Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter

by Evans, Tabor

  Longarm ate his steak, and then paid his score at the table and went back to his room. He had a window that faced the mountains where the Ashton spread lay. He put a chair in front of the window and rested his arms on the back of the chair, his chin on his arms. He sat there staring at the hard rocky mountains that sheltered that beautiful high-plains prairie and the lovely valley. He thought and he thought, and then he thought some more. Finally, he made up his mind. He got up, went out of the hotel, and walked around town, moving up one street and then back down the opposite side. The town wasn’t big enough that you’d miss much during a twenty-minute stroll. There were two general mercantile stores and one hardware store. He went into the hardware store and asked the man if they carried dynamite.

  The clerk was wearing green garters and a green eyeshade. He looked almost startled at Longarm’s question. “I reckon you must be a stranger in these parts,” he said. “Hell, even the grocery store carries dynamite. Yeah, I’ve got dynamite. Where is your wagon? I’ll load you up.”

  Longarm said, “How does it come?”

  “By the case. That’s the smallest amount you can buy. There’s forty sticks to a case. How many cases do you want?”

  Longarm said, “Well, I ain’t planning on blowing the mountains down. I just got a little work to do on a small claim I have. Doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. Can a man pay for two cases and just take one with him?”

  “Yeah, we can arrange that. What about blasting caps? You’ll need them. Do you know anything about blasting caps?”

  Longarm scratched his head. “Well, I know considerable about a lot of things, but not as well as I need to. Maybe you better explain what a blasting cap is.”

  The clerk gave him a funny look. “Mister, are you sure you want to go out and fool with this stuff? These ain’t Fourth of July firecrackers, you understand?”

  “Well, you see, I’ve got this claim kind of hid off back in the country. I’d just as soon tend to it myself.”

  The clerk ducked down beneath the counter, and came up with several red sticks of dynamite and a few little apparatuses that looked like buttons, only they weren’t made out of button material. He held one up. “This here is a blasting cap. You take your fuse and stick it in this, and then you crimp it into the end of your dynamite. You don’t set the dynamite off with the fuse like you might think. This here blasting cap will explode from the fuse. When it goes, that’s what makes the dynamite explode. So if you ain’t got a blasting cap in the stick of dynamite you’re going to explode, it ain’t going to go off.”

  Longarm looked puzzled. “What if you wanted to set off five or six sticks at once. Would you need a blasting cap and fuse in every one of them?”

  The clerk said, “No, just one will be enough. You tie them together real stout with string or even some tape we’ve got for that very purpose. When that one stick goes off, it sets the rest of them off and first thing you know, you’ve got a hell of a bang. But now, neighbor, this stuff is dangerous. You don’t want to be standing around the comer when you set it off.”

  “I reckon I can understand that,” Longarm said. “I reckon I’ll take two cases, and how do those blasting caps come?”

  “They come a dozen to a box and your fuse cord comes by the foot. It’s five cents a foot, and I’ll tell you what, it won’t ever hurt to have more than enough fuse cord. You ain’t ever going to get yourself blown up by having too much fuse cord. It’s the fellow that tries to use too little that generally finds out what a rock feels like when it hits him in the face.”

  Longarm said, “Well then, I reckon I’ll take fifty feet of fuse cord and a couple boxes of those blasting caps. I’m going to pay you for two cases of dynamite plus this other stuff, but I am going to leave one case with you. I don’t think I can tote it all in one lump, not having a wagon.”

  The clerk said, “Well, my name is Ed. Your dynamite will be here when you get ready for it. I live above the store, so if you need it in the middle of the night, you can come knock on the door.”

  The total came to $32.10. Longarm laid out the money and got a receipt. Billy Vail liked receipts. It made him a lot easier to get along with when you totaled up your cost of doing business.

  Longarm didn’t do much the rest of the day, and that night he had supper at the hotel. He didn’t see Finley. He wondered where his friendly-faced acquaintance was taking his meal. About eight o‘clock, he strolled over to the saloon, had a few drinks, and then found a seat in a poker game. Again, Finley was missing. Longarm played without much interest until about eleven o’clock. It was a game with lower stakes than he liked to play in. You couldn’t protect your hand when everyone just sat and drew cards. They couldn’t be run out with a big bet. To him, that wasn’t poker, it was just silly.

  He was glad enough to quit early anyway. He had plans for the next day, and he figured to be early to bed. He had one last drink at the bar, and then walked back around to his hotel. Just as he stepped back into the lobby, he saw Finley disappearing up the stairs. He started to call to him, but decided that it would be best to just spend the rest of the time by himself.

  Back in his room, Longarm took the top off the case of dynamite, and contemplated just how to go about what he had planned. It was a plan with several stages, and what he had in mind for the next day was just sort of an opening bet—a very small opening bet. To begin with, he took four sticks of dynamite and taped them together. The sales clerk had been right about the tape. It did a much better job of holding the sticks together than string would have done. After that, he took his knife and cut off two feet of the fuse cord. He ran one end into the blasting cap and set it near the four sticks. He wasn’t about to crimp that blasting cap into the dynamite until just before he was ready to use it.

  He took four more sticks, only this time, he cut the fuse cord four feet long. Again, he inserted it into one of the blasting caps, and again just laid it on top of the dynamite. He had brought his saddlebags in from the livery stable, and he intended to see how much dynamite he could carry in them. As best as Longarm could figure, it looked to be about two dozen sticks, though he wasn’t going to take that much on his first trip.

  His next bundle was six sticks and this time, he cut the blasting cord six feet long. Then he tied up a bundle of eight sticks. It was bulky and lethal-looking. It almost scared him to handle so much power. But for all the talk around town, he wouldn’t be surprised if every man in the hotel didn’t have a case of dynamite just sitting around. Certainly no one had even glanced at him when he walked back through the lobby with it from the hardware store.

  Once Longarm was satisfied with his load, he began packing it into his saddlebags. The two fours and the six-stick package fit well in one side of the saddlebags. The eight-stick bundle took up nearly all the room, outside of his spare six-gun, in the other side. It made him a little nervous having all that dynamite and all those blasting caps all wadded in together, but he figured it would be safe enough. The man at the hardware store had made it clear that the blasting caps would not go off without fire from the fuse cord. He damned sure wasn’t going to strike any matches around them. The clerk at the store had reassured him that he could jostle it or shovel it around or mash it or stomp on it, and it still wouldn’t explode.

  Longarm set the saddlebags handy by the door, and then had a long drink of his Maryland whiskey. He measured the bottle to see how much he had left.

  His mind still wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. He was going to make an early morning attack, somewhere between four and five o’clock, maybe even a little later than that. He knew it would be awfully quiet at that hour and any noise he made would be magnified. But also, he figured there would be fewer guards and less chance of him being seen. It seemed to him that it was a better idea than trying to pull the stunt off at four in the afternoon or six or ten at night. Besides, he wanted to be back at the hotel and in his bed once the excitement started.

  It was solid dark when Longarm woke.
He struck a match to look at his watch. It read ten minutes until four. That was close enough for his purposes. With very little effort, he shrugged into his clothes and pulled his boots on, and then strapped on his gun belt, made sure the derringer was in place, and then put on his hat. After that, he shouldered his saddlebags, picked up his winchester, and opened the door. The lobby was dark, and there seemed to be no one behind the desk. That suited him just fine.

  He went out the front door of the hotel and skirted around to the livery stable. The boy who was supposed to be minding the place was asleep on a hay bale. Longarm set his saddle blanket and saddle on the back of the gray mare, and then led her quietly out of the livery stable. He hated to use the animal again so soon, but he thought the bay gelding might be a little too excitable for the work he had planned.

  The town was sleeping. He saw no one about. He walked behind the first line of buildings where he would be out of sight, and then saddled the mare by cinching her up tight and tying on the saddlebags. That clerk might have said that no amount of jostling would set off the explosives, but he wasn’t going to be any too careless with it. He put his rifle home in the boot, swung aboard, and then set off toward the direction of Ashton’s place.

  At a slow trot, it was a two-mile ride to the foot of the little mountains that ringed the place. You couldn’t call them mountains. They were really crags and buttes and tips from other rock piles that had been there in the past. They led up and into the gigantic Rockie Mountains, but these were just the early steps. Nevertheless, they were an obstacle to be reckoned with and one not so small.

  As Longarm rode, he looked back toward the town. Even in the morning dark, the town still looked asleep. He was satisfied that he had left unnoticed by anyone except the few town dogs that were lounging around the street. Not that it made any difference. He really didn’t particularly care if any one had seen him. It would be very difficult to connect his early morning departure with events that would happen later on in the day.

  After a few more minutes’ ride, Longarm could see, through the gray of the fading night, the cleft of the opening in the crag that was the entrance to Ashton’s place. He rode almost to it so as to get his bearings, and then turned to his right to circle the little line of foothills that stood like a picket fence around the high-plains pasture. He was going in a direction that he took to be southerly.

  Longarm rode for approximately a half mile, calculating that on the other side of the rocks was about where he had been stopped by Charlie and Ernie, who had disarmed him. Apparently that was a lookout position. He went on a little further, searching for a little easier line of country where there might be passage for his horse.

  Finally, about a mile from the entrance, he found a small depression between two rocky mounds, and turned the mare up into the little crease and made his way with difficulty up the side of the rocky hill. It was hard going, and he didn’t want to push the mare too much. After he had gone a little over halfway, he pulled her up and then climbed down. He dropped her reins to the ground, knowing she would stand and wait. After that, he rummaged in his saddlebags and got out the two bundles of dynamite that contained four sticks. Holding one in each hand, he made his way with some difficulty toward the top of the hill. Longarm was guessing at his location but when finally, with a last labored effort, he cleared his head above the obstructing rocks, he was able to see down into the pasture. He was very close to where he had been turned over to Ernie and Charlie to be killed.

  Longarm wasted very little time. He took one of the four-stick bundles and slipped down on the other side of the hill, moving carefully so as not to attract attention. Movement caught the eye more than shape or form. About a third of the way down the hillside, he found a cluster of rocks that looked like it would suit his needs. He slipped the four sticks in under the pile of rocks and with a trembling hand, crimped the blasting cap into the end of one of the sticks, leaving the fuse cord extending away from the dynamite. Then, still moving quickly but with caution, he proceeded on southerly for another fifty yards until he found another outcropping of rocks that he thought would suit his purpose. As quickly as he could, he buried the second bundle of dynamite in place, crimped those off with the blasting cap, and then reached into his pocket for a match.

  With trembling fingers, he held the fuse cord in one hand and struck the match with the other. When the flame was going good, he held it to the fuse cord. It began to sputter. He immediately jumped up and moved as fast as he could to where he had left the first bundle of dynamite. There he struck another match and lit that fuse. He didn’t wait to see if it was going good. He knew that with the first fuse burning, he only had a little time. All he wanted to do now was get over the hump of the hill and be protected. He could see his mare had backed partway down the hill until she was almost off it, her reins still hanging to the ground. She wouldn’t run as long as those reins held her to the ground. As far as she was concerned, she was tied.

  Longarm swung his head back around just as the first blast let go. The enormity of it startled even him. A huge cloud of rocks and dust and smoke rose in the air, and a boom like the end of the world shattered the stillness of the world. But that boom had no more than begun to die down when the second went off and the rocks and dirt and smoke again went flying in every direction. Longarm could see that in both cases the explosions had started small landslides. Rocks were still bounding down the hill from the first explosion. As he watched, he saw several riders approaching his way. He began to back down the hill as swiftly as he could. The explosion had startled the mare, but as steady as she was, she had recovered from the fright, and was now just standing away from the side of the mountain, looking up, trembling slightly.

  It took Longarm another two or three minutes, but finally he was at the mare’s side. He put a boot in the stirrup and swung aboard. Just south about a mile, right along the picket row of rocky hills, was a little grove of trees. He had noticed it earlier. He rode that way, riding just at the foot of the outcropping, but keeping far enough out so that his horse didn’t step on a stray rock. In a matter of a few moments, he had the horse in among the little pine trees that grew where there was enough dirt to allow thirty or forty of them to take root. He rode into the grove, keeping the horse concealed, and then jumped down, pulling out his rifle from his boot as he did so. He started up the incline. At this point, the hill was not as rocky and it was much easier going. With labored breath, he dodged rocks and crevasses as he made his way to the top. He figured it would take some time for the riders to locate where the explosions had taken place and then to make their way to them. He expected them to be cautious. He had calculated that he would have the time to get to the firing spot well away from where he had set off the dynamite.

  He reached the crest of the butte and went flat on his belly, slowly easing toward a line of sight to the prairie below. He took off his hat to better disguise his presence. He could see a half dozen to eight or ten riders coming. Most of them were headed from the south from where the big house and the outbuildings were located. He assumed that one of those outbuildings was a bunkhouse, maybe even more than one. A couple of other riders were coming from the east, across the pasture, and a couple more were coming from the north at the opening in the ring of hills. It was about what he’d expected. He pulled his Winchester up, cocking the hammer as he did, and sighted on the bunch of men riding from the ranch headquarters.

  He had to wait, for they were too far away to get a good shot. As he watched, they neared, coming now to where they were only about six hundred yards away, then five hundred, then four hundred. He sighted on the lead rider and fired. Almost before the sound of the shot quit pounding in his ears, the rider went flipping off his horse and rolled over and over like a rag doll along the prairie. It caused the other riders to come to almost a complete stop. They were looking wildly around, not sure whether it was another explosion or a gunshot or just what it really was. He took that time to lever another shell into his
carbine and sight in on another rider. He fired, and that rider went over backward.

  Now, they no longer hesitated in confusion. As one, the riders wheeled their horses and headed frantically back toward the south, the direction they had come from. Longarm got one more cartridge into the chamber and sighted on the back of the last man in line. He fired, and the rider slumped sideways in the saddle. For a second, it appeared that he would be able to hang on, but then the weight of his body pulled him off the side of his horse. He fell, landing on his head and shoulders and flipping up into the air, almost as if he was doing a handstand.

  By now, the riders were out of sight. Longarm worked the lever of his carbine and looked to his left for the other four riders he had seen. One of them had veered toward the south, not aware, apparently, of the three men who had been shot. Longarm leveled his rifle, led the man a full yard, and then fired.

  It was as if the rider had run into a clothesline, so quickly did he leave his horse. One second, the horse and rider were pounding over the prairie together. The next, the horse was going along and the rider was bouncing along on the ground. The other three riders pulled up and stopped. They glanced up toward the line of hills, looking to see where the fire was coming from. Longarm slipped slowly down below the top ridgeline and sat quietly. He was breathing more heavily than normal, but that was from the climb more than anything else.

  He had just done something that was not in his nature to do. He had fired from ambush on men that he did not have a direct fight with, but the way he figured it, it didn’t much matter. They worked for Vernon Ashton. And Vernon Ashton had decided to kill him or have him killed by such men as he had just shot. And if they were the kind of men who would kill another man just on the words of a man who paid them, then he felt no compunction and no guilt about ambushing them. They were his enemies plain and simple.