Longarm and the Train Robbers (13 page)

"Nope.  But he has
a habit of hammering the ends of his horseshoes to a point.  You
won't have any trouble picking his tracks out.  There's a big
lightning-shot pine tree about a half mile southwest of here. 
Ned passed not fifty feet to the north of it and then headed
directly toward the north fork of the Laramie River.  My hunch is
that he's skirting the Union Pacific."

"You think he
might be planning to join the gang and help stage another
robbery?"

"That possibility
has entered my mind."  Jimmie toed the dirt.  "That fella that
you shot, he must have been part of the gang.  My thinking is
that Ned set him up for you to kill so he could get his
share."

"You've got a real
suspicious mind," Longarm said.  "You should have been a
lawman."

"Ain't got the
stomach for it.  But I do know Ned Rowe.  He's no damned good and
he's a con man.  He figured to let you make a killing for him
when he set up that fella with the roan pony."

"But why would Ned
leave town now?"

"I dunno," Jimmie
said.  "I'm just telling you that he did and I figure that, if
you overtake him, you'll probably find out a hell of a lot more
about that gang."

"Thanks," Longarm
said as Jimmie removed the sorrel's halter and replaced it with a
bit and bridle.  "Jimmie, I just received a telegraph from my
boss in Denver saying that there has been another train
wreck."

"In
Wyoming?"

"No.  At Donner
Pass.  After I catch up with Ned, I'll intercept the railroad and
trade in my horse for a train ticket to Donner Pass."

"It would be
damned interesting to see if Ned is planning to go thereabouts
too, wouldn't it?" Jimmie asked with a lazy smile.  "'Cause you
see, if I was a betting man--which I'm not--I'd bet my boots that
Ned Rowe is fixin' to do the very same thing you're fixin' to
do."

"You don't
say?"

"I do
say."

Longarm paid the
man, tipping him well.  "If anyone asks, I rode southeast on my
way to Denver."

"Sure thing,"
Jimmy said, sticking out his hand.  "Good luck.  If I was a
younger man, I'd up and ride after them train-wreckin'
bastards."

Longarm mounted
his sorrel.  "Did you have some friends on that wrecked
train?"

The blacksmith's
expression turned wintry.  "Yeah, I had me a son-in-law that's
got both legs broken.  The doctor says he'll always walk with a
limp and probably never be able to swing up on a horse again. 
I'm not sure what he's going to do to support my daughter and
grandson in the years ahead."

"He could work for
you."

"He can if he
wants," Jimmie said.  "But I'm hard to get along with, and he
favors holding a rope to a blacksmith's hammer."

"He'll learn that
blacksmithing is steadier than cowboying and a better life for a
family man," Longarm said.

He rode out a few
minutes later, careful to keep off the main street. When he had
passed beyond the outskirts of town, he put his heels to the
sorrel's flanks and headed for the lightning-blackened pine that
Jimmy had described.  And sure enough, there were the tracks of
the horseshoes.  Most shoes were squared off at the ends, but for
some reason, Ned Rowe forged and hammered them off in points.  It
was going to make following the blacksmith very easy.

For the next three
hours, Longarm pushed the sorrel hard.  The trouble was Ned Rowe
was in just as much of a hurry.  Longarm followed the palomino's
tracks, which paralleled the Union Pacific for about twenty
miles, then angled due north into some low hills.  It was not
until sundown that Longarm spotted the glint of metal on the
horizon, and guessed that it was the reflection of a concho or
even polished spurs or a bit.  He was within a mile of overtaking
the Laramie blacksmith.

"That will be Ned
Rowe," Longarm muttered into the teeth of a cold wind sweeping in
from the north.

Longarm followed
the tracks for another quarter hour and when he came to a low
ridge, he tied his horse to a bush and then went ahead on foot
until he reached the crown of the ridge.  There he flattened and
crawled up to take a peek at the country just beyond.

What he saw was a
long, winding valley cut by a meandering stream. Farther out were
cottonwoods, a small ranch house with corrals, and some crude
outbuildings.  And riding up the valley as bold as brass was Ned
Rowe on his palomino horse.  When the man drew near the house, he
drew his side arm and fired it into the air to announce his
arrival.  With the shot, a pair of men suddenly emerged from the
house.

Longarm watched as
Rowe dismounted and was enthusiastically greeted. After a few
minutes, they all went inside to escape the biting
wind.

Longarm eased back
from the crown of the ridge and considered his next move.  Night
was fast falling, and there was an ominous cut to the wind that
told Longarm he might be in for another snowstorm or at least a
hard rain. The prospect of remaining out on those exposed Wyoming
plains was not appealing.  For another thing, the three men in
the ranch house might be totally innocent of any crime and have
nothing to do with the train robbery, despite Jimmie's
well-formed suspicions.

Longarm decided to
wait another hour.  Then it would be dark and he could sneak up
on the ranch house and attempt to eavesdrop.  If he were
detected, he could always try to get the drop on Ned and his
friends.  He'd then interrogate them until he either had
confessions or was convinced that they were innocent.

That decided,
Longarm passed the next frigid hour hugging the crown of the
ridge.  He watched the lights go on in the ranch house and the
sun go down in the west.  It was a beautiful sunset, but the dark
clouds that were momentarily fired by the sunset had the look of
rain or snow.  One way or another, Longarm decided, he wasn't
going to spend the night out on this barren plain and freeze his
ass off waiting for something to happen.

When it was time
to go, Longarm tightened his cinch and rode down into the
valley.  It was an excellent site for a cattle ranch and the
grass, though brown now, was thick and would be rich feed for
cattle and horses next spring.

The ranch house
was ablaze with lights, and even though a cold rain began to
fall, Longarm had no trouble finding his way to the place, nor
did he fear being detected by the three men before he had the
drop on them.  There was a barn and he rode into it, grateful for
the shelter.  The sorrel nickered wearily as Longarm unsaddled it
and then fed it hay in the middle of the barn floor.

When Longarm left,
he pulled the heavy doors shut and hurried across the muddy
yard.  The ranch house had a front porch, and Longarm stepped
lightly onto it drawing his six-gun.  He ducked under a front
window and listened, hoping to hear something that could make his
job easy.

But Ned Rowe and
the three men were playing cards and joking among themselves, as
near as Longarm could tell over the sound of hard rain falling on
the porch's tin roof.  When Longarm tried to peek into the
window, he discovered that the panes were so filthy both on the
inside and outside surfaces that clarity was
impossible.

After about
fifteen minutes, Longarm realized that he was stiffening from the
cold.  The wind was icy and he needed to get inside, but he was
not ready to barge in the front door because he was almost
certain this would result in a bloody gunfight.

Pulling his
Stetson low on his forehead, Longarm ducked back under the
window, crossed the front porch, and edged along the house until
he came to a back door, which he was able to open without a
hitch.  He drew his gun and stepped into the kitchen, then
tiptoed forward until he stopped less than ten feet from Ned Rowe
and his card-playing friends.

"And I'll raise
you twenty dollars," Ned challenged.

"Then I'll call
you!"

Ned won with three
jacks, but Longarm hardly paid the game a moment's thought.  What
was most interesting was that the three men were betting with a
stack of what appeared to be railroad stock certificates.  The
type that had been stolen during the train wreck.

"Hands up!"
Longarm called, stepping into the room with his gun in his fist. 
"You're all under arrest!"

Ned Rowe's jaw
dropped, and he jumped to his feet throwing his hands overhead. 
But the other pair, not knowing Longarm was a federal marshal and
a dead shot, made the mistake of going for their guns.

Longarm's Colt
bucked solidly in his fist, and an outlaw crashed over backward
with a bullet through his heart.  The second man was very fast,
and actually cleared leather before Longarm's slug ripped into
his shoulder and spun him completely around.  The man cried out
and his Colt skidded from his grasp.

"Ned," Longarm
said, "you want to reach across with your left hand and yank your
gun from its holster, then drop it to the floor."

"Jeezus!" Ned
choked, trying to smile.  "It's you!  Deputy, I'm sure glad that
you came in when you did.  I was just about to..."

He started to
lower his hands, but Longarm yelled, "Keep your mouth shut and
your hands high, Ned!"

"What the hell is
the matter with you?" Ned cried.  "We was just playing cards. 
And you spooked Fergus and Johnny!  You didn't need to shoot
them!"

Longarm removed
Ned's gun.  "Keep your hands over your head and turn
around."

"I don't know why
you're doing this!" Ned said angrily.  "I've tried to help you
every bit I can since you came to Laramie.  I even figured to get
some leads for you out here."

"I'll bet,"
Longarm said drily.

"Well, I was! 
These boys are outlaws!  I figured that they'd know who was
responsible for that train wreck."

"So you just
happened to start playing poker using stolen railroad stock
certificates as money.  Is that it?"

"That's what we
were using?"  Ned managed a grin.  "Hell, Deputy, I didn't know
what they was!  I swear that I never learned to read."

Longarm didn't
believe a word of that.  He went over to examine the wounded man,
who was writhing around on the floor clasping his riddled
shoulder.

"Settle down,"
Longarm said, mustering up all the sympathy he felt was warranted
for a man who'd tried to shoot him.

"Jeezus but you're
a cold-blooded bastard!" Ned exclaimed, staring at the dead man. 
"You killed Johnny!"

"Better him than
me."

Longarm turned his
attention back to Fergus.  "Here, he said, pulling out a
handkerchief and punching it against the wound hard enough to
make the outlaw bellow with pain.  "Plug it up and hope the
bleeding quits before you do."

Fergus accepted
the handkerchief.  His hand was trembling and his face was white
with fear.  "Am I lung shot?"

"No."

"Am I going to
die?"

"Depends," Longarm
said.

Fergus stared up
at him, waiting.  Finally, he blurted out, "Depends on
what?"

"Depends on if I'm
willing to take you to the nearest town and hunt up a
doctor."

Fergus pulled the
handkerchief away from his wound, and his eyes widened with panic
because the handkerchief was already soaked with blood.  "I'm
bleeding real bad!"

"I want to know
who is wrecking and robbing trains," Longarm said, glancing over
at Ned.  "I want names."

"I don't got any
names!" Fergus shouted.  "I'm a damned horse thief, Marshal!  I
never robbed a train before!"

"Yeah?"  Longarm
pulled a cheroot out of his coat pocket and took his time
lighting it.  He blew smoke in the wounded man's face.  "You can
say that, but I got a feeling that you're a liar.  Who derailed
the train at Laramie Summit?"

"I don't
know!"

Longarm grabbed
Fergus by the shirtfront.  "You were playing with stocks taken
from that train's safe!  Now don't tell me you know nothing!  Not
if you want help!"

But Fergus
stubbornly shook his head back and forth.

"I don't think he
knows anything," Ned Rowe said quietly.

Longarm took a
deep breath and expelled it slowly.  He focused his attention on
the Laramie blacksmith.  "All right," he said easily.  "Let's
assume he doesn't know anything.  So what do you
know?"

"Me?"

"Yeah.  The game is
over, Ned.  I want to know the truth.  Who's behind the train
robberies?"

"I've been helping
you!"

Longarm went over
to the man.  He pressed the barrel of his Colt to Ned's
crotch.

"Mister," Longarm
said, "I'm cold, hungry, and tired.  Furthermore, counting the
dead man on the floor, I've killed three men that have crossed me
in less than two days.  Killing you and letting this
self-admitted horse thief bleed to death just doesn't bother me a
whole hell of a lot.  Give me names!"

"I don't know
anything!" Ned pleaded, sweat starting to bead across his
forehead.