Longarm and the Yuma Prison

Shoot-out at the Buffalo Saloon

“Put your guns on the bar top and do it with your left hands,” Longarm ordered quietly.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I'm a United States marshal and I am arresting you.”

A voice from across the room bellowed, “That's the big son of a bitch that tossed us out of our house today!”

Longarm saw Willard jump up from a card table in the far end of the room. Suddenly, everything was moving fast. Behind him, Zeke cursed and shoved Longarm aside as he drew his pistol and opened fire on the Wittman brothers.

The room exploded in gunfire. Zeke had knocked Longarm off balance, and he staggered but was able to right his balance and go for his gun. The brothers were fast, but Longarm wasn't where they expected and that gave him a split second's edge. He fired as rapidly as he could pull his trigger.

Men shouted and dived under tables. Willard came crashing through the crowd and Zeke shot him in the belly twice while taking fire. Longarm felt a bullet slice across his shoulder and he emptied his pistol until the Wittman brothers were on the floor.

Willard was screaming and thrashing around in the sawdust and Longarm scooped up the man's gun.

“Nobody move!” he yelled at the top of his voice. “This fight is finished!”

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LONGARM AND THE YUMA PRISON

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2013 by Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

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PUBLISHING HISTORY

Jove mass-market edition / April 2014

Cover illustration by Milo Sinovcic.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Deputy United States Marshal Custis Long wished everyone a happy weekend, then stepped outside the Federal Building in downtown Denver. It was Friday and a perfect June afternoon to go to the horse races, have a good meal, and maybe play a few games of poker. At the moment, there was no particular woman in his life and while that was unusual, it also presented him many opportunities. There was, for example, Millie O'Rourke, a fetching waitress and Irish lass who had been giving him the coquettish glances and dropping hints that she would like to become better acquainted. But Longarm had his eye on a young seamstress named Ann who had repaired a small tear in his coat and had made it plain that she wanted to be invited out to dinner . . . and much more.

Longarm tipped his hat at a pretty blond who passed and just as he was about to speak to her, a tall gentleman hurried across the street and kissed the woman on the cheek before taking her arm and leading her away, both of them laughing.

“So,” a voice behind him said, “do you have any plans for this weekend?”

Longarm turned to see his boss and good friend, Marshal Billy Vail. “I'm going to the horse races this evening.”

“Why don't you come have dinner with me and my family instead? We can have a couple of drinks and . . .”

Longarm thought the world of Billy, but he was of the opinion that Billy's wife was a whiner and his children were noisy and irritating. Not that it wasn't a nice family, but a complaining wife and three boisterous boys were not what he considered to be enjoyable company.

“Thanks for the offer, Billy, but I think I'll pass.”

“You always say that. One of these days I'm going to decide that you don't enjoy my wife's cooking.”

“Oh, she's a great cook,” Longarm lied. “And it's no wonder you've put on quite a lot of weight over the past few years.”

Billy patted his small potbelly. “Yes, it's hard to stay in shape, and now that I'm a paper-pushing bureaucrat it gets harder all the time. But my field days are over and I've had a good run. Besides, I needed the promotion because it's not cheap to raise a family.”

“I'm sure that's true.”

Billy clapped Longarm on the shoulder and said, “It's pot roast and apple pie for dessert if you change your mind. Dinner at seven.”

“Thanks,” Longarm said, “but another time.”

“Have a nice weekend, Custis. One of these days we'll have to get together and go fishing.”

“Sure thing.” Longarm waved as his friend left, wondering where in the world Billy had ever gotten the idea that he liked to fish.

Longarm descended the steps and started up the street, thinking he'd stop into the Emerald Pub and have a couple of drinks before heading for the local racetrack. But before he had gone even half a block, someone tugged urgently at his sleeve and whispered, “Marshal Custis Long?”

He turned to behold a tall and slender woman in her early twenties with intense dark eyes and wisps of black hair poking out from under a dirty man's cap. She was poorly dressed and although very attractive, he immediately sensed in her an air of real desperation.

“You
are
Custis Long, are you not?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Jessica Ray.”

“Have we met before?”

“No.” She paused. “But you knew my father. He was a federal marshal in charge of the same department that you work for.”

“You're Tom Ray's daughter?”

She blinked hard, eyelashes wet with tears. “Yes.”

“Your father was a legendary lawman and I'm sorry that he was leaving just as I was hired. I hardly knew him, but I remember that he was ambushed and shot up pretty badly and had to retire earlier than he'd planned.”

“Father was severely wounded. Shot three times and he should have died of his wounds, but he recovered. It happened when we were together returning from a few days of vacationing up in the mountains.”

Longarm's brow furrowed. “That's right. Your mother was killed outright when your buggy left a steep, winding road and rolled down into a canyon.”

“I was tossed into the air and suffered a concussion after landing on some rocks. My father was trying to reach me when someone began shooting from up on the road. My mother was crushed by the tumbling buggy.”

“It was a miracle any of you survived.”

“I know.”

“I'm really sorry about what happened. I remember that my current boss, Billy Vail, finally brought the ambusher to justice. He was sentenced and hanged not long afterward.”

“That's right.”

Longarm took the young woman's arm. “I was going to have a few drinks, but now I think I've decided to get something to eat. Would you be kind enough to join me?”

She nodded. “I . . . I didn't stop you just now hoping for a meal, although I have to admit that I haven't eaten all that well since arriving in Denver two days ago. Do you have a wife and family that are expecting you?”

“I'm not married. Jessica, where did you come from and where is your father?”

“It's a sad and complicated story, Marshal Long, and one I'd rather not tell you here on the street.”

“Then let's find a quiet place to share a good meal. Are you old enough to have a glass of whiskey or beer?”

“I'm twenty-six and I've shared many a glass with my father when we were prospecting in the deserts of southwestern Arizona. And then when we struck . . .” Jessica paused. “Let's just go where we can talk privately.”

“How does a big, juicy steak sound?” Longarm asked as they walked along Colfax Avenue.

“It sounds expensive, but I'm not turning it down . . . if that is an offer.”

“It is,” Longarm told her. “So you've only been back to Denver for a couple of days?”

“That's right. My father and I left here eight years ago. The town has grown and changed a great deal. There are so many more people on the streets than what I remembered.”

“Denver is prospering. But why did you come back?”

“To sell our house.”

They entered a nice steak house and Longarm pointed to a corner table in the back where they could speak without being overheard. “Waiter, I'll have a whiskey.”

The man looked to Jessica. “I'll have the same.”

When they were alone again, Longarm turned his full attention to the young woman. “So you and your father have a house in Denver?”

“That's right. When we left we rented it out. My uncle, Willard Paxton, collected the rent money and took ten percent, which was for his trouble and making sure that all the repairs were made. He managed the rental, but about six months ago, he wrote us in Arizona and said it had burned down. As you might expect, this was a terrible blow to my father because we were prospecting in Arizona and that was our only steady income.”

“I see.”

Jessica Ray leaned forward. “But the house
didn't
burn down! When I got here that is the first place I visited and guess who was living there?”

“Your uncle?”

“That's right. He and his older brothers, Clyde and Herman.”

“You must have had quite a shock.”

“I did,” Jessica replied in a small voice. “I asked my uncle Willard why he had lied about the house burning down and he said that I must have misunderstood his letter. And then when I said that if that was the case, why weren't we getting any more rent money?”

“Good question.”

“My uncle said that my father had deeded over the house to him. But, Marshal, I know that's a lie!”

“Did your uncle offer to show you any papers to prove his claim?”

“He said that there were papers but that they were in the hands of his attorney.”

“Whose name is?”

“Lee Monroe.”

“I know him,” Longarm said. “He is a sleazy man who would rob his own mother of her last dollar. But he has become successful, and I know he has many important clients.”

“Then I'm really up against it,” Jessica said quietly. “Because I don't have any money to oppose him.”

“Maybe I can help. I have a few friends in town that practice law. A couple of them even owe me favors.”

Jessica brightened. “Do you . . .”

“Let's talk some more,” Longarm urged. “I want to hear the full story before I make a judgment.”

Their drinks arrived and they ordered steaks: Longarm preferred his rare; Jessica liked her steak cooked well done. Alone again, Jessica raised her glass. “To justice.”

“To justice,” Longarm repeated. “So you found me to ask if I'd help you straighten things out with your uncle Willard Paxton and his brothers?”

“Yes . . . and my father.”

Longarm frowned. “Let's stick with Uncle Willard for a few more minutes until I understand this completely. Is there any chance that your father deeded over the house to him without telling you?”

“None at all,” Jessica replied. “The house was our ‘hole card,' if you will. It was the only thing we had that was worth anything. My father always said that if we never found gold in Arizona, we could at least come back to Denver and have a roof over our heads. And there was that rent money that we relied on. Prospecting, as I'm sure you know, is always a long shot . . . especially in Arizona where everything is so dry and rocky.”

“What does your uncle and his brothers do for a living?”

“I have no idea. They used to farm out in eastern Colorado, but my father said they were all lazy and would never make a go of anything requiring hard work.”

Longarm removed a pencil from his coat pocket and piece of paper. “What is the address of your house?”

“Four-oh-three Plum Street.”

“Nice neighborhood. Does the house look in good repair?”

“It's run-down now and needs paint and the gate is falling over. When Mother was alive she had a rose garden that was the envy of our neighborhood. Now, it's all dead. There are piles of trash in the yard and it looks sad and neglected.”

“I'll take a look at it tomorrow,” Longarm promised. “Now you said you also needed help for your father. What happened? Did he have an accident while you were prospecting?”

Jessica drained her glass and cleared her throat. “This is hard to tell you, Marshal.”

“Just tell me straight out.”

She raised her eyes to look into him. “My father shot two men in a Yuma saloon and has been sentenced to life in prison.”

It was Longarm's turn to drain his glass. He signaled the waiter for two more drinks and when the man arrived at their table, he said, “Hold the steaks and bring us a bottle of wine with them in about ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Longarm leaned back in his chair and studied the young woman closely. “What happened in the Yuma saloon?”

“I was in town shopping for supplies. My father went to the saloon for a few beers. A short time later, I heard gunfire and ran to the saloon. Father had been winged in the arm and two men were lying facedown on the sawdust floor, both dead.”

“Had they drawn their guns?”

“I didn't see any guns in their hands, but the sawdust was deep and everyone had crowded around them.”

“So what happened next?”

“I rushed to my father's side, and the next thing I knew a big marshal was crashing through the room and pistol-whipped my father, who had slumped back down in a chair. They took him to jail and he was sentenced to the penitentiary a week later.”

“Did your father claim self-defense?”

“Yes.” Jessica reached across the table and took Longarm's hand, squeezing it hard. “My father is a fine and decent man! He would never just shoot anyone without a good reason.”

“Did you visit with him in the jail?”

“Of course. Father said that he was playing poker with the two men. In no time at all, he saw that while they were
pretending
to be strangers to each other, they were really working a crooked deck to cheat him out of his money. When he confronted them, they went for their guns and he was faster and shot straighter.”

“Is that what his lawyer told the judge and jury?”

“We didn't have any money for a lawyer. Father spoke in his own defense, and of course, he wasn't very good at it and was sentenced to life in prison.” Jessica shook her head. “Father told me to come here and sell the house and use a small part of it to pay a good Yuma lawyer. He said that if his sentence stood, I should take the rest of the money, go far away to a new place, and start my life over without him.”

“Weren't there any witnesses in the saloon willing to testify that your father drew and fired in self-defense?”

“There were witnesses,” Jessica said bitterly. “But they were friends of the owner and he was friends with the dead men. Justice was never served.”

Longarm reached for the fresh glass of whiskey that the waiter delivered and tossed it down. “Bring the wine.”

The waiter shrugged as if he didn't care and was gone.

“I'm so sorry to have to burden you with all this trouble,” Jessica said. “But my father believes that the two men he killed in that saloon had been paid by Uncle Willard to start a fight and kill him.”

“Had you ever seen the two before?”

“No.”

“Jessica, I think this is going to be a tough one.”

“But will you at least try and get our house back so that I can return to Yuma and hire a lawyer?”

“Yes,” he replied. “That I'll do starting tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you!”

“You're welcome.” Longarm saw that their steaks were on the way. “Let's eat and talk some more. Where are you staying tonight?”

“I . . . I don't have enough money for a room so I was going to see if I could stay . . .”

“You can stay with me, Jessica.”