Longarm - Longarm. Part 4

The Crooked Lance Trail was longer and rougher than Longarm had antic.i.p.ated. He and his fellow traveler rode through old burns where charred lodgepole trunks and fetlock-deep ashes obscured the trail. They crossed rolling meadowlands frosted with sweet-smelling columbine and climbed through steep pa.s.ses where patches of dusty snow still lay unmelted and the air was thin, cold stuff that tasted like stardust. They forded whitewater streams and rode gingerly over vast stretches of frost-polished granite, keeping to the trail by reading sign. The seldom-used trail vanished for miles at a time under new growth or windblown forest duff, but a mummified cow pat or the bleached, silvery pole of the telegraph line led them to the next stretch of visible trail. Longarm noticed that the single line of copper wire was down in more than one place as they pa.s.sed a telegraph pole rotted away at its base. He couldn't really tell whether the wire had been torn up by the harsh winds of the high country or by someone intent on silencing Crooked Lance. You could read it either way.

The journey ended when they rode down into a flat-bottomed valley cradled among high, jagged peaks. Longarm reined in, and as the Canadian paused beside him, he studied the cl.u.s.ter of log buildings down the slope. He counted a dozen or so buildings surrounded by corrals, near an elbow of the sluggish stream draining the valley bottom. It looked peaceful. He saw some ponies. .h.i.tched in front of some buildings and figures moving quietly along one unpaved street. Two of them appeared to be women in gathered print skirts and sun bonnets. A cl.u.s.ter of men were sitting on the boardwalk in front of a larger building, their boots stretched before them in the street, as they talked quietly or just sat there waiting for something to happen, as men tend to do in small towns.

Longarm said, "let's ride in" and kicked the bay gently with a heel, loping slowly down the slope with du Val following.

He made for the building with the most people around it and reined in again. Nodding down at the quartet of cowhands in front of what he now saw was the general store, he said, "Howdy."

n.o.body moved, so Longarm said, "Name's Long. U.S. Deputy Marshal. This other gent's called du Val."

One of the men looked up and stared soberly for a time before he asked, "Is that a McClellan saddle?"

"Yep. They tell me there's a Federal prisoner being held here in Crooked Lance."

"Maybe. How do you keep from bustin' your b.a.l.l.s on that fool saddle? You couldn't give me one of them durned fool rigs to ride!"

There was a low snickering from the others as Longarm looked at the one who'd voiced the comment. Longarm said, "I ride a government saddle because I ride On government business and because a McClellan's easy on a horse's back. So, now that I've answered your question, friend, suppose you answer mine?"

The village jester turned to one of his cronies and asked, innocently, "Did you hear him ask a question, Jimbo?"

"Can't say. He talks sort of funny. Probably on account of that ribbon-bow round his neck, don't you reckon?"

The French Canadian swore, swinging his Sharps around as he roared, "Sacre G.o.d d.a.m.n! You make the jest at Chambrun du Val?"

The one called Jimbo snickered and said, "h.e.l.l no, Pilgrim, we're making fun of your funny-looking sidekick, here. Where'd you ever find him? He looks like a whisky drummer. Hey, do you sell whisky, boy?"

"What did you say?"

"I asked if you sold whisky, boy."

Longarm dismounted, ominously, and strode over to the one called Jimbo as the latter got to his feet with a smirk. Longarm said, "Asking a man what he does for a living is reasonable. Calling him a boy can get him testy."

"Do tell? What do you do when you gets testy, boy?"

Longarm's sixgun appeared in his right hand as he kicked Jimbo in the kneecap, covering him and anyone else who wanted a piece of the action as Jimbo went down, howling in agony.

The first lout who'd spoken leaped to his own feet, gasping, "Are you crazy, mister?"

"I could be. But now that we've changed boy to mister, let's see what else we can workout. As I remember, I was asking some fool question or other, wasn't I?"

Jimbo rolled to a sitting position, grasping his injured knee as he moaned, "G.o.d d.a.m.n it, fellers, take him! He's busted my f.u.c.king Leg!"

One of the cooler heads among the Crooked Lance crowd sighed, "You take him if you've a mind to. This is gettin' too serious for funnin'. The man you want is across the way in yonder log house, lawman."

"Now that's more neighborly. Who do I see about taking him off your hands?"

There was a moment of silence. Then the informative one shrugged and said, "You'd have to clear it with Timberline, I reckon. He ain't here."

"He's the ramrod of the Rocking H, right?"

The other nodded and Longarm asked, "Who's guarding the prisoner over there, right now?"

"I reckon it's pop Wade. Yeah, it's Pop's turn over to the jail. pop won't give him to you, though. n.o.body does anything hereabouts 'less Timberline says they can."

Longarm saw that the Canadian had turned his big gelding around and was heading for the jailhouse. He trotted after du Val and called out, "Slow down, old son. I know what you're thinking, but don't try it."

Du Val ignored him. The Canadian crossed the open stretch just ahead of Longarm and pounded on the plank door, shouting curses in French. Longarm took him by the elbow and swung him around, trying to disarm him as gently as possible. But gentleness wasn't effective. The old man was redfaced with rage and Longarm's English wasn't making any impression on his hate-filled mind. So as the others ran across the street toward the jail, he tapped du Val with the barrel of his.44, hitting him just below the ear.

Du Val collapsed in the dust like a rag doll as the jailhouse door flew open and a worried, middle-aged man peered out. One of the hands from the general store looked soberly down at the unconscious man and opined, "You do be inclined to testiness, by G.o.d! Was you birthed this ornery, mister? Or is it something you et?"

Longarm handed the unconscious Canadian's weapon to the jailer, saying, "You'd best put this away. This old boy rode all the way from the Red River of the North to gun your prisoner. I'd like a look at him myself."

The jailer hesitated. One of the town loafers suggested, "You'd best let him, Pop. This one's a purely ornery cuss!"

"Timberline ain't going to like it," the jailer said, as he stood aside to let Longarm enter.

The interior was divided into two rooms. The rearmost room was closed off by a door of latticed aspen poles and barbed-wire mesh. As Longarm's eyes adjusted to the gloom he saw a tall, blond man standing just inside the improvised cell, staring at him with a mixture of hope and utter misery. As the jailer followed him across the room, Longarm nodded to the prisoner and said, "I'm from the Justice Department, Mister Younger."

The prisoner shook his head and said, "that well may be, but I ain't Cotton Younger! I keep telling everyone I ain't, but will they listen?"

Pop Wade snorted, "Listen to the jaybird, will you? The son of a b.i.t.c.h was catched fair and square stealing Lazy K cows and he matches them reward posters to the T!"

"I never stole cow one! Where in h.e.l.l would I go with a stolen cow?"

"You saying you never had that running iron in your possibles, Son?"

"all right, I did have a length of bar-iron I sort of picked up along the way. That don't prove all that much!"

"It proves you had the tools of the cow thief's trade, G.o.d d.a.m.n your eyes!"

Longarm had heard this same discussion almost every time he'd talked to a man in jail and it was tedious every time. He said, "What you done hereabouts ain't the question, Mister Younger. I'll be taking you to Denver to talk to the judge about some other matter."

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, I ain't Cotton Younger! My name is Jones. Billy Jones from Cripple Creek!"

"Jesus H. Christ, son, can't you do better than Jones?"

"Hel, somebody has to be named Jones, don't they?"

"How about James? Ain't the Younger and the James boys kin?"

"How should I know? I ain't kin to n.o.body named James or Younger. I'm just Billy Jones, from Cripple Creek, and everybody hereabouts is crazy!"

"Well, then, you got nothing to worry about when I carry you back to Denver, have you?"

"Why in h.e.l.l do I want to go to Denver? I was on my way to Oregon when these crazy folks hereabouts d.a.m.n near killed me and started calling me an outlaw! I don't want to go to Denver!"

"'Fraid you're bound there, just the same. You answer the description and I'm just the errand boy, not the judge." He turned to the jailer and said, "I got his papers right here. You want me to sign for him, Mister Wade?"

Pop Wade said, "Can't let you have him. It ain't my say who goes in or out of here, mister."

"What are you talking about, you can't let me have him? I'm a U.S. Deputy Marshal with a Federal Warrant on this cuss, G.o.d d.a.m.n it!"

"I don't doubt that for a minute, mister. There's a Canadian mountie, a Missouri Sheriff, and a whole posse of other lawmen over at the hotel who say the same thing. The committee says it ain't made up it's mind yet."

"What committee, what mind, and about what?"

"Vigilance Committee of Crooked Lance. This here Cotton Younger is their prisoner until they says different. Ain't n.o.body taking him no where 'til Timberline and the others say it's fitting."

Longarm considered. He could take Younger away from the elderly jailer easily enough, and the hands out front would likely crawfish back long enough for the two of them to ride out. On the other hand, it was a long ride to the nearest place he'd be able to hold him safely.

Longarm shrugged and said, "I'd better have a talk with those other lawmen and this big hoorah called Timberline."

CHAPTER 7.

The hotel in Crooked Lance wasn't as fancy as the one in Bitter Creek. It wasn't a hotel, in fact. The family who owned the general store and ran the post office and telegraph outlet had a livery shed and an extra lean-to part.i.tioned into tiny, dirt-floored cubicles they rented to those few riders staying overnight in town. The family's name was Stover and they were inclined to take a profit wherever one could be found. The hotel had a sort of veranda facing the muddy banks Of the valley stream on the far side from the one street. There, Longarm found another quartet of moody men, seated on barrels, or in one- case, pacing up and down. The man on his feet wore the scarlet tunic of the Northwest Mounted Police, trail-dusty and worn through at one elbow. The other three wore civilian clothes, but one had a star pinned to his lapel. As the storekeeper introduced Longarm to his fellow lawmen, the mountie asked, "Are you the person who just beat up a Canadian citizen?"

"'Fraid so. Where'd they put old du Val? By the time I came out of the jailhouse they'd carried him off."

"He's inside, with a concussion. They told us you'd beaten him unconscious. I'd say you owe me an explanation, since I'm here on Her Majesty's business and..."

One of the others said, "Oh, shut up and set down, d.a.m.n it. you know he's a U.S. Marshal!" To Longarm he added, "I'm Silas Weed, from Clay County, Missouri. This here's Captain Walthers from the U.S. ArmY Provost Marshal's office, and the gent with the big cigar is a railroad d.i.c.k called Ryan."

Longarm nodded and hooked a boot over the edge of the veranda as he said, "My outfit's missing a deputy called Kincaid. Any of you met up with him?"

There was a general shaking of heads, which didn't surprise Longarm. He turned to the one called Ryan and asked, "Are you from the same detective agency as a funny couple called Hanks, Mister Ryan? They said one of their agents was missing, too."

Ryan grimaced around the stub of his cigar and growled, "Jesus. Are you talking about a female traveling with a dwarf?"

"Sounds like the same folks. You with their outfit or not?"

"G.o.d, no! Cedric Hanks and his wife work alone! They're bounty hunters, not detectives! Where'd you run into them?"

"Bitter Creek, headed this way. You say the gal's his wife?"

"Yeah, when he ain't pretending to be her little kid. Ain't that a b.i.t.c.h? They run con games when they're not hunting down men with papers on 'em. If you met up with that pair you're lucky to have the fillings in your teeth!"

"They were Rely lying about having a partner up here, too, then. What's the story on that prisoner over yonder, gents? I take it all of us rode up here on the same errand."

The man from the provost office snapped, "The armY has first claim on him. He's not only wanted on a hanging military offense, but I was here first!"

Sheriff Weed said, "The h.e.l.l you say, Captain! Clay County's papers on him have seniority. We've been after him a good six years!"

The Mountie wheeled around and challenged, "Not so fast! Your own State Department has honored Her Majesty's warrant for the murder of a British subject!"

Longarm smiled crookedly at the railroad detective, who smiled back and said, "that's half of the problem. The other half is the Crooked Lance Vigilance Committee. They say they're holding Cotton Younger for the highest bidder."

"They what? These cowpokes hereabouts holding a man for ransom with four--make that five--lawmen in town?"

"They don't see it as ransom. It's all the d.a.m.n paper Cotton younger and his kin have out on 'em. He's worth five hundred to the railroad I work for. Clay County, there, says he's worth about the same to Missouri. Queen Victoria ain't been heard but she'd likely pay some d.a.m.n thing, and Army, here, says the standing offer for deserters is three to five hundred, depending. I'd say Army was low bidder, up to now. How much is he worth to the Justice Department?"

"Don't know. My boss never mentioned a reward."

"there you go, old son. You just made last in line!" Longarm stuck a cheroot between his teeth and thumbnailed a match as he gathered his thoughts. Then he shook his head and said, "I don't see it that way, gents. Justice Department outranks all others."

"All but Her Majesty's Government" the Mountie amended.

"No offense to your Queen, but her writ doesn't carry much weight in U.S. Federal territory, which Wyoming happens to be. Before we fuss about it further amongst ourselves, what's keeping the five of us from at least getting back to the rails and telegraph with the prisoner? Seems to me it'd make more sense to let our superiors fight it out, once we had him locked in a city jail."

The Missouri sheriff asked, "the jail in Bitter Creek?"

"Why not? It's got bars and a telegraph office we can get to."

"Town marshal down there's sure to want a split on the reward."

Longarm snorted, "Oh, for G.o.d's sake, this is the dumbest situation I've ever been in, and I've been in some p.i.s.sers! We're talking about a shiftless thief with a lousy five hundred on him, and..."

"No, we ain't," the railroad d.i.c.k cut in, "We're talking about ten thousand dollars, no questions, cash on the barrelhead!"

Longarm frowned and snapped, "Ten thousand dollars, on that tall drink of water over yonder?"

"h.e.l.l, no, on his kinfolks, Frank and Jesse James! Between the state of Missouri, The Pinkertons, and a dozen small banks and such, either one of the James boys is worth at least that, dead or alive. Should any man nail both, he'd collect more like twenty!" He shrugged and added, "I ain't that greedy, myself. I'd settle for either."

"Yeah, but the prisoner here ain't Frank or Jesse James. When I just talked to him, he denied even being Cotton Younger."

"What else did you expect, Longarm? Once he's getting fitted for that hemp necktie, he'll talk, all right."

Sheriff Weed chimed in, "That's for d.a.m.n sure. Our only problem seems to be just who gets him, and how to convince the locals who caught him that they'll have a share in the reward."

"Ain't everyone counting unhatched chickens, gents?"

Weed nodded and said, "Sure they are. That's what's holding up the parade. n.o.body here can promise a reward for a James boy still at large. Getting some of these dumb cowboys to see it that way can be a ch.o.r.e. All of us have tried, one time or another."

Longarm muttered, "I don't believe this! There's five of us, d.a.m.n it! If any two of you would back me, I'd be riding out of here with Cotton Younger within the hour!"

He waited to see if there were any volunteers. Then he asked Weed, "How about it, Sheriff?"

"Would you turn him over to me as soon as we rode free?"

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, you're obstructing justice!"

"No, I ain't. I came all the way out here from the County of Clay to arrest that boy and that's my aim. That's my only aim. I don't pull chestnuts out of the fire for other lawmen."

Longarm looked at the army agent, who shrugged and said, "I have my orders."