"If it wasn't for us, this whole state would go belly-up! You can't raise cattle in the mountains!"
"The hell you say! We can raise cattle any damn place we want!"
Longarm sighed tiredly. It looked like he might have stepped right into one of the sources of the trouble he was here to investigate.
Several days had passed since he had left Denver. Several days spent in railroad cars that rattled more and shook more the closer he came to his destination, days spent breathing air that grew more and more cinder-clogged. Finally, the narrow-gauge spur line that ran up here into the foothills of the Cascade Mountains had deposited him in a place called Timber City, and when he had stepped off the train, he had found himself smack-dab in the middle of a melee between lumberjacks in lace-up boots, khaki pants, and red-checked shirts and cowboys in chaps and Stetsons and cowhide vests. To save his own hide, he had been forced to drop his warbag, saddle, and rifle and defend himself.
The combatants had grudgingly stopped fighting. The lumberjacks formed a sullen group on one side of the train station's platform, the cowboys an equally petulant knot of rannies on the other side. Longarm looked at both groups in disgust and slid his revolver back into its holster. He turned back to the spot where he had dropped his gear and picked it up again.
"You can beat the hell out of each other when I'm gone," he said. "I don't give a damn either way."
He stalked across the platform and into the lobby of the depot. The railroad clerk had come out from behind his ticket counter so that he could watch the brawl through the windows. Now he retreated behind the counter as Longarm came toward him.
"Yes, sir, what can I do for you?" the man asked.
Longarm set his saddle down and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the platform behind him. "What in blazes was that ruckus about?"
The clerk sighed and shook his head. "They don't need a reason. Whenever those loggers from Mcentire's camp are anywhere around the punchers from the Diamond K, a fight breaks out, just like clockwork."
"They don't get along, huh?"
"That's putting it mildly, Mister..."
"Long, Custis Long." Longarm had never been to Timber City before, so he didn't see any reason not to use his real name. If he ran into anybody he had been responsible for throwing in jail in the past, they would recognize him as much by his tall, rangy build and longhorn mustache as they would by his name. He went on. "I reckon the Diamond K must be one of the spreads hereabouts."
"That's right. It's about ten miles north of here, spread out along the foothills at the base of the Cascades. And that's about where the Mcentire lumber camp is, only it's up higher in the mountains."
Longarm nodded, thankful for the fact that most pencil pushers like this gent were the talkative sort. "Well, I'll be sure not to get in the middle of those two bunches again. A fella could get killed, happen he wasn't careful."
The clerk looked solemn. "Several men have been killed already, I'm afraid. All by accident... or so the story goes."
"That so?"
"Yes, I think-" The clerk stopped abruptly. He grinned sheepishly. "But I'm not paid to think, just to sell tickets. Too much gossip might make people afraid to come to Timber City, and then the railroad wouldn't make as much money, would it?"
"Reckon not," said Longarm, disappointed that the man had decided to stop talking about the local troubles. Longarm couldn't press him on the matter, though, not without appearing overly curious--and that was something he didn't want to do just yet. He changed the subject by asking, "There a good hotel here in town?"
"Certainly. The Ponderosa House, just down the street. You can't miss it."
"Much obliged," said Longarm as he picked up his saddle again. He turned, then asked over his shoulder, "What about a livery stable? I might need to rent a horse."
"Right next to the hotel. Affiliated with it, in fact. They'll take good care of you."
"Thanks."
Longarm left the station before the clerk could start asking any questions of his own, like who Longarm was and what he was doing there in Timber City. Longarm planned to keep that to himself for the time being, at least until he'd had a chance to talk to Mcentire and find out more about the trouble that had been plaguing the timber company, costing the lives of several loggers in the process. From what he had seen so far he had some pretty likely culprits in those Diamond K punchers.
Those same cowhands came around the corner of the building, and Longarm cast a quick glance around for the lumberjacks, figuring there was going to be more trouble. The timber-cutters had disappeared, however, forestalling another ruckus.
And being escorted by the cowboys was a mighty pretty young woman, Longarm noted. She was well-dressed in a bottle-green traveling outfit, and had what appeared to be long red hair tucked up and pinned in a bun under her stylish hat. A couple of the cowboys were carrying valises, and Longarm noticed a spring wagon parked near the depot. He wasn't surprised when the whole bunch headed toward the wagon.
There was a footstep behind him, and he glanced around to see that the ticket clerk had followed him out onto the porch. "Deserting your wicket, ain't you?" asked Longarm.
"Business is slack right now," replied the clerk with a shrug. "Besides, I wanted a look at Molly Kinsman. She's been gone to school back East for a while, and I'd heard she had changed a heap." He let out a low whistle of admiration as he watched the young woman being helped into the spring wagon by one of the punchers. "Changed for the better too, she did."
"Kinsman," Longarm mused. "Her daddy must own the Diamond K."
"That's right. Matt Kinsman was one of the first ranchers in these parts. Still has one of the biggest and best spreads." The clerk looked over at Longarm and added curiously, "Say, you're just full of questions, aren't you, mister?"
That was just the reaction Longarm had hoped to avoid by leaving the station when he had. He hadn't counted on the blasted clerk following him. Still, he had gotten some more information out of the fellow, who flapped his gums like he hadn't seen another human being in a month of Sundays and was desperate to talk.
Longarm shrugged casually. "I like to know what's going on in a place when I come to visit," he said. "Been a while since I've had a riding job. Might just pay a visit to this fella Kinsman."
The clerk looked askance at him. "You don't look much like a cowboy in that town suit."
"Oh, these are just my go-to-meetin' duds. My range clothes are in my warbag."
The spring wagon from the Diamond K rattled away as Longarm made his excuses to the clerk. Several of the cowboys were riding on the wagon with the young woman; the rest of the bunch trailed it on horseback.
"Don't know if Matt Kinsman's hiring or not," said the clerk, rubbing his jaw in thought. "Like I told you, he's still got a good spread, but times are a little tight for him right now. He lost some cows to rustlers not long ago, then lost some more when he had a well go bad. Course, to hear Kinsman tell it, somebody poisoned that well, but I can't think of anybody around here who'd do a low-down thing like that."
What about those lumberjacks? Longarm asked himself.
There was bad blood between the two groups; he had caught on to that fact within moments of arriving there in Timber City. If he was going to lean toward the Diamond K punchers as likely suspects in the trouble to hit the Mcentire lumber camp, wasn 't it just as fair to think that maybe the lumberjacks had something to do with Kinsman's problems?
No matter how you looked at it, the whole thing had the makings of a pure-dee mess. And he was going to have to sort it out as quickly as he could, because Uncle Sam had money riding on the Mcentire Timber Company.
"I'll probably talk to Kinsman anyway, can't hurt," Longarm commented to the clerk. Then, with another casual wave, he set off down the street toward the hotel. This time, the clerk didn't follow, as Longarm saw with a glance behind him, and he was grateful for that.