"Just like that?"
"Not just like that!" Martha bounced out of bed without a stitch of clothing. She threw her arms around Longarm's neck and hugged him. "Custis, more than anything, I want to be your wife. I want to marry my hero."
Longarm disengaged himself. "Martha, you're a beautiful young woman and you're going to marry again. And you're going to be more successful than your father. But we're not going to get married."
"y not?"
"Because," he said simply, "I don't want to get married. What I want and have to do is find Eli Wheat and the men that derailed that train and caused so many good and innocent people to die--some of them slowly and in great pain."
Martha stepped back. "All right. So we don't get married until you deliver Mr. Wheat and his friends to the hangman. Then can we marry?"
"I like my work."
"Your work will be your death! Sooner or later, someone will ambush or shoot you in the back. Or your horse will spill you over a cliff or something terrible will happen."
"I don't think so," he said, gentling her fears. "I lead a sort of charmed life."
"I don't believe that for a moment. Look at the scars you carry on your body! You look like you've been stitched up in five or six places, and I recognize a bullet wound when I see one."
"I'm like a cat with nine lives," he said with a wink. "And with eight of them gone!"
Longarm's stomach rumbled in protest. "Martha, let's go out and get something to eat."
Her shoulders slumped. "Just tell me that you'll come back when you've captured or killed Eli and his gang. That's all I ask."
"It may take some time and some doing."
"You'll do it. Promise me, please?"
"All right," he conceded, "I'll come back."
"Good! My father was close friends with Edward's father, who founded the Bank of Wyoming. I'll speak to the old gentleman tomorrow and ask him to hold that job opening."
"Now-"
"Just in case!" Martha added quickly. "Just in case."
Longarm dipped his chin in reluctant agreement. Martha reached down and began to play with his flaccid rod, and he decided to wait a few minutes before getting dressed, just in case.
CHAPTER 4
The next morning, Longarm paid a visit to the telegraph office to send a message to his boss, U.S. Marshal Billy Vail, back in Denver.
"All right, Deputy," the telegraph operator said, pencil poised over pad. "Shoot."
"To Marshal Vail." Longarm paused, gathered his thoughts, and began to dictate. "Prisoner Eli Wheat escaped custody during train derailment near Laramie Summit. Stop. Many passengers killed and injured and mail car robbed. Stop. Appears to be same gang that has derailed other U.P. trains. Stop. Going after Eli Wheat and train wreck gang. Stop. Need one hundred and fifty dollars for outfit and travel expenses. Stop."
"Don't you want me to add your name?"
"He'll know who the telegram is from."
"Terrible thing that happened up there," the operator said, shaking his head. "I knew most of the train crew that died. They were all good men. Didn't deserve something like that to happen to 'em." "Neither did the passengers."
"Mr. Ashmore left a wife and three small children," the telegraph operator added quietly. "I tell you, there's going to be some sad grievin' in this town for a good long while."
"I know. All that I can do is to try and bring whoever caused that train wreck to a quick and final justice. Which reminds me, I need to buy a horse."
"Bob's Livery is the best place to go. He's a good, honest man and takes care of his customers. I guarantee that he'll treat you right."
"Thanks," Longarm said, before asking for directions. Fifteen minutes later, he was looking at a pen of saddle horses over a split-rail fence.
"Now that bay gelding with the blaze on his face is one of the better animals," Bob said. "He's an older horse, but steady and sound."
"What about that dun?"
"I wouldn't trust his legs. Bought him from a horse trader for next to nothing because I figured he might have some fundamental unsoundness."
"And the palomino?"
"Hard-mouthed and stubborn. He's half bronc.
"What about that tall sorrel with the white star on his forehead?"
Bob smiled. "You've a keen eye for good horseflesh. Cowboy rode him into town and made a big fuss over the horse, but he wanted cash real bad. Said he had a sister in Omaha that needed his help and he had to have some cash for travel. I paid forty dollars for the animal after watching the cowboy ride for about ten minutes. Seems like a good horse and the cowboy said he was fast and had endurance. He's a little big-headed and Roman-nosed."
"That doesn't matter to me," Longarm said. "I like his looks and the size. How much do you want?"
"For you, same as I paid. And for a total of fifty dollars, I'll throw in an old saddle, bridle, and blanket."
"How about a new set of shoes? The only reason I caught up with Eli Wheat this last time was because his unshod horses went lame."
"You're right. I shoe my own horses and I'll do the sorrel. For five more dollars, you've got a freshly shod horse and I'll toss in a rope, halter, and set of hobbles. You'd have everything you need to catch Eli and his murdering friends."
"Fifty-five dollars total."
"That's right."
Longarm knew that, if the horse was as sound and sensible an animal as he appeared to be, it was a very fair price. "Saddle him up and let me ride him around."
"Sure!"
The sorrel was light-mouthed, quick-reining, and alert. Longarm was no cowboy, but he could recognize a horse that was well trained and eager to please. "I'll take him. I'm expecting a telegram and wired money this afternoon."
"He'll have a fresh pair of shoes and be ready when you are," the liveryman promised.
Satisfied that he had bought himself a good horse, Longarm next went to the general store, where he purchased food, a bedroll, supplies, and a heavy, waterproof canvas sack in which to carry everything.
"I'm also going to need a pair of woolen underwear and a leather coat," he told the proprietor.
"We can fix you right up," the man said with a somber expression. "And I'll tell you something else, Deputy. I'm not going to take a cent of profit."
"You're not?"
"No. I'm selling everything to you at cost because I want you to catch and bring those men to justice. The engineer on board that train that died was one of my best friends. So you find those killers and give them no quarter, hear me?"
"I hear you," Longarm said. "And that brings me to the last thing I need, which is a rifle. I haven't got a lot of money, so if you've got something used but serviceable and that shoots straight, that would be fine."
"You want a.30-30 carbine?"
"Maybe something heavier."
"I've a fine Remington Rolling-block.50 I could offer at a good price."
"That's an excellent rifle, but I'm in need of something that holds more than one shot."
"I see. How about a Winchester Model 1873? I've a battered but serviceable fifteen-shot with a twenty-four-inch barrel. It's heavier than the.30-30, being a.44-40 caliber."
"Let me see it."
The rifle's stock had been broken and crudely repaired with nails and wire, and then covered with tightly stretched rawhide. The Winchester wasn't anything for looks, but the ugly stock felt solid and Longarm figured that he might need a fifteen-shot weapon with reaching power.
"How much?"
"Ten dollars." The man smiled. "That's what I paid for it. Bought it off a Cheyenne, but not before I tested it for accuracy. It shoots straight and the action is smooth."
"Sold."
Longarm left the general store and returned to Martha's house. She wasn't home, so he packed his things, put on his new clothes, and headed back into town. After receiving directions, Longarm ended up at the fancy law offices of Noble, Evans, and Black.
"Excuse me," he said to a clerk wearing a green eyeshade. "I'm looking for Miss Noble."
"She's in conference with Mr. Evans and Mr. Black. If you could come back later."