Longarm and the 400 blow.., p.1
Longarm and the 400 Blows, page 1
Sister Act
“Gardner and his gang held up a military payroll detail, murdered six men and the payroll officer, and escaped with more than thirty thousand dollars, almost all of it in coin.” Hard money, most of it silver, was the normal method of payment for the military.
Longarm whistled softly. “Thirty thousand. That’s a right tidy haul, Boss.”
“So it is. Five or six thousand a man, the way I hear it. Of course that was almost a year ago. There is no telling where those gang members are now.” The chief marshal smiled. “Except for Gardner himself. Some very helpful someone took him into custody down south and there he sits, waiting for you to come fetch him home for trial.” Billy’s expression hardened. “And hanging. He will surely swing for killing all those soldiers.”
“This happened in our district?” Longarm asked.
“Just south of Fort Caspar. Gardner and his people set an ambush, apparently a rather clever one, at a ford across a very small creek. The men disguised themselves as nuns in need of assistance. Which of course the payroll officer was quick to offer. The next thing you knew those ‘nuns’ had produced sawed-off shotguns and had everyone controlled. The coldhearted bastards tied the soldiers’ hands, lined them up, and shot them down, no mercy given whatsoever. You can see why we want this man to hang.”
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Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him … the Gunsmith.
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LONGARM AND THE 400 BLOWS
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Jove edition / March 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 1
His hand snaked blindly out from beneath the covers and fumbled for the bulbous Ingersoll pocket watch he always kept within reach on the bedside table. Except … he could not find it. In fact could not find the bedside table.
His eyes came open. Reluctantly. And painfully. He winced at the bright daylight streaming in past the blinds, light that was coming from the wrong side of his room.
His head throbbed and his mouth felt like it had been filled with cotton. Dirty cotton at that.
He must have really tied one on last night, he concluded. It was all the fault of that wine. If he had been drinking his usual rye whiskey, he surely would not have a head like this. But she ordered wine instead and …
Whoa! She. What she?
Deputy United States Marshal Custis Long became aware of a warm presence pressed against his hip. And of the fact that he was not in his own bed here.
Lordy, what … ?
He rolled his head to the side, sharp pains stabbing his eyeballs and pounding the inside of his skull, and blinked back the stickiness that pasted layers of glue on his eyelids.
He saw a mass of blond curls beside his shoulder. Became aware of the flowery scent of a perfume or a powder. Noticed a pale, rubbery tit peering out from beneath the sheet that covered both he and … and whoever the woman was. Try as he might, he could not remember who the hell she was or what she looked like.
He sure must have liked the look of her last night though. That thought brought a small smile. Damn that wine, though. He could not remember a thing about the evening.
Well, not much of it anyway.
He did remember something about being thrown out of Nate Kelley’s Bar and Grill and laughing about it at the time. He remembered that the blond woman—what the hell was her name anyway?—had a laugh that sounded like a mule braying.
But she had great tits. He remembered that well enough. Big tits.
He rolled a little further onto his side so he could reach over and take hold of the one that was exposed. It was soft. Doughy. As flaccid as his dick was right now.
The woman snorted in her sleep and turned onto her back, exposing the other tit, too. She had nipples as big as most women have tits. And her tits were rather ugly, crisscrossed with blue veins lying just under the skin.
She turned her head a little and started to snore. He could see her face now. Wished she had continued to look the other way. She was … not pretty. It would have been uncharitable to say that the woman was ugly. But … she was ugly. That was the long and the short of it. This bed partner was just plain butt ugly.
Longarm carefully, very carefully, extricated himself from her
He had brown hair and a broad, full sweep of mustache, a face more craggy than handsome, and soft eyes that could turn hard as flint when the occasion demanded. For reasons he himself did not understand, women tended to find him handsome while men generally thought him trustworthy.
Now he eased away from the side of the bed and found a velvet-covered dressing table chair to perch on while he silently dressed in brown corduroy trousers, a calfskin vest, black stovepipe cavalry boots, a brown tweed coat, and a snuff-brown, flat-crowned Stetson hat.
His final, and most necessary, piece of apparel was a black gun belt that placed his double-action .45-caliber Colt revolver in a cross-draw rig.
The errant Ingersoll he discovered on the blond woman’s dressing table. The watch went into the appropriate vest pocket with its chain extending across the flat of his belly to the other pocket where it ended in a .41-caliber derringer that was attached to his watch chain. The little pistol had come in mighty handy a time or two in the past.
Longarm tucked watch and pistol into his vest pockets and tiptoed out into the hallway of what appeared to be a rather run-down hotel.
My, oh my, how had he come to be here?
Once he was safely out of the woman’s room he smiled. From the feel of things, throbbing head and cotton mouth and all, he must have had a helluva fine night of it.
Yes, sir, he must really have enjoyed himself.
Time now to get to work, though.
Chapter 2
“You’re late,” Chief Marshal Vail’s clerk Henry accused from behind his desk.
Longarm hung his Stetson on the hat rack in the corner of the outer office and turned, grinning. “Yeah, but if I know you, old hoss, you was here an hour early this morning.” He held his hands out, one high and one low, and slowly brought them side by side. “Between us we balance out,” he said, grinning.
“The boss might not think so,” Henry said, light reflecting off his spectacles and making his eyes invisible behind the glare. “He’s been looking for you.”
“Shit,” Longarm grumbled. Most mornings it did not much matter if he was a wee bit late. Or, as in this case, an hour and a half late.
He crossed to the door leading into Chief U.S. Marshal William Vail’s private office and politely tapped on it.
“Come in,” a voice called from inside.
Longarm opened the door and stepped in.
“You,” Billy Vail said, his tone suggesting the word was more accusation than greeting.
“Good morning, Boss,” Longarm said contritely.
“I suppose you have a good explanation,” the pink-cheeked, almost entirely bald marshal said. The man looked like he should have been in the outer office working as a clerk, looked mild mannered and gentle. In truth he was a former Texas Ranger who was as salty as the worst of the desperadoes he once chased.
“No, sir. No excuse, sir,” Longarm said, straightening to a rather ragged form of attention.
“Well, that is a surprise anyway.” Billy waved a hand dismissively. “I suppose the truth is that you were engaged in some sort of debauchery with a trollop. Or worse. In which case I would rather not know about it.”
The marshal sniffed once, then leaned forward to sort through a slim sheaf of papers laid out on his desk. He found the one he wanted and extracted it from the pile, leaning back in his swivel armchair and peering across the desk at Deputy Custis Long.
“I have a job for you,” Billy announced.
“Yes, sir?” Not that the information was any great surprise. Why the hell else would Billy call him in here except to give him an assignment? Well, either that or to fire him. Or threaten to. Or … In retrospect perhaps there were a great many reasons why Longarm might now be standing at attention in front of Billy’s desk.
Vail turned the sheet of paper—it was a bright yellow Western Union message form—around to face Longarm and pushed it across the desk to him.
“May I?” Longarm picked up the telegram and took a look.
HOLDING ANTON GARDNER FORT MARION STOP YOU TRANSPORT FOR TRIAL DENVER DISTRICT STOP ADVISE EARLIEST STOP S/ CRAIG
“The name Gardner I recognize,” Longarm said. “Fort Marion I don’t. Where would that be?”
“Don’t feel bad about not recognizing it,” Billy said. “I had to look it up myself. It’s on the Atlantic coast somewhere south of Jacksonville, Florida. An old Spanish fort, I understand. I knew the name but not where it is.”
“Oh, hell. O’ course. They been holding a bunch of renegade Injuns there.”
“Off and on,” Billy said, nodding.
“Who is this Craig who signed the telegram?”
Vail shrugged. “The marshal for that district perhaps or the army officer in charge of the fort. I really don’t know, but I’m sure you will find out when you get there.”
“When I get there,” Longarm repeated.
“Exactly. I want you to go there—there will be no need for extradition papers since Gardner is already in the custody of the United States government—secure the prisoner and transport him back here for trial.”
“I recognize the name, Billy, but what’d he do exactly?”
“Gardner and his gang held up a military payroll detail, murdered six men and the payroll officer, and escaped with more than thirty thousand dollars, almost all of it in coin.” Hard money, most of it silver, was the normal method of payment for the military.
Longarm whistled softly. “Thirty thousand. That’s a right tidy haul, Boss.”
“So it is. Five or six thousand a man, the way I hear it. Of course that was almost a year ago. There is no telling where those gang members are now.” He smiled. “Except for Gardner himself. Some very helpful someone took him into custody down south and there he sits, waiting for you to come fetch him home for trial.” Billy’s expression hardened. “And hanging. He will surely swing for killing all those soldiers.”
“This happened in our district?” Longarm asked.
“Just south of Fort Caspar. Gardner and his people set an ambush, apparently a rather clever one, at a ford across a very small creek. The men disguised themselves as nuns in need of assistance. Which of course the payroll officer was quick to offer. The next thing you knew, those ‘nuns’ had produced sawed-off shotguns and had everyone controlled. The coldhearted bastards tied the soldiers’ hands, lined them up, and shot them down, no mercy given whatsoever. You can see why we want this man to hang.”
“Damn right. What about the rest of the gang?”
Billy shrugged. “We have no idea who they are. Or I suppose I should say ‘were.’ It is unlikely they would still be together. Not after this much time and that much money divided among them. The only reason we know anything about what happened up there is because of sign left behind on the ground and the nuns’, um, they call those black things ‘habits,’ don’t they?”
“I believe they do, yes, sir.”
“They left the habits behind. And their empty shotgun shells. The bastards!” Billy scowled and pushed more papers across the desk to Longarm. “Anyway, here are your orders for Gardner. You can get the usual travel vouchers, rather more of them than usual I should think, from Henry.”
“One thing, Boss. Any idea how I go about gettin’ to this Fort Marion place?”
Billy laughed. “Not a clue, Longarm. Not one single clue. But I have every confidence that you will find it. And that you will bring Anton Gardner back here to face trial and hanging.”
“Yes, sir. I figure t’ do just that. The whole deal sounds long an’ boring but easy enough.”
He had been wrong about such things before, too.
Chapter 3
A long journey, had he said? He hadn’t known the half of it. The damn trip was going to take more than a week. And that was just to get there! Trains, ferries, who the hell knew what else. Longarm fervently wished the boss had chosen to send someone else on this boring journey, but everyone except for the new kid was already assigned work and this was simply too long a jaunt—and Anton Gardner too mean a son of a bitch—to trust to a newcomer like the kid.
Longarm sighed and accepted his fate. Fort Marion, the boss had said, so Fort Marion it would be. If he could just figure out how to get there.
