by Evans, Tabor
The curious part about it was that he could have understood if Ashton had suspected that he was a peace officer. That would have made sense. But Ashton had simply ordered him killed, probably just because he could. Longarm had presented himself as a horse trader, and Ashton had decided that he wasn’t. So if indeed he had come there as an innocent horse trader, he would have still been killed if he hadn’t been a United States deputy marshal, able to handle himself in a tight place.
The whole situation made him furious. He didn’t reckon he had ever despised a man as much as he despised Vernon Ashton. It made him shake inside with anger, and if it was the last thing he ever did, he intended to wipe Vernon Ashton completely out. But he knew he couldn’t do that as long as Ashton was surrounded by thirty or forty guns. Therefore, the only way to get to him was to get him naked—take off his clothes, take off his hired guns—and leave him standing there with only his own abilities to protect himself. Longarm would see how he liked that.
It had come a good dawn now, and Longarm still had a few chores left to do. He doubted that Ashton’s gunhands would come so readily to the bait the next time, but he was going to make the bait much bigger in hopes that they would.
Aware now that he would have to proceed more carefully, Longarm made his way down to the little grove of pines. He caught up with his horse and rode further south along the base of the hill line. He glanced back toward town, but it was too far for him to see if there was any activity or if anyone had gotten curious about the explosions. He doubted that they had, though. As far away as Ashton’s place was, the blast would have sounded almost identical to those that came twenty-four hours a day from the mines.
This time, Longarm rode a good long distance, almost two miles, perhaps a little further. He wanted to be much closer to Ashton’s headquarters, but yet he didn’t want to come directly even with it. He pulled his horse up and looked up the hill. This would be harder going. It was steeper and much more rocky. He wouldn’t be able to use his horse to help him at all. He would have to climb the whole way in his high-heeled boots while carrying his rifle and the two bundles of dynamite. In the end, he put his saddlebags over his shoulder, took his rifle in his left hand, and started up the hill. He had taken time to reload his carbine, though he doubted that he would have a chance to use it.
It was hard going, and this part of the mountains was higher than the others had been. Now, he had to help himself along with his free hand, with the saddlebags flopping over his shoulder, trying to keep from banging his carbine against the rocks. It took him about fifteen minutes to reach the top, but when he did, he could see that he had picked a good spot. Very clear in the near foreground were the outbuildings. Two of them were long, low structures that he was willing to bet were bunkhouses. That was what he wanted to stir up. The other good thing was that there were plenty of rock heaps on the ranch side of the mountain.
Longarm knew he would have to work quick because it would be easy to spot him as he worked around the rocks. He left his rifle on the off side and took the two bundles of dynamite, one containing six sticks and the one containing eight, and slipped over the crest of the little mountain. He worked his way about a third of the way down until he found some big boulders with some rocks the size of barrels. They looked to be just what he had in mind.
Now, he was going to do it a little more dangerously. He crimped the blasting cap into the end of the dynamite. This one had a six-foot cord. It would take three minutes for the fuse to burn. He put it in place, lit the fuse, and then hurried south along the mountain face, searching for a home for the eight-stick bundle. He didn’t have to go but about a hundred yards. He found a small crevice in between a half-dozen rocks, and shoved the bundle in there. He crimped the blasting cap in place, and then lit the fuse. He turned and hurried as fast as he could to get to the crest. In a second, the bundle with six sticks was going to blast.
He had just made it over and onto the other side when there came a tremendous boom and roar. Longarm watched as a huge cloud of smoke and dust and dirt and rocks erupted from the other side of the mountain. When he was certain they were not going to rain down on him, he peeked over the edge. When he looked, he could see that some of the rocks were falling close enough to the outbuildings to draw the notice of the occupants. He saw one or two figures come to the door and look out. As quickly as he could he raced down to where he had left his rifle.
Just as he reached it, the second bundle went off, this blast sounding even louder than the other. As far away as he was, at least a hundred and fifty yards, he could still feel the thrust of the blast and the concussion as the air was blown apart. Now, as he looked down, he could see rocks hitting the buildings, including the two long, low structures he had taken to be bunkhouses. Half-a-dozen men had come out and looked up to see what had happened. These were men who had been asleep, who had not turned out for his first little attempt to get their attention. But they had come out now and were standing in the yard of the bunkhouse, staring up at the smoke and dust that were still rising.
They were too far away to make for anything but a lucky shot. But they were close together and there was a number of them. He levered a cartridge into the chamber and fired as quickly as he could, firing once, twice, three times. He fired six times until the hammer clicked on empty. He saw four men fall. He could not tell how badly they were hurt. As soon as the shells were spent, Longarm turned and hurried down the mountain as fast as he could. He had an idea that more work would be coming his way.
He got to his horse, but before he mounted, Longarm took a moment to reach into his saddlebags and take out some cartridges to reload. He leaned across the saddle, rammed the rifle home in its boot, and mounted up. He was moving a little more slowly than when he’d started. He did not recall ever running up and down so many hills before in all of his life. He also did not much like what he was doing, but he didn’t see where he had any choice. It had been forced on him. A hand he hadn’t cared to play had been dealt to him by a crooked dealer. Now he was going to make that dealer pay.
He turned the mare north, heading toward the break in the line of mountains. It was his guess that he had stirred up a hornet’s nest and that the hornets were shortly going to be coming out of the hole in the nest. He was going to be there to greet them.
As he rode, he rapidly ran through his mind what damage he possibly could have done. He knew of eight men, possibly ten, that he had finished off or seriously wounded that morning. Add to that the two from the day before, and he figured he had depleted Ashton of a quarter of his resources. He figured if he could get it down to about half, the men would begin to look at each other and wonder if they were being paid enough. It was one thing to lead the easy life and shoot strangers on Ashton’s orders when you were in no danger yourself. They probably thought they were well paid, well fed, and well taken care of, but when men were dying around you, you had to wonder if you might possibly be next. Longarm didn’t think they would view the job as such a plum.
At least, that was his hope. He hoped that he could discourage enough of them so that the rest would up and quit. He wanted Ashton on the ranch, all by himself in the big house with that good-looking Spanish woman. He didn’t know about Early. He wasn’t fooled by the man’s cheerful face. He had marked the man down for a stone killer. There was no doubt in his mind that of the men he had seen, Early was the most dangerous.
But for the moment, the business at hand was all he needed thinking about. He got to the cleft in the hills and found a firing point some two hundred yards from the opening. He took his horse back around behind a rock outcropping and dropped the reins. She would have earned her oats before this day was out. Then he went back to the firing position he had selected. It was a good two hundred yards to the opening, but that was to his advantage. It was a long shot for him with a rifle on a rest, but it was going to be much longer for the men on horseback returning his fire. He didn’t want to be too close and he didn’t want to be too far. If they
were coming, he felt that he was well placed.
Longarm got out a cigarillo, and lit it with one of the matches that he used to light the dynamite. He had to chuckle about the dynamite. It was damned handy stuff and would really cause a commotion. He had used it before, but only in single sticks that he had thrown. Never before had he used it the way you would use a cannon to blast rocks at somebody.
He smoked quietly, his eyes intent on the opening in the mountain. They had to come. They couldn’t sit in there and let people blow them up and shoot them without coming out to see what was happening.
It was another five minutes before the first riders came walking their horses through the cleft. That was another advantage of the opening. A number of men couldn’t come riding at top speed through it. It was strewn with rocks and it was narrow, so they had to take their time and they had to be careful.
Longarm was already sighted on where he wanted to fire. He waited until the fourth man in line filled his sights, and squeezed off a shot. The man went backward out of the saddle. Before he could get anywhere near the ground, Longarm had already levered another shell into the chamber and fired at the third man, the one in front of the one he had just shot. He too went flying off his horse, throwing his hands in the air.
There was a general commotion as the two men in front tried to turn back and those behind, uncertain what was happening, bulged forward. It was what Longarm had hoped would happen. Now, he fired at the backs of the two men trying to get away. One sagged forward over the neck of his horse, and the other grabbed at his shoulder and seemed to dismount more than fall. Fresh targets were presenting themselves, and he fired into the pack of men that were coming forward with the two shots he had left. He saw more confusion as one of the two men fell. His carbine was now empty and as quickly as he could, he grabbed up the cartridges he had laid out on the rock and rammed them home into the magazine. There was some shooting, but none of it seemed directed his way. They were just firing. Most of them were shooting handguns. Now there was just a mass of men in the opening, none of them going or coming. He fired six rapid shots into the bulk that he could see. He continued firing into the center of the confusion of men. He saw some bodies fall, but now they seemed to be retreating. Again, he reloaded. Longarm could feel the heat of the rifle barrel through his calloused left hand. As he threw his rifle up to his shoulder again, he could see that the opening was clearing out. He fired two more shots, but he doubted there were any results.
Longarm waited, watching. He could see men on the ground, some moving, some lying very still. A horse was down, and a few others were running around riderless, their bridles trailing on the ground. It was time, he thought, for him to make a quick departure before he could be seen or recognized or even located. He didn’t think any of them had known where the fire had come from. Bending low, he raced around the outcrop to where his mare was waiting. Holding his rifle in his right hand, he stuck a boot in the stirrup and swung aboard. Then he sat off riding the mare at a high lope heading toward the north, circling around the foothills of the mountains. He kept going that way until the rise and fall of the land would hide him from view of the entrance to Ashton’s place.
When he was certain he couldn’t be seen, he turned to the northwest, toward town. He wanted to come into town from an angle where it would look like he hadn’t been anywhere near Ashton’s place. As he rode, he kept circling further and further to the west to circle around and come in from the west. Finally, he pulled the mare down to a trot, and then to a slow walk, and then let her amble her way into the back side of town. He directed her to the livery stable and then stopped her. She was a little fatigued. She’d had some pretty good runs that morning. He dismounted and handed the reins to the stable boy, along with a quarter. He said, “Rub her down, sonny. Take right good care of her. She’s been hard at work.”
Longarm turned and walked around the hotel, stepped up on the porch, went through the front door, and then went through the dining room. His stomach was telling him it was well past time for breakfast. The clock on the wall said it was ten minutes after eight, and that was mighty late.
As he crossed the lobby, he saw Finley coming down the stairs. He stopped until the rancher or land broker, or whatever he was, could reach the ground floor and come up to him. “Well, good morning, Mr. Finley,” he said. “I’m just now going in for breakfast. Would you care for coffee?”
Finley cocked his head. “Just going in for breakfast? My heavens, Mr. Long. You keep odd hours for a man used to trading livestock. I thought you boys tried to make most of your deals before the sun got up.” He laughed slightly. “So you couldn’t see the merchandise so good.”
Longarm said, “Well, as it happens, that is exactly what I’ve been doing. Actually, I’ve just been looking some of the country over to see how it might fare as a place to hold some horses. I need some sort of intermediate pastureland since I am doing more business to the south and it’s a good long run from Oregon.”
“Didn’t I see you ride out east of here?”
Longarm let a beat pass before he answered. He slowly shook his head. “No, I’ve been all around, but I don’t think I’ve been to the east that I know of, been looking more to the west. That’s mainly mining country to the east, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and that’s where Ashton’s place is.”
Longarm shook his head again. “No, I wouldn’t know anything about Mr. Ashton. On your advice, I completely forgot about him.”
Finley nodded. “Well, I’ve got to get about the day. I’d like to get finished up here and get on back home.”
Longarm said, “Did you ever say where that was?”
“What?”
“Home.”
“No, I guess I didn’t. Well, you take it easy, Mr. Long.” Then he turned and was gone out the front door of the hotel.
Longarm watched him thoughtfully for a moment before walking into the dining room and sitting down tiredly. He’d had a big morning. When the waiter came over, he ordered coffee and ham and eggs and flapjacks. He said, “And I wish you’d put some whiskey in my coffee.”
The waiter said, “I reckon we can do that, sir.”
Longarm nodded. “Much obliged.”
Chapter 5
About ten o’clock that morning, the town was abuzz. Sometime before, two men riding hard had come in to fetch the doctor out to Vernon Ashton’s headquarters. They had rushed him and pushed him and practically shoved him on his horse. Fortunately, the doctor was a young man and able to stand the hard ride they apparently were going to put him through. During the time he was gone, the town did nothing but talk about it.
The two men who had come in were closemouthed. They had given no indication of the trouble. Indeed, they had said not a word to anyone who had questioned them about their need for the doctor. They wouldn’t say if Ashton was sick, or if any of the hands were sick, or if any of the ladies who lived out there were sick. They had refused any news of any kind.
It wasn’t until a little after one o’clock in the afternoon that the doctor returned. He came back looking haggard, with blood on his shirt and on his pants. You could see from the way he rode his horse into the livery stable and dismounted that he’d had a lively time of it. He took his doctor’s bag and then walked down the sidewalk, while everyone stopped and stared at him, and then went into his office.
For quite a while, no information could be learned. The doctor had a clerk, a young man named Bill, who received his visitors and took their payments if they offered them. At first, Bill wouldn’t talk. Not a word could be gotten out of him, but finally the doctor closed his office and went home. Bill went into the Elite Saloon, and was immediately surrounded by the curious. He didn’t know much, but after a few drinks, he was willing to tell what he did know. He said that the doctor had treated four gunshot wounds, that three of them were very serious, and that the men might not live. The one not so serious had resulted in a broken arm, and that man would be all right. The docto
r didn’t know if a fight had broken out amongst the men themselves, or if there had been an attack of some kind, or just what had happened. Bill said that the doctor had been taken straight into a bunkhouse, and that he had worked on the men on a table in there, and that he had been paid and that was all Bill knew.
Of course, they wanted to know where the other men had been shot, and if there had been other men lying around that might have been shot but were past the doctor’s help. Bill couldn’t answer any of that. They wondered how much the doctor had gotten paid. Bill did know that, but he thought he ought not say. And he didn’t until he had been bought two more drinks. After that, he said with some amazement that the doctor had received a hundred dollars for making the trip and for his doctoring.
It was all anyone could talk about. Ashton was always a mystery and always a fund of curiosity. Now this had happened, and it was anybody’s guess what it meant. It scared some people that it might mean that Ashton could be in trouble to the point that he might leave the area. That put a fright into any number of merchants. One was heard to say that if anybody had attacked Vernon Ashton and had shot up his men, that man ought to be strung up. And he, by golly, would be the one to put the rope around the neck of any party that would give such a fine man as Vernon Ashton a hard time. The owner of the saloon and casino was seen walking around, staring several men in the face. It was as if he was making certain that they had not been a part of such mischief. It was well known that the trade from the Ashton ranch made up a good part of his business.
Listening to it all in snatches and bits, and from what he could overhear without making himself conspicuous, Longarm could see why Finley had warned him that the town was solidly behind the reclusive man in the castle. Of course, the town didn’t know that all that business he was giving them was paid for with counterfeit twenty-dollar bills, probably taken out in saddlebags. That was one good thing about paper money. You didn’t need a wagon team to haul it as you did with gold, and you could carry a great amount stuffed into somebody’s saddlebags or a carpetbag.