Longarm and the Yuma Prison (9 page)

Longarm went back to the hotel, shaved, bathed, and had an excellent breakfast. He strolled into the hotel's clean and comfortable little lobby and bought a copy of the
Yuma Daily News
from the desk clerk, then he found a comfortable chair facing the front door and began to read the weekly paper. There wasn't much in the way of news, just some ads and two obituaries. Someone had ripe watermelons for sale and the local churches were advertising salvation. There was a marriage, the account of a man's dog being run over by a buggy, and a small fire that the town's volunteer fire department managed to squelch before it did major damage.

Two city councilmen were running for reelection, but they were facing no opposition, and the editor of the paper made a good argument that more of the town's citizens ought to get involved in politics. The school year was over and the teacher had resigned so the city fathers were looking to hire a fall replacement at the munificent sum of thirty dollars a month and a little house attached to the school building that needed serious repair.

“Good luck there,” Longarm said to himself with a wry smile. He looked up, hearing the train blasting its steam whistle letting everyone except those that were stone deaf know that it was leaving.

He had just about finished the newspaper when his expected official arrivals barged through the door to confront him in the hotel. The marshal was flanked by two lean, tough-looking men, and they all looked as if they could bite through horseshoe nails.

“I thought I told you to be on that train this morning,” Marshal Beeson said, legs wide apart and hands resting on his hips.

Longarm smiled over his newspaper. “Marshal, I got to reading this paper and thinking what a nice place this might be to buy a winter home.”

“The hell you say!”

Longarm neatly folded his newspaper and came to his feet. His gun was loose in its holster and he was aware that he would probably die if he had to try to take out all three of these corrupt lawmen. Even so, he had to make a stand and he had to state his business honestly this time.

“Marshal,” he said, “you do know that I came here from Denver with Miss Ray.”

“Yeah, and I know that she married that gawdamn lawyer, Kent Hamilton, who has been a thorn in my side the last few years. That sure as hell means you have no more business in Yuma.”

“Yeah, honest men like Mr. Hamilton usually do pose a problem for your type.”

“What the hell is
that
supposed to mean!”

Longarm reached into his coat pocket and removed his federal marshal's badge. He held it up for all three of them to clearly see and said, “I've been sent here from Denver by my boss to investigate the killings that sent Tom Ray to prison.”

“You can't be serious!” one of the deputies hissed.

Longarm stepped toward the deputy. “If I want to hear from you, I'll let you know. Until then, this business is none of your business. Same goes for you,” he said to the other deputy.

“Now wait just a gawdamn minute here!” Beeson roared. “These men work for me and they take orders
only
from me!”

“Put a muzzle on them,” Longarm growled. “Or I'll send them to the hospital and maybe the cemetery.”

Longarm's statement, given that he was facing three armed and dangerous men, was so audacious that Jeb Beeson blinked and took a step backward. He paused and then seemed to gather himself. “So you're a gawdamn
federal
marshal, huh?”

“That's right. And if you give me any trouble, I'll send telegrams to Denver, Santa Fe, and San Diego, and you can bet your ass there will be other federal marshals coming this way before sundown.”

The thin-faced deputy with the pale blue eyes whispered, “Let me take him, Jeb. I'll put two bullets in him before he clears leather.”

“Try it,” Longarm said, hand moving closer to the butt of his gun. “But if you're wrong, I'm not only going to kill you, but also the marshal and your friend with the tarnished tin badge.”

For a moment, no one moved, not even seeming to breathe, and Jeb Beeson said quietly. “There is no need for a bloodbath here this morning so everyone just simmer down and relax.”

“Now you're talking sense,” Longarm said.

“What if I told you that the evidence against Tom Ray was overwhelming that he got a fair trial here in Yuma?”

“I'd say I didn't believe it.”

“But a judge and jury did.”

“A
paid
judge and jury.”

Beeson's eyes narrowed. “That's pretty bold and dangerous talk. You got any proof to support your words?”

“Not yet,” Longarm said with a confident smile, “but I expect to have some before much longer.”

“Well,” Beeson said, managing a smile of his own, “I think I'm going to let you stay a little while longer in my town just because watching you try to overturn a court decision is going to be amusing.”

“Your amusement is likely to turn to amazement, Marshal.”

“So you won't be sending out any telegrams begging for help?”

“If I do, you'll be the first to find out.”

Jeb Beeson nodded, his eyes cold as those of a Gila monster. He turned on his heel and said, “Come along, boys. The federal marshal here needs to finish reading his newspaper and maybe burying his sorrows because he lost Jessica Ray to a third-rate, dead-broke attorney.”

Longarm said nothing more as the three men marched back out the door. But off to one side, he heard a deep sigh of relief and looked over to see a desk clerk staring at him. “Did you find that interesting?”

“I never seen anyone face down Marshal Beeson and you did it with deputies at his side. For a few minutes there, I thought I was going to witness one of the greatest gunfights ever.”

“You might see one yet,” Longarm told the young desk clerk.

“Marshal Long?”

“Yeah?”

The clerk looked around to make certain they were alone. “I don't want you to repeat this, but Marshal Beeson and his deputies won't hesitate to shoot you down from the front . . . or the back.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“I don't expect you need one given what was said. But I sure would hate to see you lose your life.”

“What time is the hotel serving lunch?” he asked.

“Be ready in about two hours.”

“Think I'll have a walk around town and come back then,” Longarm told the kid. “Walking is healthful, you know.”

“I wouldn't know about that, Marshal. But what I do know is that making enemies like those three isn't a bit healthful.”

Longarm grinned and headed outside yelling back. “Tell your cook I'm going to be hungry.”

“Yes, sir. And I wanted to say that I'm sorry Miss Ray married Mr. Hamilton. I expect you're taking it pretty hard. I know when my last girlfriend, Eunice, left me a few weeks ago I felt just awful.”

“Her name was ‘Eunice'?”

“Yeah, Miss Eunice Oxley.”

Longarm shook his head. “With a name like that, I hope she was at least real pretty.”

“She was pretty, sort of. But pretty big across the butt. She outweighed me by twenty pounds and had a mouth on her.”

“So why did you feel bad about losing someone like that?” Longarm wanted to know.

“Well, Eunice was . . .” The clerk blushed.

“Go on,” Longarm urged.

“She was a real bucker and sucker in bed. I never had a girl could do what Eunice Oxley could do . . . if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. Would you like a little advice about women?”

“Sure. You've had Miss Ray and she's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. I expect you've had a lot of beautiful women in your life, Marshal.”

“I've been very fortunate. But the thing is you ought to be looking for a woman who can be your best friend.”

“What?”

“I'm serious,” Longarm said. “You being real young still, all you're thinking about is how a girl can perform in bed. And I'm not saying that isn't important and that all of 'em are the same. Some will turn you upside down and inside out . . . and others screw like they're stirring stew in a pot and just want to get it over with. But if you can find one who is good in bed and wants to help you along in life and be your best friend and expects you to be
her
best friend, then you've really got something.”

“I didn't know there were any like that.”

“There are,” Longarm said, “but they're not easy to find. Most of them are quiet, like deep water. They don't cuss and raise hell and jump into bed with anyone that strikes their fancy. They might be religious, but they might not. What's your name?”

“Montgomery, but everyone calls me Monty.”

“Take my advice, Monty, look for the quiet ones and those that have sunny dispositions and a pretty smile.”

“Yes, sir. Have you found that special one yet?”

“I have a time or two.”

“Did you marry 'em?”

“Nope.”

“Well, why not?”

“Sometimes things get in the way. Sometimes you let things get away. But I'm getting smarter every year. Not many women want to marry a federal marshal who is always going out of town. Most women want a steady man who comes home every night and when she lays her head down on her pillow, she wants to know that her man isn't likely to be killed on his job.”

Monty nodded, concentrating on every word. “I never wanted to wear a badge.”

“What do you want to do?”

Monty shrugged. “I'd like to own a hotel like this one.”

“That takes a lot of money,” Longarm told the kid.

“I know. I'm figuring on it. I believe that if a man works long enough and hard enough and puts his mind to one goal in life, he can hardly fail.”

“I like the way you think,” Longarm said, “and even though I'll never meet Eunice Oxley, I'm sure that you were fortunate that she left you for someone else.”

“She did that all right. A gambler on this way to California. Eunice told me that he had proposed marriage and they were going to do it as soon as he made a pile of money at some high-stakes poker game.”

“Sure,” Longarm said, “and that will be when pigs fly across the Colorado River.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Longarm said as headed out the door. “Monty, you'll do just fine in life . . . I'd bet on it.”

The day was growing very warm and just as Longarm was about to leave the hotel's dining room after a nice lunch, Kent and Jessica Hamilton walked over to his table.

“Hello there,” Longarm said. “Care to join me?”

“We've already eaten and it appears you're finishing up,” Kent said. “But we do have some news.”

“Sit down and let's hear it.”

Jessica looked excited and Longarm wondered if it was due to her recent marriage or something else. “Custis,” she said, “my husband has convinced the warden to allow us to visit my father this afternoon. It will be a very private meeting between the four of us.”

Longarm looked at Kent. “How did you manage to get the warden to make an exception to his visiting time rule?”

“Warden Thomas Gates is a good man and we know each other pretty well. I have sent some very bad men to his prison and we've gained a mutual respect for each other over the last few years. On top of that, he knows that my brother is a federal judge in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where Jessica intend to live after we leave Yuma.”

“I see. Did you tell him that your brother was coming?”

“I did. Judge John Thompson will, of course, be outraged to learn that there will be a retrial and I expect he will file a formal complaint. But the facts are pretty clear and I've sent transcripts to Santa Fe on a regular basis arguing for a new trial. The warden knows that Jessica's father was unjustly sentenced and he is not friendly with Mitch Lang or Sheriff Beeson, both of whom he knows are corrupt.”

“So when will your brother be leaving for Yuma?” Longarm asked.

“In two days.”

“What are we going to do up on Prison Hill today?”

Jessica said, “My father really wants to meet you. He is extremely grateful and greatly encouraged by the fact that your boss has sent you all the way from Denver.”

“Have you got time to tell me a little about the Yuma Territorial Prison?” Longarm asked. “I've never been inside the walls but I've heard that it is well managed.”

“That's true,” Kent said. “Warden Thomas Gates is a hard but fair man and he's tried to make the prison bearable for the inmates and the staff. For example, he bought a new dynamo generator so the prison did away with its gas lamps and candles. Now, the entire facility is powered by the generator and operates with electricity.”

“That
is
impressive.”

“The warden has also designated one cell to be a library. A call went out last year for anyone in Yuma who could spare a book or two to donate it to the prison library. And, there's a good medical dispensary as well as workshops for the inmates. They make all their own tables, cabinets, bunks, and chairs.”

“He wants to keep them busy and occupied,” Jessica added. “My father works in the carpentry shop, but there's also a blacksmith shop, a tailor shop, and a shoe repair shop. The inmates go to work very early in the hot season and quit around one o'clock when the heat becomes too intense for them to do productive work.”

“Do many die of the heat?” Longarm asked.

“Very few,” Jessica answered. “The cells are all dug or blasted out of stone so the walls are very thick and the interiors are bearable. My father says that the most common cause of death among his fellow inmates is consumption.”

“What about escape?” Longarm wondered aloud. “Is that much of a problem?”

“No,” Kent told him. “You saw the guard towers and fencing. And even if a prisoner did manage to get off the hill, where could they go? They are surrounded by desert and both the Gila and Colorado rivers have quicksand that would either trap or swallow a fugitive on the run. Add that to the fact that the Mohave and other Indian tribes hate most white men and would torture any escapees and you can see why almost no one tries to escape.”

“Yeah,” Longarm agreed, “I can at that.”

Attorney Hamilton consulted his watch. “We can leave anytime. We'll have to hike up to the prison gate, but it's not that far.”

“It will be difficult in this heat,” Jessica warned. “But the warden doesn't like people bringing their horses up there and causing a distraction for the tower guards.”

“All right then,” Longarm said, paying his bill and coming to his feet. “How soon do we leave?”

“How about fifteen minutes?” Jessica asked.

“That's perfect,” Longarm said. “I'll go up to my room and meet you two down in the lobby.”

Longarm hurried upstairs, washed his hands, and changed his coat, then studied himself in the mirror for a moment before he locked his door and went down to meet Kent and Jessica.

 • • • 

An hour later and drenched in sweat, they were ushered into a small, windowless room. It had a table and four chairs but no pictures on the walls. Someone had placed a pitcher of water and four glasses on the table, which was very much appreciated.

“At least,” Longarm observed, “it's still comfortable in here. Climbing Prison Hill wasn't the most fun I've had in a while.”

A few minutes later, the door opened and a guard wearing a baton but no gun ushered Tom Ray into the tiny and Spartan meeting room. Jessica threw herself into her father's arms and hugged him tightly.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” Tom Ray said to the couple. “I'm just sorry that I couldn't be there to give my lovely daughter's hand away to you, Kent.”

“You were there in spirit, sir.”

Tom Ray was thin, but still stood tall and very straight. His hair was silver and long, swept straight back from his high forehead. He had prominent cheekbones and pale blue eyes. Longarm could see little resemblance between the former United States marshal and his daughter, although it was clear that the father had once been a very handsome and imposing lawman.

“And you,” Ray said, extending a work-calloused hand, “are Deputy Marshal Custis Long from Denver.”

“That's right.”

“I can't tell you how much I appreciate your coming to Yuma. Who sent you?”

“My boss, Marshal William Vail.”

“Ah yes, Billy! I remember him well. I left office soon after he arrived and came to this part of Arizona with Jessica. I'm still not sure why I did that, but we scoured the local hills and valleys and after a lot of hardship eventually found a good claim and started to finally make some real money. But of course, once everyone knew we had found some gold, our real troubles began.”

“I understand,” Longarm said. “And I trust that your daughter told you that we were able to get your Denver house back not long ago.”

“Yes, I heard all about that and I'm hoping that now that she's married the best attorney in Yuma, he'll see fit to forgo his usual fees for representation.”

“Of course I will,” Kent said, blushing. “Perhaps we should all sit down and have a quiet little talk. The warden was more than kind to allow this meeting but he did state that it should be brief.”

“Then let's sit,” Longarm told them, as he emptied the pitcher into the four glasses. “Cheers and to our good fortune getting justice served.”

They raised their glasses of room-temperature water not commenting that the water itself was a murky and brown and that it had probably come right out of the river.

“So,” Kent began, looking at the old lawman and now his father-in-law, “I told Custis a short while ago that my oldest brother, Judge Peter Hamilton, is leaving Santa Fe in two days and that I've filed all the paperwork to have a new trial over which he will preside.”

“And you can do that?” Tom Ray asked with surprise.

Kent Hamilton colored. “I have to admit that I used some of that Denver house sale money to grease a few palms. Nothing new around these parts and the retrial will be open to the public.”

“What about Judge Thompson?” Tom Ray asked. “He's not going to sit still for this.”

“He doesn't have any choice. It's all been arranged and I'm sure that the courtroom will be packed as it was the first time.”

“So what is going to be the big difference this time?” Tom Ray wanted to know.

“We are going to have some new witnesses to the shooting that took place. Witnesses that will claim you fired and killed the gamblers in self-defense and that they were cheating at cards.”

“You found witnesses that will testify to that?” Ray asked, skepticism evident in his voice.

“Yes,” the attorney said with confidence. “Mitch Lange and Marshal Beeson, as you know, took over your claim and two of the miners they hired were sitting at the poker table with you when the gunfight began.”

“That would be Albert Dodd and Carl Wittman.”

“Right.”

Tom Ray shook his head. “He hired the pair to keep them out of circulation, and by giving them their jobs out at the claim he bought their loyalty.”

“That's what he
thinks
,” Kent Hamilton said. “But for a modest price and a couple of one-way tickets to San Diego, they have secretly agreed to testify that you were innocent and acted only to protect your life. I've promised that they will go from our courtroom to the westbound train and then across the river never to be seen or heard from again.”

Tom Ray nodded. “That's good because the moment that Mitch Lang and Marshal Beeson find out that that pair are going to change their stories and tell the truth, their lives won't be worth a plug nickel.”

“You're right,” Longarm said. “And so I'll have to protect them as well as your daughter and new son-in-law until after the new trial.”

“Tall order, Marshal Long. Very tall indeed.”

“There is no other way,” Jessica told her father. “We either do this or you'll rot in this prison until you die.”

Tom Ray smiled sadly. “My dear, I'm getting to be an old man. My life isn't worth the risk of you or Kent losing your lives. And the same goes for you, Marshal Long.”

“We'll be the judge of that,” Longarm said. “All you have to do is to take care of yourself here in prison.”

Tom Ray's eyebrows lifted. “Do you think that they might try to have someone in here kill me before the trial?”

“I think that's a real possibility,” Longarm said. “Do you have any current enemies inside these prison walls?”

“Not that I can think of,” Ray said. “But you never know. If Lang or Beeson managed to get someone a little cash, they'd slit my throat without a moment's hesitation.”

“Then guard yourself well,” Longarm advised. “All this goes for nothing if you're murdered in this prison.”

“I know how to protect myself and I'll be doubly on my guard now that I know what is going to happen.”

“Good,” Longarm said.

“The minute my brother arrives on the train, we'll also have to watch over him,” the attorney told them.

Longarm frowned. “From what I'm hearing you all expect that this Mitch Lang will have his boys act right away.”

“I'm sure that he will,” Jessica said. “Mitch isn't about to let this new trial take place because it might expose his corruption.”

Longarm considered all that he'd just learned. “Seems to me that I ought to meet Lang and have a little heart-to-heart talk with the man. Is he crazy enough to try and kill me outright?”

“No,” the attorney said. “Mitch Lang is not the kind to risk his life in a gunfight. He'd rather hire others to do that sort of thing. But if he invited you to share a drink, you'd be wise to decline the invitation. Mitch is plenty capable of lacing your drink with poison.”

“I see,” Longarm said. “He's devious and a snake.”

“That pretty well sums the man up,” Tom Ray said. “Just be real careful. Marshal Beeson is dangerous, but you'll always see him coming at you. Having said that, he might order his deputies to ambush you from a rooftop.”

“Custis,” Jessica said, “until the trial that will exonerate my father is over, we are all going to be in real danger. I'm sorry to have dragged you into this.”

“My choice to come and my choice to stay,” Longarm told her.

A guard peeked into the door. “Need more water?”

“No, thanks,” Jessica said quickly. “We are about finished up in here.”

“I lock the door from the outside. Just knock and I'll let you out and return your father to his cell.”

“Thank you.”

 • • • 

Five minutes later, they were walking out of the prison yard and down the barren hill toward town. The temperature was well into the nineties and the sun was a burning hole in a pale blue sky. Longarm squinted up at it and then wiped his brow with his coat sleeve.
How, oh, how,
he wondered,
did anyone live here through the heat of summer?