Longarm and the Dime Novelist (12 page)

“I wonder if I can find someone to take care of Goliath,” DeQuille mused. “Despite his size and ferocity, I think he's a very noble dog.”

“That wolf dog can take care of himself.”

“Goliath likes and trusts me. I may take him in myself. I think, in time, he could be a good and loyal companion.”

“Then you should do that,” Longarm agreed, the stench really getting to him now. “Let's go find the undertaker. I sure don't envy him this job.”

Two days later Longarm and Delia were being bounced around by a badly potholed road while seated in a stagecoach nearing Fallon, Nevada. The countryside was not as green as Longarm had expected, but he did see plenty of cattle grazing on the short grass and not a small number of sheep.

“This country reminds me of Elko . . . dry and bleak,” Delia glumly observed. “If Maxwell Pennington inherited a big ranch out here in this poor country, I can't imagine him raising any sizable number of cattle.”

“Me, neither,” Longarm agreed. “But this is good sheep country from the size and number of flocks we've seen on these sagebrush hills and valleys.”

The day was cold and the wind was blowing hard. Longarm figured that the driver must be miserable up on top but at least the recent snowfall had been just enough to keep the dust down. “Delia?”

“Yes?”

“I think you should remain in town until I confront Maxwell Pennington out at his ranch.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Please,” Delia begged, “don't leave me sitting in some hotel room waiting and wondering what in the world you are up to at the Pennington's ranch. Why, it's not completely inconceivable that Emily Pierce might even be hiding out there.”

“No, it's not,” Longarm agreed. “But if she is, then it will be pretty clear that she had a role in the murders of not only her parents . . . but also of the senior Mr. Pennington.”

“You don't think that's possible, do you?”

“Until I face Maxwell and confront him with the murder and death of his father, I have no way of knowing what happened.”

“But, Custis, a beautiful, well-raised young woman of sixteen isn't likely to have been a part in such terrible crimes.”

“I hope not, but it's possible.”

“I just have to go with you to the ranch.”

“What if Pennington has men and they all try to kill us?” Longarm asked. “Because that is also a possibility.”

Delia's expression grew somber. “Then we'd have to kill them first.”

“There might be quite a few men with Maxwell. The odds would not be in our favor.”

“But you're a United States marshal, surely they wouldn't . . .”

“Emily's father was a United States marshal and he was murdered, so why do you think they wouldn't dare do the same to you and me?”

Delia considered the question for several moments then answered, “Maybe there is a sheriff in Fallon and we can get him to come along with us.”

“I've already decided that would be a good idea.” Longarm waved at a cowboy who was driving a few cattle northward. “But there is something to consider if I involve the local lawmen.”

“What?”

“In smaller towns like Fallon the sheriff is usually an elected official. To get elected and reelected takes money and support from the powerful and wealthy people in the community. That means that the sheriff is beholden to them and is most likely not at all interested in seeing them be arrested . . . especially by a federal officer of the law.”

“Are you saying that if we ask the local sheriff to go with us to the ranch he might actually turn out to be someone that will side with Maxwell Pennington against
us
?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying,” Longarm told her. “It's happened to me often enough in the past that I try to avoid getting into that kind of a situation. In the worst case, it could prove to be a fatal mistake.”

“So are you or aren't you going to visit Fallon's sheriff?”

“I'm going to visit him on some kind of pretext other than trying to determine if Maxwell is a murderer and if Emily Pierce is still alive.”

“A pretext, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You mean a lie of some kind so that the man has no idea of why we are here.”

“That's right.”

Delia smiled. “All right, let me come up with your pretext. After all, I'm the imaginative dime novelist.”

“Okay, before we reach town, give me a great story that a sheriff will believe.”

“Hmmm,” Delia mused. “Let's tell the man that we are honeymooning and that Maxwell Pennington is an old friend that invited us to visit him and stay awhile at his ranch.”

“Not bad.”

“It's pretty good, actually.”

“Unless the sheriff insists on taking us out to the Pennington ranch.”

“In that case, you'll have to come up with a reason why we want to go out there alone.”

Longarm considered the matter. “I'll tell the sheriff that we want to surprise Maxwell. That should do it.”

“Maybe.”

Longarm had to grin. “So I saw you writing furiously yesterday and I was wondering how much of all this is going into your next novel. Remember your promise to change all the names, dates, and places.”

“I don't use dates and I'm always vague on places . . . mostly because I haven't seen them and therefore can't describe them.”

“I understand.”

“But you can bet that many of my future dime novels will be set in places that we have been visiting since we left Denver together . . . the Comstock Lode being one of them.”

“Don't get poor Dan DeQuille in trouble.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

“Or me.”

Delia snorted a laugh and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Custis, you
are
trouble! And by the way, how is your shoulder feeling where Pete hit you with that shovel?”

“It's bruised and sore, but not too bad. If he'd have hit me in the head, it would have killed me.”

“You've got a hard head so I doubt that you would have suffered all that much.”

“And you've got a big head, Delia.”

“But also a pretty one.”

“True.”

“That must be Fallon,” Delia said, leaning close to the window and pointing up ahead. “From what I can see, it's about the same size and appearance as Elko.”

“Both are mainly cattle towns so that shouldn't come as any surprise.”

Longarm rolled his shoulders and gritted his teeth. The blow that Pete had delivered on the top of his left shoulder was painful but he could still move his arm well enough. He just hoped that Fallon's sheriff was an honest man and would help them discover the truth about the murderers. And if they were very lucky and this was to have any kind of a good ending, Emily would be at the Pennington ranch and she would have had no earthly idea that her handsome lover was the cold-blooded killer of her parents.

Unlikely,
Longarm thought as they grew nearer to Fallon,
very, very unlikely.

“Sheriff Hopper's office is just up the street. You can't miss it,” a cowboy told them in front of the Dusty Trail Saloon. “But at this time of the day, his office door is likely locked.”

“It's one o'clock in the afternoon,” Delia said. “Why . . .”

“Sheriff Hopper likes to take a little nap after his noon meal. He says that because he has to go out at night sometimes when there's trouble, he deserves a nap.”

“The hell with that,” Longarm snapped. “But thanks for the information.”

“You'd better have something important to say if you wake him up or he'll be madder'n an old grizzly bear comin' out of his hibernation.”

“We all have our trials,” Longarm said, taking Delia's arm and leading her up the street. Somehow, word must have spread that a beautiful new woman had just arrived in town because men actually came out of their shops to stare.

“You do attract a crowd, Delia.”

“I know. I have for years and I like it.”

“I expect so.” They stopped in front of the sheriff's office and Longarm tried the doorknob. “Locked.”

He began to pound on the door hard enough to cause it to shake, and then they both heard an angry shout from inside. “Who the hell is it at this hour!”

Longarm didn't answer but kept pounding.

“We're sure not getting off on the right foot here,” Delia offered. “He's going to be uncooperative.”

“Good. That means that he'll likely be mad enough to tell us the truth about how he feels toward Maxwell Pennington.”

“Gawdamnit!” Hopper shouted. “Stop hammering on my damned door!”

“Then open the damned thing,” Longarm yelled, “before I kick it in.”

Hopper unlocked the door and tore it open. He was a big man with three double chins and very little hair on his head other than a long, tobacco-stained mustache. “Who the hell are you?”

“We're looking for the Pennington ranch,” Longarm replied.

“Well, do you think the fuckin' ranch is in my office!” Suddenly, the sheriff realized Delia was standing right behind Longarm. “Oh, sorry, ma'am.”

“That's all right. Can we come inside for a minute?”

Sheriff Hopper wasn't wearing any shoes or boots, just a pair of socks with holes in them and he reeked of tobacco and smoke. Even in his socks he was almost as tall as Longarm and fifty pounds heavier. His belt was unbuckled probably to give some comfort to a large beer belly. To Longarm's way of thinking, he was a damn sorry-looking sheriff.

“What are you all gawkin' at!” Hopper shouted at some cowboys across the street that'd gathered to watch Delia and now were grinning at this new and unexpected turn of events. “Go on and get about your business!”

The cowboys didn't budge and Hopper's face grew red with anger. He was about to yell something else at them when Longarm firmly pushed him back into his office and closed the door so they could speak in private.

“Have a seat if you can find one,” Hopper grumbled. “Couldn't this business about the Pennington place wait until after my nap? I had to roust a couple of boys from the Rafter Bar Ranch last night and I'm running short of my badly needed rest.”

“We're sorry to bother you, Sheriff Hopper,” Delia said in her sweetest voice. “We've heard how hard you work for this town.”

“You have?”

“That's right.”

“Well, that's nice to hear for a change,” Hopper said, brightening. “I been sheriff of this town for eight years and it seems like eighty. They don't pay me enough to have any deputies and I only get fifty cents a day for prisoner's food and my own when I'm stayin' here overnight. I'm not young anymore and I got no pension or savings. My wife ran out on me twelve years ago and she married a railroad engineer. They have a hell of a nice home in Reno and my kids are grown and never come to see me. Life has been hard and I can only see it get harder as my health declines.”

“I'm sorry for your troubles,” Delia said as if she really meant it. “And also sorry for the interruption. But we just wanted to pay you a visit.”

“Why?”

“Because my father was a sheriff in a little Wyoming town even smaller than this one and he always told me that when I visited a new town to pay my respects to the underpaid lawman in charge. He said it was the right and decent thing to do.”

Hopper plopped into an office chair. He scratched his belly and yawned. “Well, if your father was a lawman in a small town, then he understood how poorly paid and appreciated we are. So what brings you here wanting to visit Max Pennington?”

“He was a good friend of mine,” Longarm said. “We were in the mining business up in Virginia City.”

“That went to hell in a handbasket. Did you lose your ass by hanging on too long there like the Pennington men?”

“I sold out six years ago,” Longarm said. “Did pretty well.”

Hopper studied Longarm for a moment and said, “It appears you have done well.”

“We are honeymooning,” Delia said, feigning a blush. “We've only been married two weeks.”

“Well, I'll be. And why in blazes did you come here instead of goin' someplace nice?”

“Like I said, Maxwell invited us and we thought it would be interesting to come and visit him at his ranch.”

“It ain't been his for long,” the sheriff told them. “Maxwell's father went missing just a short while back. Probably murdered and tossed down one of those abandoned Comstock mines. They're so deep a body would never be found there.”

“How tragic!” Delia cried, hand fluttering to her mouth. “So no one has ever found the poor man?”

“No. Maxwell put out a reward but it was never collected. The authorities investigated but found nothing. Mr. Pennington was pretty well regarded here in Fallon and since he loved his ranch and spent most of his days here we had a funeral for him. It was damned impressive if I do say so myself. Black pair of matching horses, shiny black hearse, flowers, and lots of tears and fine words shed and spoken at his gravesite. Did you know the man?”

“Afraid not,” Longarm said.

“Too bad. He was real generous with this town and he helped me get elected. I owed him like most everyone around did.”

“What about Max?” Longarm asked. “Is he pretty popular as well?”

“Sure. But Max ain't nothing like the old man. He's pretty quick with his temper and I've had to arrest him a few times for fighting and raising hell. But he has a good heart and the women flock to him like bees to honey.”

“Yes,” Delia said, “I know all about that!”

Longarm blinked with surprise but before he could say a word, Delia continued. “Maxwell and I had our little . . . uh, fling some time back.”

Hopper leered and laughed. “Yeah, I can picture that. No offense, sir, but it just seems easy to imagine your wife and Max had some . . . some history.”

Longarm acted offended by scowling. “Maybe we ought to just let you go back to taking a nap. I told Delia that we could come by on our way out of town just as easy as now.”

“Aw, don't worry about it. Besides, Max has his hands full right now with a mighty pretty young thing.”

“He does?”

“Yep,” Hopper said, making no attempt to hide a smile. “She's younger than most he's brought here and prettier than a sunflower in springtime. Yellow hair and a tiny waist with a big bosom. She's a dandy, all right.”

“Is she at the ranch now?”

“Far as I know. But she never comes to town. We saw her when she arrived with Max in a buggy and they bought some ranch supplies and then she never came back.” Hopper winked. “I expect he's got her tied to the bedposts . . . I know if I had her that's what I'd do.”

“My oh my!” Delia exclaimed. “It sounds as if Max hasn't changed at all since I knew him.”

Hopper's jaw sagged and he grunted, “Did he tie you to his bedposts?”

Delia tittered and looked away. “Oh, we don't tell our most naughty of little secrets, do we?”

“Hellfire! If you tell me yours, then I'll tell you mine!”

Longarm went over and grabbed Delia's hand and pulled her toward the door. “Give us directions.”

“Two miles north out of town you'll see where the road forks by an old cottonwood tree. Take the right fork and you'll soon come to the ranch gate. Whole damn place is fenced with barbed wire and the senior Mr. Pennington liked to keep the gate locked but then men started cutting the wire so he threw away the padlock. You can ride right in and you'll see the Pennington house up in a stand of big cottonwoods. Nice place. Max really inherited a fine herd of cattle and good water. Even with his wild ways he's bound to make a profit there . . . if that pretty young thing with the golden hair don't give him heart failure in his bed.”

“Thanks,” Longarm said, closing the door and leading Delia down the street. “So we found out quite a lot.”

Delia stopped abruptly and turned her face up to him. “Custis, do you think it's her? Do you think it's Emily Pierce?”

“More than likely.”

“And do you think she's there because she wants to be with Maxwell . . . or is she being held hostage by the man?”

“Only one way to find out and that's to go out to the ranch and see.”

“I hope she's a hostage, a sex slave for him.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Delia said, “if she isn't it must mean that she helped Maxwell Pennington kill her own parents!”

“More than likely,” Longarm repeated with a dark scowl on his handsome face.

“Do you think that he might really . . . really tie her to his bedposts?”

“It wouldn't be the first time it has happened or the last.”

“I'm going to use all of this in my next dime novel! It will turn my editor's hair gray but it will sell a million copies!”

Longarm's expression softened. “Just go ahead and do that but remember that . . .”

“I know. Change all the names and places.” Delia brightened. “When we get there I just have to sneak into the man's bedroom and see if there are manacles or straps attached to his bedposts! I can't wait to find that out.”

“Delia,” Longarm said, “you are hopeless.”

“I know but I've never tried to convince you otherwise.” She looked up at him. “And besides, you're no saint, either. In fact, in the bedroom you can be a real devil.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Longarm replied, grinning.

“So where are we going now?”

“We need to rent a couple of saddle horses.”

“Can't we rent a buggy? I don't how to ride a horse.”

“You don't?”

“No. I don't even like them.”

“All right, you've got a lot more money than I do so you rent the horse buggy.”

“With pleasure.”

They spied a livery up the street and their pace quickened. “Custis?”

“Yeah?”

“You forgot to ask if there are a lot of tough men on the ranch payroll.”

“There will be,” Longarm said, glancing around. “I can size up the territory as well as anyone and I can say for certain that Maxwell Pennington is not working his new ranch without a pretty good-sized crew.”

“That's not good.”

“Cowboys like to drink and screw and raise hell but they're not all that keen to get into a gunfight. I think we'll be okay . . . but you can stay here in town if you want.”

“And miss the chance to see if Emily Pierce is there tied to four bedposts? And to hear what Maxwell has to say about the death and our finding his father buried in the backyard of his father's Virginia City home? Not likely I'll stay here wondering and waiting.”

“Fine.” Longarm turned abruptly into a gun shop. “You told me earlier that you can shoot straight. I think this is the time to buy you a good gun that you can hide in your dress pocket.”

“Do you really think I might need it?”

“I'm pretty damned sure of it.”

“Oh, shit,” Delia breathed, pasting a smile on her lovely face as they walked up to a counter and saw a row of pistols both used and new for sale.

“What can I help you with today?” the man behind the counter asked.

Longarm turned to Delia. “You have a lot of cash?”

“Enough.”

Longarm pivoted back to the gun shop owner. “We'll need a shotgun, a smaller caliber revolver, and a derringer . . . and ammunition.”

“My, my!” the man said, beaming with anticipation of a big profit. “That's quite an order! You must be going to go out and target practice.”

“Yeah,” Longarm said distractedly as he sized up the arsenal and hoped that they would not have to use it in a short while to defend their lives.