LONGARM AND THE JOHN BULL FEUD
By Tabor Evans
Jove Books New York Copyright (C) 1995 by Jove Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
ISBN: 0-515-11655-6
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
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A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Printing history Jove edition / July 1995
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him … the Gunsmith. LONGARM by Tabor Evans The popular long-running series about U.S. Deputy Marshal Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice. McMASTERS by Lee Morgan The blazing new series from the creators of Longarm. When McMasters shoots, he shoots to kill. To his enemies, he is the most dangerous man they have ever known. LONE STAR by Wesley Ellis The blazing adventures of Jessica Starbuck and the martial arts master, Ki. Over eight million copies in print. SLOCUM by Jake Logan Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.
Chapter 1
That gent who described the road to hell as paved with good intentions knew his onions. Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long intended a good turn for a fellow lawman as he made his way along a marble corridor of the Denver Federal Building with his tobacco-brown frock coat neatly buttoned over the grips of the .44-40 he was packing, cross-draw, on his left hip.
The tall dark deputy paused outside an oak-paneled door and got out a three-for-a-nickel cheroot, knowing how offensive some found that brand. He lit it with a wax-stemmed Mexican match and strode into his own home office with the long skinny smoke gripped at a jaunty angle by his innocent grin.
Young Henry the pallid clerk they had playing that typewriter out front, shot a thoughtful glance at the wall clock as he tried not to retch like a schoolmarm. He swallowed hard and said primly, “You’re supposed to be pulling courtroom duty down at the far end of the premises. If you’ve come to argue the point with our Marshal Vail, you just missed him. Didn’t he tell you he had to attend that out-of-town political powwow for the rest of this week?”
Their mutual boss sure had. Longarm, as he was better known to many a friend or foe, had been watching from behind a handy pillar out front as the fair but firm Billy Vail had driven off for Union Station in a hired hack. Longarm hated to get cussed out by such a skilled grump when his heart was pure.
He blew some more smoke Henry’s way and grabbed a handy bentwood chair to swing it around and settle astraddle across the desk from the green-faced clerk. “Smiley and Dutch are riding herd on that miscreant Judge Dickerson’s fixing to hang for getting so forward with an Indian agent’s wife,” Longarm said.
Henry shot another confused glance at that wall clock and asked in an injured tone, “Can’t anybody read the plain English I’m sure I typed out on this very machine? Smiley and Dutch are supposed to be at least as far west as Lookout Mountain even as we speak. The town law at a mining camp called John Bull is holding a federal want for us. Marshal Vail told me to send Smiley and Dutch to fetch him.”
Longarm nodded, exhaled more pungent tobacco smoke, and replied, “That’s what I wanted to talk to the boss about. But you’ll do just as fine, seeing you get to type up all them swell field orders.”
Henry just looked bewildered. So Longarm continued. “You must’ve heard about old Smiley busting up with that hot-tempered breed gal a spell back. His disposition’s improved a heap since he’s found his true love waiting on tables at Pfeiffer’s Beer Garden.”
Henry waved some papers between them as if to get a clearer view of Longarm as he grimaced and said, “I’ve seen her. Every man to his own taste, and Smiley was in here before you, trying to talk Marshal Vail into sending someone else so he could squire his new sweetie to that cake sale and dance at the Grange Hall this evening. The stenographer ladies down the way sent us a formal complaint about what Smiley said, with the words they found most shocking typed out in dashes.”
Longarm nodded soberly and replied, “Smiley don’t know how you reason with such a strict public servant as Billy Vail. I told him how you can’t change orders typed in triplicate just to squire a pretty gal to a shindig. You have to sweeten the pot with a change of value to the government, as I was hoping to had I caught up with the boss before he lit out on us.”
Henry frowned thoughtfully and said, “Picking up and transporting a petty crook and possible informant sounded simple enough as I was taking down Marshal Vail’s instructions. You get off the broad-gauge at Golden, transfer to the narrow-gauge running beyond Lookout Mountain, and ride, say, thirty miles by crow. I’d say it had to be a tad farther by hairpin turns through the Front Range, but we’re not talking about bringing back Doctor Livingston from darkest Africa.”
Longarm said, “That’s doubtless why Billy Vail assigned the two of ‘em. I reckon you know why the boss likes to team Smiley and Dutch?”
Henry nodded. “That’s no mystery. Smiley could track a swan across a lake if said swan had a federal warrant out on it. But Smiley can’t draw half as fast as the deadly but sort of dumb Dutch. So either one can get in trouble working alone. But with both of them working together, they add up to smarter and faster than anyone they’re likely to run up against.”
Henry waved more smoke out of his face as he added, “What are you smoking, a buzzard quill? The two of them were assigned to go fetch that half-baked young train robber because Marshal Vail and Judge Dickerson want to talk to him about the whereabouts of his older and meaner pals and that’s that, you smoldering dung heap!”
Longarm said, “A deputy in the field draws six cents a mile. His prisoner draws the same. That means Smiley and Dutch will be allowed twelve cents a mile going and eighteen cents a mile all the way back from John Bull.”
Henry snorted. “Gee, thanks. I never would have been able to work out by payday.”
Longarm pushed on. “I wasn’t planning on going to that Grange Hall this evening. It’s sort of tedious when a man bids on one gal’s cake and another one cries. So if I was to swap details with Smiley and Dutch, it would cost the taxpayers only six cents a mile one way and twelve the other. I ain’t talking crow miles neither. Them hairpin miles add up in the Front Range. So how’s about it, old son?”
Henry shook his head and said, “I follow your drift, and we both know Vail’s a Scotch name. But do I have the authority to change a superior’s orders without asking?”
Longarm tried, “We can say you asked me. I’m the superior lawman within earshot now that the cat’s away. If old Billy ain’t pleased as punch by the way you figured out how to save all that money for the government, you can blame it all on me, see?”
Henry could. As he put fresh onionskins and carbon paper in his machine he observed, “I heard about that friendly little game over at the House of Detention during the death watch of the late Roger Palechester. How much did Smiley get into you for, seeing you’re so anxious to change places with him on a dancing night in June?”
To which Longarm could only reply, “Enough,” with as sheepish a smile as he could muster. For he figured it might sound mushy if a grown man allowed he felt he owed another just for saving his life one time. And what the hell, whipping over to pick up one dumb kid and getting him back to Denver in one piece didn’t sound like such a hard row to hoe. Longarm intended to have Smiley’s chore finished by the time their boss got back from his own train ride.