Longarm and the Train Robbers

by Tabor Evans

  "These boys are pretty careful," Longarm muttered as he hauled his bedroll and gear into the cabin and then set about to make himself a small fire on a stone hearth.

  That night, the wind blew hard and cold. Longarm slept poorly, and was up before dawn to saddle his horse. He could not exactly say why, but he was sure that the train robbers were heading for Laramie. No doubt they would filter into the busy town in ones and twos in order to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

  Longarm's hunch was confirmed a few hours later when the tracks indicated that the gang had gathered about a mile west of town, then separated into a number of small groups, all moving toward Laramie from different directions and probably all staggered so that they'd arrive over a period of several hours.

  "But then what?" Longarm asked himself aloud. "Do they live in Laramie? Work on ranches in the vicinity? Or will they drift on down the line singly and in pairs, only to regroup and plot another train robbery?"

  These were the questions that plagued Longarm as he approached Laramie. Unlike Cheyenne, Laramie had existed before the arrival of the Union Pacific Railroad. The town had been named after Jacques Laramie, a Frenchman who had first passed through this beautiful country while trapping beaver for the American Fur Company. Following his path had come the emigrants, soldiers, and fortune-seekers, many tracing the old Cherokee Trail. Fort Sanders, just to the South, had offered protection to the Overland Stage Line, and later for the predominantly Irish survey and construction crews of the Union Pacific.

  Longarm had always liked this town, which was nestled against the western base of the mountains. Laramie was picturesque, and could boast of its wild and exciting history. Vigilantes had played a big part in the early years, and now Laramie was home to not only the railroad employees, but also to the cowboys, loggers, and even miners who worked this ruggedly beautiful part of Wyoming.

  When the tracks he followed had begun to branch into many splintered pairs, just as Longarm had anticipated, he'd made sure that he followed the horse with the broken shoe. It was an easy track to follow, and Longarm was pinning all his hopes on being able to locate the animal and then its owner. If he could just nab one of the train robbers, he might be able to get a confession leading to the arrest of the entire gang.

  The track he had chosen to follow, however, became obliterated at the edge of Laramie, where it was trampled and churned under by heavy wagon and horse traffic. Longarm sighed with resignation. He knew he had been unrealistic in his hope that the track would be plainly visible all the way into town, but still, he needed some break in this case.

  At the edge of town, Longarm drew his horse to a standstill and considered his options for a moment. Actually, there was only one--he had to find the horse with the broken shoe before it was reshod and his only clue was lost.

  "Best go see the town's blacksmiths," he said to himself, thinking that the train robber had to be aware that his horse needed to be reshod.

  Unfortunately, there were three blacksmiths operating in Laramie. Longarm made it a Point to visit them all. The first blacksmith had just closed his business and moved to California, but the second blacksmith was hard at work when Longarm arrived on his sweaty sorrel.

  "Morning," he said to the man, who was in the middle of shoeing a horse. "I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long. Fella up the street told me that your name is Ned Rowe."

  "Whoever he was talks too damned much."

  The horse being shod was acting up and the blacksmith was clearly angry. "Can't you see that I'm right in the middle of a horse that's about to raise holy hell!"

  "I can see that," Longarm said. "So why don't you put his foot down and step back for a minute. I've got a couple of questions I'd like to ask."

  "You may be a federal officer, but you don't pay my rent," the blacksmith growled. "So if you got anything to say, say it while I'm tacking on this shoe. I ain't got no time to waste on free talk, DePutY."

  "Mister, I don't see how you stay in business with such a chip on your shoulder."

  The blacksmith glared at Longarm. "If you had to shoe as many ornery horses and mules as I do each day to make a living, you'd have better things to do than to waste people's time. Now, I ain't seen your badge yet."

  Longarm gritted his teeth to keep from increasing the immediate dislike he and the blacksmith had taken to each other. He summoned up enough patience to show the man his badge, which he did not routinely keep on display. Like most things, Longarm had a good reason for keeping his badge out of sight most of the time. He'd known desperate and hunted outlaws to actually draw their guns and shoot badge-toters without warning.

  "That satisfy you, or do I have to find your sheriff and make things ugly?"

  "Whoa!" the blacksmith yelled, jumping back as the horse he was shoeing tried to rear. "Goddamn you jug-headed sonofabitch!"

  "You haven't got much patience, have you?" Longarm drawled as the blacksmith jerked on the horse's lead rope and tried to discipline it to shoeing.

  The blacksmith took a swing at the horse, but missed and crashed to the ground.

  Suppressing a smile, Longarm said, "Mr. Rowe, it's plain to see that the animal is scared. Give him a few minutes to settle down and talk to him gentle and I'll bet he'd behave himself. Save you both some considerable wear and tear."

  "Do you want to shoe this miserable bastard?"

  "Nope."

  "Then what the hell do you want?"

  Longarm could see that this man was in a bad state of mind and nothing but a fight and a good whipping would correct Ned Rowe's poor way of thinking. "Well, to begin with, I want to know if that horse was brought in with a broken right shoe."

  "Nope." Rowe yanked on the horse's lead rope again. "So why are you asking such a foolish question?"

  "I'm looking for a horse with a broken right shoe. Probably a right foreshoe."

  "If you find the animal and it's got any sense, send it my way," Rowe growled. "I can always use the business."

  Longarm dismounted and dropped to one knee. He dug his pocket knife out of his Levi's and said, "Come here and take a look at what I'm about to show you."

  Rowe started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut as if he thought better of it. "What the hell are you going to do?"

  "If someone brings in an animal with a shoe like this," Longarm said, sketching a horseshoe to indicate how the track he had followed down from the cabin had appeared, "then I'll pay you ten dollars to alert me."

  The anger drained out of the blacksmith's square face, and was replaced by a look of cunning. "Say now, Deputy, this wouldn't have anything to do with that train wreck up at the summit, would it?"

  "Ten dollars," Longarm repeated. "And if it leads to the arrest of the men I want, there could be a whole lot more in reward money."

  The blacksmith's entire demeanor underwent a transformation. "I'll keep it in mind, Marshal! My back aches and I can't pay my bills, what with the hard times we're in right now. How much is the reward for them train robbers?"

  "I didn't say anything about any train robbers."

  "You didn't have to. I'm not stupid, and neither is anyone else in this town. We're expecting a whole raft of lawmen to come sniffin' around looking for that bunch of murderin' sonofabitches."

  "Well," Longarm said, "I was on that train and my prisoner escaped and a lot of passengers died. So I have a personal need to get my hands on those men first. Is that clear?"

  The blacksmith was not as tall as Longarm, but he was more muscular. "Hey," he said, "I'm on your side! If someone brings a horse in with a shoe like you've drawn, I'll beat a hot trail to you. Count on it!"

  "I'll be staying just up the street at the Outpost Hotel," Longarm said. "But I don't think that I'll be there more than a day or two."

  "If this horse that you're looking for was ridden all the way down from the summit with a broken shoe, I'm surprised he hasn't gone lame yet."

  "Me too."

  "You gonna go to my competitor with the same
offer?"

  "Sure, why not?"

  "No reason," the blacksmith said quickly. "But he's blind and drunk most of the time. He won't help you."

  "I'll be looking pretty hard for myself," Longarm informed the man. "But if I was riding a horse with a broken shoe, I'd take notice and get him shod right away. That's why I came to you first thing."

  "Much obliged! And hey, what about your horse, Deputy? Looks like he could use a new set of irons."

  "Hell," Longarm drawled, "he was just shod in Cheyenne yesterday."

  Ned Rowe scratched his belly and turned back to the horse he was working on. He jerked hard on the rope, and the animal backed away in fear. "All right, jug-head! You settled down yet?"

  "Yes, sir, Ned, you sure got a fine way with horses," Longarm said cryptically as he reined his sorrel on down the street to find the other blacksmith.

  "Go to hell, Deputy!"

  At the corner of the street, Longarm glanced back and saw that Ned Rowe was watching him closely. Did the man know something that he wasn't telling about the gang? Longarm hadn't a clue. Most likely, Rowe didn't know anything. He didn't seem the sort to ride with an outlaw gang. Still, he might know someone who did. Or just as likely, he might even know who owned the horse with the broken right shoe, and might even decide that he could use his information for a share of the train's bounty.

  Yes, sir, Longarm thought, Ned Rowe had the cunning look of a person who would have no qualms about playing both sides against the middle in order to gain a windfall. The man would definitely bear watching and another visit.

  The other blacksmith was far more cooperative. His name was Jimmie Jeter and he was a short, balding man considerably past his prime for this hard and dangerous work. In addition to being a blacksmith, he ran a livery stable.

  "Sure, Deputy, I'll watch for a horse like that. And how much did you say the reward might be?"

  "I didn't say," Longarm told the man. "But it could be a considerable amount of money."

  "Have you already visited Ned Rowe?"

  "I have."

  "Too bad."

  "Why?"

  Jimmy shrugged. With one worn boot heel hooked over a bottom fence rail and his arms hooked over the top fence rail, he was as relaxed as Ned Rowe had been angry.

  "Well, Deputy Long, it might interest you to know that Ned's brother was hanged for horse thieving about two years ago. His father was a cattle rustler and hanged about three years before that. He's got a younger sister who's a whore in Rock Springs, and his mother shot herself last winter."

  "Sounds like a sorry family."

  "The Rowes are trash and always have been. Ned is as crooked as a dog's hind leg."

  "I see." Longarm hooked his own heel over the rail and gazed off toward the distant mountains. "Jimmie, are you suggesting that Ned might be mixed up with the train robberies?"

  "Oh," Jimmie drawled, "I'm not suggesting anything. He's mean and drinks too damn much. He's awful with horses and not much of a shoer, but I sure wouldn't want to see him get into trouble."

  "Ned says that his business isn't very good."

  "'Course it isn't! Word gets around. He'll whip a horse with his shoeing file. He's lamed a few by cutting them to the quick because he gets angry and impatient. I'm not just saying that because he's my only competitor, Deputy."

  "I'm sure you're not."

  "The truth of the matter is," Jimmie said, chewing on a stem of alfalfa, "Ned has a wild streak. Sometimes he just closes his shop, saddles a horse, and rides off for a few days at a time."

  "Any idea where he might go?"

  "Nope. I'm told that Ned rides over to Cheyenne and gets drunk. My wife thinks that Ned has a whore over there that he's fond of dallying with."

  "What do you think Ned does?"

  "I think he's foolin' around with more than whiskey and bad women," Jimmie said.

  Longarm waited for a further explanation. When it became obvious that it would not be forthcoming, he said, "Why do you think he's up to something illegal?"

  "Because Ned always returns with more money than he leaves with."

  "Maybe he goes to Cheyenne and shoes a few horses."

  Jimmie chuckled softly. "Hell, Deputy! You've got a fine sense of humor, don't you?"

  Longarm hadn't meant for his remark to be humorous. "Watch for that horse with the broken shoe, Jimmie. If it shows up, get word to me right away at the hotel or track me down here in town."

  "What about the sheriff? You going to be working with him on this?"

  "I've never met the man."

  "He's new," Jimmie said. "I don't trust him any more than I do Ned Rowe."

  Longarm frowned. "Jimmie, despite your easygoing ways, I'm beginning to wonder if you're just naturally a suspicious kind of fella."

  Jimmie laughed outright. "Deputy, if you think I'm suspicious, just you trot on over to pay your respects to Sheriff Cotton. He'll make you suspicious too, and he's the sheriff!"

  "I will pay him a visit."

  "Do yourself a favor."

  "What's that?"

  The smile died on Jimmie's wrinkled face. "Let's just keep the broken horseshoe thing to ourselves for a few days. Never mind the fool sheriff. If the horse comes to town and its owner knows anything about my reputation, he'll bring the animal here."

  "And if he brings the horse to Ned?"

  "Then I'd say you have two of the train robbers caught dead to rights."

  Longarm nodded. He wasn't sure that he believed Jimmie, but the man's suspicions sure needed investigating. And being forewarned about Laramie's new sheriff was something that Longarm appreciated. As a federal officer, he often had to work in cooperation with the local authorities. Sometimes it worked, often it did not. Sheriffs and town marshals had a tendency to be pretty closed-mouthed, and they often did not appreciate having a federal officer who might show them up as incompetent working in their jurisdiction.

  "Keep an eye out and feed my horse well," Longarm said, untying his saddlebags.

  "You can count on Jimmie," the blacksmith said cheerfully. "I got the best eyes in Laramie when it comes to a horse's feet."

  Longarm believed the man, and he had a hunch that if the horse he sought were anywhere in Laramie, Jimmie would find it first.

  CHAPTER 6

  "Sheriff Cotton?"

  "At your service," the chubby man with a shiny star and boots to match said as he eased out of his desk chair. "But most people call me Ike."

  "I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long. I'm a federal officer working out of the Denver office."

  Ike Cotton's smile dimmed a little. He sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest. "Take a load off your feet, Deputy. You been in Laramie long?"

  "No. I just rode in. But I was on the train that was derailed a few days ago and sent down the mountainside just beyond the summit."

  "I heard all about that," Cotton said. "Of course, I couldn't go up there and investigate. My own deputy quit--you aren't lookin' for a job, are you?"

  "No."

  Cotton settled into his overstuffed desk chair. He was of average height, smooth-faced, and flabby. His hands were delicate, and his thin blond hair was slicked against his scalp while his mustache was waxed at the tips. With the benefit of money, Sheriff Cotton would have been a dandy.

  "Well," Cotton blustered, "that's too bad. I could use an experienced deputy. One that knows that there is more to being a lawman than just sitting behind a desk with your feet up in the air."

  "I'm sure you could," Longarm said drily.

  "So," Cotton said, buffing his badge with the cuff of his sleeve. "What exactly can I do for you?"

  "As you might imagine," Longarm began, "I'm looking for the men who derailed and robbed that Union Pacific passenger train. I have reason to believe that Eli Wheat--a prisoner I was transporting back to Denver--was a member of that gang and escaped with them."

  "Hmmm. Interesting. Unfortunately, I've never met this Wheat fella, but if you want to give me his descripti
on, I'll sure enough keep a sharp eye peeled for him."

  Longarm was not impressed. "It's damned unlikely that Wheat would ride into Laramie. He was pretty well known and would be easily recognized by too many people. What I am looking for is anyone who has caught your eye as being a stranger and having a lot of money."

  "Well," Cotton said, placing his boots up on his desk and lacing his fingers behind his head, "as you know, this is a railroad town. We get a lot of folks passing through and some of them do have a considerable amount of money."

  Cotton chuckled, then winked conspiratorially. "Money that our local gambling halls and painted ladies take great pains to extract and invest in our local economy. If you know what I mean."

  "I know what you mean," Longarm replied, deciding that this man was a complete fool. "Did you see any strangers enter Laramie in the last day or two on horseback?"

  Cotton dropped his folksy facade and put his boots on the floor. "Now listen here, Deputy. Laramie is a damn busy town and I'm a busy man. There are no less than fifty big ranches within a hard day's ride, and all of them are constantly sending cowboys in to raise hell or to buy supplies. I couldn't begin to keep my eye on the comings or goings of all them cowboys and line riders."

  "The men I seek," Longarm said, thinking that Jimmie Jeter's assessment of this incompetent sheriff had been right on the money, "would have been riding hard-used horses and wouldn't have necessarily had the look of cowboys."

  "If they were on horseback, then how would a man know if they were cowboys or not?"

  Longarm gave up. It was clear to him that further conversation with Sheriff Ike Cotton would be a complete waste of time. "Well," he said, coming to his feet, "that's a real good question."

  Slightly mollified by this response, Cotton relaxed. "How can I help you, Deputy? I don't like other lawmen nosin' around in my town, but we are in the same line of work and we have to help each other."

  "That's the way I see it."

  "So what do you know?" Cotton asked point-blank.

  "Not a damn thing," Longarm said. "I followed the outlaws to Laramie and-"

  Cotton's double chins sagged. "They rode into my town?"