Longarm and the Great Divide (5 page)

“So who requested federal help with your law enforcement?” Longarm asked. “And why?”

“That is simple enough, Custis,” Elizabeth Kunsler told him. “Neither town can afford a full time marshal, and if we did have one there would be the problem of jurisdiction. I mean, a marshal in Stonecipher couldn't arrest a lawbreaker in Valmere and vice versa. A Nebraska lawman has to stop at the state line, don't you see. That is where his authority ends. I assume it is the same over on their side.”

“Yet you folks got together enough t' ask for our help,” Longarm said.

“And it took two months of very careful negotiation to accomplish that,” Potts put in.

“Couple times there we thought we'd come to shooting over who was to do what,” a gentleman in sleeve garters and a derby hat said.

“Couple times I wanted to pull a gun on those bastards,” another gent said.

“In the end,” Potts said, “each side laid out our proposed wording and we pulled one out of a hat to decide.”

Longarm looked at Liz and said, “You were always a sensible girl. I'm surprised you couldn't ride herd on 'em.”

“Oh, I wasn't permitted in the meetings,” she told him. “Something about me being a woman.”

He grinned down at her. “Over on the Wyoming side, women have pretty much the same rights as men. Voting an' everything. You did know that didn't you?”

“Yes, but that is over there. This is Nebraska, and women here do not have voting privileges. Or much of anything else.”

“Don't start that, Elizabeth,” Potts said. To Longarm he added, “Our Elizabeth wants to act like this is Wyoming. It isn't, and we are quite happy with the way our laws run.”

Longarm grunted. “What you all need, I think, is a peacemaker.”

“Right, and that is where you come in. As a federal marshal you can cross back and forth. With you here a man who shoots up my place can't get away from responsibility for it just by walking across the street. That's all he needs to do the way things are now; he just walks across the street and he's free from arrest.

“Convenient,” Longarm said.

“But bad for business,” another man put in. “The way it is now, a man can run out on a bill and escape paying just by stepping across that line.”

“I can see how that would be a nuisance,” Longarm agreed.

“Nuisance be damned. The cowboys all know about it, and some of them deliberately run up their bills over here then scamper across the line to keep from paying what they owe.”

“Makes it hard for an honest merchant to turn a profit,” said the gentleman Longarm thought he remembered as being the proprietor of the general store on the Stonecipher side of town.

“Or a dishonest one,” someone at the back of the room added, which made the storekeeper's head snap back around but too late for him to see who made the comment.

“I think I see the problem,” Longarm told the crowd.

“The problem is them,” the storekeeper said. “They need to move their town away from us.”

“And they need to quit stealing our water. That's another thing. We developed that spring. The water is ours.”

“Right. The water belongs to us. We should make them stop using it. That would certainly get some results. Do that and they would have to move away from here.”

Longarm looked down at Liz and raised an eyebrow.

“Don't look at me, Custis. I'm just a woman. I have no right to say anything. About anything.”

“Frustratin', ain't it,” he said.

“You wouldn't know the half of it,” she said.

“We'll talk 'bout all o' that later. Right now, I'm hungry. I assume you got a café over on this side,” Longarm said.

“No café meal for you this evening,” Liz said. “You're coming home with me for supper. We have a lot of catching up to do.” She hooked her arm into his and announced, “This meeting is over. I'm taking the deputy home for a good meal. We can worry about business tomorrow.”

With that she turned him around and dragged him toward the door.

Liz's house was a modest bungalow, not the mansion he expected. She held his hand and led him inside. As soon as he closed the door behind them, Liz turned and melted into his arms.

“You feel every bit as good as I remembered,” he told her.

She laughed. “And your hard-on feels just like I remember.”

Longarm bent his face to hers and kissed her long and deep. “D'you have house help these days?”

“No, why?”

“In that case it'll be all right if I unbutton that dress . . .”

“I can probably get myself out of it quicker than you can manage, Custis. Take care of your own clothes, and let's see who gets naked the quicker.”

“Deal,” he said and began stripping. Moments later he said, “You win. So what d'you want for your prize?”

Liz looked down at the huge cock that was lightly throbbing in its erection. She laughed again and said, “That. I want that for my prize.”

“Then I got no choice. You won it fair an' square,” Longarm said. He took her into his arms again and kissed her. When they broke apart he said, “Where?”

She turned and led him through the parlor into a modestly furnished bedroom. Liz had an exceptionally soft feather bed. She sank into it, holding her arms for him to join her.

He did, springs creaking as he stretched out beside her.

Elizabeth Kunsler was slender, no longer a spring chicken but with large, firm tits that seemed even larger on her thin frame. Her waist was tiny. Longarm could practically span it with his two hands.

At the moment, however, it was not her waist that he was thinking of.

He kissed her again, probing her mouth with his tongue, then moved lower, finding an engorged nipple and taking it into his mouth. Liz arched her back, practically pushing her nipple into his mouth as he sucked and teased.

She eased him away from her nipple and gently pushed him onto his back.

“You don't mind?” she asked.

Longarm laughed. “I remember what 'tis that you like, darlin'. Glad to oblige.”

He lay there on the softness of the deep feathers while Liz moved to straddle him, facing toward his feet. With a whimper of eagerness she bent to him, first running her tongue around the head of his cock, then taking him into her mouth. Shallow at first. Then deeper. Sucking. Nibbling. Moaning with pleasure of her own as Longarm's tongue flicked over her clitoris.

He buried his tongue in her pussy, tasting the sweet nectar there. Then out again to concentrate on her clitoris.

After what seemed like mere seconds Liz shuddered and stiffened.

“That was quick,” he said, pulling away from her pussy far enough that he could speak.

Liz raised her head from his cock, kissed the tip of it and said, “It's been a long time, Custis. I don't want any . . . entanglements in town here. That could be awkward. So I have the reputation of celibacy.” She laughed. “If you can believe that.”

“Yeah, but I know you better,” he said.

Liz could not answer. She had her mouth full of his prick.

Longarm smiled. And resumed licking her pussy until she came a second time. And a third.

And by that time his own sap was rising to the level of explosion, bursting forth in a powerful climax, spewing into Liz's throat.

She drank his come, and he hugged her close.

Longarm woke slowly, for the moment unsure of where he was. Then memory returned and he smiled. Liz was lying close beside him, curled onto her right side, her back to Longarm.

He reached over and ran his hand lightly over the swell of her rump. He felt a swelling of his own as, thinking about Liz, his cock became engorged.

He rolled onto his side tight against her, his cock slipping in between her legs from behind. Longarm arched his back and slowly slid inside Elizabeth. She made a small sound and reached back to place her hand on his hip.

He kept the rhythm slow and easy, coming after several pleasant minutes. Then he withdrew and leaned forward to kiss her between her shoulder blades.

Liz mumbled something that he could not quite make out. He kissed her again and rolled over, sitting up on the side of the bed and reaching for his clothes.

He was hungry and he knew if he woke Liz, she would get up and cook for him, but there seemed no need for that. Instead, he dressed and quietly let himself out of her bedroom.

It was not yet daylight, but he could see lights in a café across the way on the Wyoming side. He let himself out into the chilly predawn, settled his hat comfortably on his head, and strode out into the darkness.

 * * * 

“Good morning. Are you open for business yet?” He remembered the café owner from the day before but could not remember the man's name.

The brawny fellow smiled in greeting. “Good morning, Marshal. I won't be open, not officially anyhow, for another half hour or so, but I can fix you something now if you like. Ham steak and fried spuds be all right for you? I can't get any eggs out this far, but we have plenty potatoes.”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“The coffee is just starting to boil, so it isn't ready quite yet. Won't be long though. And the biscuits won't be ready for a while, neither.” The man wiped his hands on his apron and reached for a knife to slice the ham for Longarm.

“We seen you go over to talk to those sons o' bitches yesterday,” the gentleman said over his shoulder as he worked. “Did you do any good? Did you tell them they got to move?” He sliced off a thick ham steak, complete with a rim of juicy fat, and slapped it into a skillet. The skillet went onto the stove. He opened the firebox and tossed in several chunks of dried cow shit. Longarm might have preferred that he at least wipe his hands again afterward, but a man can't have everything.

The cook scrubbed some potatoes and began slicing them, skin on. When he had what looked like a good pound of the spuds he dropped those and a large dollop of lard into another skillet and set that one beside the first.

Longarm relaxed, smoking a cheroot, and idly watched the cook at his work.

His leisurely morning came to an abrupt halt when a bullet flew through the open doorway to thump into the back wall of the café.

Longarm threw himself down, Colt in hand.

The cook looked around, annoyed but upright. “Oh, don't be worried, Marshal. That's probably some drunk cowboy from over Nebraska way. He's likely pissed off 'cause he knows you're about to close Stonecipher down and make those sons o' bitches all move someplace else. I wouldn't worry about it overmuch.” He used a spatula to stir the potatoes and flip the ham over onto the other side. “Coffee should be ready soon,” he said.

By then Longarm was already out the door, moving at a crouch in the dim predawn light.

Nothing. He could see little and what he could see did not include any humans who might have fired that bullet.

Was the damn thing an attempt on his life? Or merely a warning? And if a warning or an assassination attempt, either one, the question remained: Why?

He was here trying to do good, trying to comply with a request for assistance. Whose ox was that goading and what were they doing that they would feel threatened by a U.S. deputy marshal's presence?

Unable to spot any idiot out for a morning stroll with a gun in hand, Longarm shoved his own .45 back into the leather and returned to the café.

“Coffee's ready,” the cook said, stirring the skillet full of sliced potatoes.

“An' I'm ready for it,” Longarm told him.

“If'n I was you,” the man said, “I wouldn't worry about that stray gunshot. The cowboys come to town, they can get a mite rambunctious. You got to understand, Marshal, Valmere is the only town within a two-day ride, so when those boys have a few hours to get away from their work, they come here for whatever kind of blowout they're looking for. Mostly the want to get liquored up and then get laid.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Come morning they got to scramble to get back to the ranch and go to work again. My guess would be that shot came from the back of a cow pony on its way back home. The cowboy on top of that horse likely was just making some last-minute fireworks. I wouldn't think anything about it, was I you.”

“Thanks for the advice. About that coffee . . . ?”

“I'm not forgetting you. Just don't want your breakfast to burn. Here you go.” The cook laid down his spatula and plucked a coffee cup off a pile of them stacked on a shelf. He filled the cup and set it in front of Longarm, then added a bowl of sugar and a freshly opened can of condensed milk. “Let me get you a spoon.”

The coffee was fresh if not overly strong. If nothing else, it washed some of the fur off Longarm's tongue. And the ham and fried spuds that followed filled the empty void in his belly.

He just wished he knew if the cook was right about that gunshot.

Longarm grunted softly, then tried to put the incident out of mind while he concentrated on surrounding that good breakfast.

Longarm was not entirely sure just how a town marshal should act. And he was there as a substitute for a town marshal. That sort of thing was really not heavy in his experience. Enforcing the local laws would be the biggest part of it, he assumed, but in this case he did not know what the local laws were. Or even if there were any.

Just keeping order should do it, he decided. With that in mind, after breakfast he got out onto the sidewalk fronting the main street and made a show of his presence.

He ambled back and forth. Walked down to the livery and checked on his horse. Stopped in at the mercantile and bought some cigars. Dropped by the saloon for a brief chat with the bartender. Had a cup of coffee at the café.

Then he went across to the Nebraska side and did the same thing over there.

And received the same comments when he chatted with the residents.

“Are you gonna make those people go the hell away and leave us alone?”

“Say, Marshal, how long before those people have to move out?”

“Have you given them a deadline, Marshal?”

“When will it be, Marshal?”

Longarm would have found it almost funny, both sides saying the exact same things. Except they were serious, and there was the strong possibility of a war breaking out here.

Which was probably why someone, some soul with a clearer head on his shoulders, put together this request for the assistance of a federal deputy.

Everyone knew about the request and now about the presence of the deputy they had asked for. Yet no one seemed to know exactly who proposed the idea and sent for help. He wished now that he had looked at the message Billy Vail received requesting that help, but he had not thought it important at the time and now it was too late.

There was not even a telegraph line connecting Valmere and Stonecipher—or Valstone if one preferred—to the rest of the world, so he could not use that method to ask Billy about the signature on the request. If there was one and if the signature was real or simply a fabrication that someone made up to get him there.

For good or for ill, then, he was on his own here and would remain that way until he worked this out.

If
he worked the towns' problems out. That was a very big “if,” considering that neither side seemed to want to work it out. They just wanted the other side gone.

And after that random bullet into the café this morning, it was possible that someone—someone on either side of the divide—wanted him gone as well.

There were times when he wished he had stayed back in West by-God Virginia and spent his days staring at the ass end of a mule and walking along behind a plow.