Longarm and the Whiskey Woman

by Tabor Evans

  Carson said, "I know. I saw it, but that don't change anything. I've still got to get you out of here." Longarm stared at him, his mind working.

  CHAPTER 4

  Longarm stared at the tall man for a long moment. He said, "Why do you have to get me out of here?"

  "Because you're a dead man if I don't."

  Longarm looked at him closely. "What the hell do you care?"

  Carson shrugged. He said, "I don't know. Maybe it's just because I don't like Colton and his bunch. Is that reason enough for you?"

  Longarm said, "I tell you, I was in the right. Colton was fixing to-"

  Carson interrupted him. He said, "I know what was fixing to happen. I saw all of it. I saw them take you off the sidewalk and into the alley. I just got here too late to keep you from killing that deputy. I was planning on stopping it myself, but I was across the street. It happened too fast."

  Longarm glanced at the deputy lying dead. The other one was beginning to make moaning sounds. He said, "What happens if I stay here?"

  Colton shrugged. He said, "Colton goes straight to the sheriff, who then comes over here and arrests you. He'll throw you in a jail and about a week later, a judge has you sentenced, and then they hang you."

  Of course, Longarm knew he wasn't going to jail and he wasn't going to be hung. Not with that deputy marshal's badge in his pocket. But he still hoped to do his job. Longarm said, "Where the hell can I run to?"

  "Let me worry about that. Let's go. Have you got a horse?"

  Longarm shook his head. "Hell, no, and I don't know where to get one, either. That livery stable ain't got nothing except a bunch of broken-down nags."

  Carson said, "Don't worry about it, I'll get you a horse. Let's go. We're just lucky that there were as few people on the street as there were or else we might already have a crowd. Let's get out of here before somebody discovers this mess."

  As they hurried across the street, Longarm said, "I hope, when this is all over, you're going to explain all this to me in a way so that I can understand it."

  Carson said, "I may explain it, but you still may not understand it. Just understand this right now. You're in big trouble and you need to make some tracks."

  "But where can I go?"

  They were almost to the livery stable. Carson said, "Don't worry. I've got a place I can take you."

  As the two men got to the entrance of the livery, Longarm said, "What the hell are we going in here for? They ain't got nothing in there but nags. I don't want a horse between my legs that's going to crater halfway out of town."

  Carson said, "Not to worry, Mr. Long. I know they've got a couple of good horses here because they belong to me. All we need to do is get a saddle for you and I reckon that can be arranged."

  In a matter of moments, two good-looking horses were led out from the corral in the back and the stable boys had them saddled and bridled and ready to go, almost before Longarm could spread a little money around. His horse was a dun, a mare, but she was long-legged and long-necked and built high in the hindquarters. He could tell she was a traveling horse.

  As Longarm stepped into the saddle, he said to Carson, "For a man who's just passing through town, you keep some mighty good livestock on hand. Must run up the bill shipping them back and forth from wherever you call home."

  Carson swung up on a bay gelding. "Well, I dabble in a little horse trading on the side. Just happen to have these two left over."

  Longarm said, "Yeah, I bet." They went out of the door to the livery stable at a fast walk and then turned right on Main Street, heading north. As they turned, Longarm glanced to his left and he could see a few people gathered around the mouth of the alley.

  Frank Carson said, "I would calculate we didn't have a minute to waste. Let's kick these horses on up and get on out of town."

  Together, they loped through the darkening town, heading north toward the mountains that hung high and craggy against the night sky.

  In less than five minutes, going at a lope, they had cleared the town and were on a wagon road that was bending to the east.

  Longarm said, "You care if I ask where we're going?"

  "I'm going to get you to safety, but it's going to be a kind of relay operation."

  "I hope to hell that you ain't getting me into more trouble than I would have been in back at that town. You know, I could have made a pretty good case with that sheriff about what was done to me."

  Frank Carson laughed without humor. "Oh, yes. He's going to believe you, especially over the word of Morton Colton. You killed one of his deputies, Long. I think you ought to know that."

  "Are you telling me that the law here is that corrupt?"

  "I'm telling you that the law here belongs to the Coltons and a couple of other families. And I'm telling you that Morton Colton's job has been and will be to grease up the law both local and them other kinds."

  "What other kinds?"

  Carson looked over at him from his horse. "We get the occasional Treasury agent around here from time to time. Colton takes care of them."

  The words took Longarm by such surprise that he almost halted the mare. The news that he had just heard meant that he was working for people that were already part of a swindle, people that could very easily betray him to the very whiskey runners he had been sent down to expose. It was all he could do to keep the surprise out of his voice when he said, "Treasury agents? What are those?"

  Carson said, "They're agents from the Treasury Department that come around where whiskey gets made to make certain that the revenue tax gets paid on every gallon."

  Longarm tried to sound wondering. "The hell you say!"

  By now, they had begun entering the foothills that rose to the northeast of the town. They were forced to pull the horses down to a slower gait. Carson said, "You mean, you've never heard of Treasury agents?"

  Longarm said, "Where I come from, we don't have such, because we don't make no whiskey. Ain't much except rocks, cactus, and sand in Arizona and ain't none of them make a very good blend of whiskey."

  Carson said, "You're going to have to keep reminding me that you haven't seen civilization in a long time."

  They rode in silence for about ten minutes, and then Longarm ventured to ask, "Is it any of my business where you're taking me?"

  "Well, if you have to know, I'm taking you tonight to a member of the Colton clan."

  They were walking the horses now and Longarm suddenly pulled back on the reins and stopped. It was a second or two before Carson reacted. He stopped his horse and looked back. He said, "What the hell is the matter?"

  Longarm said, "In case you didn't notice, that was a man by the name of Morton Colton that was fixing to have two deputies hold me while he beat me to pudding."

  "Yeah, I know."

  "And you're taking me to his family?"

  Carson chuckled and waved Longarm forward. "I expect I better explain something to you. The Colton family, to a man and a woman and a child, despise Morton Colton more than you or me. He is an outcast. The son of a bitch has done every low-down trick on his own family that there is to do, but at the same time, he's still a Colton."

  Longarm said, "If they despise him so bad, how come he's doing their work in town?"

  "That's just what I'm telling you. He's still a Colton, but they don't want him anywhere around the place. They don't want him handling the whiskey, they don't want him around any of his female cousins, nor do they want him around anybody while he's got a gun in his hands. You saw him cheating in that poker game. Well, he's cheated them on every deal he's ever handled, but he's still a Colton. You've got to understand that these mountain folk stick together like glue, so they put him out of the way in town and said, 'Now handle this. This is your last chance. If you screw this up, we're going to hang you.'"

  Longarm said softly, "Well, I'll be damned. You mean they would protect me from him?"

  Carson laughed softly. He said, "They would protect the devil from him. You've got to understand these
clans that live way back here as they do without much outside intercourse--and I mean that in more ways than one. They don't trust strangers, and even though Morton is a low-down, no-good son of a bitch, he's still a Colton, so they trust him to do this job, which he does very well, by the way. The son of a bitch is just a natural-born greasy cheat. He's a liar, he's a snake, and he's just the kind to handle a payoff to the law."

  Longarm said slowly, "I see. So now you're taking me to the family? Are you going to tell them that I just had a run-in with Morton?"

  "Oh, hell, yes. That will set you up just fine with them. In fact, they might even get nearly hospitable. Well, no, that's going a bit far, but they might get nearly to where they tolerate you."

  Longarm shook his head. He said, "This is the damnedest place I've ever been in. I thought the Texas-Mexico border was bad, but this is worse."

  Carson looked at him quickly. He asked, "What were you doing near the Tex-Mex border?"

  Longarm said, "Oh, buying cattle." He smiled to himself, wondering if Carson thought he could be caught out that easily. Carson said, "Oh, I forgot you're a cattle rancher."

  "Was a cattle rancher."

  They rode in silence for a few more minutes. Longarm said, "Tell me one thing. There's something I don't understand. Yesterday, you wouldn't give me the time of day. Today, you're going to a considerable amount of trouble to keep me out of jail. You got a reason for that? Why would you help me?"

  Carson said, "What you don't understand is that I'm not so much helping you as I'm hindering Morton Colton. I can't stand the son of a bitch; I hate him. One of these days, I'm going to let some air through him. If I wasn't such a peaceful good old boy, I'd already have done it."

  "I didn't think you knew him. That day at the poker game, you acted like you didn't know him. You acted like you wanted to beat the hell out of him."

  Carson laughed slightly. "Oh, I know him. He just doesn't know that I know him. So far as beating the hell out of him, you were standing there with a fistful of a big revolver and I didn't figure you were going to let me or anybody else do anything. By the way, I noticed you used that revolver with a good deal of ease."

  Longarm said, "I noticed that you wear a cutaway holster, yourself."

  "Comes in handy in this business."

  "Well, you've all but told me that you're in this business, but the other day you claimed to know nothing about it. Now I find out that you not only know Morton Colton, but you know the family, at least you know where they live because that's where we're headed, according to you. What is it exactly that you do?" Longarm said.

  Carson gave him a glance. He said, "You'll find out soon enough, so I might as well tell you. I reckon if I can go to the trouble and the risk of pulling your bacon out of the fire, I can trust you with some information that's pretty nearly common knowledge among those in the know around here. I'm a whiskey buyer. I buy whiskey from these moonshiners here in Arkansas for my family's distillery in Tennessee."

  For a moment, Longarm didn't speak. He didn't know much about the whiskey business except he knew what he liked, but what Carson had just said didn't make much sense to him.

  By now, it had come good dark and the first stars of the evening were beginning to get up. They had ridden through the lowlands of the foothills and were now into some occasionally severe little hills and hummocks. As they crested the top of one of the steep hills, Longarm pulled his horse up to give him a blow. Carson did likewise. Longarm turned in his saddle and looked back. He could clearly see the lights of Little Rock from the heights of the little hillock. It was difficult to tell how far away the lights were, but judging from the time that had passed, he estimated they had come a good ten miles. The horse was as good an animal as Carson had claimed it was.

  Longarm said, scratching his head, "Now, you know, there's something here I don't exactly understand. Maybe it's because I don't know anything. I came down here with the idea of buying some cheap whiskey and bringing it back to Arizona to make a profit. Yet, here I find myself in the company of a man whose family owns a distillery in Tennessee, which is the next state over, and he's here buying whiskey from these here folks. Do they make that much better a brand of rotgut?"

  Frank Carson got a cigar out of his pocket and after offering it to Longarm and getting a shake of his head, stuck it in his own mouth and lit it with a match. When he had the cigar drawing good, he said, "No, it ain't better. Raw whiskey is raw whiskey. We buy this whiskey for two reasons: one, it's cheaper--they can sell it for about a dollar a gallon. It costs us nearly twice that much to distill our own raw whiskey. You get the taste of whiskey and the smoothness of whiskey in the way you age it and the way you handle it, so you see, that's why the raw whiskey they make is just as good as the raw whiskey that we make. But they've got another edge on us. Their raw whiskey is a higher proof than ours. You know what proof means, don't you?"

  Longarm nodded, "Yeah, I drink one-hundred-proof Maryland bourbon whiskey. Yes."

  Carson said, "I've tasted it, and I understand. I don't think it's any better than the whiskey that my family makes, but every man to his own taste. Well, this raw whiskey that the Coltons make is about one hundred sixty proof, and about all you can make out of whiskey is one hundred ninety proof. That's about as high as she goes, nearly pure white lightning. But they make a higher proof going in than we do."

  Longarm said, "How come that?"

  "They use more sugar. You've got two big costs outside of your time and labor in making whiskey," said Carson. "That's the corn and especially the sugar. They use more sugar, so they get a higher proof. We can buy their raw whiskey and not only save by the gallon, but we can cut it even more and still end up with an eighty- or ninety-proof finished product. Of course, we lay ours down in barrels anywhere from six to eight years. They're not willing to do that, or maybe they are. Maybe they've got some laid back in the woods, I don't know. All I do know is that they sell a hell of a lot of raw whiskey. This is probably, right now, the whiskey capital of the United States."

  Longarm said, "I see." He thought a few moments, not certain he should say the next, but after a hesitation, he decided to go ahead. He said, "But don't you save a little more than just the price per gallon over what you can distill it for?"

  "How's that?"

  "On them federal tax stamps. I've already heard about those. Ain't that what them Treasury folks are down here looking into?"

  Carson gave him a small smile. He said, "We don't save anything on the Treasury stamps. Once we get our whiskey ready to age, it goes into a bonded warehouse and there's a federal stamp goes on every barrel. We pay the tax. We ain't got no problems with that."

  Longarm smiled back at him. "You mean to tell me that you can buy it here and carry it to Tennessee and there ain't no stamp involved?"

  Carson gave him the barest of a look. "I didn't say that, Mr. Long, and if I's you, I wouldn't pursue that line of thought."

  Longarm nodded. He said, "I'm in your debt, sir. We'll play this your way."

  Carson took his reins up in his hands. He said, "We better get moving; we've still got a pretty good little ride left, and you're likely to be wanting some supper before dawn. I know I will."

  As they rode, Longarm said, "Frank, one little question keeps occurring to me. You are carrying me back into these hills where I reckon that every one of these gentlemen that I'm going to meet is going to have a long beard and an even longer rifle. What am I going to do back here, and how long am I supposed to stay?"

  "Well, Custis, that's entirely up to you. I done what I thought was necessary in what little time was available. Now, you can turn around and ride back into town as far as I'm concerned, but if I's you, I'd kind of lay down behind the log for a while until things settle down a little bit. I would imagine that they're going to be scouring the country for you for the next week or so. That would be my guess. You did shoot a deputy sheriff, and you knocked the hell out of another one, and you scared the piss out of Morton Colton,
which may have been the biggest mistake of all. So if I's you, I wouldn't be in too big a hurry to go flying around the country. I'd wait until such time as it was a little more settled."

  Longarm said, "You say they are going to go to scouring the country for me? What's going to keep them from coming back here in these hollers or wherever it is we're going--these whiskey camps--looking for me there?"

  Carson gave a sharp bark of laughter. "I can promise you this. There ain't a lawman in the country that is going to come back into this area, not if they expect to come out alive. That's why they are very grateful to do business with Morton Colton right there in town. You couldn't pay one of them to come back here. One smell of moonshiners' smoke is enough to send these old boys running to the Texas border."

  Longarm said, "You reckon I could do any business back here? You reckon I could buy me a load of whiskey back here and somehow think of a way to transport it?"

  Carson's shoulders made a faint shrug in the dim night. He said, "I reckon anything is possible. They'll freight it Out to the nearest railhead, but whether they'll do it or not for you is another question. As far as I know, they ain't looking for any more new customers."

  It had come solid dark and it was only a quarter of a moon. Frank Carson had taken the lead and was following a trail that Longarm had a hard time picking out. He said, "Frank, are You sure you know where you are going? Seems to me that we're just riding between the high places."

  Ahead of him, Carson chuckled. "That's damned near the case." He pointed, raising his arm to where Longarm could see. "See that little notch, way up yonder, far off at the top of that mountain? I'm just guiding on that. That will bring us into Salem Colton's place. That's where you can stay the night. I don't think he's going to let you stay more than one night, but he might pass you on up the line toward the old man's place."

  "Who is the old man?"

  Carson turned in his saddle and looked back. "If they want to tell you, that's okay with me, but I'm not going to be the one to tell you about the old man."