Longarm and the Whiskey Woman (13 page)

She shook her head. She said, "No, you're different. I'm going to have you."

Longarm said with some alarm, "Sally, honey, we can't do this again. If they catch me, they'll kill me. Your brothers, your father, an aunt, an uncle, a cousin--there's ten or fifteen men around here that would have shot me in the back if they had seen us together. We can't do this again. You are a wonderful, beautiful girl. Probably the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Sally said, "That's good that you be thinkin' that, because if I choose you, I'd like it if you'd choose me, too. But it don't make no never-mind. I've done made up my mind."

He said, "Sally, you're inexperienced. You don't know anything, and you haven't seen that much of the world. Was that your first time?"

She gave him a look. "I ain't a-tellin' that and no gentleman would ask that." Then, before he knew it, she was on her feet and walking down the row of corn in the opposite direction. He said, "Sally, Sally."

She looked back. "What?"

He said, "Where are you going?"

Sally said, "In the house. I've got some sewing to do."

Longarm said, "The hell you say. Now you're going to do some sewing?"

"Yeah, you better go out that other end and act like you're looking the place over."

She turned and cut across the rows, out of sight, leaving Longarm dumbfounded and uncertain what to do next.

He walked out of the cornfield and then stood for a moment, looking around. Sally had disappeared, and there were no signs of any spies or onlookers. As near as he could tell, they had not been seen. Still, Longarm went through the motions of walking around the big property, looking over the livestock and the buildings, some of which held hundred-pound sacks of sugar. There were bins of shelled corn in others. If he had ever seen an operation set up for making corn whiskey, he felt like he was looking at one. The thought that there were maybe twenty or thirty other such distilleries, probably not as big as this, scattered out among the hills but pouring their produce back into this one locale, almost staggered him. This was no small operation. This was whiskey-making on a grand scale. Hell, he thought to himself, they could probably supply the city of Denver with every drop they needed. Denver, hell, probably Chicago.

After a time, he wandered back to his cabin and went inside. He sat down and poured himself some whiskey, the green clear whiskey, weakened it with some water out of a pitcher, and then sat there sipping and thinking. The entrance of Sally into the picture changed nothing as far as he was concerned. She was a wonderful, lovely, beautiful woman. She was as desirable as any woman that came to his mind, but that was, of course, very often the way. The one he was with at the time was the best, but he did not believe that he had ever seen such a startlingly black thatch of pubic hair against such lovely, creamy skin. The bush had been thick and luxuriant. It was delicate and fine, silken almost. It made his throat feel thick just thinking about it.

All that was beside the point. The job still remained. The least he would settle for would be the purchase of some whiskey from Asa Colton. Once that money changed hands, a federal law had been broken, and he was going to arrest the lot of them. They might not want to be arrested, but he would do it if he had to put a gun to the old man's head and tell the rest of them to lie facedown on the ground and tie each other up. He expected the transaction to take place at the train. If that was the case, he was going to load them, the whiskey, and anything else he thought he might need onto the train and then somehow route that car to Denver, Colorado, where he intended to deliver the entire conglomeration right into the hands of Billy Vail. After that, good old Uncle Billy could sort matters out.

Then the flickering fear about the telegram rode through his mind again. If Frank Carson somehow got word through the bank wire that he was a deputy marshal, Longarm was going to have one hell of a fight on his hands. He planned, the minute he saw Frank Carson coming, to get his back up against the wall and stay there until he could see how matters were going to play out. But as far as that went, the old man had not yet agreed to sell him any whiskey. That had yet to be resolved.

That night, at supper, he sat on Asa Colton's right. Sally was not there. A girl cousin or sister or wife or someone else was in her place. She was a nondescript woman of thirty who looked a great deal like the stringy-haired woman who was in charge of the kitchen. She never spoke to Longarm, but he caught her darting glances his way.

He made an attempt during supper to speak to Asa Colton, but all he got in return was a shake of the dried-up little man's head. It was clear that the Coltons considered table business to be reserved exclusively for eating. Any talking that had to be done mainly consisted of "Pass the salt," or "Pass the biscuits," or "Pass the butter." There was no social talk and obviously, no business talk.

They had roast beef and mashed potatoes with gravy and canned beans. As near as Longarm could figure out, they had mashed potatoes and canned beans for every meal. He was halfway expecting them the next day for breakfast. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the meal broke up, and people left the table without a word. It was only Longarm and the old man left. One of the colored women serving the table brought over a gallon jug of the clear, powerful whiskey. She sat a glass in front of Asa Colton. The old man glanced at Longarm. Longarm nodded and then she brought him a glass.

After they had a drink, with Longarm trying not to wince and trying not to let the killer liquid go to his brain, he said, "Asa, Mr. Colton, I sent for money, but you never had said that you'd sell me whiskey. Can you give me an answer now? If you ain't going to sell me some, there ain't a hell of a lot of use in me sitting around here wasting my time."

Asa Colton drank down half the big glass, then set it back down on the table without so much as the blink of an eye. He said, "I'm a-thinkin' on it. Don't be a-rushin' me."

Longarm said, "You got any idea when you'll make up your mind?"

"Nope."

Longarm said, "What have you got against selling me whiskey? I'm a pretty good old boy. I'm paying your highest price, I already know that, but I don't mind. I think I can take it back to Arizona and by the time I get through taking the rattlesnake out of it, I think I can make a profit."

Asa Colton's head whipped around and his old eyes fixed on Longarm. He said, "What'air you be talkin' about, taking the rattlesnake out of it?"

Longarm laughed. He said, "Well, Mr. Colton, I don't know if you're aware of it or not, but that whiskey you make could damn near blow up a brick schoolhouse. That's the powerfullest whiskey I've ever put in my mouth. Most folks ain't used to that. Most of us drink eighty-proof whiskey and I've been told that this stuff is one hundred sixty and one hundred eighty proof."

The old man said, "You can't make two hundred proof. Did you know that? You can't make it all turn into whiskey. Some of it stays water."

Longarm said, wonderingly, "No, I didn't know that, Mr. Colton. I actually don't know a whole hell of a lot about whiskey. Like I've told your folks, I've been in the timber, land, and cattle business back in Arizona. Now, I'd like to branch out a little bit and this whiskey looks like a good idea. I'd like to take it back and put it in bottles with labels on them and sell it."

The old man squinted his eyes. He said, "Ya ever hear of a federal stamp?"

Longarm nodded. "Yes, I have."

"What's you gonna do about that?"

"Once you sell me the whiskey, that'll be my problem, won't it?"

Colton studied him a long moment, then nodded. He said, "Yeah, it would be. You sayin' that it ain't none of my business?"

"Mr. Colton, I ain't saying that nothing is none of your business. I'm just saying that I know what a federal stamp is and I know that if I don't find a way to get some, I could get in trouble, depending on who I sold the whiskey to. But you got to understand that Arizona is a damn big Place with damn few people and damn little law. We don't have any Treasury agents running around up there, at least none that I've ever seen. Of course, we can't distill whiskey out there like you can. We ain't got the firewood and we ain't got the corn and I wouldn't imagine that there's two bags of sugar in the whole damn territory."

"You ain't got no Treasury agents?"

Longarm shook his head. "No work for them." He paused, wondering whether he should say what was on his mind. He decided to chance it. "I understand you've got a couple of tame ones around here. I understand y'all get along pretty well."

The old man narrowed his eyes again. "That's what we keep Morton for, that's his part of the affair. He's supposed to tend to that business. The rest of us don't like that kind of work. Besides, it keeps Morton out of here, and I don't have to see him more than once a month, if then."

Longarm said, "Well, how come you're having to think about selling me whiskey? Why don't you just go ahead and do it?"

The old man said, "Well, it ain't none of your business as to why I don't want to sell you whiskey or why I might be willing to sell you whiskey. The fact is, I don't sell to just anybody. I make the best damned whiskey in Arkansas, and I'm mighty particular who gets their hands on it. You understand that? I don't know you, young man. I don't know you from Adam's off ox. You ain't some kind of outlaw, are ya?"

Longarm laughed in spite of himself. He said, "No sir. I think I can honestly say that I ain't any kind of outlaw."

Colton said, "I don't hold with outlawry. I don't hold with stealin' and robbin'. I'm again' it. Now, killin', sometimes it can't be got around. I don't hold with no careless or reckless killin', though. That was one of the things that got me down on Morton. He got down to where he liked it. Now, if killin's got to be done for family reasons or business reasons, I can understand that, but I won't hold with just careless killin'."

Longarm shook his head and tried to look solemn. He said, "No sir, Mr. Colton. I can assure you, I ain't never killed nobody carelessly."

The old man took it all in thoughtfully. Finally he nodded. He said, "We'll see." He finished the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and then got up from the table. He said again, "We'll see." Then he walked off without a word.

CHAPTER 7

That night, Longarm sat in the cabin, wondering if Sally would slip in to see him. He desperately hoped that she wouldn't. He was fairly certain that he was being watched. How they had gotten away with that afternoon, he wasn't certain, but he had an idea that it would be pretty difficult for her to get into the cabin without being seen. It had bothered him that she hadn't shown up for supper that evening. Perhaps it didn't mean anything. Perhaps she didn't always come to supper. Perhaps she wasn't hungry. Perhaps it had nothing whatsoever to do with him. He knew he was jumpy and nervous and was probably reading more into the situation than was there, but he was in the midst of a dozen armed men, each one probably more ruthless than the next, and all he had for defense was a revolver with six slugs in it and a wall to put his back against. It wasn't a very advantageous position.

He wished that Frank Carson would hurry back. He did not know the man, and he did not necessarily count him as an ally. For all he knew, if Carson discovered what he was, he would probably lead the attack on him, but at least Carson talked, and at least he seemed to have a sense of humor. And they both agreed on how foul the green whiskey tasted. Longarm could see how very easily the potent, raw whiskey could be cut and then cut again before being aged for a time and turned into a very potable drink. There was a lot of money to be made off such a raw product, and he imagined that there were a lot of folks up in the East and other areas making a good deal of money off the corn squeezings coming out of the Colton clan.

Longarm finished the cigarillo he had been smoking and took one last sip of the watered whiskey he had been drinking. He thought longingly of the bottles of Maryland whiskey that were in his room and then began preparations for turning in. There was no lock on the door or on the windows. The only night watchman he had was himself. Fortunately, he was a very light sleeper. When he had undressed down to his skin, he slipped into the covers, his revolver handy under his pillow. He normally didn't take such risks. He knew of a man who had shot his ear off one time keeping his revolver under his pillow, but to Longarm, these were dangerous times, and they called for dangerous methods. Finally, when he could, he slipped into a light, fitful sleep, dreaming half about whiskey and half about Sally.

The next morning at breakfast, the old man told Longarm that he would be willing to sell him some whiskey. He said, "You calculate that you be after two thousand gallons? I hear word is that you already got the price from Salem. He rode over when you wasn't looking and said it was all right with him. He'll be the one taking over most likely after I pass on."

Longarm was eating ham and eggs and biscuits. Sally was sitting across the table from him. He saw a faint smile flick across her face; he halfway suspected that he had something to do with it. He gave her the barest of winks. John and Mark, however, were glowering at him. It seemed that they never did anything but give him hard looks--no words, just hard looks.

Longarm said to the old man, "Well, I'm much obliged, Mr. Colton. I'd have hated to have come all this way and gone home with an empty wagon."