Longarm and the Stagecoach Robbers

by Tabor Evans

  Longarm smiled. “There’s no need t’ bother the boy, Nathan. I know where the room is, an’ I can handle this bag by myself until I get up there.”

  “Even so,” Nathan said, “it is our policy and our pleasure to serve you. Besides, you need some water if you want to wash off the soot and cinders from traveling.”

  “Thank you,” Longarm said.

  “Johnny!”

  The boy came stumbling out of the back room, rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up.

  “Take Marshal Long’s bag up to eight,” Nathan said, “and bring him some water once you get him settled.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you want the tub, sir?”

  “A pitcher will do for tonight,” Longarm said.

  “Yes, sir.” Johnny reached for Longarm’s bag and started up the stairs, Longarm following.

  Longarm waited until the boy brought his water, then tipped the kid and bolted the door.

  He stripped and washed himself then crawled into bed, tired but satisfied.

  In the morning, Charlise Carver got the devastating news that her mail contract was canceled as of the end of the month.

  She spent the day huddled in her room crying. Will went on a bender that ended with him being thrown in jail on a charge of drunk and disorderly.

  It was not the best of days for the Carvers.

  Chapter 61

  “You can’t possibly understand, Custis,” Charlie said that evening, sobbing lightly but no longer blubbering the way she had been most of the day. “It isn’t your livelihood that has been lost. It isn’t your future that is ruined.”

  “You still have the coach line,” Longarm reasoned. “You still have your passenger business.”

  “You’ve seen how few passengers we carry,” Charlie said. “The stagecoach business is just an accommodation for the people up here in South Park. We make our living from the mail contract. Without that income, we will go under inside a month, two at the most.”

  “Want some unsolicited advice?” he asked.

  “Certainly. Any suggestions would be welcome right now,” Charlie said.

  “I been watching you an’ your outfit,” Longarm said, “an’ I’m sure you can increase your profit if you get rid o’ this heavy Concord coach. It takes the four-up to pull it. Replace it with a light mud wagon. As little passenger trade as you get, a retired army ambulance would do everything you need done an’ with half the horses to feed.

  “Pull it with a pair instead o’ a four-up and you’ve cut your expenses in half right there.

  “You can get mud wagons cheap down in Manitou or Colorado City. Likely sell the Concord down there, too, since they get a lot o’ passenger traffic running from one town to another.

  “I’d think the light wagon would have an easier time in winter, too. The Concord has t’ be dragged through the snow. A mud wagon, you could put runners on instead of wheels and use it as a sled. Easiest thing possible. Will would know how.”

  “Do you really think we could make a go of it?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s certainly worth a try. Cut your expenses in half, you just might could do it,” Longarm said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try it, lady. Lord knows you won’t get anywhere by laying down an’ letting life walk on you.”

  Charlie lifted her chin and tried to smile. She did not quite make it, but it was a beginning. “Come in to dinner, Custis. Will should be home with the coach soon.”

  “I’d be pleased to,” Longarm said, leaning down and kissing her lightly on the corner of her mouth. She would not be in any mood for screwing tonight, he was sure, but he could offer comfort that did not involve anything serious.

  And he wanted to offer comfort. Just not . . . too much.

  Chapter 62

  Longarm slept with Charlise that night but spooned next to her without passion or sex, wanting to offer comfort instead of a hard dick.

  In the morning he very gently made love to her again, lying behind her and coming into her while they lay on their sides. He stroked in and out slowly and quietly, allowing her to climax before him and only then speeding up enough to reach his own long, sweet release.

  When he was done, Charlie turned over in his arms to face him. “Thank you, Custis. That was nice.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “an’ I mean that sincerely.”

  “We should get up now,” Charlie said, kissing him.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “No, I mean it.”

  “I’m not arguing,” he said.

  “No, but you are blocking the way. You need to move so I can get out of the bed.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” He swung his legs off the bed and sat up, his hair tousled and even his mustache bristly.

  Charlie grabbed a robe and went into the kitchen to build up the fire and get the coffee started. Longarm stood, yawning and stretching, and wobbled over to the bureau to pour some water into the basin and wash.

  He felt his chin. He could use a shave, but that could wait.

  “How long before breakfast?” he asked when he emerged, dressed, into the kitchen.

  “Give me a half hour. Will should be here then. We can talk about your ideas.”

  “My ideas?”

  “The mud wagon and the two-horse hitch,” she said. “I like that. We can sell the surplus horses and the big coach. That will help. I don’t know why . . . well, I suppose I do know why I’ve been doing things this way.”

  Longarm’s eyebrows went up in inquiry.

  “I have been doing it this way,” Charlie said, “because Hank Blaisdell did it this way. Of course, when he owned the line, there was much more passenger traffic. That was before the railroad came in, and the routes shrank down to what we have now. But Hank already had his big coach and the heavy horses, and I just took over from him and continued on doing things the way Hank had done. That made sense before the railroad. Not so much now, as you so gently pointed out.”

  Longarm bent down to kiss her, then reached for his coat.

  “Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

  “I have an errand t’ run. I won’t be but a couple minutes.” He smiled and said, “I’ll be back by the time the coffee is done.”

  Longarm stepped out into the chill of the predawn and set off at a brisk pace, but true to his word, he was back within minutes.

  Charlie smiled when he came in. “Just in time,” she said.

  “See. I tol’ you so.” He sat at the table, and Charlie set a cup of steaming coffee—and the condiments to go with it—before him.

  Will joined them a few minutes later, just in time for a hearty breakfast of flapjacks and pork chops.

  “Will you be riding with me today, Marshal?” Will asked.

  Longarm nodded and reached for the syrup. “Aye, I will if you don’t mind.”

  “All right then.” Will flashed a smile. “In that case, you can help me get the boys in harness and hitched up.”

  It occurred to Longarm that Will would miss his four-ups if Charlie did choose to make the changes he had suggested. The young man liked each and every one of his animals and might regret having to cut their livestock—even if that meant cutting their expenses—by half.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Longarm said, dropping his napkin beside his plate and standing.

  Chapter 63

  For the next four days, Sunday included, the first thing Longarm did each morning after getting dressed was to walk over to the railroad depot on his unspecified “errands.”

  On Monday morning he returned to the Carver Express Company office with a smile. “Good news,” he said.

  “I could certainly use some of that,” Charlie told him.

  “I sent a wire to a friend of mine down in Denver. He runs a livery out by the stockya
rds. I asked him to keep an eye peeled for a mud wagon. He says he’s found the perfect outfit for you. It’s a delivery wagon. Used to belong to a greengrocer. Closed body but lightweight. Just add some benches and you’re in business. It’s light enough for one horse to pull but it can be set up for a pair. How does that sound?”

  “Expensive,” Charlie said.

  “Twenty-five dollars,” Longarm returned.

  “Twenty-five? That’s all? Tell him I’ll take it.”

  Longarm grinned. “I already did. He’ll send it up on the late freight this afternoon. Soon as we get it ready, with your name painted on it an’ everything, you can send the Concord down an’ he’ll sell it for you. I’d say you should get a hundred dollars, maybe a hundred twenty-five, for it.”

  “Oh, Custis, that is wonderful.” Charlie threw her arms around his neck and was in the process of giving him a very appreciative kiss—and promising considerably more than that—when Will came in for his breakfast.

  “If you two want to be alone, I can leave and get something to eat at the café,” Will said.

  “No need,” Longarm said. “We’re just practicing.”

  “Honey, wait until I tell you the news,” Charlie said.

  “From the sound of your voice, it must be good news,” Will said.

  “Oh, it is, honey. It really is.”

  Charlie informed Will of their good fortune, and he whistled appreciatively. “Wow. I think . . . I know which horses I want to keep. The sturdiest. And the youngest that are steady. The rest we can send down to be sold. Or find a buyer up here maybe.” He smiled. “This will work out fine in winter. The snow can get pretty deep between Bailey and Lake George. Not so much from Guffey up to Hartsel.”

  Will looked at Longarm. “You say we can put sled runners on the wagon?”

  “Easy,” Longarm said.

  “They won’t be needed much of the time, but there are days when runners would come in handy.” Will looked at his mother and said, “We just might make a go of it, even without the mail contract.”

  “You can thank Custis if we do,” Charlise said.

  “I will, but I think I’ll just offer to buy him a drink instead of kissing him like that.”

  “The drink I will accept,” Longarm said. “But no kiss, thank you.”

  “Seriously, this is great news,” Will said. “The best we’ve had since the mail contract was canceled.”

  “Good. That’s what I was hoping for,” Longarm told him. “Now let’s eat up some of your mama’s good cooking an’ get to work. Those horses won’t put their own harnesses on, y’know.”

  Chapter 64

  On Tuesday he returned from the depot with an envelope in hand. He gave Charlie the obligatory morning kiss and accepted the cup of coffee she handed him—already fixed with condensed milk and two spoons of sugar—then asked, “Who is Grant Godfrey?”

  Charlie gave him a quizzical look. “Whatever brought that layabout to mind, Custis?”

  “You know him then?”

  “Yes, of course. Godfrey is Jon Willoughby’s brother-in-law. He lives with Jon and Erma.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that man has done a day’s work since he came up here. Rumor has it that he was in prison for a spell, but I don’t know that for sure. He could get work if he wanted it. The mines are practically begging for workers. But not Godfrey. He would rather cadge drinks at the Iron Horse Tavern. And I apologize. I shouldn’t go on like that. I hardly know the man.”

  Will walked in and Charlie said, “Sit down. I’ll have breakfast on the table in a minute or two. Have some coffee while you wait. Do you need a refill yet, Custis? No?”

  Charlie poured coffee for her son and turned back to her stove.

  “Interesting thing about Godfrey,” Longarm said.

  “It is? What in the world could be interesting about him? And why did his name come up anyway?” Charlie asked, her back to the two of them.

  Longarm chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “The reason I ask is because Jonathan Willoughby is highly recommending that Grant Godfrey be awarded the mail contract to serve the South Park area.”

  “How would you know?”

  He smiled. “This whole thing has been a setup. I talked to my boss down in Denver ’bout how we might be able to smoke out the bandits. It occurred to me one night that the robbers were only interested in taking the mail. It didn’t have any value, but that’s what they wanted.

  “So I got to wonderin’ why they would do such a thing. They robbed the mail and somebody seemed t’ be trying to stop Will from driving an’ carrying that mail. One way or another, they were tryin’ to stop it.

  “An’ what was valuable? It was the mail contract itself that was valuable. Regular money sent by the Fed’ral government each an’ every month. You were getting it. Somebody else wanted it.

  “So my boss got together with the postmaster general an’ had him post, nice an’ official, that your mail contract was bein’ terminated. Which it isn’t, by the way. Your contract is still valid an’ will go on just like always. The cancellation was a ruse to see who wanted to take it over.

  “Now we know. Grant Godfrey and Jon Willoughby would seem to be the bastards that tried to ruin you, Charlise, tried t’ ruin you and the Carver Express Company.

  “I’m betting it was them doing the holdups for just exactly that purpose. An’ they figured since Willoughby already had the post office up here, he could slide his brother-in-law into the mail route award. The family would have that much more money each month. They didn’t want the trouble an’ the expense of the stagecoach line. Just the mail, an’ no more than what passes through here, they could handle that from the back of a horse real easy.

  “I already knew something was up because last Friday, Beaver Jones mentioned something about some fella coming by, wanting t’ keep a spare horse where you keep your relay team. Now we know who that woulda been. An’ why.”

  “What will you do now?” Charlie asked, hurrying to flip her griddle of hotcakes quick before they burned.

  Longarm smiled. “I got handcuffs for the both of ’em,” he said. “Now put some o’ those cakes on my plate an’ hand me the sorghum, if you please.”

  Watch for

  LONGARM AND THE ROCK SPRINGS RECKONING

  the 434th novel in the exciting LONGARM series from Jove

  Coming in January!

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