Longarm and the Yuma Prison (4 page)

Longarm and Jessica sat on the front porch of the Plum Street house, sipping coffee and watching the sun go down. They hadn't spoken for a while but had waved at some of the passersby, many with children in tow. Finally, Longarm said, “This is a fine little house. Are you sure you want to sell it?”

“I need the money for that Yuma lawyer,” she replied. “And besides, I have memories here of my mother and father and while most are good, the house is haunted with those remembrances. I think I would always feel some loss here.”

“Maybe so. You've got quite a bit of work to be done here if you're going to try and sell it.”

“I'll go after it hard and maybe I'll find some help,” Jessica told him.

“I know a good and honest real estate salesman. Would you like him to stop by and give you some idea of an asking price?”

“Sure. But let's wait on that at least until I've cleaned up the inside and fumigated the place. Can I still spend nights at your place?”

“I'd be disappointed if you didn't.”

“What about this business with Zeke and the Buffalo Saloon? Are you going there with him to arrest those brothers that put the sheriff in the hospital this evening?”

“I am,” Longarm told her.

“I'll be worried about you.”

“I'll be fine. They don't know me and I'll have the advantage of surprise. I'm more worried about Zeke than I am about myself.”

“Why?”

“He hates the Wittman brothers, and I'm concerned that he might go off half-cocked and start a shoot-out in the saloon.”

“Maybe you should insist that he stays at the jail.”

“He wouldn't do that. But I will make him leave his shotgun at the office. The last thing we need is for him to open with both barrels into a small space crowded with people.”

“I see what you mean,” Jessica said quietly. “I'll be waiting at your place when this is over.”

“There is an extra key hidden under the potted plant at the end of the hall,” Longarm told her. “Help yourself to whatever you need there.”

“I'll be needing you,” she told him.

“That's music to my ears, Jessica.”

 • • • 

Ten minutes later the sun was down and Longarm was on the move. He stopped by a small café and had a quick meal, then made his way to the sheriff's office to find Zeke pacing the floor with impatience.

“What took you so long?” the man challenged.

“I spent some time with Jessica just watching the folks passing by and then had a meal.” Longarm studied the older man. “Look, Zeke, I wish you'd just stay here and let me arrest those brothers.”

“You don't even know what they look like.”

“I can ask the bartender to point them out . . . hell, they may not even be there this evening.”

“They will be there,” Zeke said, voice shaking with anger, as he walked over to grab the shotgun.

“That stays here,” Longarm told the man.

“The hell you say!”

“Zeke, a shotgun in a saloon shoots too wide a pattern. If you opened it up on the Wittman brothers, you could kill some innocent bystanders and I won't have that.”

Zeke glared at Longarm. “I told you that I'm not much good with a pistol anymore. Slow and not all that accurate.”

“All the more reason why you should stay here and wait until I bring them in to be jailed.”

“I can't do that.”

“If you want my help, you'll play by my rules. What's it going to be?”

Zeke's inward struggles showed on his old, lined face but at last he nodded his head. “All right, I'll do it your way.”

“When we enter the saloon, point the brothers out to me and stay back. If they see us together, I'll have lost my advantage of surprise. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“Then let's go.”

Longarm headed outside and took in a deep breath of fresh air. He knew that a rough crowd frequented the Buffalo Saloon and there was a good possibility that a few of them would recognize him as a federal lawman. There might even be a couple of men that he'd arrested and sent to jail or prison. But that could not be helped.

“There it is,” Zeke said. “Sounds crowded.”

“Yeah,” Longarm agreed. “Let's just ease inside nice and quiet. You look around and tell me when you spot the brothers.”

“Count on it,” Zeke said in a tight voice.

Longarm entered first and the saloon was packed. He stepped aside of the doorway and let Zeke join him. A full minute went by and then Zeke started moving through the noisy crowd. Longarm followed after the old man, ready to grab him by the collar and pull him out of danger.

“There they are,” Zeke said much too loudly as he headed straight for the brothers.

The Wittman brothers were twins. They were handsome and not particularly large men and both wore guns on their hips. They were standing together at the far end of the bar laughing and talking to a couple of saloon girls.

Longarm grabbed Zeke by the sleeve and yanked him back. The brothers spotted Zeke and the smiles died on their faces. Something passed between them and they eased away from the bar and suddenly the room was quiet and filled with tension.

Longarm knew that the brothers had seen him grab and pull Zeke aside and now his advantage of surprise was lost.

“You two are under arrest for assaulting and seriously injuring Sheriff Morrell in this saloon. Also, I understand you beat the hell out of a woman who worked here.”

“A whore,” one of the brothers said, “who got mouthy and got her mouth filled with my fist.”

“Put your guns on the bar top and do it with your left hands,” Longarm ordered quietly.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I'm a United States marshal and I am arresting you.”

A voice from across the room bellowed, “That's the big son of a bitch that tossed us out of our house today!”

Longarm saw Willard jump up from a card table in the far end of the room. Suddenly, everything was moving fast. Behind him, Zeke cursed and shoved Longarm aside as he drew his pistol and opened fire on the Wittman brothers.

The room exploded in gunfire. Zeke had knocked Longarm off balance and he staggered, but was able to right his balance and go for his gun. The brothers were fast, but Longarm wasn't where they expected and that gave him a split second's edge. He fired as rapidly as he could pull his trigger. Men shouted and dived under tables. Willard came crashing through the crowd and Zeke shot him in the belly twice while taking fire. Longarm felt a bullet slice across his shoulder and he emptied his pistol until the Wittman brothers were on the floor. Willard was screaming and thrashing around in the sawdust and Longarm scooped up the man's gun.

“Nobody move!” he yelled at the top of his voice. “This fight is finished!”

Zeke collapsed, arm sweeping mugs of beer from the bar's top as he went down.

Longarm backed up a step, taking everything in with a glance. The room was dead still, most of the customers either streaming out the saloon's rear entrance into an alley or lying frozen on the sawdust.

“Son of a bitch!” Longarm swore, gun still up as he knelt beside Zeke. “You crazy old bastard!”

But Zeke wasn't listening because he was dead. So were the Wittman brothers and big, fat Willard.

Four dead men in four seconds, maybe a few more. Longarm glanced at his shoulder and saw the blood soaking into his coat.

“Are you really a federal marshal,” the bartender finally asked, breaking the silence like the shattering of glass.

Longarm nodded and removed his badge. He showed it to the bartender and the rest of the crowd. “Anyone see who shot first?”

“The old man,” one of the patrons offered. “He put a slug in Slade Wittman and then Pace put a couple in him and that's all that I saw before all hell broke loose.”

Longarm glared at the crowd. He spotted Willard's brothers sitting frozen at their card table and braced them. “If you fat sons o' bitches have a mind to settle a score with me, then stand up and go for your guns right now.”

They both wagged their chins back and forth.

Longarm pointed the barrel of Willard's gun first at one and then the other. “You're leaving town and never returning,” he told them. “If I see either of you, I'll shoot on sight. Understood?”

They nodded.

“Then get the hell out of Denver.”

“Can't we even take Willard to be buried someplace?” one of the brothers whined.

“All right, drag him out of here in a hurry!”

Longarm shoved Willard's gun in behind his belt and picked up his own weapon and holstered it. “We're taking up a collection here tonight. Every man in this room is going to put money into the hat for the burial of Zeke Morrell and the medical expenses of his son, Sheriff Morrell, who was beaten half to death in this saloon.

Longarm picked up Zeke's hat and sent it around the room. “If I see any man not contributing, I'll deal with him right now!”

The hat filled with greenbacks and coins. It overflowed with money. Longarm shoved it all into his pocket and picked up Zeke's body and left the saloon.

On Monday morning, Longarm went to his office and sought out his boss, Billy Vail.

“Come on in and close the door,” Billy said, looking up from his ever-present pile of paperwork. “You look worn out, Custis. I thought you were planning on going to the horse races and having a quiet time this weekend.”

Longarm took a chair. “Well, sometimes our plans just don't work out right. Billy, I hate to tell you this, but I was in a shoot-out at the Buffalo Saloon this weekend.”

Billy laid down his pen and stared hard at his deputy marshal. “What the hell happened this time?”

“It's kind of a long story and I don't think it's one that you're going to like.”

“I'm sure that it isn't,” Billy said. “But tell me anyway.”

“Well, Friday when I left here I was sought out by a young lady from Arizona named Miss Jessica Ray.”

“Ray,” Billy said. “I knew a—”

“It's his daughter,” Longarm interrupted.

“Tom Ray's daughter showed up here in Denver after all these years? What happened to her father?”

“He's serving a lifetime sentence in the Yuma penitentiary for murder.”

Billy dropped his pen and stared. “Tom was a mighty good man. I can't quite imagine that he'd kill someone without provocation or good reason.”

“His daughter says that Tom was playing poker at a saloon in Yuma when he realized that two of the men at the table were working together to rig the game. When he confronted them, the shooting started and Tom was faster and shot straighter. Then, the local marshal barged into the room and pistol-whipped Tom from behind. Tom Ray was hauled up before a judge and sentenced to life in prison.”

Billy shook his head. “Surely there must have been witnesses in that saloon willing to testify that Tom Ray shot and killed in self-defense.”

“Apparently not.” Longarm leaned back in his chair. “Tom and his daughter, Jessica, prospected all over southern Arizona and they finally staked a claim by the Colorado River that was proving to be very profitable. Jessica thinks that the reason why the judge and the marshal railroaded Tom is because they wanted his mining claim.”

“I see.” Billy shook his head. “Tom left here eight or nine years ago after he and his wife and daughter were ambushed. The wife died and Tom became a very bitter man. I liked him, but he was a powder keg waiting to explode.”

“What are you trying to say?” Longarm asked.

“I'm not trying to say anything. But I am suggesting that Tom left Denver an embittered man. He may have taken to hard drinking and fighting. It's possible, Custis, that the two men he shot to death weren't really working together and that they didn't draw their guns first. It's possible that Tom Ray has fallen so low that he gunned down two innocent men and received the proper life sentence.”

Longarm considered this for a few moments. “All right,” he said, “it is possible that justice was served in Yuma. But what if Jessica Ray is right and that her father was set up to take a murder charge so that he would lose his gold mine?”

“Is his daughter's name on the mining claim they had along the river?”

“I don't know.”

“If it isn't, then I'm not sure what you or anyone else can do about this,” Billy mused aloud. “And my next question is, why are you getting involved?”

“Because Jessica Ray is being railroaded. Her uncle, Willard Paxton, and his two brothers, Clyde and Herman . . .”

“Wait a minute! What has this uncle to do with Tom Ray and his imprisonment for murder?”

“Like I said, it's a long story. But the short of it is that Zeke Morrell shot and killed . . .”

“Old Zeke Morrell, the former sheriff?”

“Yeah. You see, these two brothers, the Wittmans, got the drop on Zeke's son, Sheriff Art Morrell, and damn near beat him to death . . . along with a saloon whore. So Zeke and I went to the saloon to arrest the brothers.”

“Don't tell me,” Billy groaned. “There was a gunfight and you shot the brothers to death along with all three of Jessica Ray's uncles.”

“No,” Longarm said quickly. “I shot one of the Wittman brothers, but old Zeke shot the other along with Willard. I let two of Jessica Ray's uncles leave the saloon but warned them to get out of Denver.”

Billy waved his hands in the air. “Hold on! You killed one of the Wittman brothers, but old Zeke Morrell killed the other and Uncle Willard?”

“That's about the size of it.” Longarm sighed. “But Zeke was killed in the battle. I had the crowd take up a collection for him and his son who is in the hospital.”

Billy groaned. “I can't believe this,” he said. “What a mess!”

“I know,” Longarm said, looking a bit chagrined. “But you see, Uncle Willard and his brothers had taken over Jessica's house and—”

“Enough!” Billy cried. “You're giving me a headache!”

“Sorry, Billy, but I told you it was complicated.”

Billy placed his head in his hands. “Custis, you should have come over to my house and had some of that pot roast and my wife's apple pie like I begged you to do Friday afternoon.”

“Yeah, you're right, Billy.”

“So instead you get yourself involved with Tom Ray's daughter and wind up in a big fucking gunfight where old Zeke Morrell, Uncle Willard, and two gawdamn brothers end up dead.”

“They had stomped Sheriff Morrell into the sawdust and sent him to the hospital with major injuries,” Longarm said. “Are we in the business of letting someone do that to our own kind now?”

“Of course not,” Billy snapped. “But you could have waited until this morning and gotten some advice and help.”

“Some things don't wait well,” Longarm said quietly. “I did take up a collection at the saloon for Zeke and to help pay his son's medical bills. And there are witnesses aplenty that saw how it all happened and that I wasn't the one that drew my gun first.”

“You said Zeke did that.”

“Well, I'm pretty sure that he did. Actually, there was so much shooting and shoving and all hell breaking loose that it was a little hard to say who did what exactly when.”

“Oh, man,” Billy moaned. “This day is starting out to be the worst ever.”

Longarm came to his feet. “You're taking this a little too hard, Billy. We got Uncle Willard and his brothers out of that house on Plum Street and Jessica is cleaning it up like crazy. She intends to sell the house and use the money for a Yuma lawyer that will get her father out of that penitentiary.”

“Okay! Okay!” Billy shouted. “But can you just . . . just let it go and stay out of the entire mess now?”

“Not yet,” Longarm said. “I'm going to pay a visit to Lee Monroe, the attorney. Uncle Willard said that he had some papers proving that ownership. Of course, the papers have to be false documents. I need to get that cleared up before Jessica can sell her house.”

“So what are you intending to do when you meet the attorney? Shoot him down?”

“Hell no. I'll just put some fear into him and get the matter straightened out right away. Billy, I'm sure you've heard of the man and know that he's as crooked as a dog's back leg.”

“Yeah, I've heard that, but I really don't want you to do any more damage than has already been done.”

“Sorry, Billy. But I've got to get this deed thing straightened out for Jessica Ray.”

“You're screwing her.”

Longarm made a face. “Come on! You know that isn't a nice way to put it.”

“Nice or not, you're screwing Tom Ray's daughter and she's got you hooked into this all the way. True or not?”

“Okay, we're . . . we're sleeping together.”

“No, you're not. If you were sleeping you wouldn't have those dark circles around your eyes. You left here on Friday afternoon looking rested and good. You come into my office on Monday morning, tell me you were involved in a shooting that claimed four lives and you look like hell.”

“I just need a good night's sleep, Billy. You don't have to have such a chapped ass over this whole thing. Justice needed to be served this weekend and I just happened to have my name called. You'd have done the same thing given the same circumstances.”

“Bullshit!”

Longarm got up and headed for the door. “I hope you make the coffee a little stronger than usual. I'm going to check on things at my desk, have a cup of coffee, and then go see that attorney, Lee Monroe. As soon as I get that settled, I'll get back into a routine.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“You'll see,” Longarm told his boss as he left the office, “I'll just get this last little thing taken care of and then get back to normal.”

“Hey!” Billy yelled.

Longarm stopped in the middle of the office. “You don't have to shout, Billy.”

“Just don't you even think of going to Yuma, Arizona!”

“Never entered my mind, Boss.”

Billy muttered something and slammed his door, causing Longarm to wonder if the man's own weekend had also been a disaster.