LONGARM AND THE DEADLY PRISONER by Tabor Evans
Jove Books New York Copyright (C) 1996 by Jove Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.
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ISBN: 0-515-11879-6
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A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Printing history Jove edition / June 1996
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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SLOCUM by Jake Logan Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.
Chapter 1
Longarm sat sweltering in the Concord stagecoach as it jounced and lurched across the vast and lonely high desert expanses of northeastern Nevada. There was only one other long-suffering passenger, a drummer named Richmond who sold women’s undergarments and who preferred to keep himself in a constant state of mild intoxication.
“And so you see, Marshal Long,” the drummer said, continuing his rambling monologue, “the real money is to be made in selling.”
“Is that a fact,” Longarm intoned as he stared out the window.
“Sure it is! And while I don’t mean to brag-“
“Then don’t,” Longarm warned, turning his head away from a view of the distant Ruby Mountains and glaring at the toadish little drummer.
“But you need to understand how wealth is accumulated!” Richmond recklessly persisted. “And certainly, if you were not a United States marshal, I would never reveal to you the extent of my own considerable wealth.”
“You should just be quiet,” Longarm advised the man.
But intoxication spurred the drummer on. “Marshal, I don’t mean to pry, but exactly how much money do you make each year?”
Longarm had endured this annoying man for two days and his patience was worn damned thin. The only good news was that Gold Mountain, their destination, was only a few more hours to the east. After that, Longarm would not have to suffer this man’s company a moment longer.
“Come on,” Richmond prodded with a slack smile. “Marshal, don’t be ashamed of the pittance that you receive for your very dangerous work.”
When Longarm refused to answer, Richmond shrugged and said, “I understand your embarrassment, Marshal. The truth is, I already know your salary.”
“Is that a fact.”
“Yep.” Richmond looked mighty pleased with himself. “I know that you make approximately two thousand dollars a year. Am I correct?”
Actually, Richmond’s figure was much too high, but Longarm chose not to correct him.
“So,” Richmond said, taking a swig from his silver flask, “do you have any idea how much money I make each year selling silk stockings, underpanties, and other little goodies to the ladies of the night?”
“No,” Longarm growled, “I don’t.”
“I make about three times your income!” Richmond beamed and waited for praise that didn’t come because Longarm refused to play along.
“Did you hear me correctly, Marshal Long?” Richmond demanded. “I make three times your salary! That is, I made almost six thousand dollars last year.”
“Good for you,” Longarm said tightly.
Richmond was a short, fat man in his fifties with bushy gray sideburns and mustache. He dressed well, and carried a silver-capped cane decorated with an eagle. He liked to wave the cane about even in this stuffy, miserable coach. Now he waved the cane and exclaimed, “Do you think, sir, that you would enjoy that kind of annual earnings? Or are you immune to the joys of prosperity?”
Longarm’s temper was nearing the boiling point. He had always prided himself on his even temperament. In his profession, a man could not afford to lose his temper and commit rash acts. In the first place, he was a public servant and expected to conduct himself with dignity and firmness. In the second place, he was expected to always be under control. To lose one’s temper was not a luxury given to a lawman.
“I like money,” Longarm was able to admit, “but I also like my work.”
“How could you?“Richmond looked skeptical. “Marshal, you are constantly being subjected to the dregs of our society. Your life is always in danger and you can’t afford to turn your back on people for fear that one of them is an avenging ghost from your past intent on murder. You are often forced to go out into the wilderness in pursuit of a fugitive. You are constantly on the move and, because you are so badly paid, you must live and eat like a poor man. In short, a frontier marshal such as yourself suffers a miserable existence.”
“Why don’t you shut up,” Longarm growled. “There’s some nice scenery outside. Look around and give me some peace.”
“I will,” Richmond promised. “But first, I’d really appreciate it if you would answer my question. Why do you remain a United States marshal given the danger, the lousy pay, and the loneliness you must endure?”
“Mainly, I like the danger and the excitement,” Longarm said, figuring he’d give it one more try and then he’d silence this man one way or another. “For your information—and I don’t expect you to understand—I like being on the move, and I like the chance to help people in trouble.”
“A real humanitarian, huh?”
“No, but I believe in our criminal justice system and I think that I do a good job of upholding it throughout the West.”
“Oh, my,” Richmond said, making a face. “You sound like an idealist.”
Longarm’s hands knotted into fists. “At least I’m not scurrying all over the country selling panties to prostitutes.”
Richmond blushed. “I take umbrage at that remark, sir!”
“You can take both your umbrage and your fat ass up to the roof of this coach for all I care.”
“I would fry up there in the sun!”
“Then I’ll go up,” Longarm said, grabbing his Winchester and opening the door. “I’ve had about all of your company that I can stand.”
“I was just trying to tell you how-“
“Shut up!” Longarm ordered, leaning out of the rolling coach and grabbing the roof rail.
“Why, you big fool!” Richmond exclaimed. “I hope you’ll always be poor! And you’ll deserve to be because you are stupid!”
Longarm had been just about ready to climb up on the top of the coach, but this last insult could not be ignored. Hauling his big frame back into the coach, he reached out with his left hand and grabbed Richmond by the front of his expensive white silk shirt. Then he jerked the obnoxious little fellow off his seat.
“You miserable little louse,” Longarm hissed. “If you were even half a man, I’d thrash you. But you’re just a pathetic little toad who counts every man’s worth in terms of how much money they make.”
Fear dominated Richmond’s face. His eyes bulged, but the drink had given him just enough whiskey courage to blurt out, “And what other measure is there!”
“Honor!” Longarm growled. “Courage and principle. Doing a job well that is important. Those are the reasons that men pin on a badge and endure hardships and poor pay. That’s why the best ones can’t be bought or compromised.”