“So are we,” Trent added fervently. “I have a gun in my pocket, but I’ve never shot it before.”
“Maybe I’d better take a look at it. Just to make sure that it is safe to use.”
The young journalist dragged an old Navy Colt out of his pocket. It was a percussion pistol, and loaded with black powder and ball but no percussion caps, rendering it useless.
“What about the caps?” Longarm asked.
“The man who sold it to me said that I shouldn’t put them on unless I really have to. Do you agree, Marshal?”
“No, I don’t. Putting caps on takes a few seconds that could very well mean the difference between life and death. Do you have any?”
“In my suitcase tied to the back of the stagecoach,” Trent said sheepishly.
“Well, the first time we stop, let’s cap this thing and make sure that it shoots straight,” Longarm said, handing the old weapon back to the reporter. “You really need to get familiar with a gun before you need it. That way, there are no unpleasant surprises.”
“I’m sure he’s right, darling,” the schoolteacher said. She smiled at Longarm. “We feel a lot safer with you aboard, Marshal. I shouldn’t admit this, and I know that it will embarrass my husband, but we almost backed out of this trip and returned to Denver to look for other jobs. Your presence made the difference between going forward … or going back.”
“Well,” Longarm said, a little humbled by that admission and the responsibility that it implied, “chances are that we’ll have no trouble, but at least we’ll be ready if it comes.”
“Yeah,” Trent fretted. “I sure hope those caps didn’t fall out of my bags.”
“Me too,” Longarm said, looking at Miranda, who winked back at him.
That evening, just as the sun was setting and right after their supper, Longarm and young Trent walked out from the stage stop where they would spend the night and tested the old Navy Colt. Trent had found the caps, and they fired and reloaded the cylinder several times, Longarm giving the Easterner some professional tips on how to aim and slowly squeeze the trigger.
“I can’t believe how good a shot you are,” Trent said after Longarm drew his own gun and obliterated several small targets to demonstrate the proper technique.
“I’ve been shooting since I was knee high to a ground squirrel,” Longarm confessed. “I can’t remember when I wasn’t out hunting and shooting. But you don’t have to start early in life. Mostly, you just have to remember not to get rattled and take your time aiming and firing.”
“But I’d be dead if I had to defend myself against someone like you.”
“Yeah, you would,” Longarm agreed, realizing it was silly to argue that point. “But the thing of it is, most gunfights take place in saloons between a couple of drunks who can hardly stand up, let alone take aim and hit a target.”
“I’m not much of a drinker and I doubt I’ll ever go to a saloon.”
“Oh, sure you will,” Longarm told him. “Western saloons are like its people. Some are good and some are very bad. There’s both kinds in Durango, and there’s nothing wrong with a man having a glass of whiskey or beer once in a while with his friends. Just make sure that you know which places are safe and which are not.”
“How do I do that?”
“You make the right friends in town and they’ll tell you,” Longarm explained.
“You think we’re going to have trouble with that gang?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Do you want them to try and rob us so that you can kill or arrest them?”
“No,” Longarm said, realizing that he did not. “If I were alone or with other experienced lawmen, sure. But with you, Miranda, and your pretty young wife, I’d be mostly worried about one of you getting shot.”
“If we do get attacked, they won’t get much of value from Esther and me. I’ll bet that everything we own together isn’t worth but ten or fifteen dollars.”
“You’ll do well in Durango,” Longarm told him. “Both of you working and all.”
“You know anything about the Durango Daily newspaper that I’m to work for?”
“No.”
“I was lucky to get a job in the same town as Esther. Real lucky.”
“Maybe the lucky ones are the people that were fortunate enough to hire a pair like you,” Longarm said. “That’s the way that I’d look at it.”
“Thanks. And I want you to know that, if we’re attacked, I won’t do anything cowardly or stupid. I’ll do exactly what you say, Marshal. I’m well aware that this is your field of expertise, not mine.”
“Glad to hear that you understand that,” Longarm told the earnest young man. “And stop worrying so much and enjoy the scenery, which will be pretty spectacular tomorrow.”
“We will.” Trent excused himself and went into the big log cabin that combined passenger sleeping quarters with a kitchen.
Longarm lingered outside, enjoying the scent of pines and the first stars of the evening. Soon Miranda came out to join him, and she took his hand in her own and said, “A penny for your thoughts.”
“I was just wishing on a star that we don’t get hit by that gang. Not with you and that young couple on board.”
“What will happen will happen and it will all work out for the best,” Miranda told him. “I don’t feel a bit afraid. Not with you beside me.”
Longarm inhaled a deep lungful of the clean mountain air. He was flattered, but still worried.
Chapter 5
They left the stage station at dawn when the air was crisp and there was a thin layer of ice on the water trough. The new team of horses was feeling frisky in the frosty morning air, and they were a handful to harness. All four animals wanted to run as soon as they left the station, and Charley let them, so that his passengers were hanging on for their lives as they shot through the pines and up the narrow, winding road heading southwest. All that day they struggled up the eastern slope of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, and the day after that rolled down into a lush cattle-ranching paradise where some of the biggest ranches in Colorado were to be found. The Roes were in awe of this Colorado high country, and Longarm could see that Miranda was equally impressed by the high mountain forests, ragged peaks, and vast pine-ringed valleys. Sometimes, Longarm and Trent Roe took turns riding shotgun on top, where the pine-scented air was a tonic. It was during one of those times that Longarm quizzed Charley Blue about the stagecoach gang, hoping to learn everything he could in order to be as well prepared as possible.
“Marshal, I’ve never been driving when this stage has been attacked and robbed. However, I expect that my luck … or theirs … is about ready to run out. If those murderin’ jaspers get within range of my rifle, they’ll wish they’d have stayed away!”
Charley’s rifle was nothing but an old single-shot Civil War antique that had seen far better days. There was, however, no doubting Charley’s sincere belief that he could whittle down the odds in a big hurry.
“It appears to me that you have been driving these coaches for a lot of years,” Longarm remarked, noting how skillfully the driver handled this high-spirited team.
“Yeah, I went to California back in 1851 to get rich in them cold Sierra rivers, but got pneumonia instead. I almost died, and probably would have if an Indian gal hadn’t taken pity on my old hide and nursed me back to health. She was a Pomo Indian. I married her, but she died a few years later, and that like to broke my heart. Mik-ta was the finest woman God ever made. I started drivin’ coaches back and forth between Sacramento and the gold fields. Was a friend of John Sutter too! But then he got ruined.”
“I understand that Sutter was once considered to be the richest man in California.”
“Oh, he was! John Augustus Sutter owned thousands of cattle, sheep, and horses. Had hundreds of Indians workin’ his orchards and fields. He was the biggest-hearted man that I ever knew, and that was part of his problem. He gave too much away! Why, he even sent supplies and men up to help rescue some of them poor folks in the Donner Party.”