by Tabor Evans
The entire operation took less than twenty minutes. When it was over, Ida heaved an obvious sigh of relief and said, "Mr. Fergus, how are you?"
"I've been better," he whispered. "Help me sit up."
"It would be good for you to keep lying down."
"I want to sit up, damn you!"
Longarm stepped forward. He grabbed Fergus by the hair and yanked his head off the table. "Don't you dare talk like that to a woman who probably saved your life!"
"It's all right," Ida said. "Please let him go."
Longarm released the man's hair. Fergus's jaw bounced on the table, and then the man pushed himself into a sitting position.
For a moment, all eyes were on Longarm, who was clearly struggling with his anger. And in that moment, Fergus happened to glance down and see the bloody surgical instruments. Without warning, his right hand grabbed the scalpel and his left hand fisted Ida's hair.
Before Longarm could move, the scalpel was pressed to Ida's throat. Luke made a tortured sound in his throat. He took a step forward and cried, "Please don't kill her!"
Fergus was woozy from blood loss and whiskey. He licked his lips and his eyes radiated hatred as he stared at Longarm. "You pull that big gun of yours and try to shoot me again," he choked, "and this lady is a dead Samaritan! You understand me?"
"I understand you perfectly."
Fergus giggled. "No surgeon in the world is fast enough to keep this woman from bleeding to death once I cut her throat from ear to ear."
"You'd do that after what Mrs. Friedlander did to save your worthless life?"
"Deputy, I'll kill her in a heartbeat if that's what it takes! Now, with your left hand, ease that gun out of your holster."
Longarm was still shaking; only it was no longer from the cold--it was with fury. He knew without a doubt that once Fergus had his gun, the man would shoot him and the rest of them to death. Handing Fergus a loaded six-gun was not even a remote consideration.
"You should think this out again," Longarm warned. "It's the whiskey that's made you crazy."
"Oh, no!" Fergus cried. "It's the fact that I was at Laramie Summit and so was Ned Rowe. You'd have gotten someone to squeal and say that sooner or later, and I'd have been sentenced to hang. That's why I'm getting out of here now!"
Fergus motioned to the large sliding door. "Tell the clerk to open it wide."
"Open it," Longarm said, not daring to move.
The clerk rushed over to the door, threw the latch, and pushed the door open. All the heat that had been generated by the fire was lost as cold air blasted into the mail car. Mail still unsorted and resting in trays took flight in a blizzard of paper that swirled in the air. Outside, the rain was still falling and the higher sage-covered hills were dusted with a blanket of glistening snow.
"Give me your gun," Fergus repeated. "Hand it over now!"
"And then what?"
Fergus actually giggled. "Then you're going to jump off the train. If you're lucky, you'll live. If not, well, no one lives forever."
"And the others?"
"I'll lock them in this room and they won't be harmed."
"Don't believe him!" Luke cried. "In my heart I now understand that this man is a killer! He is possessed by Satan!"
Longarm pretended to disagree. "He'll keep his word because there is no reason to kill you folks."
"But a man possessed by the Devil needs no reason!"
"Shut up!" Fergus cried. "Old man, you shut up or I'll slit your woman's throat!"
A trickle of blood seeped down Ida's throat and stained her collar. But Ida Friedlander was a marvel of control. She didn't even whimper.
"For the last time, give me your gun!" Fergus shrieked.
Longarm slowly extracted his gun and laid it on the table. His mind was spinning like the wheels of a slot machine, but there was no hope of a payoff.
"Push the gun over here!"
Longarm nodded, and his free hand brushed his vest, thumb hooking into his watch chain. To everyone in the mail car it appeared as a thoughtless move, but as Fergus reached for the six-gun, Longarm's hand dug into his vest pocket and instead of a watch fob, out came his solid-brass twin-barreled .44-caliber derringer.
Ida bit Fergus's wrist. The scalpel clattered on the table and Ida threw herself over backward, spilling across the floor. Luke jumped to cover her body with his own.
Fergus lunged for the Colt resting only inches from his grasp. His fingers closed on the big weapon as the derringer in Longarm's fist bucked solidly and a blue hole appeared just over Fergus's right eye. Fergus's eyes rolled upward as a dribble of blood crested the bridge of his nose and splashed to the table. Fergus's fingers drummed on the table and then quivered.
CHAPTER 13
"Dammit anyway!" Longarm swore. "Why'd Fergus have to go and do a fool thing like that for?"
Longarm peered closely at the woman who had almost had her neck slit open. "Are you all right, Ida?"
"Why... I think so."
Luke helped his wife to her feet. There was a smear of blood on her throat, but it was clearly just a superficial wound. Ida was visibly shaken, but then, Longarm knew that anyone would have been upset after such a harrowing ordeal.
"Ida, honey?"
"I'm all right, Luke," she whispered as her husband pulled a clean handkerchief out of his back pocket and pressed it to the scalpel cut at her neck.
"I'm going to take her back to the coach," Luke said after Ida appeared to regain her composure.
"Good idea," Longarm said in agreement.
"What about the body?" the mail clerk demanded when the couple had exited the mail car. "Deputy, you ain't just going to leave it lying there on the floor with him staring up at the ceiling. Are you?"
"What do you want me to do?" Longarm asked with rising annoyance. "Kick Fergus out the door and feed the coyotes and the buzzards?"
"Well, no, sir! But you can't just leave him lying there staring that way!"
"The hell I can't," Longarm said, pulling the sliding door shut and slamming the latch down hard. "I imagine that you have a lot of work to do. So do it!"
Longarm left the mail car for another coach, seeking warmth and whiskey and maybe even a pretty woman to remind him that there was still beauty in the world. He found two of the three fairly quickly.
"Excuse me, miss, but would you mind if I sat down here close to the stove? I'm so cold that I'm about to shake my teeth out."
The woman turned and stared at Longarm with unconcealed apprehension. She was obviously taken aback by his rough, unshaven, and unwashed appearance.
"Miss, my name is Custis Long. I'm a federal officer of the law."
Longarm reached into his pocket, rummaged around for a moment, and brought out his badge. "See?"
"Yes, I see," she said, finding her tongue and relaxing. "And you do look damp and very cold."
"I'm the fella that stopped this train a while back," Longarm explained, easing into the seat beside her.
"But where is your prisoner?"
"Well, ma'am, he died real suddenly of poisoning."
"Poisoning?"
"Yep. Took us all by surprise."
"How terrible!" The woman leaned forward and studied him intently. "Was it something he ate or drank?"
"I would rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."
"I'm sorry. My name is Veronica Greenwald. I'm a schoolteacher and I'm on my way to Reno. I've accepted a teaching position there."
"Reno is a nice town."
"Have you been there often?"
"Four or five times. I'm on my way there now, as a matter of fact."
"How nice."
The woman smiled and Longarm felt warmed inside. Veronica appeared to be in her early thirties. She wore wire-rimmed glasses, and her blond hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Even so, she was very pretty. She had classic features, and her starched white blouse could not hide the fact that she was exceedingly well endowed.
"I suppose," Veronica said,
"that you'll have all kinds of reports and things to write concerning the death of your prisoner."
"I suppose."
"Was he... was he really awful?"
"He was a liar, a horse thief, and a murderer." Longarm said flatly. "He tried to cut a lady's throat after she saved his worthless life."
"Oh, dear!" Veronica looked away. "I know that there are men that evil, but I've never met one."
"Consider yourself very lucky," Longarm said with conviction. "Where are you from?"
"Iowa. I was raised on a farm. I was raised by a farmer and fell in love with a boy who became a farmer."
"You're married?"
"No, Mr. Long. Three months ago a tornado came through our little town and killed my fiance. It wiped out our family farm and flattened our school, church, and most of Grover City's main street."
"I'm sorry."
"It was a disaster. I decided to go West and try to start over again. It was too painful to remain in Grover City. Fortunately, I was able to secure the promise of employment in Reno. I understand that the person I replace has contracted some sort of very serious illness and must for sake the classroom at once."
"I see."
They chatted for a few more moments, then lapsed into a comfortable silence. Longarm briskly rubbed his hands together trying to warm them. He leaned his head back against the seat cushion feeling angry and even a little depressed for having lost another prisoner. Fergus was the fourth man he'd killed while on this case; only Ned Rowe, of the gang members he'd encountered, had escaped with his life.
"I think," Veronica observed after about an hour, "that the storm is passing on."
Longarm gazed out the window and then at Veronica. "There is no doubt that the sun is going to shine again."
"Mat's an odd way of putting it."
"I just meant that your eyes are as blue and lovely as a summer sky and your smile is warmer than any sunlight."
Veronica blushed. "My, you are a flatterer!"
"I'm an honest man."
"Not entirely."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that just before you came, the conductor passed through saying that an outlaw had been shot by a deputy in the mail car."
"I see. Then why, Miss Greenwald, did you pretend not to know?"
"I'm sorry. I wanted to hear you tell me what happened." Veronica smiled. "Really, Mr. Long, why did you tell me that the prisoner was poisoned?"
"Because he was! He died of a very sudden and severe case of lead poisoning."
It wasn't meant as a joke, and Veronica did not laugh or even smile. She just blinked, her eyes large and luminous behind her glasses as she regarded her companion for a moment and then turned to stare out the window.
At Rock Springs, Longarm sent Billy Vail another telegram:
EN ROUTE TO RENO STOP NED ROWE ESCAPED NEAR LARAMIE STOP OTHER PRISONERS ALL CONTRACTED FATAL DOSE OF LEAD POISONING STOP REPLY TO RENO AT ONCE STOP
"A fatal dose of lead poisoning?" the telegraph operator asked with raised eyebrows.
"Just send the message, okay?"
"Sure thing."
Once his telegram had been sent, Longarm hurried outside. He considered visiting the sheriff, who was his friend, but when he passed by the man's office, it was locked and empty.
Longarm was amazed at how Rock Springs was growing. The streets were filled with wagons and pedestrians. And while there were some ranches and farms in the neighborhood, as evidenced by a handful of cowboys, Rock Springs was unquestionably a railroad town. Its coal mines, owned by the Union Pacific, were among the largest west of the Mississippi River and of vital importance to keeping the railroad moving. Because of the prominence of coal mining, there were huge open-pit mines nearby and dozens of spur tracks leading off to those gaping pits.
Like Laramie and Cheyenne, Rock Springs could boast a colorful past. In 1861, a Pony Express rider, detouring to escape marauding Indians, had discovered the sweet-water springs flowing out of a massive rock formation. This had given Rock Springs its name. Later, the site became a stage station, and when the Union Pacific arrived, the town had already mushroomed into one of the largest in the territory, and boasted a growing population and evidence of continuing prosperity.
About ten years earlier, a significant Chinese population had been recruited to Rock Springs by its mine owners in order to defeat a miners' strike. Longarm recalled that a mob of whites had soon attacked and pillaged the thriving Chinatown and set it on fire. The leaders of the mob had put a twenty-dollar bounty on every Chinaman, and six hundred dollars had been claimed before the Governor of Wyoming had sent federal troops in to stop further loss of life among the terrified Chinese. Now, as Longarm hurried up K Street, he could see that Chinatown had been rebuilt larger than ever.
"I want a bath and a shave," Longarm told the Chinaman in the barbershop.
The man bowed and hurried away, his long, braided queue bobbing like a cork on a fishing line. In minutes, Longarm was soaking in a copper tub while the Chinaman washed, dried, and pressed his clothes, then poured Longarm a cup of delicious herb tea and waited to give him the finest shave of his life.
Two hours later and only a dollar shorter, Longarm returned to board the train. He caught his reflection in the train windows, and was satisfied that he was looking almost human again.
Veronica barely recognized Longarm when he took his seat. "What a difference two hours can make!" she exclaimed. "How could you get so much done in such a short time?"
"The Chinese are amazing people," Longarm explained. "They can do miracles and are extremely quick and efficient."
Veronica smiled. "I have to admit that I didn't realize how handsome a man you are, Custis."
"I hope that we have a chance to become better acquainted in Reno."
"I doubt that will be possible."
"Oh?"
"You told me that there was another train wreck at Donner Pass. I'm sure that every bit of your time and energy will be directed toward that terrible crime."
"Well, it will," he said quickly. "But these things don't usually take forever to clear up. I was thinking about afterward."
"Afterward what?"
Longarm took Veronica's hand. "Afterward we might go for a long buggy ride and then have dinner."
"That would be lovely... if it's all that you have in mind."
He decided to act mildly offended. "Why, Miss Greenwald! Whatever are you trying to say?"
"I'm trying to say that when you fell asleep this afternoon you had what appeared to be a very... stimulating dream."
"I did?"
"Yes. Very! You were calling a woman by name."
"I was?" Longarm could feel his cheeks warming.
"A Miss Martha Noble... at first."
Longarm gulped. "You mean there were others?"
"Oh, yes! Surely the name of a woman named Milly is enough to quicken your desire, eh, Mr. Long?"
Longarm sighed. There was really nothing he could say, so he excused himself and went for a short walk and to smoke a cheroot. Maybe by the time they arrived in Reno, Miss Greenwald would be inclined to forget about his amorous past.
CHAPTER 14
When the train finally pulled into Reno, a federal marshal was standing in the depot waiting for Longarm. His tone and manner were decidedly unfriendly. "Custis Long?" he asked around a wad of chewing tobacco.
"That's my name." Longarm said, noting the man's badge and the worn six-gun strapped low on his hip. Longarm stuck out his hand.
The marshal ignored the offered handshake. He was a big, heavy-set man with muttonchop whiskers and a potbelly. He had deep-set eyes and a fist-busted nose. Longarm pegged him for a one-time rounder.
Spitting a long stream of tobacco juice onto the depot floor, the marshal barked, "Follow me."
Longarm bristled, taking an instant dislike to this man. People who knew Longarm quickly learned that a smile and a request would work wonders, but that a command would have quite the o
pposite reaction. "I'll be along soon enough."
"You'll come now!"
Longarm smiled, but there was no warmth in his expression when he drawled, "The hell you say."
The marshal had been about to turn and lead them out of the throng of milling train passengers, their friends, and their families when Longarm's words pulled him up short.
"Listen to me," the marshal said, swinging around and jabbing a finger at Longarm. "You may be someone out in Colorado. I don't know and I don't care. But this is Nevada and you're going to be working for me and taking my orders. And the first order is get your skinny ass moving and follow me!"
Longarm glanced over at Veronica Greenwald, who was standing nearby and gave him a nervous smile. Longarm had promised to wait and make sure that there was someone to greet Veronica from the new school where she was supposed to work. Unfortunately, it didn't look like anyone had bothered to welcome her to the West and serve as her escort.
"What's your name, Marshal?" Longarm said, turning his attention back to the big man.
"Denton. Bill Denton. Now-"
Longarm cut the man off short. "Well, Denton, you see this young schoolmarm waiting for someone to greet her?"
Denton scowled at Veronica. "Yeah. What about her?"
"I'm going to help her find the school where she is starting a new teaching job."
Denton exploded. "Don't you understand English? I said you're coming with me right now!"
Longarm gave up on the big fool. He turned on his heel toward Veronica, but Denton grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.
Longarm drove a powerful uppercut to Denton's protruding gut. The marshal was caught flat-footed with surprise. His mouth, twisted in anger, formed a big circle, and his eyes bugged as he sucked for air and tried to recover.
Longarm hit him again. And again. Denton weighed in at least fifty pounds heavier than Longarm, who was not about to give the marshal a chance to recover. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Longarm drove Denton into a retreat across the depot floor. Each time the marshal tried to plant his feet and retaliate, Longarm's fist hammered his jaw or turned his big gut to jelly. Denton's nose cracked and flowed heavily. His lips were soon mashed to pulp, and one of his eyebrows was ripped by a slashing right uppercut. He was grunting with each blow, and when Longarm drew back and smashed him one final time, Denton flew off the baggage loading dock and landed on his back between two carriages waiting for hire.