The blacksmith was not as tall as Longarm, but he was more muscular. "Hey," he said, "I'm on your side! If someone brings a horse in with a shoe like you've drawn, I'll beat a hot trail to you. Count on it!"
"I'll be staying just up the street at the Outpost Hotel," Longarm said. "But I don't think that I'll be there more than a day or two."
"If this horse that you're looking for was ridden all the way down from the summit with a broken shoe, I'm surprised he hasn't gone lame yet."
"Me too."
"You gonna go to my competitor with the same offer?"
"Sure, why not?"
"No reason," the blacksmith said quickly. "But he's blind and drunk most of the time. He won't help you."
"I'll be looking pretty hard for myself," Longarm informed the man. "But if I was riding a horse with a broken shoe, I'd take notice and get him shod right away. That's why I came to you first thing."
"Much obliged! And hey, what about your horse, Deputy? Looks like he could use a new set of irons."
"Hell," Longarm drawled, "he was just shod in Cheyenne yesterday."
Ned Rowe scratched his belly and turned back to the horse he was working on. He jerked hard on the rope, and the animal backed away in fear. "All right, jug-head! You settled down yet?"
"Yes, sir, Ned, you sure got a fine way with horses," Longarm said cryptically as he reined his sorrel on down the street to find the other blacksmith.
"Go to hell, Deputy!"
At the corner of the street, Longarm glanced back and saw that Ned Rowe was watching him closely. Did the man know something that he wasn't telling about the gang? Longarm hadn't a clue. Most likely, Rowe didn't know anything. He didn't seem the sort to ride with an outlaw gang. Still, he might know someone who did. Or just as likely, he might even know who owned the horse with the broken right shoe, and might even decide that he could use his information for a share of the train's bounty.
Yes, sir, Longarm thought, Ned Rowe had the cunning look of a person who would have no qualms about playing both sides against the middle in order to gain a windfall. The man would definitely bear watching and another visit.
The other blacksmith was far more cooperative. His name was Jimmie Jeter and he was a short, balding man considerably past his prime for this hard and dangerous work. In addition to being a blacksmith, he ran a livery stable.
"Sure, Deputy, I'll watch for a horse like that. And how much did you say the reward might be?"
"I didn't say," Longarm told the man. "But it could be a considerable amount of money."
"Have you already visited Ned Rowe?"
"I have."
"Too bad."
"Why?"
Jimmy shrugged. With one worn boot heel hooked over a bottom fence rail and his arms hooked over the top fence rail, he was as relaxed as Ned Rowe had been angry.
"Well, Deputy Long, it might interest you to know that Ned's brother was hanged for horse thieving about two years ago. His father was a cattle rustler and hanged about three years before that. He's got a younger sister who's a whore in Rock Springs, and his mother shot herself last winter."
"Sounds like a sorry family."
"The Rowes are trash and always have been. Ned is as crooked as a dog's hind leg."
"I see." Longarm hooked his own heel over the rail and gazed off toward the distant mountains. "Jimmie, are you suggesting that Ned might be mixed up with the train robberies?"
"Oh," Jimmie drawled, "I'm not suggesting anything. He's mean and drinks too damn much. He's awful with horses and not much of a shoer, but I sure wouldn't want to see him get into trouble."
"Ned says that his business isn't very good."
"'Course it isn't! Word gets around. He'll whip a horse with his shoeing file. He's lamed a few by cutting them to the quick because he gets angry and impatient. I'm not just saying that because he's my only competitor, Deputy."
"I'm sure you're not."
"The truth of the matter is," Jimmie said, chewing on a stem of alfalfa, "Ned has a wild streak. Sometimes he just closes his shop, saddles a horse, and rides off for a few days at a time."
"Any idea where he might go?"
"Nope. I'm told that Ned rides over to Cheyenne and gets drunk. My wife thinks that Ned has a whore over there that he's fond of dallying with."
"What do you think Ned does?"
"I think he's foolin' around with more than whiskey and bad women," Jimmie said.
Longarm waited for a further explanation. When it became obvious that it would not be forthcoming, he said, "Why do you think he's up to something illegal?"
"Because Ned always returns with more money than he leaves with."
"Maybe he goes to Cheyenne and shoes a few horses."
Jimmie chuckled softly. "Hell, Deputy! You've got a fine sense of humor, don't you?"
Longarm hadn't meant for his remark to be humorous. "Watch for that horse with the broken shoe, Jimmie. If it shows up, get word to me right away at the hotel or track me down here in town."
"What about the sheriff? You going to be working with him on this?"
"I've never met the man."
"He's new," Jimmie said. "I don't trust him any more than I do Ned Rowe."
Longarm frowned. "Jimmie, despite your easygoing ways, I'm beginning to wonder if you're just naturally a suspicious kind of fella."
Jimmie laughed outright. "Deputy, if you think I'm suspicious, just you trot on over to pay your respects to Sheriff Cotton. He'll make you suspicious too, and he's the sheriff!"
"I will pay him a visit."
"Do yourself a favor."
"What's that?"
The smile died on Jimmie's wrinkled face. "Let's just keep the broken horseshoe thing to ourselves for a few days. Never mind the fool sheriff. If the horse comes to town and its owner knows anything about my reputation, he'll bring the animal here."
"And if he brings the horse to Ned?"
"Then I'd say you have two of the train robbers caught dead to rights."
Longarm nodded. He wasn't sure that he believed Jimmie, but the man's suspicions sure needed investigating. And being forewarned about Laramie's new sheriff was something that Longarm appreciated. As a federal officer, he often had to work in cooperation with the local authorities. Sometimes it worked, often it did not. Sheriffs and town marshals had a tendency to be pretty closed-mouthed, and they often did not appreciate having a federal officer who might show them up as incompetent working in their jurisdiction.
"Keep an eye out and feed my horse well," Longarm said, untying his saddlebags.
"You can count on Jimmie," the blacksmith said cheerfully. "I got the best eyes in Laramie when it comes to a horse's feet."
Longarm believed the man, and he had a hunch that if the horse he sought were anywhere in Laramie, Jimmie would find it first.
CHAPTER 6
"Sheriff Cotton?"
"At your service," the chubby man with a shiny star and boots to match said as he eased out of his desk chair. "But most people call me Ike."
"I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long. I'm a federal officer working out of the Denver office."
Ike Cotton's smile dimmed a little. He sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest. "Take a load off your feet, Deputy. You been in Laramie long?"
"No. I just rode in. But I was on the train that was derailed a few days ago and sent down the mountainside just beyond the summit."
"I heard all about that," Cotton said. "Of course, I couldn't go up there and investigate. My own deputy quit--you aren't lookin' for a job, are you?"
"No."
Cotton settled into his overstuffed desk chair. He was of average height, smooth-faced, and flabby. His hands were delicate, and his thin blond hair was slicked against his scalp while his mustache was waxed at the tips. With the benefit of money, Sheriff Cotton would have been a dandy.
"Well," Cotton blustered, "that's too bad. I could use an experienced deputy. One that knows that there is more to being a lawman than just sitting behind a desk with your feet up in the air."
"I'm sure you could," Longarm said drily.