“I’m sure that they’ve been set free and we’ll find them very soon,” Longarm said. “Robbers don’t usually kill unless they are trapped and forced to shoot their way out of a fix. That’s why I decided that I had no choice but to cooperate.”
A big, florid-faced man hurried up to Longarm on the station platform. “Are you United States Deputy Marshal Custis Long?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Marshal Pete Walker,” the man said. “Let’s walk back inside and take a seat where we can talk in private.”
“Sure.”
“He didn’t do a damned thing!” the old man groused. “Just handed over his iron, his watch, and his wallet like everyone else. What kind of a federal marshal is he anyway!”
“An intelligent one,” Walker snapped as he turned his back and stomped up into the empty coach where they could talk without being overheard.
As soon as they were seated, Walker came right to the point. “This is the third train robbery we’ve had up at Donner Pass in the last six months. From the passengers that I’ve already talked to, it sounds as if it’s the same gang.”
“Will they keep their word and let the women go?”
“I think so,” Walker said. “At least they have in the past, although
…”
“Although what?”
The marshal turned away with a sad shake of his head. “Well, they might be … violated.”
Longarm’s jaw muscles corded. “You mean this gang has raped its former hostages?”
“I’m afraid so.” Walker’s expression was bleak. “None of the women would admit it—you know, not wanting to be scandalized and all—but I could tell when we found them that they’d been violated. You could see that their lips were bruised and they were scratched up and in shock.”
“Damn!” Longarm swore. “If I’d known that, I would have tried to do something to stop them.”
“And gotten a whole lot of innocent people killed.”
“Why haven’t you been able to apprehend this gang?”
“They’re smart and they travel light and fast. They never make a mistake and not one passenger or railroad employee has been able to recognize any of them.”
“They’ve got to go somewhere after they rob the train.”
“Sure they do, but where? I’ve worked with the authorities in Reno and our own state people in Sacramento. We’ve had the best lawmen available, but they haven’t been able to turn up a clue.”
“What about the women that were raped?” Longarm asked. “Surely they must have been able to describe-“
“No,” Walker said, “they couldn’t … or wouldn’t for fear of their lives.”
Longarm ground his teeth, then said, “I’d like to borrow a six-gun and a horse and ride up there to help you. I’m feeling damned rotten about letting those two women be taken.”
“Nothing else anyone could have done,” Walker assured him. “At least no one was shot to death. That’s the main thing.”
“Let’s go,” Longarm said impatiently.
“I thought I overheard someone say that you came here for that wedding between Stella Vacarro and Noah Huffington that takes place next Saturday.”
“That’s right,” Longarm said as he led the marshal back down the aisle so that they could get off the train and onto horses.
“Well,” Walker told him, “if I were you, I wouldn’t count on that wedding taking place.”
Longarm glanced back. “And why not?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just got a feeling that it will be canceled for one reason or another. Mostly because of Mr. Abe Huffington. He’s made no secret of how upset he is that his younger son is marrying a former whore and Comstock madam. He’ll figure out some way to derail that marriage.”
Longarm decided he would have to develop a very thick skin until the wedding was over and he was on his way back to Denver. And if he couldn’t do that, then he was just going to have to grit his teeth and endure the slander.
“This is Deputy Quaid,” Walker said as soon as they jumped down on the platform. “Quaid, how many men could you round up on short notice for the posse?”
“I’ve got five men on good horses. They’re all well armed and ready to go.”
“This is Federal Deputy Marshal Custis Long from Denver. He’s joining us.”
Quaid was a slender six-footer with dark features. He wore rings on three of his fingers and a mustache very much like Longarm’s. In his early twenties, Quaid had deep-set eyes with all the warmth of a reptile. Longarm’s first impressions were usually pretty accurate, and he immediately judged Deputy Quaid as being a dandy and former gambler. The man wore a fine suit and tie and his boots glistened. His collar was starched, his hair stylishly long, and he had replaced the ordinary walnut handles on his Colt revolver with ivory.
“We got enough men now,” Quaid said. “Don’t need no federal lawmen mucking up things.”
Longarm bristled. “I’m not going to ‘muck up’ anything,” he snapped. “And there were at least five train robbers in that gang, probably another couple holding the horses in and at least one to control the engineer and the train. You definitely need more men.”
“He’s right,” Walker said. “And I damn sure don’t want to hear any more about it from you, Deputy. Go get our horses and meet us at the office in five minutes.”
Quaid spun on his heel and marched away as if he had a rod up his ass. Longarm shook his head. “He’s a real warm and friendly fella, that one.”
“No,” Walker said, “he’s a cold-blooded bastard, but he’s good with a gun and fearless. People don’t much like Quaid and that’s good, because I’ll never have to worry about him trying to win my elective office.”
“I suppose that’s one way to justify keeping someone like that. Where are the horses?”
“Let’s go over to my office and I’ll find you a spare six-gun. You might also want a rifle.”
“I sure would.”
The marshal’s office was about what Longarm would have expected given the size of Auburn. It was modest, with two bunks in the lone cell, and two more bunks for the marshal and his deputy when they needed to spend the night guarding a prisoner or just wanted to take a little afternoon nap after a long, troublesome night. Other than the bunks and a couple of battered filing cabinets, there wasn’t much else in the way of furniture except for a pair of old desks and worn office swivel chairs fit for the trash heap. The walls were covered with wanted posters, all yellow and fly-specked. Only the locked gun and rifle rack was clean and orderly.
“Here you go,” Walker said, selecting a six-shooter and holster. “I took it off a hardcase only last week after he tried to rob a saloon and Quaid drilled him on the run.”
Longarm strapped on the holster and inspected the weapon. It was well used but in good working condition. “It will do fine,” he said, wishing he had his own gun.
“That fella had a rifle too. It ain’t pretty, but our gunsmith looked at it and said it was just fine.”
The Winchester was scarred but well oiled. A quick inspection left no doubts in Longarm’s mind that the rifle and pistol were both accurate and dependable.
The marshal locked the door when they were outside, and turned to face a small and anxious crowd, many of them the very same first-class passengers that Longarm had already endured.
“All right, folks,” Walker shouted over their excited chatter, “we’re about to go after that gang of train robbers. We hope to pick up their trail and catch them either this evening or tomorrow.”
“What makes you think so?” the banker yelled. “You haven’t caught them yet and this is the third time they’ve struck in just the last six months!”
“Yeah, I know that, Mr. Haley, but they have to make a mistake sometime. Maybe this is the time. And, of course, our first responsibility will be to rescue those two young ladies even before we begin to worry about recovering any money or personal valuables.”