. Early.”

“Why? Because I got by him?”

Ashton laughed in a good-humored way. “Yes. That and the fact that Mr. Early knows a great deal about horses. He wouldn't have let you in to see me if you didn't also seem to know a great deal about horses. Tell me, what kind of horses do you handle?”

Longarm settled into an upholstered armchair. He said, “Well, I've got several grades. I've got your common saddle horse, good for range work. Some of them are good for a ride in the park and some of them are good traveling horses. I've got your higher-blooded stock that your gentlemen can ride when they go to church or to the saloon, whichever place they care to go. Then I've got some fine-blooded stock, high-stepping some of them, some of them just plain fast.”

Vernon Ashton nodded slowly. “That's very descriptive, but it hardly tells me about your stock. Where, by the way, do you do business?”

Longarm crossed his legs. “I do business mostly out of my head, wherever I am. I keep my stock in Oregon at a small place called Medford. I was on my way back—I've been down south of here—and I stopped off and heard about you. I thought I'd come and see if I had anything you might be interested in having a look at.”

“So, your stock's in Oregon? You have nothing to show me now?”

Longarm shook his head. “No, and besides that, it would have been impossible for me to have known what you were looking for.”

“That's true enough.”

“What would you be looking for?”

“I'm looking for blooded stock. Perhaps racing stock. Tell me, do you have any Morgan thoroughbred crosses?”

Longarm slapped his knee. “Happens I do! Got several. Got a couple of geldings and a mare, and I also have a stud.”

“You did understand me to say Morgan thoroughbred crosses, is that correct?”

“Of course I did. I have some quarter-horse thoroughbred crosses, and I have some Morgan thoroughbred crosses.”

“You've got thoroughbred Morgan crosses? Tell me, what kind of animal did that produce?”

Longarm was getting in deep water on the blooded stock. He was a veteran stock trader, but he generally didn't get into those kinds of high-class animals. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a Morgan thoroughbred cross. He'd seen Morgans and he'd seen thoroughbreds at race meets, but he had never seen a cross. But he knew that a Morgan was a stayer, and he knew that a thoroughbred was fast, so he said, “Well, you get a stayer with a lot of speed.”

Ashton looked amused. “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. That's a fact.”

Ashton said “Tell me, Mr. Long. Who have you sold horses to that I might know?”

Longarm felt distinctly more and more uncomfortable. He thought he might have picked a better disguise than that of a horse trader, but he had traded so many horses that it had seemed natural. His mistake had been allowing the talk to creep into such high-and-mighty bloodlines as Morgans and thoroughbreds and crosses and crosses thereof, of which he knew very little.

He said, “Well, sir, I can't say exactly who you might know.” His mind raced as he racked his memory trying to think of some rich men in the area that he could name, though he actually didn't know if any of them were interested in high-blooded horses. He named a couple of mine owners down in Las Cruces, New Mexico, that he had helped out. He named a prominent banker in Denver, and then was promptly rattled that he would name a banker to a supposed counterfeiter. After that, he pulled back and thought of a couple of ranchers in the lower part of Colorado that he knew fairly well. Finally, he ended up saying,

“I'm not a really big operation, Mr. Ashton. I'm what you might call a custom service. You tell me what you want and I'll go out and find it and sell it to you at a fair price.”

Ashton chuckled again and his eyes narrowed. “By the way,” he said, “I observed you as you came up to the house. That's a nice-looking gray mare you are riding. Is she a Morgan thoroughbred cross?”

Longarm almost blushed. “Oh, my heavens, no. That old girl is just a using horse that I keep around to take with me when I'm delivering or picking up horses. She's gentle and handles well and doesn't cause me any trouble.”

Ashton sat forward. “I see.” There was something about his eyes that seemed to have changed. They seemed narrower, a little harder. He reached out and rang a bell, and in less than a half moment, the Chinese man came shuffling into the room. Ashton said, “Lei Chang, take this gentleman back out. Send in one of the riders that's out there. I want to give him some instructions.”

He stood and put out his hand. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Long. Perhaps we can do some business. Be sure and give your address or how I can reach you to one of my riders. They will see that I get it.”

Longarm shook the small white soft hand that was offered, trying to be careful not to squeeze too hard. He wondered why Ashton didn't write down how he could be reached himself, but he supposed that wasn't how business was done by rich people who counterfeited twenty-dollar bills.

He thanked Ashton for his time, and then turned and followed the Chinese man out through the door through the library, then into the hall, and then out the front door. The Chinese man spoke rapidly to the rider that had been on the pinto horse. He disappeared quickly inside the house.

Longarm turned to the other man. “What the hell is going on?” he said.

The man shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. Apparently Mr. Ashton wants to talk to him.”

“What are you fellows' names?”

“It's none of your business, but his name is Steve and my name—I guess is George. I guess that's good enough.”

Longarm said, “Well, there ain't no use getting huffy about it. I didn't mean to be sticking my nose into your business. I just thought it would be handy to know what to call you. I think I might be coming back out.”

“Well, there is always a chance of that, I reckon.”

In a few minutes, the man on the pinto horse, now identified as Steve, was back. Without a word, he motioned for them to mount up. In a few moments, they were riding back toward the way they had come. Longarm looked, but he didn't see the man in the blue suit, Joel Early.

As they rode along, Steve dropped back and motioned for George to join him. He waved Longarm ahead. “You go on,” he said. “Take it slow. We'll catch up with you. I think my horse has got a rock in his shoe.”

“Need some help with it?”

“No, you just go on. Take it slow.”

Longarm rode on, glancing back over his shoulder. He could see them talking. He didn't see them fooling with either of the horses' hooves. He had had a funny feeling ever since he had seen that look on Ashton's face. The feeling had grown stronger when Steve was sent for, and now it was getting stronger and stronger. Something was wrong, and it wasn't going to get right any time soon.

He stopped his horse and waited until Steve and George had mounted up and caught up with him. “Anything wrong other than your horse's hoof?” he said.

Steve said, “No, we just need to be getting along. Let's move it on up a notch.”

They put their horses into a trot, and then into a slow lope. They went that way about two miles before Steve abruptly pulled his horse down. He said, speaking past Longarm, who was riding in the middle, “George, why don't you ride on ahead and see if those boys are ready for us. They're liable to be up there in the rocks. They need to escort Mr. Long on out of here. Why don't you tear on off up there?”

For answer, the other rider nodded, applied spurs to his horse, and rode on ahead at a hard gallop.

Longarm watched as he topped the slight rise and then went over on the other side. He said casually, “He seemed to be in a hell of a hurry.”

“Oh, I don't reckon he's hurrying. He would just like to get on back and get some vittles, just like I would. It's getting on about that time. You'll probably make your noon meal in town, won't you?”

“Yeah, I reckon I will,” Longarm said. His eyes were shifting back and forth, seeing where the different men were, wondering what was coming next. He was down to one derringer and two cartridges. He didn't like the odds with so many people around. He also could not shake the feeling that something very definitely was going on that meant him no good. He thought it had started with Ashton when he'd called the one named Steve back in the house and given him some kind of message. That message was now being carried on to the two men who had initially disarmed him.

He could not imagine what mistake he had made, but something had given him away. Maybe the man had recognized his name, that of Custis Long. But if he'd been a real federal marshal, the real Custis Long, he wouldn't have gone in there giving his correct name. Not many people knew him by anything except Longarm. Not many of the wrong kind of people, that is.

They were making a pretty good time of it, jogging along at a high trot. Now, Longarm could see that George was coming back his way. He just nodded at Steve as he came up. “I'm heading back into the camp house,” he said. “The boys up ahead are ready for you.”

Steve said, “Go on ahead.”

As George rode off, Longarm glanced sideways at the rider. “What did he mean, they are ready for me?”

Steve shrugged innocently. “Hell, I don't know what he meant by it. Got your guns ready for you, near as I could tell. Why, are you worried about something?”

“No, should I be?”

Steve spat over the side of his horse. “Not that I know of.”

In a few minutes, Longarm could see ahead that the two men who had been on guard up in the rocks had now come down and were mounted on horses. They rode slowly forward as Longarm and Steve came up. When they got within a few yards, the bigger of the two men, a broad-shouldered man wearing a gray slouch hat and a checkered shirt, said to Steve, “You can go on back now. We'll see him out.”

Longarm said mildly, “Where did you get the horses?”

The man in the checkered shirt said carelessly, “Why, you don't reckon we go around here on foot, do you? Plenty of places around here to tie up a horse in the shade. No need for you to worry about that. You just ride on along with us and we'll show you off the property.”

Longarm glanced back to see Steve heading back to the ranch headquarters at a fast clip. He said, “What about my firearms? When do I get my guns back?”

“Oh, we are going to see to that right soon. Ain't we, Ernie?”

Ernie was the man on Longarm's right. He said, “Yep, good fellow like this here horse trader, can't be too nice to a man like that. Can we, Charlie? We're going to give him his guns back. Maybe even a little something besides.”

Longarm said, “You fellows seem to be in a mighty good humor this morning.”

The man in the checkered shirt said, “How come we shouldn't be in a good humor? Good pay, light work, and the vittles are good. Do you know anything else a man needs besides that?”

Ernie said with a laugh, “That and an occasional visit to town to see the ladies over at the saloon.”

Charlie snickered. “Yeah, there is that,” he said.

They had passed the place where Longarm had been disarmed, and were now approaching the cleft in the wall that seemed to separate the ranch. The ground was rising slowly as they headed that way.