All that Longarm discovered after an inspection of the corral was a horse's hoofprint revealing a broken right shoe. That, and a cigarette butt that was wrapped in an unusual pale yellow paper that Longarm had not seen before. Otherwise, the corral, the cabin, and the surrounding yard offered not a shred of evidence that would help to identify the train robbers.
"These boys are pretty careful," Longarm muttered as he hauled his bedroll and gear into the cabin and then set about to make himself a small fire on a stone hearth.
That night, the wind blew hard and cold. Longarm slept poorly, and was up before dawn to saddle his horse. He could not exactly say why, but he was sure that the train robbers were heading for Laramie. No doubt they would filter into the busy town in ones and twos in order to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
Longarm's hunch was confirmed a few hours later when the tracks indicated that the gang had gathered about a mile west of town, then separated into a number of small groups, all moving toward Laramie from different directions and probably all staggered so that they'd arrive over a period of several hours.
"But then what?" Longarm asked himself aloud. "Do they live in Laramie? Work on ranches in the vicinity? Or will they drift on down the line singly and in pairs, only to regroup and plot another train robbery?"
These were the questions that plagued Longarm as he approached Laramie. Unlike Cheyenne, Laramie had existed before the arrival of the Union Pacific Railroad. The town had been named after Jacques Laramie, a Frenchman who had first passed through this beautiful country while trapping beaver for the American Fur Company. Following his path had come the emigrants, soldiers, and fortune-seekers, many tracing the old Cherokee Trail. Fort Sanders, just to the South, had offered protection to the Overland Stage Line, and later for the predominantly Irish survey and construction crews of the Union Pacific.
Longarm had always liked this town, which was nestled against the western base of the mountains. Laramie was picturesque, and could boast of its wild and exciting history. Vigilantes had played a big part in the early years, and now Laramie was home to not only the railroad employees, but also to the cowboys, loggers, and even miners who worked this ruggedly beautiful part of Wyoming.
When the tracks he followed had begun to branch into many splintered pairs, just as Longarm had anticipated, he'd made sure that he followed the horse with the broken shoe. It was an easy track to follow, and Longarm was pinning all his hopes on being able to locate the animal and then its owner. If he could just nab one of the train robbers, he might be able to get a confession leading to the arrest of the entire gang.
The track he had chosen to follow, however, became obliterated at the edge of Laramie, where it was trampled and churned under by heavy wagon and horse traffic. Longarm sighed with resignation. He knew he had been unrealistic in his hope that the track would be plainly visible all the way into town, but still, he needed some break in this case.
At the edge of town, Longarm drew his horse to a standstill and considered his options for a moment. Actually, there was only one--he had to find the horse with the broken shoe before it was reshod and his only clue was lost.
"Best go see the town's blacksmiths," he said to himself, thinking that the train robber had to be aware that his horse needed to be reshod.
Unfortunately, there were three blacksmiths operating in Laramie. Longarm made it a Point to visit them all. The first blacksmith had just closed his business and moved to California, but the second blacksmith was hard at work when Longarm arrived on his sweaty sorrel.
"Morning," he said to the man, who was in the middle of shoeing a horse. "I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long. Fella up the street told me that your name is Ned Rowe."
"Whoever he was talks too damned much."
The horse being shod was acting up and the blacksmith was clearly angry. "Can't you see that I'm right in the middle of a horse that's about to raise holy hell!"
"I can see that," Longarm said. "So why don't you put his foot down and step back for a minute. I've got a couple of questions I'd like to ask."
"You may be a federal officer, but you don't pay my rent," the blacksmith growled. "So if you got anything to say, say it while I'm tacking on this shoe. I ain't got no time to waste on free talk, DePutY."
"Mister, I don't see how you stay in business with such a chip on your shoulder."
The blacksmith glared at Longarm. "If you had to shoe as many ornery horses and mules as I do each day to make a living, you'd have better things to do than to waste people's time. Now, I ain't seen your badge yet."
Longarm gritted his teeth to keep from increasing the immediate dislike he and the blacksmith had taken to each other. He summoned up enough patience to show the man his badge, which he did not routinely keep on display. Like most things, Longarm had a good reason for keeping his badge out of sight most of the time. He'd known desperate and hunted outlaws to actually draw their guns and shoot badge-toters without warning.
"That satisfy you, or do I have to find your sheriff and make things ugly?"
"Whoa!" the blacksmith yelled, jumping back as the horse he was shoeing tried to rear. "Goddamn you jug-headed sonofabitch!"
"You haven't got much patience, have you?" Longarm drawled as the blacksmith jerked on the horse's lead rope and tried to discipline it to shoeing.
The blacksmith took a swing at the horse, but missed and crashed to the ground.
Suppressing a smile, Longarm said, "Mr. Rowe, it's plain to see that the animal is scared. Give him a few minutes to settle down and talk to him gentle and I'll bet he'd behave himself. Save you both some considerable wear and tear."
"Do you want to shoe this miserable bastard?"
"Nope."
"Then what the hell do you want?"
Longarm could see that this man was in a bad state of mind and nothing but a fight and a good whipping would correct Ned Rowe's poor way of thinking. "Well, to begin with, I want to know if that horse was brought in with a broken right shoe."
"Nope." Rowe yanked on the horse's lead rope again. "So why are you asking such a foolish question?"
"I'm looking for a horse with a broken right shoe. Probably a right foreshoe."
"If you find the animal and it's got any sense, send it my way," Rowe growled. "I can always use the business."
Longarm dismounted and dropped to one knee. He dug his pocket knife out of his Levi's and said, "Come here and take a look at what I'm about to show you."
Rowe started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut as if he thought better of it. "What the hell are you going to do?"
"If someone brings in an animal with a shoe like this," Longarm said, sketching a horseshoe to indicate how the track he had followed down from the cabin had appeared, "then I'll pay you ten dollars to alert me."
The anger drained out of the blacksmith's square face, and was replaced by a look of cunning. "Say now, Deputy, this wouldn't have anything to do with that train wreck up at the summit, would it?"
"Ten dollars," Longarm repeated. "And if it leads to the arrest of the men I want, there could be a whole lot more in reward money."
The blacksmith's entire demeanor underwent a transformation. "I'll keep it in mind, Marshal! My back aches and I can't pay my bills, what with the hard times we're in right now. How much is the reward for them train robbers?"
"I didn't say anything about any train robbers."
"You didn't have to. I'm not stupid, and neither is anyone else in this town. We're expecting a whole raft of lawmen to come sniffin' around looking for that bunch of murderin' sonofabitches."
"Well," Longarm said, "I was on that train and my prisoner escaped and a lot of passengers died. So I have a personal need to get my hands on those men first. Is that clear?"