by Tabor Evans
Carson seemed a likable enough fellow, quick to laugh and with an easy manner about him that Longarm thought belied his obvious physical strength. He guessed the man to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. They were dressed alike in denim jeans and cotton shirts and high-heeled boots, but Carson wore the narrow-brimmed hat of a man from not as far west as Longarm. He also wore a leather vest. Longarm had not been surprised to see that he carried his side arm, what appeared to be a navy Colt, in a cutaway holster, one that was designed to bring a gun into quick play but that wouldn't hold it if a man were on, say, a bucking horse or in a rough-and-tumble fight.
Carson said as he poured them another drink, "That was pretty slick, you catching that old boy like that." He frowned, his expression disturbing his otherwise good-natured features. "I can't stand a damned cheater. Just something about me can't flat abide a son of a bitch that would cheat and make a fool out of me. I'd rather a man would come up and take my money with a drawn pistol than to try and slick me out of it. That son of a bitch, if you hadn't caught him, would have cleaned my money out in one hand. Hell, three jacks in a game of five-card draw is a pretty damned good hand. I'd have bet my pile into it."
"Yeah, and I had three tens and I would have been betting with you," Longarm said, nodding. "Betting with every raise. He sure would have cleaned us out."
Carson's face screwed up tighter. "By golly, I've about half a mind to hunt that son of a bitch down and beat him half to death, anyway, Even in spite of the fact that we took his money."
Longarm said, "Did you believe Colton when he said he'd come into the game with twelve hundred dollars?"
Carson shook his head. "Hell no. I saw the son of a bitch put down two hundred dollars when he cashed in to the game. The rest of that thousand in front of him, he'd won. He came into that game with two hundred dollars, so he ain't only a cheater, he's a liar on top of that."
Longarm took a moment to rustle around in his right front shirt pocket to find a cigarillo and a match. He stuck the smoke in between his lips and then thumbed the match into a flame. When he had the cigarillo drawing, he said casually, "Did I understand that you don't live here in Little Rock?"
"I don't recollect saying whether I did or didn't." Carson had stiffened slightly. It was only a slight motion, but Longarm had caught it.
"Oh, I just thought you had mentioned, when that gentleman said he took us to be strangers, that you were just passing through."
Carson gave him a keen glance. He said, "Well, there's all kinds of ways to pass through, Custis. What're you getting at?"
Longarm shook his head from side to side hard. He said, "I ain't getting to nothing, Mr. Carson, just that you said that you were passing through and then you made the remark that you'd see that the man would never play poker in this town again. I couldn't figure that one out."
For a second, Carson stared at Longarm and then suddenly laughed. "Oh, I see where you got confused. I understand now. Fact is, that's just kind of an expression, something a man would say on an occasion like that. Wouldn't have anything to do with whether I lived in Little Rock or was just passing through."
Longarm nodded. He said, "I see." But he didn't really.
Carson looked back at Longarm. He said, "How about you? You just passing through or have you decided that you live here?"
They were both very near to stepping over a line, but since Longarm had asked first, he knew that Carson was within the bounds of politeness to ask the same question. Longarm studied his drink for a moment. He said, "Well, I'm passing through in one way and in another way, I ain't."
"How's that?"
Longarm glanced up at Carson. He said, "I generally stay so long as it's profitable. When it ain't profitable no more, I pass on. If you know what I mean."
Carson nodded and laughed. He said, "Yeah, I understand that. I believe we might be cut out of the same bolt of cloth."
Longarm smiled big. He said, "Reckon? I'm trying to get into the whiskey business. What about you?"
For a long second, Carson looked at him and then he lifted his shot glass. He said with no emotion or meaning in his voice, "Well, for the time being, this is the only whiskey business I care to be in."
Longarm nodded back. "I reckon you're right. A man ought not to mix business with pleasure." As he said it, he gave Carson a significant look, but Carson's face registered nothing back.
CHAPTER 2
Longarm did not want to be in Little Rock, Arkansas. That night, after he had his supper, he sat in his room at the hotel thinking about the circumstances that had put him in Little Rock. He was the famous United States deputy marshal, given the nickname of Longarm because he was the long arm of the law. It was said that no outlaw could run far enough or fast enough or hide himself well enough without the day coming, just as sure as the sun rising in the morning, when Longarm would show up to bring that outlaw back to justice. Custis was never exactly sure who had first begun calling him that. In the Marshal's Service, it was an article of belief that the name had been given to him sarcastically by his boss, Chief Marshal Billy Vail. Longarm wasn't so sure about that. The name was actually too complimentary for Billy to ever have done him such a favor. Billy's idea of a favor was to send Custis on just such an errand as he found himself doing in Little Rock. Longarm was pretty sure that he drew such assignments because he consistently beat the old goat at poker. In his mind's eye, Longarm could see Billy with his fluffy white hair and his little developing belly, just rubbing his hands in glee at the idea of sending a man who really deserved to be back in Denver with his dressmaker lady friend or one of several other lady friends available right there in the biggest city in Colorado.
Yet here he was in the state of Arkansas looking at some of the ugliest women he'd ever seen allowed to roam around on the streets. No, that was more of Billy's idea of a good joke. Someone else had named him Longarm, not that Billy didn't use it when it served his purpose. Hell, he'd use anything if it served his purpose.
Longarm was never quite sure how many years he had been working for the white-haired old devil who never stopped complaining about innocent practices, such as Longarm's shipping back horses to Denver at government expense to later sell for profit, and now and again trying to get a square deal on his expense voucher. Longarm was pretty sure that Billy calculated to the penny how much he had lost to Longarm playing poker and then knocked off an amount equal to that on Longarm's expense vouchers. Billy Vail was a good man to have around if you were wounded--especially if you liked salt rubbed into an open wound.
The trip to Little Rock had begun not quite a week before in Billy Vail's office. Longarm had come wandering innocently enough into the chief's office and had made himself at home in a big easy chair. He was confident of a few days' rest and pleasure around home base after having a hard couple of weeks chasing the Gallagher gang in northern Oklahoma.
But then Billy Vail, who had been staring out his office window, had wheeled around in his chair and said, "Custis, I'm damned if I can trust this job to anybody else. No, it's got to be you. I've given it considerable thought, and I don't see any way I can send anybody else."
Longarm had looked at him suspiciously. He knew that particular tactic because Billy Vail had used it enough times already. He said, "Oh, Billy. I'm sure you can think of somebody else. I don't know what the job is, but I can tell you right now, I don't want it, and I'm willing to let another man have the honor of the thing."
Billy was shaking his head. He said, "Nope. Ain't nobody else I can trust with this one. Custis, it's got to be you. As much as I'd like to see you get some rest and put a smile on your different girlfriends' faces, I'm going to have to send you."
Longarm leaned forward in his chair, alert. He said, "All right, Billy. What two-bit, no-good, low-down disgusting trick are you fixing to play on me this time?"
Billy gave him an innocent look. "Why, how you talk. What a thing to say to the very man who has helped make you famous throughout the annals of law enf
orcement. Who gave you that name, Longarm? Who gave you the jobs that had let you earn it?"
Longarm gave Billy a disgusted look. "Billy, let's quit dancing around the mulberry tree. Get on with this. What kind of raw trick are you fixing to play on me now?"
Billy maintained his innocent look. "Now, wouldn't you agree with me that you probably know as much about whiskey as any man under my command?"
Longarm was not willing to concede a single point to his boss. He said, "I don't know about that."
"Ain't it you that has to have that imported, twelve-year-old Maryland whiskey? Local stuff just ain't good enough for you. Ain't that a fact?"
There had been little enough that Longarm could reply to that charge, mainly because it was true. He said, "I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"It's got everything to do with it," said Billy Vail, nodding his head vigorously. "The business I'm sending you on is whiskey."
"Whiskey?"
"Yep, whiskey, and the government is getting cheated on it. The Treasury Department wants us to take a hand in a matter they don't have the manpower to handle. They need a good, tough hombre that can go into a bad situation and help straighten it out and they have appealed to us for help. Naturally, you were at the top of my list."
Longarm looked at him and said dryly, "Billy, someday I would like to see that list that you're always talking about that I'm always at the top of, because I have a good idea that there's not but one name on that list, and it's mine."
Billy said, "Tut, tut, tut, Custis. How you talk. My goodness, you'd think you were mistreated the way you carry on so. Why, I let you get away with more than any chief marshal has ever let any other deputy get away with in the history of the Marshal Service. I'd like to know how many horses you've bought off somewhere because they were cheap, and then shipped them back up here to sell for a healthy profit. Not to mention those odd items that keep cropping up on your expense vouchers. I've never seen so much money laid out for cartridges and extra firearms and bribes." Billy whistled low and shook his head. "It's just been my word alone and my goodwill that has kept you out from the middle of a serious investigation."
Longarm flopped resignedly back onto his chair. "All right, what the hell is the job?"
Billy Vail hunched forward, his elbows on his desk. He said, "Now you're talking. It seems that there's a bunch of folks up in northern Arkansas making moonshine whiskey and ain't paying no federal taxes on it. I want you to go up there and get the lowdown on the situation and come back here and we'll give the Treasury Department a report on it."
Longarm stared at his boss. He said, "Moonshine? Whiskey? You want me to go up to Arkansas and bust some bootleggers' stills? Bill, don't you think that's a little heavy work for some lightweight like me?"
Billy Vail put his hand up. "Now, hold on here, my friend. This ain't as easy as you may think it is. There's considerable money changing hands over this matter, and the government is taking a right smart interest in it. They don't know for certain, but they've calculated that there is more than several million dollars in federal taxes not being paid on this whiskey that's being made up there."
Longarm looked disgusted. "And I'm supposed to go up there and stop some bunch of old boys back in the hills from running a little whiskey here and there?"
Billy Vail shook his head slowly from side to side. "I wouldn't take this one lightly if I were you, Custis. We're talking about thousands and thousands of gallons. We don't know exactly how it works, but they are making it there in Arkansas and then somehow it is getting into brand-name bottles that have federal stamps on them and those are showing up in a lot of northern cities. It's estimated that there is a bunch of it being shipped right out of Arkansas. The reason I'm sending you is because they don't know a whole hell of a lot about it. That's what you're going to do. You're going to find out how the operation works."
Longarm frowned. "Billy, moonshine is clear. It looks like water. Good whiskey is caramel color; it's dark."
"Yes, and how come good whiskey is dark-colored?"
"Because it's aged in wooden barrels that are laid down for ten or twelve years. It mellows and takes on the color of the wood."
Billy said, "That's where the profits are in it. They're not bothering with the aging, which costs quite a bit of money to do. No, they're putting some kind of coloring into it and then putting it into bottles and selling it for the real stuff. They're getting away with it. It costs them about fifty cents a gallon to make the whiskey and they're selling it, making about a couple thousand percent profit."
"Well, if they would just put federal stamps across the top, then the stamp would be broken when they broke the seal and they wouldn't have this foolishness."
"In the meantime, why don't you just go up there and do your job and let the government worry about how they want to do their seals," Billy said.
"I thought this stuff was supposed to be bottled in a certain place where they could make sure it got those federal stamps on it."
Billy nodded. He said, "That's why they call it bottled in bond. It's bottled in a bonded warehouse where it is guaranteed to pick up a federal tax stamp. Aged in the wood and bottled in bond. Well, unfortunately, this whiskey is being aged in the woods and being bottled in the barn."
Longarm said, "Well, it still seems like a hell of a lot of ruckus to send a man in desperate need of rest out on."
Billy Vail seemed unconcerned. "Oh, I reckon you'll find some woman up there that will give you the rest you need. I've never known you to go very long without getting more rest than you really need."
Longarm gave him a sour look. He said, "I don't mind the work, Billy, but it appears to me that you're sending me off on a wild-goose chase. I'm the senior deputy here. Why don't you send one of these kids?"
Billy sat up in his chair. He said, "Oh, you think the job ain't big enough for you?"
"No, I don't."
Billy Vail had given Longarm his cat-and-mouse smile. He said, "You ever heard of the Whiskey Rebellion, Custis?"
Longarm thought a moment. "No, can't say that I have."
The chief marshal said, "Then I reckon that I'm going to have to add to your education. The Whiskey Rebellion took place in 1794 in Pennsylvania. There was a bunch of moonshiners up in the Allegheny Mountains that didn't want to pay the tax on the whiskey they were making. So Alexander Hamilton sent some militiamen up to put a stop to what they were getting away with. Before it was all over, he had to send fifteen thousand men in to do the job. Now, look at the compliment I'm paying you. It took fifteen thousand men in Pennsylvania; hell, I ain't sending but one man."
Longarm gave his boss another sour smile. He said, "Billy, that old dog ain't going to hunt. I'll go because you ordered me to go and because I don't have a choice, but I'm going to guarantee you one thing: I ain't going to enjoy myself, I ain't going to have a good time, and I'm going to think bad thoughts about you the whole time I'm gone."
Billy Vail said, "Then this job won't be no different than the rest, right?"
Now Longarm sat in his hotel room and wondered exactly how to attack the problem. He had little enough information to go on. It was thought that the big transactions were handled in the Little Rock area. No one was certain where the majority of the moonshining business went on. It was generally guessed that a good deal of it went on about fifty miles northeast of Little Rock in Yale County, which was peopled by a fierce and ingrown set of clans that didn't like strangers and didn't even much like each other. Longarm had decided that the best way to approach the situation was to pick up a thread in Little Rock where the money and whiskey were changing hands and then follow it backward to its source. He had no earthly idea how he was going to do such a thing.
Billy Vail had specifically warned him about going into the back country and nesting around the suspicious backwoodsmen who were more than likely the original source for the whiskey. He had said, "Custis, I know that country. There's little hollers and cutbacks and grove
s and valleys back there in those Ozark Mountains where you can be right square in the middle of an anthill full of people before you know it and they ain't going to be the least damn bit friendly. Your job is to find out how the transactions are taking place, how that raw moonshine is getting shipped north in those ten-gallon demijohns. You ain't supposed to be trying to run this thing completely into the ground."
But Longarm didn't think that plan was completely sound. Little Rock was nestled in a broad valley on the south end of the craggy Ozark Mountains. He'd stood in the street that very day and stared off into the distance into the rough, wild, forbidding country that he could see from there. He knew the people were hostile to strangers. He knew that the wrong questions asked in the wrong place could bring a bullet quicker than a hiccup, but he had to cast about for some way to put the whole package together. He didn't care to go by halves. He didn't want to just unearth the money and whiskey transactions as Billy Vail called them. He wanted to wrap up the whole package and not hand it over half-done to some Treasury official who hadn't gotten out from behind his desk in six months.
Billy Vail's idea had been to go down to Little Rock and start throwing money around. He said, "Hell, start acting like a big butter-and-egg man from the West who has decided to be a big butter-and-egg-and-whiskey man from the West. Go down there and flash a little green and gold in front of them. Before you know it, somebody will be coming up offering to sell you some wagon-loads of raw moonshine."
The only problem with the idea was that Billy Vail's idea of moving money around was to move a silver dollar from his left hand to his right. When Longarm had asked him where he was supposed to get this money to throw around, Billy Vail had graciously offered to allow Longarm to draw a couple hundred dollars in advance. Longarm just stared at him. He said, "Hell, Billy, I've got more than that in my hip pocket right now."
Billy said, "That's real good. You can use your own money for a change and quit taking advantage of the government."