Longarm and the Train Robbers (7 page)

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."