Longarm and the Train Robbers (8 page)

"He's new," Jimmie
said.  "I don't trust him any more than I do Ned
Rowe."

Longarm frowned. 
"Jimmie, despite your easygoing ways, I'm beginning to wonder if
you're just naturally a suspicious kind of fella."

Jimmie laughed
outright.  "Deputy, if you think I'm suspicious, just you trot on
over to pay your respects to Sheriff Cotton.  He'll make you
suspicious too, and he's the sheriff!"

"I will pay him a
visit."

"Do yourself a
favor."

"What's
that?"

The smile died on
Jimmie's wrinkled face.  "Let's just keep the broken horseshoe
thing to ourselves for a few days.  Never mind the fool sheriff. 
If the horse comes to town and its owner knows anything about my
reputation, he'll bring the animal here."

"And if he brings
the horse to Ned?"

"Then I'd say you
have two of the train robbers caught dead to rights."

Longarm nodded. 
He wasn't sure that he believed Jimmie, but the man's suspicions
sure needed investigating.  And being forewarned about Laramie's
new sheriff was something that Longarm appreciated.  As a federal
officer, he often had to work in cooperation with the local
authorities.  Sometimes it worked, often it did not.  Sheriffs
and town marshals had a tendency to be pretty closed-mouthed, and
they often did not appreciate having a federal officer who might
show them up as incompetent working in their
jurisdiction.

"Keep an eye out
and feed my horse well," Longarm said, untying his
saddlebags.

"You can count on
Jimmie," the blacksmith said cheerfully.  "I got the best eyes in
Laramie when it comes to a horse's feet."

Longarm believed
the man, and he had a hunch that if the horse he sought were
anywhere in Laramie, Jimmie would find it first.

CHAPTER
6

"Sheriff
Cotton?"

"At your service,"
the chubby man with a shiny star and boots to match said as he
eased out of his desk chair.  "But most people call me
Ike."

"I'm Deputy U.S.
Marshal Custis Long.  I'm a federal officer working out of the
Denver office."

Ike Cotton's smile
dimmed a little.  He sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest. 
"Take a load off your feet, Deputy.  You been in Laramie
long?"

"No.  I just rode
in.  But I was on the train that was derailed a few days ago and
sent down the mountainside just beyond the summit."

"I heard all about
that," Cotton said.  "Of course, I couldn't go up there and
investigate.  My own deputy quit--you aren't lookin' for a job,
are you?"

"No."

Cotton settled into
his overstuffed desk chair.  He was of average height,
smooth-faced, and flabby.  His hands were delicate, and his thin
blond hair was slicked against his scalp while his mustache was
waxed at the tips. With the benefit of money, Sheriff Cotton
would have been a dandy.

"Well," Cotton
blustered, "that's too bad.  I could use an experienced deputy. 
One that knows that there is more to being a lawman than just
sitting behind a desk with your feet up in the air."

"I'm sure you
could," Longarm said drily.

"So," Cotton said,
buffing his badge with the cuff of his sleeve.  "What exactly can
I do for you?"

"As you might
imagine," Longarm began, "I'm looking for the men who derailed
and robbed that Union Pacific passenger train.  I have reason to
believe that Eli Wheat--a prisoner I was transporting back to
Denver--was a member of that gang and escaped with
them."

"Hmmm. 
Interesting.  Unfortunately, I've never met this Wheat fella, but
if you want to give me his description, I'll sure enough keep a
sharp eye peeled for him."

Longarm was not
impressed.  "It's damned unlikely that Wheat would ride into
Laramie.  He was pretty well known and would be easily recognized
by too many people.  What I am looking for is anyone who has
caught your eye as being a stranger and having a lot of
money."

"Well," Cotton
said, placing his boots up on his desk and lacing his fingers
behind his head, "as you know, this is a railroad town.  We get a
lot of folks passing through and some of them do have a
considerable amount of money."

Cotton chuckled,
then winked conspiratorially.  "Money that our local gambling
halls and painted ladies take great pains to extract and invest
in our local economy.  If you know what I mean."

"I know what you
mean," Longarm replied, deciding that this man was a complete
fool.  "Did you see any strangers enter Laramie in the last day
or two on horseback?"

Cotton dropped his
folksy facade and put his boots on the floor.  "Now listen here,
Deputy.  Laramie is a damn busy town and I'm a busy man.  There
are no less than fifty big ranches within a hard day's ride, and
all of them are constantly sending cowboys in to raise hell or to
buy supplies.  I couldn't begin to keep my eye on the comings or
goings of all them cowboys and line riders."

"The men I seek,"
Longarm said, thinking that Jimmie Jeter's assessment of this
incompetent sheriff had been right on the money, "would have been
riding hard-used horses and wouldn't have necessarily had the
look of cowboys."

"If they were on
horseback, then how would a man know if they were cowboys or
not?"

Longarm gave up. 
It was clear to him that further conversation with Sheriff Ike
Cotton would be a complete waste of time.  "Well," he said,
coming to his feet, "that's a real good question."

Slightly mollified
by this response, Cotton relaxed.  "How can I help you, Deputy? 
I don't like other lawmen nosin' around in my town, but we are in
the same line of work and we have to help each other."

"That's the way I
see it."

"So what do you
know?" Cotton asked point-blank.

"Not a damn
thing," Longarm said.  "I followed the outlaws to Laramie
and-"

Cotton's double
chins sagged.  "They rode into my town?"

"Yes."

"How many?" Cotton
exclaimed, almost falling out of his desk chair.

"I couldn't
exactly say."  Longarm frowned.  "Somewhere between six and a
dozen would be my guess."

"I'd have noticed
them if they came here."

"They came in one
and two at a time to avoid your notice," Longarm explained,
saying what should have been obvious.  "And for all I know, they
might already have left the same way."

Cotton sighed with
audible relief.  "I sure hope so."

"I don't," Longarm
said.  "I hope they're here to the last man so that I can track
them down."

"How do you
propose to do that?"

"I'll just keep
looking.  And I know you will too."

"But I don't even
know what to look for!"  Cotton raised his hands, then let them
fall helplessly to his sides.  "You've got to give me something
to work with."

"Look closely at
every stranger," Longarm said.  "See if their horses are wearing
local brands or not.  Ask them what ranches they are working. 
Find out if they're known by people hereabouts or are judged by
the townspeople to be newcomers.  And try to see if they've got
any money."

"Cowboys coming
into Laramie always have money to spend."

"Yeah, I'm sure
that they do," Longarm said, "but these boys will have quite a
lot of money."

"How much did they
get?"

"All the U.P.
would say was that there was several thousand dollars cash in
their mail car safe.  There may also have been other valuables
and documents.  Sheriff, my advice is that, if anyone tries to
cash in jewelry, stocks, or such, let me know."

"I sure will!" 
The sheriff licked his lips and wrung his hands.  "You know how
poor the pay is for a lawman--especially on the local
level."

"No one forced you
to take the job.

"No one else
wanted the job for fifty dollars a month!"  Cotton looked away
for a moment, beat the anger out of his voice, and said, "What's
the reward money like on these train robbers, and particularly
this Eli Wheat fella?"

"It's not been
posted yet, but I imagine there is already at least a hundred
dollar reward posted on Eli."

"Well, I'll sure
be on the lookout for them," the sheriff said brightly. "And we
should keep in close touch."

"I'll stop by at
least once a day," Longarm said, though he knew that this sheriff
would be pumping him for information and not gather a shred of
his own.  "I'm staying at the Outpost Hotel."

"Nice place!  Best
in town.  I eat in their dining room on every payday." The
sheriff dredged up a sad and slightly hopeful smile.  "That's
only once a month, but to tell you the truth, I'd give anything
to eat there more often."

Longarm ignored
the thinly veiled hint at a free meal and headed out the door. 
"I'm sure they like having you just as often as possible, Sheriff
Cotton."

He checked into
the Outpost Hotel, which mostly catered to the big game hunters
that came to the West to kill trophy-sized buffalo, elk, moose,
and grizzly bear.  The Outpost Hotel was the finest establishment
in Laramie, and beyond the means of a federal officer, but
Longarm was dirty and tired, had spent too much time on the
trail, and was in no mood to save the government money.  Besides,
the Outpost would send his expense vouchers into Marshal Vail's
office, allowing Longarm to hang onto his travel expense money in
case of an emergency.  That was why he stayed there whenever he
was passing through town.

"Hello, Deputy
Long," the tall, elegant proprietor said with genuine warmth. 
"Welcome back!"

"Thank you, Earl. 
I just wish that the circumstances weren't so grim."

Earl pushed the
register book at Longarm.  "Forgive me for saying so, but you
look very tired.  I suppose that you've been working night and
day on that train derailment and robbery."

"Not nights,"
Longarm admitted.  "But I was on that train when it went down the
mountainside.  It was a miracle that any of us survived because
it was very bad."

"I heard the
locomotive rolled for half a mile."

"Not quite, but
it's there forever.  Fortunately, most of the coaches were light
enough that they broke up on the mountainside instead of rolling
all the way to the bottom of the gulch.  Ours caught on some
rocks or I wouldn't be here today."

"I can't imagine
anything like that," Earl said.  "It must have been a
nightmare."

"It was.  There
were no dead children, thank God.  But there were some ladies
that died."

Earl's voice shook
with passion.  "I hope you find the... murderers who committed
that terrible act."

"I'll find them,"
Longarm vowed.  "In fact, I think they might even be in Laramie
right now."

"No!" Earl
whispered, leaning forward with an expression of pure
amazement.

"I mean it.  Earl,
I've been a regular customer for three or four years, haven't
I?"

"Oh, yes,
sir!"

"Well, I want you
to keep a sharp eye out for rough men with fast
money."

"This isn't the
kind of a place such men would frequent, Deputy Long."

"We can't be too
sure of that.  Sometimes when a man gets a lot of fast money,
they step out of their normal haunts and try to show a little
class."

"I've seen that
happen," Earl admitted.  "Usually they've just gotten lucky at
cards.  They rarely stay for more than one night as our guest and
they never return."

"That would be the
kind of men I'm looking for.  There is one other small
thing."

Earl leaned
forward.  "And that is?"

"I found this
cigarette butt in a corral up on the mountain.  I can't say for
sure, but I'm confident that it was smoked by one of the train
robbers."

Longarm showed
Earl the unusual cigarette paper.  "Have you ever seen anything
like it before?"

Earl did not deign
to touch the cigarette butt, but his eyebrows jerked upward and
when he glanced up at Longarm, his face was animated with
excitement.  "That's a British cigarette.  It's called Royal
Crown.  It's rather expensive, and the tobacco is said to be of
the highest quality.  You won't find a working cowboy buying
those cigarettes."

"Where can they be
bought?"

"At certain
tobacco shops.  They would be sold at a tobacco shop in Cheyenne,
and there are two tobacconists who sell them in
Denver."

"I see."  Longarm
studied the butt.  "Look, Earl, if you see anyone smoking these
things, I want to know about it right away."

"We always have a
few guests here who smoke Royal Crown cigarettes.  But I'd not
want them to be... accosted."

"I promise I'll be
discreet.  They'll likely never even realize I was investigating
their whereabouts on the night that train was
wrecked."