Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839) (9 page)

Longarm asked mildly, “Any other takers?”

Rat Face gasped, “Please, mister! You got the drop on us!”

Longarm said, “I know. I want the three of you on your feet and grabbing sky, but be sure you get up like the little gents your mothers always said you were. I still owe one of you to the ghosts of that stage crew, and I ain't particular who I shoot next.”

The trio rose from the fire slowly, their hands raised. Longarm nodded to the one in the checkered shirt and said, “You first. Bring your hands down slow and unbuckle that gunbelt.”

The owlhoot dropped his hands to his middle. Longarm fired and the outlaw jackknifed with a scream as the bullet tore his guts apart. As he went down, Longarm fired again and blew away the side of his head. The body lay limp in a spreading pool of dusty blood as Longarm said, “Damn it, when I say slow, I mean
slow
.”

One of the two survivors gasped, “Are you crazy, mister?” and made the mistake of moving a step. So Longarm put a bullet in his chest. The man's hands flew reflexively to cover the gaping bullet hole. Blood spurted from between his fingers as his eyes rolled backward and he crumpled heavily to the dust.

The lone survivor in the gunbarrel chaps screamed like the frightened animal he was and fell to his knees, babbling, “Please, mister! You can't just shoot me like a dog!”

Longarm grimaced and said, “I can do anything I want to, you sniveling little pissant! What did you think this was, a game for schoolboys? You gave up any rights you had to life when you first strapped on those guns and started scaring folks.”

“Oh, Jesus, I don't want to die!”

“Not many folks do,” Longarm agreed. “Those men you shot today likely didn't enjoy it much, either.”

He saw the trickle running down the inside of the terrified owlhoot's thigh and said, “Unbuckle that gunbelt or
draw
, you shithead!”

The rat-faced youth fumbled hysterically with his buckle, got it open, and let the gunbelt fall from his hips as he knelt in the dust, pissing in his pants. Longarm said, “That's better.” Now we can talk. Your continued existence depends on how
well
you talk. What's your name, shithead?”

“Carson, sir. They call me Buck.”

“No they don't. They call you shithead. We know you tried to rob the Wells Fargo, so let's not waste time on that. What do you know about that ore that's been disappearing off the narrow-gauge between here and Sacramento, shithead?”

“Ore, mister? We heard something about some high-grading, but that wasn't us, honest to God.”

“How long have you boys been skulking about out here in the brush?”

“You mean here in Calaveras County, mister? About a month. We rode up from the Santa Monica Mountains with the Calico Kid about a month ago.”

“You get one point for something that agrees with what I knew already. I'm cheered a mite more by seeing that you've taken good care of my gelding over there. You keep singing the right tune and I just might take you in alive.”

“Anything, mister! I'll tell you anything you want to know!” Carson said with great enthusiasm.

“All right. If you boys have been roaming around out here, looking for a chance to steal, you must know the territory pretty well after a month. I'm interested in railroad properties. You know the tracks to the low country?”

“Sure, we've rode over 'em plenty of times.”

“You ever notice a siding? Maybe a spur line running off into the trees or some old mine tunnel?”

Carson shook his head and said, “No sir. Not that I remember, and I'm thinking hard as anything.”

Longarm nodded and said, “Let's try another one. You boys have likely been keeping your eyes open for strangers on the horizon line. Have you seen any others playing your same game?”

“You mean another gang, mister? I don't think so. We've spied greasers working cows a few times, and once we spotted an Injun squaw picking nuts, but she got away.”

“Lucky for her, I reckon. But I'd say if you stumbled over Diggers you were moving pretty slick. You'd likely have noticed white riders if they were about. So the high-grading has to be an inside job. I want you to study on my next question before you lie to me, boy. I noticed you and the Calico Kid had the freedom to roam the streets of Manzanita. Can you enlighten me on how the law felt about that?”

“Hell, mister, there ain't no wanted posters out on us.”

“There are now; Wells Fargo just posted them. What I'm aiming at is how the Kid happened to be on such friendly terms with Constable Lovejoy and the sheriff's department.”

Carson shrugged and said, “He was just scared of Calico, I reckon. He was a pretty hard case and Lovejoy has a wife and kids.”

“What about the county sheriff?”

“Never met up with him. Calico said not to steal nothing near the county seat.”

Longarm thought this over. Then he nodded and said, “I can't think of anything else you might have to say, so we'd best get on with it.”

Then he put his revolver in its holster and said, “I figure I've got one bullet left. Your gun is within easy reach when you've a mind to go for it.”

Carson gasped, “Oh, no, I ain't about to try! You got to give me a break!”

Longarm stood with his hands out to his sides as he said, “I
am
giving you a break. It's against my nature even to step on a bug without giving it a chance.”

“I can't fight
you!
You said you'd carry me in alive!”

“I said
maybe
. Your trial would be a needless expense to the taxpayers, since we both know you shot that old man and the hunchback.”

“Slim shot the guard! Brown, there, killed the old man! I've never shot it out with nobody!”

“It might be a good time to start trying; I ain't got all night. I can see you've started to reconsider the error of your ways, and if you and I were the only folks I had to worry about, I'd be tempted to let you go, for I don't have time to trifle in a case I ain't assigned to. But you see, sonny, there're other folks out there that you might run into, and I'd hate to have a six-year-old kid on my conscience when and if you start feeling tough again.”

The owlhoot started to cry.

Longarm said, “Come on, you've got at least five rounds in your gun and I cross-draw, so you have an edge on me.”

“Oh, please, please, I'm so damn scared!”

“It doesn't feel so good to be on the receiving end, does it? Didn't you think anyone was ever going to call your play when you decided to be a big bad cuss?”

“Mister, I just want to go home to my poor old momma! I swear, if you let me live, I'll never wear a gun again!”

Longarm shook his head and said, “I'm counting to three, and then I'm going to draw. You do whatever you want to about it.”

“Oh, no! You got to let me live!”

“One!”

“I'll be good! I swear I'll never do it again!”

“Two!”

“No, no, I don't want it this way!”

And then Longarm said, “Three!” and reached across his waist for the .44. The owlhoot screamed and dove for his gun as the deputy fired. The bullet hit Carson just under his nose, drilled through his skull, and blew his brains out the back of his head. His body didn't even twitch as it went limp and keeled over on its side.

Longarm stood silently, looking down at the four bodies as he reloaded. Then he swallowed the funny taste in his mouth and muttered, “I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me. Likely the chili I had in Sacramento.”

He knew he'd done the only sensible thing; it wasn't as if they'd have treated him differently. So it surprised him a bit, as he walked over to reclaim his horse, that he suddenly gagged and had to lean against a tree trunk to throw up.

Chapter 4

By the time Longarm got back to Manzanita, leading the two other ponies and riding the army remount gelding he'd reclaimed, the posse looking for the road agents in other parts had ridden in too, bone-weary and out of ideas.

Longarm told Lovejoy he'd had a shoot-out with the rascals and added that the constable was welcome to the reward if he and his boys would ride up to the canyon and pack the bodies out, so Lovejoy didn't press him for details.

It was getting dark by then. Lovejoy asked if Longarm had a place to stay the night in town and he answered, “Nope. It's taken me a while, but I'm riding up to the damned mine.”

He left them celebrating their good fortune and headed up the slope along the wagon trace that they said led to the Lost Chinaman. The mine was said to be only a couple of miles away. He'd gone maybe a quarter of the distance when he heard hoofbeats behind him, approaching fast, so he reined in just off the road and sat his mount quietly in the inky shade of a canyon oak.

It was Sylvia Baxter and a man he didn't know. They saw his outline at about the same time and reined in. The man called out, “Who's there? I see you, my good fellow.”

Longarm saw that things were getting tense and called back, “It's all right, folks. I'm the law. 'Evening, Miss Sylvia.”

“Is that you, Custis?” she asked, squinting into the darkness.

“Yes, ma'am. You had me spooked, too. It was dumb of me only to hide halfway till I took your measure.”

Sylvia laughed and said, “Ralph, dear, this is the man I was telling you about—Marshal Long.”

Her brother sniffed and said, “I daresay,” and Longarm wondered just how much she'd told him.

Ralph Baxter was twice as snooty as his sister, but not as pretty. He had muttonchop sideburns and a pouty mouth. He was wearing a little sissy hat and English jodhpur boots under too-tight whipcord breeches. Longarm wondered how he posted, trotting in that rented stock saddle. The only thing anyone could take seriously about the dude was the Webley revolver riding butt forward on his left hip. Longarm knew that most men who didn't know too much about riding armed favored fancier border rigs that looked mean enough until you had to draw quickly from the saddle. He couldn't see well enough in this light to be sure, but the black hard-rubber grips of the big pistol had a no-nonsense look to them that said Ralph had paid a good gunsmith to fit them to his palm. He wondered why a man who looked like a sissy was armed like a hired gunslick.

He asked where they were headed, and Sylvia said the Lost Chinaman. Longarm smiled and said, “We'll ride together, then. I met MacLeod and his woman earlier. I hope they don't keep early hours.”

Ralph Baxter said, “My sister and I were
invited
to join them this evening. Do you make a habit of these rather informal social visits?”

Longarm clucked his mount out from under the tree and got them all started again before he said, “I don't pay too many what you'd call social visits, Mr. Baxter. I'll just let you folks sip tea with the MacLeods while I have a look around the diggings.”

Before Ralph could think of a suitable snotty retort, Sylvia cut between them. “We heard about the attack on the stage, and I was so worried about your poor hurt head.”

Ralph added, “Sylvia told me how she nursed you back from the grave. My sister has always had this sensitivity for those born less fortunate than she.”

Longarm growled, “Let's back off a mite, Baxter. You can say what you like about me, but you're carrying this close enough to my kinfolks to rate my saving a dance for you, and I ain't talking about the waltz.”

Ralph laughed and said, “You're really not good at veiled threats, Deputy.”

“Hell, old son, there's nothing veiled about it. You keep sniping at me and we're headed straight to Fist City! What's wrong with you, anyway? We've never laid eyes on one another, and you're acting like I ran off with your silverware.”

“My silverware isn't what I'm concerned about at the moment.”

Longarm didn't answer. If he knew, he knew, and there was nothing he could say right now that wouldn't get them to rolling on the ground, if not shooting at one another. What was wrong with women, anyway? To hear them let on, you'd think they'd slash their wrists in front of stampeding buffalo to hide what they called their shame. Yet it seemed that half the times he'd had a little fun with a gal, she managed to let the whole blamed world know about it!

As if she knew what he was thinking, Sylvia tried to smooth things over. “Don't mind my brother, Custis. He's miffed because he's been stuck out here for months trying to close a deal, and the boys in town have been teasing him.”

That seemed reasonable enough. Longarm said, “I don't tease folks much. MacLeod told me you'd been sent out here to buy his mine, Ralph.”

“Would you mind calling me Mr. Baxter?”

“I'll call you the Prince of Wales if you'll tell me a mite about the Lost Chinaman.”

Baxter said, “You'll see it soon enough. It's only a hole in the ground. The idiot seems to think he's found El Dorado.”

“And you don't agree?”

“Oh, it's not a bad little strike, given a bit more science and some capital to put it on a paying basis. He's trying to run it with a crew of shiftless, unskilled Mexicans, digging the hard way, with hand tools.”

“It doesn't take all that much digging, if it's high-grade ore, does it?”

Warming to the subject, Baxter said, “It's not high-grade. I'd say it assays at less than a thousand dollars a ton.”

“Then you've been down the shaft and seen the gold?”

“Of course not. You don't
see
gold in medium-grade ore. The grains are microscopic.”

“Then how do you know there's any gold at all?”

Baxter snorted and asked, “What do you take me for, an idiot? The man has an assay office report, and besides that, I've tested it for color myself.”

“Do tell? How do you test for gold you can't see?”

“With aqua regia, of course. The acid dissolves any gold in the rock and leaves a deposit in your test tube.” Baxter frowned. “What are you suggesting, a salted mine?”

“The thought's crossed my mind,” Longarm admitted. “I can't think of any way on earth they could be switching so much ore in bulk on the fly. But if they were loading barren rock on the train in the first place, there'd be no mystery at all.”

To his credit, Ralph Baxter thought for a moment before he shook his head and said, “That wouldn't make sense. MacLeod is losing money every time he loses a shipment, and he's been supervising the whole operation. How in blue blazes could it profit the man to rob himself? It's his gold in the first place!”

“Maybe. I'll take your word that he's got a real gold mine, for now. But I'd be obliged if you showed me how you test for gold, before they send another load down.”

Sylvia said, “Of course he will. But just what are you planning to look for, Custis?”

Longarm said, “Gold, of course. I'm making it my business to ride down the mountain aboard the next trainload of ore. Before I do, I aim to make sure that what they put aboard is real ore. Then I'm going to be interested as all get-out to see if anyone tries to switch it with me sitting smack-dab on the pile!”

They could see lights through the trees ahead, now. Ralph Baxter's tone was almost friendly as he asked, “Just what did you mean about a salted mine, Deputy? I'll confess you've made me thoughtful. My company just authorized me to offer more than we've been bidding up till now.”

Longarm said, “I figured they might. I don't know about microscopic grains, but many a mining claim has been sold to unsuspecting folks by a smart jasper firing gold birdshot into a rock face with a shotgun. I'll go along with you that MacLeod seems like a tolerable cuss, but we live and learn. If I was you, I'd hold off till we test the next shipment and see if it gets through.”

They were within sight of the mining property now, so Longarm dropped the conversation. He could see the MacLeods' cabin, off to one side of the diggings. The operation itself was a lunar landscape of torn-up earth. A high loading tipple built of logs hung over a narrow-gauge railroad siding. The whole area was illuminated by torches, and Longarm saw cotton-clad workmen loading a couple of small, tubby ore cars. A dog started to bark and Kevin MacLeod appeared at the cabin door as they rode in. He waved amicably, even though he hadn't expected Longarm.

As the three of them dismounted, Longarm said to MacLeod, “You folks just visit away. I came up here for a look-see. You got anybody who could show me through the diggings?”

MacLeod called out, “Vallejo?” and one of the Mexicans came over to join them. Before he reached earshot, Longarm asked quietly, “Is this fellow related to that gal on the stage, MacLeod?”

The mine owner laughed and said, “You know, I never made the connection? Half the Mexicans in this county seem to be named Vallejo. The rest are named Garcia or Castro.”

The foreman was too close to discuss it further, so MacLeod introduced them and told Vallejo to show Longarm anything he wanted to see.

The foreman was a man of about thirty, with a friendly, open smile. He was either innocent of guile or a damned good poker player. As Longarm walked away from the cabin with him, he asked, “Are you any kin to Felicidad Vallejo?”

The Mexican answered, “We are distant cousins, unfortunately. She is
muy linda
, no?”

“I'll go along with that. I'm unfortunate, too. She doesn't like gringos much.”

Vallejo laughed and said, “That side of the family was very rich before you people came. I come from a less fortunate branch of the family, so I've made out all right. Señor MacLeod is
muy simpatico
.”

“Have you been working for him long?”

“Since he and his wife bought the mine. The last owners refused to hire greasers. What was it you wished to see?”

“Well, I was thinking of going down the shaft, but I hear it's a waste of time for a man without a degree in chemistry. When do you aim to ship those cars you're loading?”

“The engine is coming for them in the morning. That is why we are working overtime. If you don't wish to go down in the shaft, what can I show you?”

Longarm walked over to the siding. Grabbing a hand iron, he pulled himself up to the lip of an ore car, saying, “I ain't stealing. I'll put it all back in a while.”

Then he reached in at random and selected three lumps of the salmon-colored quartz they'd been loading. He got down, went to the rear car, and did the same. Then he put the ore samples in his coat pocket and asked Vallejo, “Do you have a guard posted over this siding at night?”

The Mexican nodded and said, “Of course. We are not at all pleased by what has been happening.”

Longarm thanked him and walked quickly back to the cabin. He went in without knocking, found Sylvia and her brother seated in front of a fireplace sipping tea with the MacLeods, and said, “Baxter, I'd like you to aqua-whatever these rocks.”

Baxter said, “Oh, for God's sake,” But MacLeod smiled a bit thinly, and said, “We've been talking about your suspicions, Longarm. It's all right with me, Ralph.”

Baxter shrugged and said, “Well, I do have my kit in my saddlebags, but I assure you, all this is none of my doing!”

MacLeod said, “I insist. I think I see what he's getting at, and frankly, I haven't been assaying the ore, once it's out of the mine!”

Muttering to himself, Baxter got up and went out to his tethered horse as Longarm followed. Sylvia followed too, and as she and Longarm waited on the porch she nudged him and asked, “Where are you staying tonight, darling?”

He answered, “Right here. If that's really gold ore in those cars, I ain't letting it out of my sight this side of Sacramento!”

“Damn it, Custis, I want you so badly I can taste it!”

Longarm nodded. “I know the feeling, but I wish you wouldn't call me Custis. Now hush or he'll hear us, and he's suspicious already.”

Baxter came up the steps with an oilcloth bag. He said, “I have to have some light.”

From the doorway, MacLeod called out, “You can use our kitchen table, Ralph.”

Longarm wondered if MacLeod had heard Sylvia's somewhat forward statement, but he didn't know how to find out.

They all went inside. MacLeod led them back to a lean-to kitchen, and Baxter set up his testing gear on the redwood table as Longarm watched. Baxter asked for a sample and Longarm handed him a hunk of ore. Baxter said, “It's supposed to be crushed first, you moron,” but he took out a pocketknife and, using the back of the blade, scraped a few grains off the surface. Longarm strolled over to a nearby window and folded his arms. He could see both the table and the men working outside from this vantage point.

Ralph Baxter put the sandy dust in a test tube and poured something from a little brown bottle into it, saying, “Aqua regia is a mixture of sulfuric acid and nitric acid. It's the only acid that dissolves noble metals.”

He waited a few minutes and poured a few drops of something else in the tube, holding it up to the light. The test tube started smoking like a lit cigar, and Longarm asked why. Baxter said, “I'm neutralizing the acid to precipitate any metal it's dissolved. Don't you know anything about basic chemistry?”

“Not much,” Longarm said, “but, I'm willing to learn. What does it look like?”

Ralph held the test tube out to him and said, “See for yourself. But be careful. Even with bicarb in the tube, it's been known to burn skin away. This is hardly a chemical lab and my field methods are a bit roughshod.”

Longarm took the test tube and held it up to the light, squinting at the muddy contents. He nodded and said, “Yeah, I can see the specks of gold in it. Are you sure it ain't fool's gold?”