Tabor Evans (7 page)

Longarm studied Gower's face for a moment, trying to find some expression in the chief marshal's pale eyes. There was none, but Gower's face had undergone a subtle change. His long chin was no longer out-thrust pugnaciously, and his bushy brows were not pulled together in a scowl now.

Before Longarm could say anything, Gower went on, "That's what I want you to find out, Long. If my suspicions are right, I've got to clean up my own office here before I can do anything about that running sore over in the Nation. And I had to find out whether you could keep yourself in hand when the going gets rough before I was sure you were the man to help me do the job."

"But you've made up your mind now?" Longarm asked.

"Yes. I'm sorry for the bad time I gave you when we first began talking. But you'll understand, I had to know what kind of man you are before I could open up and tell you the whole story."

For several minutes Longarm said nothing. He was digesting the fact that the rough reception he'd gotten had been Gower's way of testing him out, making sure he'd be able to put a curb on his tongue and a rein on his temper when he was taking a rawhiding.

Finally he said, "No offense taken, Marshal Gower. I guess it was about the only way you had to check me out."

"It was the only way I could see. Now the air's cleared between us. How do you feel about it?"

"Better than I did for a while there. I'm just trying to figure out where my starting place is. You don't know if all your men are straight, or who the sell-outs might be, if there are any. So what I've got on my plate is to find out who the rotten apples are."

"I wish I didn't have to agree with you, Long, but I do. I've watched my men for the past four or five months, since things first started going sour. Prisoners escaping, evidence not brought in, witnesses dropping out of sight. It smells, but I can't get down to the source of the stink. You know how easy it is for an honest mistake of a deputy to cause a case to go sour."

Longarm answered. "I guess I ought to. I've made some mistakes like that, now and again."

"Well, that's not what Billy tells me, but we won't go into that. The point is that I can't accuse one of my own deputies of being paid off by Belle unless I've got absolute, ironclad proof. I'm in pretty much the same spot when it comes to accusing a town marshal or a sheriff or sheriff's deputy. If I'm not sure, I can't do anything but keep quiet, no matter what I might suspect."

"Sure. I can see that. It's about the only fair way a man in your position could act. From what Billy's told me, you've got some pretty good men on your force here."

"Of course I have. And it looks like I've got a few bad ones, too," Gower said. He hesitated before adding, "Look here, Long, I know this is a hell of a job for me to ask you to take on. You'll see why I can't turn any of my boys loose on it, though. I've been tempted to, but there's always the chance that I might pick out the wrong one and blow the whole deal to hell."

"That's as good a reason as I can see for holding off," Longarm concurred.

"Billy Vail's the only one I've talked to about it. I used that rumor about Jesse James trying to buy Cole Younger's way out of the pen to give me a reason for meeting Billy in Stillwater, where we could talk without worrying about somebody overhearing," Gower said. "I was surprised, though. Billy took my Jesse James story seriously."

"I can tell you why that was," Longarm said. "Billy found out that Jesse and Frank James and three of their men hid out right under his nose, not fifty miles from Denver, over around Leadville, a while back. He never has got over missing that chance to take them."

"Funny," Gower frowned. "I never heard about that."

"Billy damn sure wouldn't mention it," Longarm said. "There wasn't any way he could've known the Jameses were in his territory, of course. They didn't pull any jobs, and nobody'd ever have known who they were if some old friend of theirs from Missouri hadn't spotted them. But he kept quiet until they'd been gone three or four months."

"I'll sure have to josh Billy about that, the next time I see him," Gower said. He smiled for the first time. "I can see how it'd rankle on him, of course, knowing he had Jesse in reach and missing him."

"Hell, it rankles on me a little bit, too," Longarm told Gower. "But I guess anybody on the right side of the law would relish a chance to meet up with James and his gang."

"Well, I don't expect you to find Jesse James at Younger's Bend, Long. Still, if the old story's true and Jesse actually did use Belle's place as a hideout once, there's the outside chance that he might come back there."

"I won't count on it. Fact of the matter is, I don't see that I can count on much of anything. The only thing I'm hoping is that I don't run into some owlhoot I've brought in someplace else, somebody who might recognize me."

"I've thought about that, too. That's one of the things that can get your neck into a noose on any orders or instructions, Long. From what Billy's told me, you've got your own way of handling your cases, and I wouldn't want to cramp your style. I don't expect you to report to me until the case is closed, but you know that if you get into a bind, I'll do whatever I can to get you out of it."

Longarm lighted another cheroot before replying. Puffing out a cloud of smoke, he said thoughtfully, "I guess the only way to start eating an apple is to take the first bite, and that's to see how the land lays at Younger's Bend. You say it's right on the Canadian River?"

Gower nodded. "Just to the southeast of a little town called Eufaula. It's a long day's ride from here, but if you get an early start-"

"Now, I sure don't aim to set out today. I had a bellyful of horseback travel getting here from Fort Gibson, and all the sleep I got last night was in a bathtub at that little place by the ferryboat landing across the river."

Gower pulled open a drawer of his desk and took out a drawstring pouch made of buckskin. He tossed it across the desk. The pouch landed in front of Longarm with a metallic clunk.

"I told Billy I'd be responsible for your expenses while you're on this case. Too damn much red tape, routing requisitions through the Denver office, and you can't be running in here every week or so to fill out vouchers. There's five hundred in gold in that bag." Longarm's eyebrows rose as Gower continued, "Bring back what you don't use and write one voucher on what you've spent when the case is closed. I won't argue about how big the voucher is."

"Thanks." Longarm nodded. "I'll make sure you get good value."

"I know you will," Gower replied. "Now, anything else you need?"

"Oh, I picked up an ordnance map before I took off from Fort Gibson. It's old, but it shows the hills and streams, and that's all I need to get me by." Longarm stood up. "I'll be moving, then, Marshal Gower. You'll hear from me when you hear from me, I guess, but don't look for it to be anytime soon."

"Whenever you get a chance to send word," Gower said. "And good luck, Long." Somewhat grimly, he added, "I'm pretty sure you'll need it."

On the boardwalk outside the federal building, Longarm stood for a moment, taking stock. All he really needed was sleep. He mounted and started to look for a hotel. As he headed down Front Street, an idea struck him. His business in Fort Smith was finished, and if he wanted to get an early start for Younger's Bend tomorrow, he'd have to take the last ferry across the Arkansas before midnight, or delay his start until the first boat made the crossing, and that wouldn't be until six the next morning.

There ain't any reason for me to waste the best part of a day, he told himself. That little town over across the river in the Nation's got all I need and the saloon there Pours as good a Maryland rye as any I'm likely to find here in Arkansas.

Instead of continuing toward the buildings of Fort Smith, he reined the horse around in the middle of the deserted street and headed back in the direction of the ferry landing.

That river's got to be crossed sooner or later, old son, he thought as his army mount clattered over the brick-paved street, And it won't be one inch narrower tomorrow morning than it is right now.

CHAPTER 5

Longarm's mental alarm clock jerked him into wakefulness. It was still pitch dark, and the room in the small hotel he'd found in Little Juarez was totally silent. There was no sound beyond the door leading to the hallway, no rumbling of wagon wheels or clumping of hooves was audible through the half-open window.

Reaching for his vest, draped over the back of a chair pulled close to the bed, Longarm fingered his watch from its pocket and snapped open the case before lighting one of the matches he'd laid beside the base of the lamp that stood in the seat of the chair. The watch confirmed the message his mind had sent him. it was four o'clock--time to be up and on the trail. By the time he'd dressed, had a quick breakfast, and picked up the horse he'd rented at the livery stable around the corner from the hotel, dawn would be slitting the eastern sky.

He lifted the lamp chimney and touched the match to the wick before the flame got to his fingertips. Light bathed the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, stretching, then reached for the bottle of Maryland rye he'd bought at the saloon before turning in the night before. A full day of sleep the preceding day, and a long, restful night on top of that, had erased the dragged-out feeling he'd had after his talk with Andrew Gower, and the healthy swig Of rye he swallowed swept the last vestiges of cobwebs from his brain.

Longarm's gray flannel shirt hung on the right-hand headpost of the bed, his covert-cloth trousers under it. His holstered Colt dangled on the bedpost opposite, where it would be handy if he was forced to reach for it while in bed.

He fastened the top buttons of his balbriggans, slid his arms into his shirt and buttoned it, shoe-horned himself into his skin-tight trousers, then stomped into his stovepipe cavalry boots before standing up.

Before going out to supper last night, Longarm had cleaned his guns--Winchester, Colt, and derringer--and reloaded them with fresh ammunition, but he took a bit of extra time in getting the set of his cross-draw gunbelt completely right. In Longarm's book, a gun was useless baggage if a man had to fumble for it when he needed it in a hurry. Satisfied after a few practice draws, he donned his vest and coat, picked up his Winchester and saddlebags, and went out into the dark morning.

The saloon, restaurant, barber shop, and general store were lighted and taking care of trade. Longarm ignored the saloon. He had the partly finished bottle of rye in his saddlebag, as well as an unopened bottle he'd bought to take along.

A half-dozen vehicles were lined up along the street in front of the cafe: wagons, a buggy, a buckboard, and a surrey. He could see the tarpaulin-covered forms of sleepers in two of the wagon beds, and on one of the surrey's seats, a blanket-wrapped figure wriggled restlessly as Longarm's booted heels thudded on the board sidewalk on his way to the restaurant.

With breakfast behind him, Longarm headed for the livery stable. The attendant recognized him from the day before, and hurried out to the still-dark corral to get the hammerhead bay that Longarm had picked out the day before. The cavalry mount, with its giveaway brand, would be waiting when he got back from Younger's Bend. Having put his saddlebags, bedroll, and rifle in their places, Longarm set his hat a bit more firmly on his head and started west along the riverbank. The first line of dawn brightened the sky just enough to show the well-beaten trail as he set out.

Steadily the light grew brighter as the sky behind Longarm went from gray to baby-pink to sunrise scarlet, and then, in one swift burst, became molten gold. The sunrise warmed his back as the hammerhead bay, fresh from the corral, high-stepped briskly through the dew-wet grasses, not yet turned brown by the first winds of autumn, that bordered the rutted trace. Summer had apparently returned, if only for a brief visit, after the day of gray skies and cold warning winds that he'd ridden through on his way from Fort Gibson. The air warmed steadily as the sun crept up the sky, and when the trail parted from the river an hour after sunrise Longarm reined in to shed his coat and roll it up in his bedroll.

He took advantage of the stop to study the Ordnance map again. It was easy to see where he was at the moment. The dotted line that marked the trace went almost due east, while the Arkansas swept in an arc to the south a few miles from the mouth Of the Canadian. There, river and road came together again. The road stayed with the Arkansas for a short distance, then it forked at a ford. The north road followed the Arkansas, and the eastern fork crossed the river and ran on a course roughly parallel to the snake-like bed of the Canadian. Longarm wondered which of the loops in the snake's belly was Younger's Bend.

Shortly before noon he came to the juncture of the rivers. He reined in, wondering if he'd save time by swimming the bay across the river here and picking up the eastern road where it curved along the Canadian, but a long, calculating look at the roiled green surface of the stream convinced him that the risk wasn't worth the little time he'd save.

Besides which, he thought, there ain't all that much need to hurry. I'll get there when I get there, and Belle Starr sure ain't going to wait supper for me. He poked the bay with his boot toe, and the animal moved ahead to the ford.

A mile or so above the river fork he came to the ford. It was marked only by the wheel ruts which showed where wagons had pulled off the trace and turned toward the river. When he got to the stream, he saw pairs of stakes driven into the shore on both sides to mark the location of the submerged crossing. Between the stakes, on both sides, the ocher earth was cut up by grooves and packed with the half-moons of hooves everywhere he looked between the markers. The hammerhead bay took to the water easily, feeling its way with surprising daintiness through the murky green water along an invisible bottom.