Longarm and the Dime Novelist (5 page)

The Denver Pacific Railroad ran just over a hundred miles north up to Cheyenne. After a brief layover, Longarm and Delia boarded the Union Pacific heading west to Nevada. Because the sleeping compartments were small and Longarm was a big man, they had settled on separate compartments.

“I'll be doing some writing and I need to be alone with my thoughts,” she explained. “But I'll enjoy being with you during meals and . . . well, if we want to make love.”

“Sounds good to me,” Longarm replied. He had decided that, if Delia was determined to go with him, he might as well enjoy it to the fullest. Making love on a narrow bed wasn't the best situation, but the rocking of the train was a motion that added an extra element to the sexual enjoyment.

“So,” Delia said, the second day of their journey out Cheyenne, “tell me how many men you've tracked down and brought to justice in Nevada.”

“I can't recall.”

“Come on, now! Four? Five? Ten?”

Longarm stared out the window of the dining car. This was high desert country, almost waterless, and their next stop was Elko. “Maybe five.”

“Which one was the most deadly?”

“There was a man named Red Sparks that was smart and cunning. He lured me into a mine up on the Comstock Lode and then he lit a stick of dynamite and blew up the opening intending to bury me alive. You see, he hated me so much he wanted me to die slow in the darkness of hunger and thirst.”

Delia was writing fast on a pad of paper, filling it with notes. “How did you survive?”

“It was dim in the mine. I had gone in about a hundred feet looking for Red. When I realized he had somehow gotten behind me, I turned to leave but immediately saw a fuse burning near the mouth of the cave.”

“But you were too far away to put it out.”

“That's right, and so I ran deeper into the mine and rounded a corner just as the blast went off. The corner saved me from flying rocks.”

“And?”

“And the blast didn't quite close the mouth of the mine so when the dust settled a little, I hurried up to a small opening of light. The rock dust was so thick I was choking, so I started pulling rocks away so I would have enough room to squeeze out of the mine.”

“And?”

“I saw Red through that little hole in the rubble. He had a shovel and was fixing to close the hole and make sure I was buried alive.”

“What a fiend!”

Longarm sipped at his coffee. The meal they had shared had been excellent. “Red was a sadistic killer. I heard him laughing as he pitched the first shovel load of gravel onto the hole. And just before he could put another shovelful in place, I jammed my Colt revolver through the hole and started firing as fast as I could . . . but I was shooting blind. There wasn't enough space for anything more than my hand and I knew that, if I missed, Red would chop off my hand with the shovel's blade, then finish burying me alive.”

“But you
didn't
miss.”

“No, I didn't,” Longarm answered. “But I didn't quite kill Red. I was lucky enough to hit him twice . . . once in the side and another in the groin just about two inches below his belt. I heard Red screaming and knew that he was seriously wounded so I started clawing through the rubble as fast as I could. There was no doubt in my mind that Red would kill me if he could.”

“And you had emptied the Colt?”

“Yes. I should have kept one bullet handy, but in my panic I did not.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, I tore away enough rock and gravel to get my head and upper body out of the mine, but my damned cartridge belt and holster were hanging me up. Red saw me coming out of the rocks like a big snake and although he was mortally wounded, he had me dead to rights . . . stuck and helpless.”

“So how did you survive?”

“I always keep a hideout, twin-barreled derringer,” Longarm explained, showing Delia how his watch fob was soldered to the derringer. “I pulled my Ingersoll railroad watch out of my pocket and said, ‘Well, looks like we're both going to die right about noon today. My comment caught him off guard and he cocked his head a little and smiled.'”

“He smiled?”

“That's right.” Longarm took another sip of coffee. “And do you know what that son of a bitch said?”

“No.”

“He reached down to unholster his six gun and drawled, ‘It's way too nice a day for us to both die at high noon, so I'm going to kill you and then see if I can get to town and find a doctor.'”

“‘Good idea,'” I told him as I slipped the derringer out of my pocket. When he saw the gun, he tried to bring his pistol up but he was too late.”

“And you killed him on the spot?”

“Hell yeah, I did. Red was bad to the bone and I shot him twice in the face. It took me another five minutes to get out of that damn mine and I swore I'd never go back into another as long as I lived.”

“Where is the man buried?”

“Carson City Cemetery. He got a far nicer funeral than he deserved.” Longarm frowned. “I never understood why people pay their respects to a cold-blooded killer, but they often do.”

Delia quickly scribbled some more notes and stood up. “I'm going to my compartment to write this into my story.”

“Just change the names.”

“I will. I promise. How long before we get to Elko?”

“I expect we'll roll in there in the next hour or two. They usually stay over for about an hour to take on wood and water.”

“Let's meet when the train stops and take a look at the town.”

“Not much to see. Just another railroad town. There are some big cattle ranches around here and the cowboys can get pretty rowdy.”

“I'll expect you to protect me from any wild cowboys.”

“I'll do 'er,” Longarm promised, watching her leave.

When the train pulled into Elko, Longarm was taking a nap and by the time he checked to make sure that Delia wasn't still on board most of the passengers had already scattered into the bustling railroad and ranching town. Longarm had been in Elko a number of times and when he began to look for Delia he could not find her.

The locomotive blasted its steam whistle and Longarm hurried back onto the train looking for Delia but she was still missing. Troubled, he stopped and asked the conductor if he had seen her get either on or off the train.

“I saw her get off, but she didn't get back on,” the man said. “Wasn't she going with you all the way to Reno?”

“That was the plan.”

“Well, either she changed her mind about Reno or else she'll just have to catch the next train through,” the conductor mused. “Prettiest woman I've laid eyes on in quite a while.”

“Oh, she's pretty all right. But she's also the kind that can get into trouble.”

“I could see that,” the conductor agreed.

Longarm had a decision to make and it had to be fast. “I can't leave Miss Wilson behind,” he said. “She may be in serious trouble.”

“Next train will be through tomorrow. Sorry you're leaving us.”

“Me, too.”

Longarm rushed to the compartment and collected his belongings. He jumped off the train as it was starting to roll and hurried back into town and began asking everyone he met if they'd seen a lovely young woman who'd gotten off the train.

Finally, a businessman in a brown derby hat said, “I saw people running to help a woman who'd been stabbed about twenty minutes ago. People were shouting and there was a lot of commotion. I don't know who the woman was or if she died or not. I caught a glimpse of her dress as they carried her off and it was blue.”

“Where is the doctor's office!”

“Two blocks up on the left. Dr. Williams is . . .”

Longarm didn't wait to hear any more. Delia had been wearing a blue dress. What in the world could have happened!

 • • • 

Longarm found the doctor's office and burst into a back room to see Delia lying on a table, her blouse blood-soaked and pulled up under her breasts.

“What happened?”

The doctor whirled around, face angry. “Get out of here!”

“I'm a United States deputy marshal and this woman and I were going to Reno. How badly hurt is she?”

“She was stabbed but the blade ricocheted off her belt then gave her a nasty slice just under the ribs.”

“Looks like she lost a lot of blood.”

“Not that much,” the doctor replied. “But if it hadn't been for that belt, she probably would be dead.”

“I wonder if someone was intent on robbing her.”

“I have no idea. She should come around soon. Maybe she can tell you exactly who did this to her.”

“I hope so.”

Ten minutes later, Delia did come around and found Longarm hovering at her side. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurts like hell.”

“Did you see who stabbed you?”

“Yes. It was Frank Roman.”

“And who is he?”

“He's a dime novelist that I met in Santa Fe.”

Longarm waited for more and when it didn't come, he asked, “So tell me why this dime novelist from Santa Fe wanted to kill you.”

“It's a long story, Custis.”

“We've missed our train and I've got nothing better to do than listen.”

“I'm sorry about missing the train.”

“We can catch another tomorrow if you're up to traveling.”

“I will be.”

“Tell me about Frank Roman the Santa Fe dime novelist.”

Delia sighed. “It's not a story that I'm particularly proud of. I heard of him and went to Santa Fe looking for some writing advice. Frank is a man in his forties, single and looking for love.”

“And you let him think you were that love so you could get him to help you start a career as a dime novelist.”

“That's right. I didn't mean to sleep with him, but . . . well, he became very infatuated with me and promised to give me a few story ideas as well as introductions to his New York publisher and editor.”

Longarm's eyebrows shot up. “You took his stories?”

“Yes, but I changed them a little.”

“But not enough in Frank's opinion. Right?”

“Right. Anyway, he became very possessive and I tired of him after only a few days. When I tried to leave Santa Fe, he became enraged and said I'd used and deceived him.”

“Which you did.”

Delia nodded. “I didn't mean to hurt the man. I never intended to let things get out of hand.”

“So when you left, he tried to stop you.”

“Yes. And when he found out that I wouldn't change my mind and stay, he grew ugly and threatening.”

“To kill you?”

“Yes. He was scary and I was afraid. I left on a stage in the middle of the night. I thought he'd get over me but I heard that he did not and had started drinking so hard that he couldn't write anymore. Last I heard, he was a raging wreck of a man.” Delia grabbed Longarm by the shirt. “Custis, I swear that I didn't mean to hurt the man.”

“Well, Delia, guess what? You not only hurt him but apparently ruined him and now he has come here to take his revenge. Seeing you with me probably didn't help.”

“I'm so sorry!”

“Me, too,” Longarm replied, feeling angry. “I don't need any more enemies. But the real question now is . . . is Frank Roman still here in Elko waiting for another shot at you and possibly me . . . or did he get back on the train and is he waiting to strike again in Reno?”

“I have no idea.”

Longarm considered the situation for a few moments, then said, “Is Frank Roman a man who has guns?”

“He has a fine collection,” Delia replied. “He's very proud of his guns and he also showed me a case full of trophies he's won in shooting competitions with both rifles and pistols.”

Longarm groaned. “This story of yours gets worse by the minute. So we have a man capable of shooting us from a distance.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Did he say anything to you when he stabbed that knife in your side?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did Frank Roman say?”

“‘Die, you coldhearted bitch.'”

“Well,” Longarm said, “I suppose that is one of the lines he's used in his bloody dime novels.”

“I'm not a woman easily frightened,” Delia said, “but I have to tell you that Frank Roman is a man I wish that I'd never met.”

“It's a little late for that,” Longarm told her.

“So what do we do?”

“We get a room and some food and hole up until the next train west comes through Elko. Then, we board it and when we get to Reno we cover our backs and hope Frank Roman isn't hiding on some rooftop with a sharpshooter's rifle.”

“I'm so sorry I messed things up like this.”

Longarm was angry at Delia, but she didn't deserve to die for what she had done to Roman. And for that matter, neither did he.

“So tell me,” Delia began, as she propped up her pillow and sipped whiskey, “did you ever have to stand in the street and face a man who was faster with the draw than yourself?”

“Once for sure.”

She reached for her pen and notebook. “Will you tell me about it?”

“I was sent to a small town named Monument, in southern New Mexico, because we got a telegram in Denver saying that the Otero brothers had gunned down the sheriff and had taken over the town. The brothers were outlaws known to raise hell on both sides of the border. It took me four days to reach Monument and when I rode in there wasn't anyone walking around on the streets.”

“Did the brothers know you were coming?”

“I suspect that they knew someone was coming, but I sure didn't announce myself. I made certain that I rode in after dark and I put my horse up in the only livery in that dusty little town. The liveryman was an old coot who drank too much and smelled worse than any horse or mule. He was angry but scared of the brothers and was forced into taking care of their horses without pay.”

“Did he help you?”

“Yeah,” Longarm said. “His name was Windy and it was a well-deserved nickname because he never stopped talking or farting. But he told me where the two brothers were drinking and that . . . drunk or sober . . . they were amazingly fast with their guns and damn good shots.”

“So did you go straight away to find them?”

“I did. But I pinned my badge under my coat's lapel so that they wouldn't know I was a lawman. I went into the saloon and saw the brothers sitting at a back table drinking tequila. Each of them had a floozy on their lap.”

“I imagine you were worried about the women being accidentally shot.”

“That's right.”

“So how did you handle it?”

“I asked the bartender to send the Oteros a couple of drinks on me. When he did it, I waved at the brothers like I was some old friend they'd met before. Then I walked over to them and struck up a conversation. They both spoke good English and I asked them if there were any other women in town as pretty as the ones they had sitting on their laps.”

“Were there?”

“I don't know. One of the women was sober enough to realize that I might be a lawman. She said that in a laughing way but the Otero brothers didn't think it funny. I could see that they were edgy and explosive and I tried to think what I would do if they just drew their pistols and opened fire. I wanted to get those women out of the way of any harm.

“So what did you do?”

“I told the brothers I knew of a way to make some quick and easy money and wondered if they were interested. When they said yes, I told them that I needed to speak to them in private. One of the girls left, but the other was drunk and didn't want to go. I tried to grab her, and she latched onto my coat and damned if she didn't expose my badge under the lapel.”

“Then all hell broke loose, I suppose.”

“That's right. One of the brothers went for his gun, and knowing I couldn't beat him, I kicked out with my boot and knocked the man over backward in his chair, then drew my gun and killed the one still sitting at the table. Both women screamed, and one stepped in front of me so I couldn't get a clear shot to kill the one who was on the floor. He slithered out the back door, and by the time I was able to get there he was gone.”

“Couldn't you have reached him in the back alley or wherever he went?”

“No, it was dark and I was worried that he was hiding and would kill me the minute I stepped outside. So I made sure that the one was dead and then I left the saloon and went back to the livery. Windy was waiting, and when I told him what had happened he said that all hell was going to break loose when the one that got away connected with his family living just across the border in Mexico.”

“So,” Delia said, “in a way, things suddenly became much worse.”

“Yes, they did,” Longarm agreed. “I had sort of stirred up a hornet's nest, and when the people of Monument found out what happened they nearly went into a panic.”

“If they let just two banditos take over Monument maybe they didn't deserve to have a town.”

“Well, you have to understand that Monument, New Mexico, wasn't much of a town at all. There were just a half dozen businesses and most of them depended on Mexicans who came peaceably across the nearby border to buy goods. So there were a lot of complications, but everyone knew that the Otero family was going to come to collect a body and that when they did they would be out for blood.”

Delia was writing fast. “Sounds to me that even someone like you was in pretty far over your head.”

“I was. I had to ride ten miles to find a telegraph office and I sent telegrams off to both Denver and Santa Fe explaining what I'd done and what I thought was going to happen. I don't often have to ask for help, but I did that time.”

“Did help reach you?”

“No. And I was pretty sure that it wouldn't come in time so I stood out in the street and fired off my gun a few times and called for any man with a backbone to step out to talk. Windy was the first one to come join me but then some of the others who had buildings that they didn't want to be torched came out to see what I had to say.”

Longarm's throat was getting dry so he took the bottle from Delia's hand and took a swallow. “How you feeling?”

“It hurts but the whiskey helps. I'll be ready to get out of here and get back on that train tomorrow. But finish your story about what happened in Monument, New Mexico.”

“Sure. I stood in the street and told Windy and the others that it was clear the Otero family would return later in the day and that I could either leave them . . . or they could stand with me and fight. Really, Delia, I gave them little choice.”

“So they found some backbone and stood with you?”

“That's right. And as luck would have it, a pair of Texas Rangers rode into town saying they'd heard of the fix we were in and had come running to help. They were good, lean fighting men, and they helped me position the townspeople and prepare them for an attack.”

“When did the Otero men show up?”

“About sundown. There were nine, all armed to the teeth with bandoliers of bullets draped over their shoulders. Some even had swords and they were pretty fierce-looking. Windy, the rangers, and I stood in the middle of the street and faced them with at least a dozen townsmen hiding on rooftops and around corners of buildings. When I told the Mexicans to turn around and leave, they demanded the body of Jose Otero and I said two of them could dismount and recover the body, but then they had to leave and never return.”

“What did they say to that?”

“The one who had gotten away from me the night before in the saloon cursed me and maybe he was still drunk because damned if he didn't go for his gun. Someone on a rooftop shot him off his horse. Three more tried to grab their guns and fight and they all died in a volley of bullets, some of which were mine and some of them belonged to Windy and the two Texas Rangers. The point is, four of the Otero family died in seconds with more bullet holes in them than a hunk of Swiss cheese. Those who were smart wheeled their horses around and raced, but some of the people of Monument weren't about to let them get away and maybe return someday when neither myself or the Texas Rangers were around.”

“It sounds like it became a slaughter.”

“I'm afraid that is exactly what it became. The townspeople, many of whom had been robbed, beaten, and insulted for days shot them all down as they rode up the street and by the time they were out in the clear not one Otero was still in the saddle.”

“My gawd!” Delia whispered. “I never heard of that fight!”

“It's a true story. But those battles along the border happen all the time and this just happened to be one of the bloodiest.”

“Did you stay long in Monument?”

“No. I rode up to Santa Fe and made a report that never became public. And I never went back to that town, but I heard a year or so ago that it was doing pretty well and that Mexicans and Americans alike never spoke of the Otero family again. I'm sure that the family had been a scourge on both sides of the border for years and no one was missing them at all.”

Delia finished with the notes. “I'll put this into one of my stories and change the location to the Arizona border and all the names will be different.”

“I'm counting on you to do that,” Longarm said. “And right now I need a good description of this fella that stabbed you.”

“He is pretty ordinary-looking. About five feet ten inches tall, sandy-brown hair, bearded, and he has a scar on his chin.”

“How was he dressed?”

“When I knew him in Santa Fe he was a dandy. But after he went downhill, he became slovenly. It happened so fast out there that I barely had a chance to see him. I just had a glance before I felt this terrible pain and fainted. But I think he was dressed like a working man, heavy brown pants, wool coat, and dirty boots.”

“That description isn't going to help me much.”

“Are you going out to look for him now?”

“That's my intention.”

Delia reached out. “Please don't leave me.”

“I'll lock the door and leave you my pistol. If I can find him tonight and either kill or arrest him for attempted murder, we'll both be a lot happier.”

“Be careful. He is a very determined and clever man.”

“Are you sure that you can't remember anything more to help me spot him if he's drinking in a saloon or eating?”

Delia's brow furrowed with concentration. “One more thing.”

“What's that?”

“Frank Roman always favored very powerful cologne. It was called . . . Wild Sage.”

“I've used it . . . sparingly.”

“Well John practically drenched himself in the stuff and I recall smelling it when he stabbed me.”

Longarm shook his head. “I can't just go around smelling men in saloons, Delia.”

“I understand. But if you get near him, you'll smell it. Also, he likes cigars and the bigger and blacker the better.”

“I'll watch for a man with a scar on his chin and a stogie in his mouth and who smells like Wild Sage.”

“That's right. If you find all three, it will be Frank Roman.”