Longarm - Longarm And The Double-Barrel Blowout Part 13

"That's for certain. Here's the Trevor House," Longarm said, drawing his sorrel up to the closest hitching rail and then wearily climbing out of his saddle. "I'll get us a couple of rooms, Dan."

But Dan had fallen fast asleep. Longarm thought that was just fine. Sleep was an essential part of healing, so Longarm made sure that his old friend was comfortable and that the Spanish treasure box was still wrapped in canvas so that it would not attract any attention, then went inside the hotel.

There was no one behind the desk, so Longarm rang the bell loudly for several minutes until a sleepy-eyed clerk appeared. The clerk's expression was sullen and uncooperative until he recognized Longarm, and even then he had a tough time mustering a smile.

"Welcome back to town, Marshal. You a you look like you've traveled a long hard trail."

"I have," Longarm said. "I need a rooma"no, two rooms. Make them adjoining."

"You have a friend?" the clerk asked.

"Yes. Preacher Dan, who has been shot."

"So have you," the clerk said, coming awake fast. "What in the name of a"

"The rooms," Longarm interrupted shortly. "I'm in no mood for talk tonight."

"Of course!"

Longarm got his two rooms and went outside, where he unlashed Dan from the travois and then carried him back into the hotel. Dan hardly weighed anything and it was easy enough to get him to bed. After that, Longarm hurried back outside and unlashed the Spanish treasure box. He was glad that he had wrapped it in canvas because his appearance had caused some excitement even at this late hour. A couple of men, watching with intense curiosity, even volunteered to help Longarm carry in his belongings.

"No thanks," Longarm growled. "Why don't you boys all go back to your business, whatever that might be at this late hour."

"You find the Spanish treasure?"

"No," Longarm lied.

"Who shot you and old Dan up so bad?" another asked.

"Someone who got a fatal case of the curiosities," Longarm replied testily.

The man and his friends hastily retreated. Longarm hauled all of his valuables into the rooms and then went back out once more to water the horses and give them the last of the grain he had in his saddlebags.

"I'm sorry I can't unsaddle you and put you in some pen to roll around in tonight," he told the weary animals, "but I'll make up for it tomorrow morning."

Longarm made sure that each horse was taken care of and then, feeling his own exhaustion, he trudged back into the hotel, wanting nothing more than a hot bath, a bottle of whiskey, and then a long, restful sleep.

"Marshal?"

"Yeah?" he said, turning to the clerk.

"I suppose that it's too much to hope that you will pay for your stay here with more Spanish gold coins."

Longarm paused in the middle of the lobby. In truth, he wasn't sure how he would pay for the rooms, but neither was he worried. It was something he could think about after a few days when his mind and body had rested.

"What about Mr. Potter?"

"The banker?"

"That's right."

"He died of his gunshot wounds."

"Did they ever reopen his bank?"

"As a matter of fact, they did," the clerk said.

This was good news. Maybe now Longarm could finally get his hands on the government travel money that Billy Vail had promised to wire.

"And what about the banker's fiance, Miss Victoria Hathaway?"

"The one you rescued."

"The same."

"Well," the clerk said, "after you left, she rested for a few days then traveled up to Prescott for her fiance's funeral. She looked very weak and tired, but insisted that she be there when her fiance was put to his final rest."

"Then what did she do?"

"Miss Hathaway returned here and, as far as I know, she is recuperating with a friend over on Third Street."

"With a lady friend?"

"Of course!" The clerk looked shocked by this question, but the hour was late and Longarm was in no frame of mind to be subtle.

"Who is this lady?"

"Her name is Ann Reed and she is a widow. Considerably older, I might add, but quite popular here in Wickenburg because of her good deeds and work-"

"How can I find them?" Longarm interrupted.

"Mrs. Reed lives in a small but comfortable brown and white painted Victorian. It's on Third Street, just a block north and two blocks west."

"Thanks."

"Shame about Mr. Potter," the clerk said as Longarm was about to go. "He was a fine, well-respected man in this part of Arizona. Very successful too. I'm sure that Miss Hathaway is deep in grieving."

"I'm sure that she is," Longarm replied.

"Oh, one other thing," the clerk said. "It's none of my business, but everyone knows that you and Preacher Dan went out hoping to discover that lost Spanish treasure. I don't mean to pry, but-"

"Then don't," Longarm said coldly. "Just send up a couple of bottles of whiskey and a hot bath."

The desk clerk blushed. "Sure, Marshal," he snapped as he turned to holler for someone other than himself to start heating up the bath-water.

Longarm went back to check on Dan. The old prospector and preacher was pale and needed food and rest, but a little whiskey first might be just the tonic he required. Longarm figured he was in need of some whiskey too. It had been a rough d.a.m.ned week but not a bad one. They'd found the Spanish gold, put the mysterious disappearance of Jimmy c.o.x sadly to rest, and he'd killed five outlaws. Other than Hank Ba.s.s himself getting away, everything had gone extremely well and Longarm knew that he had no complaints coming.

There was a door connecting their two rooms, and Longarm left it open. It took nearly an hour for the bath to be drawn and his tub filled, but Longarm didn't mind. He sipped whiskey and rested, then took his bath and felt like a new man. Tomorrow, he'd shave and get a badly needed haircut and fresh change of clothes after he figured out a way to get his government money sent from Prescott. Until then, he could sell the two extra horses and saddles and get by just fine.

Longarm fell asleep within seconds after he climbed into bed. He ached everywhere and couldn't remember when he'd been any more beat and scratched up than he was now. But tomorrow everything was going to start getting better.

Much, much better.

Longarm awoke just before dawn hearing movement in Dan's adjoining room. He heard whispered voices, then a boot b.u.mp into a table or chair followed by a low oath.

Longarm reached for his six-gun, which was hanging on the bedpost. He eased the gun out of its holster and then slipped off the bed, figuring that the intruders were after the Spanish treasure. Well, they were going to get a lot more than they bargained for when he stepped into Dan's room with his six-gun in his fist.

"Dammit!" one of the men hissed. "I can't see anything in here because it's so dark!"

"Hey!" another cried. "I found something. It feels like a like an old metal box! And it's real heavy!"

"Where?!"

"Over here!"

"Dammit, light a match but watch out! If that big marshal wakes up, we're going to have to kill him before he kills us first."

Longarm stifled a grunt of pain as he began to tiptoe forward toward the adjoining doorway. It was dark, and when he reached the door, he paused for several moments until a match flared and Dan's room suddenly became illuminated.

There were three men, and one of them was Hank Ba.s.s! Longarm couldn't help but grin as he raised his gun and said, "All right, boys, party is over. Throw up your hands!"

Ba.s.s jumped behind one of his companions and opened fire. Longarm shot the unfortunate man that Ba.s.s was using as a shield but had to duck back into his room for cover. In the next few moments, all h.e.l.l broke loose. The match went out and the rooms were plunged into darkness. Longarm dropped to the floor and fired blindly into Dan's room, more than a little afraid of accidently hitting the preacher, especially if the gunfire roused old Dan and he tried to leave his bed.

Gla.s.s shattered but Longarm was still getting return fire until he took a bead on a muzzle flash and ended the fight. A low grunt of pain and then the sound of a body striking the floor confirmed that a second outlaw was either wounded or dead. But that was a very important or, so Longarm wasted precious moments holding his breath and trying to figure out whether or not it was safe to enter Dan's bullet-riddled room.

"Dan! Dan, are you all right?!"

When there was no answer, Longarm felt a chill of dread pa.s.s through his body. He took a deep breath and rushed into his friend's room still half expecting to be shot at by one of the fallen outlaws.

Longarm put a match to Dan's bedside lamp and sighed with relief. Dan had apparently drunk a good deal of his own bottle of whiskey and had fallen back into a very profound slumber. Fact was, he'd slept through the entire fray and was still asleep. Longarm made sure of that after taking Dan's pulse and finding it both slow and steady. The lid of the treasure box was open and there were gold coins spilled across the floor and over to the shattered window.

Ba.s.s could not have taken more than a handful of the Spanish coins but, dammit, the outlaw had escaped again. His human shield was riddled with Longarm's slugs, and the other man that Longarm had dropped was barely alive. Knowing that the dying outlaw might be able to give him a few important clues as to where Ba.s.s might go, Longarm tried to plug up a hole in his chest and revive him with a few gulps of whiskey.

"Who are you?!" Longarm demanded when the dying outlaw's eyes fluttered open. "Where did Ba.s.s go?"

In reply, the outlaw tried to spit in Longarm's face. Dropping the man's head back to the floor with a loud thunk, Longarm watched as the outlaw's body began to convulse and his boot heels pounded the wooden floor. There would be no answers from this man. None at all.

Longarm collected the scattered gold coins and returned them to the metal box. He grabbed up the whiskey and took a deep drink, then heard many footsteps pounding up the hallway.

"It's over!" Longarm said, pushing the treasure box under Dan's bed. "I'm a United States marshal and I want everyone to go back to bed!"

There was some disgruntled talk in the hallway, but things quickly quieted down. Longarm regarded the two dead men and, because he knew it would be hopeless to try to catch Ba.s.s, he went back to bed himself.

Chapter 16.

When Longarm awoke late the next morning, there was a small crowd down in the street near his horses. Longarm yawned and peered at them through his window. When the crowd noticed him, one of its members pointed and shouted.

"There he is! It's the marshal!"

Longarm pulled the curtain shut and went next door into Dan's room. The preacher was snoring away and his color was quite good. Longarm checked Dan's whiskey and discovered that the level of the bottle had dropped several inches. In fact, the better part of it had been consumed, telling Longarm that, preacher or not, Dan had a strong appet.i.te for liquor.

The outlaws were still lying on the floor, and Longarm determined that his first order of business should be to remove them to the hallway where an undertaker could take care of that unpleasant business.

Opening Dan's door, he dragged the two men out to the hallway where he immediately confronted the hotel clerk and an older man who identified himself as the owner of the Trevor House.

"My name is Tidwell," the man said. "And, Marshal, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you and your friend to leave this establishment at once."

"Oh? And why should I do that?"

Tidwell was a large, heavy man with a red bulbous nose and gray hair. He had probably once been quite an imposing figure, but now he just looked old and bloated. Even so, he was not a man who was afraid of expressing his thoughts.

"My hotel is my livelihood, sir. You come here and, in one night, destroy the reputation that I have created for this hotel over the past twenty years! We have never had so much as a brawl, let alone two killings!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tidwell, but I had no choice. These dead men broke into our room in the middle of the night and would have killed both of us except-"

"Except that you killed them first."

"That's right." Longarm's own tone of voice took on a hard edge. "It was self-defense, Mr. Tidwell, and I acted in the line of duty."

"Fine! But do your line of duty somewhere else," Tidwell snapped. "Marshal, you and your wounded friend are no longer welcome in this hotel. Please find other accommodations."

Longarm had a very powerful urge to tell this overstuffed and self-important man to go to h.e.l.l. On the other hand, he knew that his presence was a magnet for trouble. Tidwell obviously wanted to attract a high caliber of guests, and the fact that two men had just died in this hotel was not likely to help him achieve his aims.

"All right," Longarm said. "We'll leave as soon as we can find another couple of rooms."

"No," Tidwell insisted, "you'll leave now."

Longarm almost grabbed Tidwell by the shirtfront but somehow managed to control his anger enough to repeat, "When we find another place to stay, we'll leave. But not until then, Mr. Tidwell. I hope you understand."

"I don't, and I doubt very much if you can find any hotel in Wickenburg that will take you in, given what occurred here last night."

"That would be unfortunate a for all of us," Longarm said, spinning on his boot heels and going back into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Longarm repacked his gear and made ready to go in search of a hotel where Dan and he could recuperate. He shaved and dug out the last clean shirt in his bag, then listened to his belly growl with hunger. Going next door, he roused Dan from his sleep and said, "I have to go out and find us someplace else to stay."

Preacher Dan's eyes were a little bloodshot from the whiskey, but his color really was quite good. He yawned and asked, "Where are we?"

"This is the Trevor House. Three men came in here last night through your window. Two of them are dead and the third was Hank Ba.s.s."

"He got away?"

"Yeah," Longarm admitted. "I'm afraid he did. And maybe worst of all, he found our treasure box and got a fistful of coins. So you can bet that he won't leave us alone."