Longarm and the Stagecoach Robbers

by Tabor Evans

  “I can handle them.”

  “Sure you can, but I’d like to help.”

  “All right, thanks. We’ll take them around back still in harness then pull the harness and rub each down before turning it loose in the corrals. Then once they’re fed and settled, I’ll clean the harness and lay it out ready for tomorrow.”

  “Different team tomorrow?” Longarm asked.

  “Oh, yes, of course. We use three teams plus a pair of fill-ins for if one gets sick or is lamed. We change the team in Lake George, so the horses only go in one direction when we take them out. Then they get to rest until it’s their turn to come back, either the next day or the day after.”

  “Well, let’s us get these boys cleaned up and fed an’ settled in for the night,” Longarm said, taking the bit chain of the near leader.

  Chapter 10

  There was a small barn behind the express company office. Will and Longarm led the heavy cobs inside and tied them to rings set high on the support posts then groomed them and cared for their feet before leading them out to one of the small corrals, where they had a good supply of mixed grass and alfalfa hay in a bunk.

  Will Carver pumped the trough nearly full with clean water, wiped his hands, and with a grin said, “Thanks, Marshal. That was good of you to help.”

  “Glad t’ do it, kid. Say, you handle these big boys just fine.”

  “Them and me get along good.” He laughed. “When I was a button, I was all the time sneaking out of school so I could fool around with Mr. Blaisdell’s horses.” The laugh turned into a grin. “And now they’re our horses, Mom and me. They know me real well.”

  “I expect they do. Coffee? Or a drink?” Longarm asked.

  “I could use a cup of coffee. Mom doesn’t like for me to drink it, but I’ve liked that since I was a button, too.”

  “Then let’s go over to the café and get a couple cups. I want t’ ask you about the robberies. Everything you can remember ’bout them an’ then I’ll pump you for stuff you don’t even know that you know.”

  “Whatever you want. We need to stop these robberies. I don’t suppose it’s any secret that we’re riding right on the edge. If we lose our mail contract, we’re fucked.”

  From the way the young fellow said that, Longarm suspected he did not want his mother to know he used language like that. Still, Longarm could not blame him. Their whole livelihood depended on the express company. And the express company depended on the mail contract.

  “How much money is involved here?” Longarm asked as they walked down the dusty street toward a small café on the corner.

  “Sixty-five dollars a month,” Will said. He shrugged and added, “The contract amount was set before the railroad got up this far. There was a lot more mail to carry then. You, uh, you won’t say anything about that, will you?”

  “Mail isn’t my department so I got no cause t’ stick my nose in there. All I care about is the law. An’ the law says folks aren’t supposed to fuck with the United States mail.” He clapped the young man on the shoulder and said, “An’ that is my department.”

  “Good. Then can you catch the sons of bitches quick, please?”

  Longarm chuckled and led the way into the café, where pie and coffee waited.

  Chapter 11

  “I’d better go now,” Will said an hour or so later. “Mom will be expecting me for dinner. Uh, Marshal, don’t tell her I had anything to eat, will you, please?”

  “Sure, no problem,” Longarm told him.

  Will Carver excused himself from the table, thanked Longarm, and left. Longarm remained in the café and had supper, then in the early evening ambled over to the nearest saloon for a drink.

  The whiskey spread its warmth through his belly.

  “Another?” the barman offered.

  Longarm nodded. The first had been good. The second was even better. He turned with his back to the bar and contemplated the gaming tables. He thoroughly enjoyed the game of poker although he did not claim to be an expert at the play. His purpose was relaxation when he played, not income.

  At the moment the few tables in the place were already occupied. If a seat came open, he would consider asking in, but there would be time enough to think about that if or when it happened. In the meantime he intended to relax. The thought of another whiskey was pleasant. He turned to motion for a refill and accidentally bumped the arm of the man standing next to him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “You son of a bitch, you made me spill my whiskey,” the man growled.

  “I said I’m sorry, mister. I’ll buy you another drink.”

  “I ought to pound the shit outa you,” the man snarled.

  Longarm took a closer look at him. The fellow was big. He stood a good three inches taller than Longarm and probably weighed in at two hundred fifty, not a bit of it fat.

  “Look, I’m not going to say it again,” Longarm told him. “Now let me buy you that drink an’ forget about it.”

  Longarm looked down the bar to the gent in the apron. He raised two fingers and motioned toward his empty glass. The barman nodded and picked up a bottle and a pair of glasses.

  The next thing Longarm knew, he was lying in the sawdust on the saloon floor, his head aching and his jaw feeling like it was broken.

  “Wha—what the f-fuck?”

  The bartender was kneeling at his side. “Are you all right, mister? Do you want me to call a doctor or somebody?”

  “No, I . . . I think I’m all right,” Longarm said. It was a struggle to sit up, but on the third try he managed. With the help of the bartender tugging on his arm.

  “I was worried for a bit there, Marshal. You been out for a while.”

  “Really? Damn!”

  “Stay there. I’ll get you a beer or something.”

  “I think . . . can you help me up?”

  “Yeah, sure. You aren’t going to pass out or anything, are you?”

  “No, I’ll be all right. Just help me up. I’ll be fine.” Longarm did not feel fine, but he wanted to stand on his own hind legs. Being on the floor was not his idea of a pleasant evening.

  The bartender and another customer took Longarm’s arms and helped him upright. He leaned against the bar and looked around. The big man who had sucker punched him was nowhere to be seen.

  “Are you looking for Lennox?” the bartender asked from back on his own side of the bar. He set a whiskey glass and a beer in front of Longarm.

  “He’s the guy that punched me?” Longarm asked.

  “Yes. His name is Lennox but I understand his friends call him Ox.”

  “The son of a bitch has friends?”

  “At least one. That one told him who you are, and the both of them hustled out of here quick as rabbits. I guess they thought you might arrest Ox for assaulting a peace officer or something.”

  “I ought to,” Longarm said, not meaning it. He kept personal grudges separate from the line of duty. “Bastard.” He picked up the beer and took a deep swallow. The crisp lager tasted good. The whiskey he chased it with tasted even better. He cleared his throat and spat and finished the whiskey.

  “Another?” the bartender asked.

  Longarm shook his head. “No, I’d best quit now. My head feels bad enough without asking for a hangover on top of it. But I thank you for your kindness.”

  “My pleasure,” the bartender said.

  “How much do I owe you?” Longarm asked.

  “Nothing. Those two are on the house.”

  “Thank you again.” Longarm extended his hand. “For more than the drinks.”

  “Any time. Well, not for . . . uh . . .”

  Longarm laughed. “No, not for that again.” He found his Stetson. Someone had laid it on the bar. He put it on and touched the brim in silent salute, then headed for his room. He definitely wanted a bat
h after lying amid all that sawdust, and a solid night of sleep might help to quell the pounding in his head.

  Chapter 12

  Longarm awoke well before dawn. He felt considerably refreshed although his jaw ached like he had been kicked by a mule. And perhaps he had, at that.

  He washed and dressed quickly and went downstairs and out into the chill of the predawn. The air felt good. The warmth in his belly from a hearty breakfast at the café felt even better.

  Longarm presented himself at the Carver Express Company office in time to help Will put the four cobs into harness.

  “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that,” Charlise told him.

  “Have to, no. Want to, yes,” he said with a smile. “An’ if you don’t mind, I’ll ride along on the run today. If nothin’ else, it will give me an idea of what your route is like.”

  “Of course. Even if I didn’t want you to ride, you have the right. That is specified in the mail contract. Federal officers have that right,” the lady said. She turned and called out, “Will, Mr. Long will be your passenger today.” Turning back to Longarm she asked, “Do you want to ride up top like a shotgun guard or inside the coach?”

  “Up top, I think,” he said. “I want t’ be able to see as much as possible an’ pester Will with questions when I think of ’em.”

  “Fine. Would you like a shotgun? I’m not expecting trouble, but the sight of you might keep any highwaymen away.”

  “Thanks, but no shotgun. If there’s robbers laying in wait, I wouldn’t want to keep the sons o’ bitches away. I’d rather they come in where I can get to ’em and put a stop to this nonsense.”

  “All right then. We do have two passengers who are ticketed to Lake George. One of them is pretty,” she said with a smile.

  “But I bet she’s not as pretty as you,” Longarm told the lady.

  Charlie began to blush. She turned away quickly and retreated into the safety of the office, Longarm grinning behind her.

  Chapter 13

  “Hyup, boys. Hyup!” Will snapped the popper on his whip above the ears of his near-side leader and the team stepped out, the coach swaying and lurching behind them.

  Longarm grabbed hold of the rail beside the driver’s perch. He had forgotten what it felt like to ride on top of a coach. The outfits were tall and ungainly and very badly sprung on leather slings. To the uninitiated, they felt like they might tip over sideways at any moment.

  Will Carver chuckled at his side, evidently having seen Longarm’s unintended grasp at safety. “You get used to it,” he said with a smile.

  “Either that or die of a heart attack,” Longarm told him, only half joking. From up so high above the road, the side-to-side movement was exaggerated and felt dangerously uncontrolled.

  “This morning,” Will said, “we’ll go down to Bailey first, then swing back through Lake George and Guffey before we come back north to Hartsel and Fairplay. Tomorrow we reverse that and go the other way around.

  “There really isn’t much point in going down through Guffey. We almost never have any passengers going there or boarding down there, but the grade to make it up the bluff from the floor of South Park to the plateau where Lake George is, is just too much for the horses to manage. Too steep, that is. So we take the longer but easier route through Guffey.”

  Longarm nodded. He was still clinging to the iron railing as if his life depended on it. And Will was still laughing at him.

  By the time they left the open ground around Fairplay and entered the pine forests above Bailey, Longarm was more comfortable on the driving seat. A little.

  They pulled to a halt in front of a log building set amid a dozen others just like it, all of them shaded by the surrounding pines.

  “This is the general store and post office,” Will explained as a bearded man in bib overalls walked out the front door and nodded to the young man. His beard was so long it almost completely covered the blue denim bib. His dark hair was tousled and he was barefoot.

  “This is Tom Rickets. He’s the postmaster here.” Will grinned. “Among other things. About the only thing Tom doesn’t sell is women. He says you have to go out and find those on your own.”

  To the two passengers in the coach below, Will called, “This would be Bailey. We won’t be stopping but a minute, so if you want to ride on to Lake George you’d best not get out.”

  Will handed a thin packet of letters down to Rickets and received a handful in return. He took a moment to sort the letters into the appropriate mail pouches then touched the brim of his hat and nodded to the Bailey postmaster.

  Will picked up the driving lines of his team, but Rickets said, “Wait a minute, Will. You have a passenger going to Fairplay.”

  Rickets returned to his shack and led a young woman out. It was obvious what the lady—girl, really—did for a living. She was all feathers and ruffles and gaudy face paint, and Longarm could smell her perfume from on top of the coach.

  She carried a small valise. Rickets did not help her with it, and she was having trouble lifting it to the roof of the tall coach, so Longarm jumped down and took it from her.

  “Thank you, sir.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and when she climbed into the coach, she shied away from the other passengers as far as she could get and still be in the same cabin with them.

  Longarm climbed back onto the driving box with Will and again took hold of the guardrail. But not with such a death grip this time. He was almost getting used to the swaying and bumping by now.

  “This stretch from Bailey down to Lake George is where the highwaymen have been lying in wait,” Will cautioned. “You might want to keep your eyes open now.”

  “Actually I’ve been keeping them closed,” Longarm said, deadpan. “Out of stark terror caused by your driving.”

  “In that case I’m doing something right today,” Will said, once again snapping his whip over the ears of his leader.

  Chapter 14

  They broke out of the pines on a long flat above a rickety cabin. Will removed his hat and ran a hand over his forehead. “Thank God,” he said. “No highwaymen this time.”

  “I got t’ admit,” Longarm told him. “I’m disappointed.”

  Will gave him a look of shocked disbelief. “You wanted to be robbed?”

  “Damn right,” Longarm said, nodding. “I want t’ see those jaspers in front o’ my pistol. Put the bastards in cuffs and be done with this shit. I want t’ put an end to these robbers, Will.” He smiled. “Which is not to say I want you or your mom to be troubled. But I really was hoping they’d show themselves today.”

  “Well, if you put it that way, I have to agree,” the young jehu said.

  “When do we get to Lake George?” Longarm asked as the road curved toward the lonely shack.

  Will laughed. “We’re here.”

  “This?”

  “Yep. This is it. There isn’t really a town, just this general store. We have a corral out back where we keep the change of horses. And over there is a sort of barracks. In wintertime there are work crews up here cutting ice for the market down on the flatlands. Manitou and Colorado Springs and places like that. It’s a wonder there is a lake up here considering how much of it they haul away in the form of ice each year. You’d think they would haul it all away one of these days. In the meantime, you have Lake George. And Beaver.”

  “There’s beaver in the lake?” Longarm asked, incredulous.

  “No, of course not. The Beaver I’m talking about is Beaver Jones. God knows what his real name is, or was. Everybody knows him as just Beaver. He has the store up here. Maybe someday Lake George will become a city but not yet.”

  Will drove the coach around to the back of the shack and stopped beside a sturdy corral where four heavy-bodied cobs stood swishing their tails.

  He leaned out to the side and called down to the passengers, “All out f
or Lake George. And ma’am, you might want to get out and stretch your, uh, limbs while I change horses. It will be a half hour or so before we pull out for Fairplay.” He sat upright and turned to Longarm. “The folks going on down to the flatlands wait here for the through coach. It comes up Trout Creek Pass and Hartsel. I don’t know what will happen when the railroad makes it on down the pass. There sure won’t be any reason to keep that coach running.”

  “Your route intersects with that one,” Longarm said.

  Will nodded. “Twice. Once here and once at Hartsel.”

  “That’s what I thought. But why . . .”

  “They run a six-horse hitch so they can make it up that grade at the edge of the plateau. Even so if the coach is heavy loaded, the passengers sometimes have to get out and walk up. We only use four horses so it’s much easier for us to go down through Guffey and around that way.”

  “That makes sense,” Longarm said.

  Will climbed down to the ground and began unclipping the horses from his hitch. Longarm got down and helped him exchange that team for the horses waiting inside the corral.

  “We have to fill the hay bunk, too,” Will said, “and fill the water trough as well. Beaver doesn’t do any of that, but he does allow us to use the corral.”

  “Where do you get your hay?” Longarm asked.

  “There’s a fellow, lives below Florissant. We contract with him to keep us supplied. Back home, of course, there’s no problem finding hay. There are a number of outfits who cut hay on the flats around Fairplay and Hartsel. Grain, that’s another story. It’s no problem now that the railroad is running. We have it shipped up by rail nowadays.” Will led one of the big horses out of the corral and began inspecting its hooves prior to putting the harness onto the animal.

  Chapter 15

  Charlie was standing outside the tiny express company headquarters when Will and Longarm pulled in that evening.

  “So how was your trip, Marshal?” she asked, half teasing and half serious about the inquiry.