Tabor Evans (22 page)

Longarm slept until Gower knocked at his door; it was a bit after ten. Gower saw the bottle of Maryland rye on the bureau and looked at it yearningly.

"Help yourself," Longarm invited.

"Thanks." The chief marshal poured himself a sizeable slug, took a sip, and sat down. He rolled and lighted a cigarette before picking up the glass again. "Well, I've got your problem solved, Long."

"Sort of figured you would."

"But it was damn dry work, arguing with Murphy. First Irish cop I ever knew who won't take a drink." Gower sipped appreciatively. "Now. After I explained to him what happened, he agreed to keep Milford quiet."

"Who's Milford?"

"He's the constable you kidnapped."

"Hell, if he's smart, he wouldn't want anybody to know about that, anyway."

"That's how Murphy looked at it. He didn't want one of his men to be laughed off the force."

Longarm looked at Gower speculatively. "You might as well trot it out. What's Murphy want me to do?"

"Help him get one of his men in at Younger's Bend. He's had the same suspicion I have about payoffs to some of his fellows by Belle Starr. There's been a rash of house burglaries here in Fort Smith lately, and you know as well as Murphy and I that sneak thieves can't operate unless they've got a place to get rid of the stuff they pick up. Jewelry, watches, things of that kind. And a fence can't operate without protection from somebody inside the law."

"Damn it, Gower, I'm not in solid enough with Belle Starr to bring in somebody else in with me."

"That's what I told Murphy you'd say. He gave me another choice, but I told him that'd be up to you."

"What's the other choice?" Longarm asked suspiciously. He had a pretty good idea what Gower was leading up to.

"Get the information he wants yourself."

"Now hold up, damn it! I got enough on my plate, just finding out what you're after. Let your friend Murphy do his own job."

"No. I can't do that, Long. I've already made a trade with him."

"What'd you trade him?"

"A way to set you in solid with the bunch at Younger's Bend."

Longarm looked narrowly at Gower. He needed a minute to think this one over, so he got up and poured himself a fresh drink and topped off the glass the chief marshal was holding.

"Go on," he said, after he'd returned to his chair. "I'd like to know just how he figures to do that."

"You mentioned that Sharpless and Steed were still suspicious of YOU."

"Not what you'd call suspicious. Floyd's still mad at me because I had to gun down one of his old sidekicks. And Steed just plain don't like anybody."

"Murphy's scheme might ease things for you," Gower suggested. Murphy's in very solid with the newspaper here in Fort Smith. And, if he makes a big fuss, the editor will write a story that'll make Castell's killing compare with the assassination of Abe Lincoln. And he'll see that the story says the man who shot Castell got away. That'll clean your skirts completely with the bunch of Younger's Bend."

Longarm took a swallow of rye while he considered Gower's suggestion. He could see that it might ease the strain that existed between him and Floyd. Finally he nodded.

"I won't guarantee to get your friend Murphy what he's after," he said carefully. "But I'll make a stab at it. That's about the best I can do."

"That's all he can expect," Gower agreed. "I made it plain to him that as long as you're wearing a federal badge, our case comes first."

"Let's leave it that way, then," Longarm said. "When's this newspaper piece coming out? It'll have to be soon, if it's going to do me any good."

"It'll be in tomorrow morning's paper," Gower promised. "And I sure as hell hope it works!"

"So do I," Longarm agreed. "But we won't be no further behind than we are now, if it don't."

A stack of newspapers stood on the hotel's registration desk when Longarm went by the next morning on his way to breakfast in the dining room. He picked one up. It still smelled of printer's ink. He glanced at the glaring headlines. The editor of the Fort Smith Elevator had pulled out all the stops.

RAILROAD POLICEMAN FOULLY MURDERED! the top headline proclaimed. In only slightly smaller type, the line below read, FLEEING DESPERADO SOUGHT BY OFFICERS!

Chuckling inwardly, but keeping his face impassive, Longarm folded the paper under his arm and read the story while waiting for his breakfast to be cooked and served.

Fort Smith's good citizenry is appalled by the latest outrage perpetrated by the desperadoes who slink into our fair and law-abiding community from their privileged sanctuaries in the Cherokee and Choctaw Nations. The latest victim of their foul misdeeds is the heroic Julius Castell, a policeman employed by the St. Louis & San Francisco Railway Co. Officer Castell was shot to death behind the Union Station yesterday just before the supper hour by a vicious killer who is even now being pursued in the direction of Van Buren by the dedicated men of our proud constabulary.

It is not known how Officer Castell allowed the desperado to "get the drop" on him. Officer Castell was known to be of an utterly fearless nature and an excellent shot with the pistol, having been formerly an investigator for the famous Pinkerton Detective Agency. The murdered victim's revolver was found beside him, with all of its six shells fired, when his body was discovered by Officer Milford of the Fort Smith force. Chief Constable Murphy is of the opinion that there was an exchange of gunfire in which the heartless miscreant who slew Officer Castell was wounded. A large force has gone in search of the killer, who is reported to have been witnessed slinking from the scene of the crime in a northerly direction. The good Chief has sworn that no stone will be left unturned, no nook or cranny in which the desperate outlaw murderer might hide will be overlooked, until the bloodthirsty fiend who perpetrated the foul misdeed has been brought before the Bar of Justice, where he is expected to be sentenced to a well-deserved hanging.

Well, old son, Longarm chuckled to himself, That chief sure did deliver what he said he was going to. Why, hell, if I didn't know what really happened, I'd be right tempted to jump right up and start chasing myself.

Folding the paper, Longarm tucked it into his coat pocket and gave his attention to the platter of steak and eggs the waiter set before him. An hour later, when he'd claimed his horse and gear from Hare's Livery Stable on the Texas Road and started for the ferry, he transferred the newspaper to his saddlebag. As he rode toward Younger's Bend after crossing on the ferry, he felt less like he was going naked to stir up a hornet's nest.

CHAPTER 14

Because Longarm didn't relish the idea of being mistaken for someone else and getting potshot at in the dark, he slept beside the trail after his late start, and arrived at Younger's Bend in broad daylight. Sam Starr was carrying a bucket of water from the well to the house when Longarm rode up.

"Hello, Windy. What'd you do, ride all night last night, getting here at this time of day?" Starr asked.

"No. Slept along the trail. Got a late start out of Fort Smith."

Longarm dismounted and led his hammerhead bay to the barn.

Starr put the bucket of water on the steps and followed him into the barn. He said, "We looked for you yesterday."

"And figured when I didn't show up that I might not be coming back?

That ain't my way of doing business, Sam."

"Well, there was a lot of conversation. Floyd's still a little bit upset about Mckee, you know."

"Damned if that man don't let a thing stick in his craw worse than anybody I ever met." Longarm took the saddle off the bay and tossed it across one of the stall partitions to air out. He threw his saddlebags over one shoulder, his bedroll over the other, and picked up his Winchester.

"I guess nobody's moved into my cabin while I was gone?"

"Of course not. Listen, Windy, if you're hungry, I can fix you a bite. It won't be a bit of trouble."

"Oh, I had breakfast when I got up this morning, Sam. Thanks all the same, but I can hold out till noon."

"I guess the girl got off on the train all right?"

"Yep. She's on her way. Hell, she's probably already back in Texarkana by this time."

"Belle was thinking-" Starr stopped abruptly. "Well, it ain't important."

"What you started to say was, Belle was thinking I might decide to go along with the girl, and not come back?"

"Something like that," Starr replied. He added quickly, "She'll be glad to know you're back, though."

Longarm looked around questioningly. "Where is Belle, anyhow?"

"She's gone with Yazoo to deliver a load of whiskey. I generally go too, when we're making a delivery, but this time Floyd said he'd enjoy a little boat ride. And Steed and Bobby rode into Eufaula; they said they wanted to look the town over."

"Boat ride?" Longarm's brow creased. "Hell, Sam, I didn't even know you had a boat around the place."

He hadn't paid much attention to Belle's moonshining operations. Even though she was breaking a federal law by making untaxed liquor, the Cherokee Nation was still only marginally under direct Federal jurisdiction. It was a matter of common consent that the Indian police would take care of controlling the hundreds of illicit stills that operated on what the local residents called "whiskey ranches." Longarm hadn't given much thought to the manner in which Belle delivered the whiskey Yazoo produced; he'd just assumed that the customers came after the liquor and hauled it away themselves.

Sam said, "Well, Belle don't like for the whiskey-buyers to come here to the place. We got a boat down at the foot of the bluff, and Yazoo poles it across the river, drifts downstream a couple of miles, and there's the customer, waiting at his regular place with his wagon, on the other side of the Canadian."

Longarm nodded his understanding. From a moonshiner's standpoint, making delivery at some anonymous spot along a riverbank made more sense than having wagons beat a well-defined track to the still.

"Well, then," he said, "I guess I'll go on down to the cabin and settle back in."

"You're sure you don't want me to fix you a bite to eat?" Sam asked. "Dinner's going to be late, because Belle and Floyd and Yazoo likely won't be back by noon."

"No, thanks. I'll hold out all right. No need for you to take extra trouble."

"Oh, I don't mind doing something a little extra for you, Windy. Which is more than I'd say for most of Belle's guests. There's times when-" Starr stopped abruptly. "Well, never mind. You just come on back when you get hungry."

"I'll do that," Longarm promised as he started for the cabin.

Apparently no one had been inside the place during his absence. There was dust on everything, and the bottle of Maryland rye that he'd left standing on the table still had a drink or two left in it. Longarm had part of the whiskey while he undid his bedroll and took a few of his possibles--including a supply of cheroots and a fresh bottle of rye--from his saddlebags. The folded newspaper came to hand, and he put it on the table to take up to the house with him when Belle and the others returned. Since he had nothing else to do, he stretched out on the bedroll and devoted himself to thinking while he rested. The job he'd promised to take on for Murphy required a little bit of planning.

Noon came and passed with no solution having presented itself. Longarm was beginning to get hungry. He stood up and stretched, finished off the almost empty bottle, and led the hammerhead bay up to the house. Starr was sitting on the porch, cleaning his guns. Longarm noticed that the quiet, browbeaten husband of the ebullient Bandit Queen handled his weapon with professional skill, and gave them the sort of care that any sensible man who depended on guns for his livelihood, if not for actual survival, might be expected to give them.

"Getting hungry?" Starr asked.

"A mite. But you go on with what you're doing. My belly's telling me it's there, but it ain't yelling at me yet."

Starr gave the barrel of his Spencer carbine a final rub with an oil rag, and propped the weapon up beside the bench he was sitting on. "I haven't started dinner yet, because Yazoo usually puts out a line when he takes the boat to make a delivery, and brings back a mess of fish." He looked at Longarm curiously. "You ever remember where you ran into Yazoo before, Windy?"

Longarm shook his head. "Hell, Sam, you know how it is. A man gets around a lot, pretty much moving fast and not staying anyplace too long. He sees a lot of faces. And it ain't likely Yazoo looks like he did, wherever it was we bumped into each other."

"Sure. Not unless it's somebody he's partnered with, or had trouble with." Starr looked obliquely at Longarm. "You didn't have much trouble remembering Mckee."

"Mckee looked just like he did when me and him had our run-in. And when you've got a grudge between you and somebody, you ain't as likely to forget him as you would a man you just bad a drink with, or sat in a poker game with somewhere."

"I guess you know Floyd and Steed are still edgy because you won't give them your real handle."

"I can't say I blame them," Longarm replied. "But I told Floyd I wasn't about to give him anything on me until I had something on him. He ought to understand that."