Longarm 245: Longarm and the Vanishing Virgin (18 page)

He stepped out of the bedroom, his eyes searching her face. “That son of a buck was lying to you,” he said. “I really am Custis Long. That fella took a shot at me up in New Mexico Territory a few days ago, and I reckon he's been hoping for another chance ever since.”

“I believe you,” she said. “Maybe it's foolish of me, but I just don't believe that a man as ... as gentle as you could be a cold-blooded killer.”

Longarm lowered the hammer of the Colt. “I'd be hard-pressed not to take a shot at that gent if I got the chance,” he admitted. “But I really am a deputy marshal.”

“I believe that too.”

“Which way did they go?”

“They rode southeast, toward Monahans.”

He nodded. “Then I reckon that's where I'm going too.” She stepped closer, lifted a hand as if she was about to touch his arm, then hesitated. “I thought you weren't leaving until tomorrow.”

“The reason that fella wants me dead has to have something to do with the job that brought me down here. It's time I found out what, and maybe if I can catch up to them in Monahans, I can learn what I need to know.”

“But you're still recovering from that gunshot wound,” she protested. “You said yourself you were too weak to ride that far....”

“I'll be all right,” he told her. “I can't afford to pass up this chance, Beth.” He turned and started into the bedroom to get dressed.

Beth was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I've got an extra saddle. I'll go put it on that dun for you.”

She was an unusual woman, all right, thought Longarm. Even though he had only known her for a couple of days, he was going to miss her.

Maybe he could get back this way someday—after he found out what the hell was going on with Nora Canady and why that fella with the Spencer carbine wanted him dead.

 

Beth was an observant woman. She was able to tell Longarm that there had been six men in the group altogether. She described them—hardcases every one, from the sound of it—as well as their horses. Longarm was certain he would be able to recognize the men when he found them.

But unless he saw them first, they were likely to recognize him too, and that would lead to shooting. That wasn't what Longarm wanted. He needed to know who had sent these hired killers after him. As far as he could see, there were still only a couple of possibilities.

“Be careful,” Beth murmured as he was ready to mount up.

“I intend to be,” he promised her.

“Any time you're back in these parts ...”

“I'll stop. You've got my word on it. But, Beth ... maybe you better not count on me ever being back this way. Might be a good idea for you to find somebody else. It's a mighty lonely life out here for a woman.”

A bittersweet smile curved her lips. “I've known two good men in my life. Who knows? Maybe another one will come along someday.”

Longarm bent to brush his lips over hers. “I hope so,” he said.

Then, before he could regret it even more, he swung up into the saddle and heeled the dun into a trot that carried him away from the ranch—and the woman who lived there.

 

The men hadn't made any effort to cover their trail. Longarm followed it easily. They were cutting across country, not bothering to take the stage road, which ran to the west. It didn't really matter. In this flat, mostly barren country, one place was as easy to ride as another.

The sun was halfway below the horizon to the west when Longarm came in sight of Monahans. The sand hills were visible to the east, and it looked like the town was situated at the southern end of the dunes. Monahans wasn't a very old town, he reflected. This was the route the Texas & Pacific Railroad would take as it was built across West Texas, but the iron rails weren't here yet. Monahans was ready, though, for when the railhead arrived. He saw plenty of lights blazing in the gathering dusk, and when he got closer to the settlement, he could hear tinny piano music floating on the evening air. The saloons were already doing a good business just from the ranches in the area, Longarm speculated. When the railroad arrived, the place would really boom.

He swung wide to the west to avoid entering the town by its main street. Under the circumstances, with those hired guns around, it would be foolish, maybe even fatal, to ride in right out in the open. Instead he found a back alley that ran behind some of the false-fronted buildings and eased the dun along it. He dismounted and tied the horse to a greasewood bush behind a building that was probably a general store, judging from the jumble of empty crates just outside the rear door.

The sun had set now, and night was falling rapidly. Longarm sidled along a narrow passage between buildings. It was dark and shadowy there, and he was able to reach the street without anyone noticing him. He stood there, just inside the mouth of the little gap, and let his gaze range up and down the street, checking out the horses tied at all the hitch racks he could see.

It took him only a moment to spot six tied together in front of a saloon called the Sure Shot. He wondered if Cap'n Billy knew about that. Probably not. The owner of the place had to be well-to-do; the building had two actual stories, instead of one real one and a false front. A flight of stairs ran up the side of the building to a door that opened onto the second floor. That seemed a likely way to get inside, so Longarm faded back into the passageway and returned to the alley. He went along it to the end of the block, then circled the last building and walked quickly across the street, keeping his head down so that his Stetson concealed part of his face. Again, no one seemed to pay any attention to him, although the street was busy with wagon and horse traffic and the boardwalks were crowded with pedestrians.

Longarm catfooted through more alleys, and wound up in the passage between the saloon and its neighboring building, a saddle shop that was closed for the night. He walked to the bottom of the outside stairs and swung onto them, climbing briskly as if he belonged there and knew exactly what he was doing. He would look a little foolish if he got to the top and the door was locked, he thought.

Luck was with him. The door swung open as soon as he turned the knob. He stepped into a deserted corridor that was dimly lit by a lamp at the far end. There were doors along the hallway, all of them closed at the moment. Those rooms were no doubt where the girls who worked in the saloon conducted their real business, so he couldn't count on the hall staying empty for long. At any second, one of the gals could drag some young cowboy up there for a few minutes of bought-and-paid-for pleasure.

Longarm walked swiftly and silently down the corridor. It opened onto a landing at the far end, and there was also a short, railed balcony that overlooked the saloon's main room. He stopped when he reached the balcony and edged an eye past the comer. He could see the long, polished bar from there, and he spotted five men standing together, propping their heels on the brass rail as they nursed beers. He recognized them from Beth's description.

But there were only five of them. The man in the broad-brimmed hat, the man who carried a Spencer carbine, wasn't with them.

His horse was tied up outside, which meant he was in here somewhere. In one of the rooms maybe, with one of the saloon girls. Longarm couldn't bust into every one with his gun drawn until he found the man he wanted, though he considered the idea for a second. That would raise too much of a ruckus and attract the attention of the gunmen downstairs. Nor could he just stand there and wait, because someone was bound to come along pretty soon—

A door opened somewhere along the corridor behind him.

There was no time for any but the simplest plan. Longarm turned, lowered his head, and started walking unsteadily along the corridor toward the door that opened onto the outside stairs. If the person who was stepping out into the hall was anybody other than the hired killer with the Spencer, they would probably just take him for a drunk and not pay much attention to him. That was what he was hoping anyway.

“I'll be right back, sweetheart,” he heard a woman say, and a shock ran through him as he realized that her voice was somehow familiar. “You and Mr. Carter go ahead with your business.”

“All right, but don't be long,” a man told her. His voice was curt, businesslike, clearly accustomed to command. It was deep and rich, an orator's voice.

Longarm knew it too.

It belonged to Senator Jonas Palmer.

And as Longarm lifted his eyes to the woman who was walking along the hallway toward him, he saw a familiar face to go along with her voice. Her eyes widened as she recognized him just as he had recognized her. Her mouth opened wide too, and Longarm knew that in another second, a scream would be coming out of it.

He lunged forward and clapped a hand over her mouth, at the same time looping his other arm around her waist. He jerked her against him, turning her so that her back came up solidly against his chest. He pinned her there so that she couldn't move, and kept his hand over her mouth so tightly that not even a squawk could escape.

“Well, if it ain't Miss Emily Toplin,” he hissed in her ear. “I never expected to run into you down here in Texas. Tried to stab anybody lately?”

The young woman tried to struggle, but Longarm held her too tightly for her to do anything except squirm a little. He backed toward the door at the far end of the corridor. Trapped in his grip, Emily had no choice but to go with him.

Longarm reached the door and realized he was faced with a dilemma. If he took his hand away from Emily's mouth, she would scream. If he let go of her with his other arm, she would try to break away from him and might be able to do it. But he had to get the door open somehow, and quietly too.

So he did the only thing he could, even though he didn't like it. He whirled Emily around unexpectedly, taking her by surprise, and snatched his hand away from her mouth long enough to ball it loosely into a fist and clip her on the jaw with it.

Her head lolled back and she sagged toward him, stunned by the blow. Longarm caught her.

If he hadn't been recuperating from a gunshot wound, he probably would have just slung her over his shoulder and carried her out of the saloon. He wasn't sure he could do that without causing his wound to start bleeding again, so he settled for wrapping an arm around her again and half-dragging, half-carrying her through the door and down the outside stairs. A couple of times, he thought he was going to lose his balance and topple the rest of the way, taking Emily with him, but he managed to stay upright. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was confident that anyone who had observed their lurching descent would just assume that both he and the woman with him were drunk.

He turned and took Emily down the shadow-cloaked passage between the buildings. She was regaining her senses by now, shaking her head and muttering, and she tried to pull away from the hand that he had clamped on her arm.

“Settle down,” Longarm told her. “I don't like hitting women, but it don't bother me near as much when they've tried to kill me.”

“You ... how did you ... where ... damn you.”

Well, that last part was coherent enough, he thought wryly.

“How'd I find you and Palmer?” asked Longarm. “Simple enough. I followed the fella who's been following me. You called him Carter. Wouldn't be Simeon Carter, now would it?”

Longarm had recalled that name from a wanted poster he'd seen. Simeon Carter was a hired killer, a former Union of ficer during the Civil War, who was wanted in Montana for his activities as a regulator during a bloody range feud. Longarm had never seen a picture of him, but he was willing to bet the man with the Spencer carbine was indeed Carter.

“Go to Hell,” Emily said thickly.

“Is that any way for a gal who looks like she just came from prayer meeting to talk?”

She gave him an even more obscene, not to mention physically impossible, suggestion.

Longarm reached the alley behind the Sure Shot. He pushed Emily up against the wall of the building, not hard but firmly enough to let her know that he didn't intend to let her get away.

“You're under arrest for the attempted murder of a federal officer,” he told her. “That's the very least that's going to happen to you. But it could get worse if you don't tell me what you know about Palmer and Carter and why they want me dead.”

“I'm not going to tell you a damned thing.”

“You looking forward to spending the next twenty years behind bars, Emily? You won't be a fresh-faced gal when you get out of prison.”

He couldn't see her face very well in the gloom of the alley, but he could feel the tension in her body as he held her arms. She cursed at him again.

“Been called worse,” he said calmly. “That don't change anything.” He paused, then said, “Palmer's your lover, isn't he?”

“What if he is?” Emily shot back.

“You probably didn't cotton much to the idea of him marrying Nora Canady, did you? But he was going to go through with the wedding anyway, because her father's a mighty rich man. What was Palmer going to do after that, Emily, keep you as his mistress? His whore?”

“You shut up,” she hissed. “You just shut up. You don't know anything about it.”

“Then why don't you tell me?”

“He's going to miss me, you know. I was just going downstairs to get another bottle of brandy. When I don't come back, Jonas will come looking for me.”

“By then you'll already be in jail. You'll never see Palmer again unless it's at your trial.” Longarm laughed humorlessly. “And he probably won't come. He won't even admit that he knows you.”