Longarm and the Stagecoach Robbers Read online

  Beaten to the Punch . . .

  Longarm tried the door but it was locked. He studied the cheap lock for a moment, then took out his pocketknife and opened the sturdy main blade. He slipped that between the door and the frame and made contact with the lock bar.

  Pressing forward to give the tip of the blade some purchase on the cheap steel of the lock, he prised the bar sideways until it cleared the mortise. The door swung open easily after that.

  The room inside was dark but the moaning continued to come from it. Longarm reached into his vest pocket for a match and snapped it aflame with his thumbnail.

  He strode forward, found a lamp in the middle of a small table, and lit it. Lamplight flooded the tiny room to disclose Will Carver, his face a pulped mass of blood, lying on the floor in front of the fireplace.

  DON’T MISS THESE

  ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES

  FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts

  Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.

  LONGARM by Tabor Evans

  The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

  SLOCUM by Jake Logan

  Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

  BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan

  An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.

  DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer

  Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .

  WILDGUN by Jack Hanson

  The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

  TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun

  J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

  BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

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  A Penguin Random House Company

  LONGARM AND THE STAGECOACH ROBBERS

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2014 by Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

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  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

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  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-14481-1

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Jove mass-market edition / December 2014

  Cover illustration by Milo Sinovcic.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  All-Action Western Series

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 1

  United States Marshal William Vail looked up from the telegram on his desk, a scowl flickering across his normally bland expression. He peered at his deputy and said, “I have some work for you, Long.”

  “Not more warrants t’ serve, I hope,” Deputy Marshal Custis Long said.

  “No, Longarm, I just got this. It’s a gang that has been robbing the mail. They’ve hit the Carver Express Company twice in the past month, and the local law isn’t doing anything to stop them. At least not according to what the express line people believe. That could just be a matter of personal differences. I wouldn’t venture an opinion about that. But there is no question that robbery of the mail falls under our jurisdiction as a Federal crime. I want you to go look into it.”

  “Carver,” Longarm repeated. Then he shook his head. “Don’t think I’m familiar with that line, boss.”

  “Yes, you are, just not by that name. Carver bought out Henry Blaisdell up in South Park. You knew Henry. This is the same deal under a different name. But they took over Henry’s mail contract along with everything else,” Vail said.

  “Ah, them I know,” Longarm conceded. “Two robberies of the mail?” he asked.

  The balding but still lethal U.S. marshal nodded. “Yes, and that makes it our business, not just Carver’s.”

  Longarm nodded. A tall man with seal brown hair and a sweeping handlebar mustache, he was a study in brown and black. The deputy wore a brown tweed coat, a calfskin vest, and brown corduroy trousers tucked into black stovepipe boots. Perhaps more important, he also wore a black gun belt strapped around narrow hips, the holster carried on his belly canted for a cross-draw and containing a double-action Colt .45 revolver
.

  He reached into his coat for a cheroot, bit the twist off, and spat the bit of tobacco into his palm but, seeing Billy Vail’s scowl, did not light the slender cigar.

  “I’ll grab my bag an’ catch the next train up to Fairplay,” he said.

  Vail nodded. “Henry has the schedule,” he said, the Henry this time referring to his clerk.

  Fairplay was the major mining community in the South Park area. The railroad had recently reached it. The rest of the surrounding area of South Park was served by the stagecoach line formerly owned by Blaisdell and now, apparently, by Carver. Under either ownership, the mail contract gave the government a certain amount of authority and privilege.

  “If you find that you need help,” Vail said, “it’s as close as the telegraph line. Keep that in mind.”

  Deputy Custis Long nodded. “Don’t I always.”

  “As a matter of fact, no, you don’t always,” Vail said. “But do keep it in mind this time.”

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Longarm told him. The tone of his voice suggested that he did not at all mean it. But the prudent thing was to say it anyway.

  Longarm touched his forehead with one finger in salute, then left Billy Vail’s office. He retrieved his flat-crowned, snuff brown Stetson from the hat rack in the outer office and stopped at Henry’s desk to collect a fistful of expense vouchers before he headed home to get his carpetbag.

  Chapter 2

  “There won’t be another passenger coach up-bound until tomorrow,” the helpful clerk told him, “but if you hurry, you can catch the ore cars going to Fairplay. The only passenger leaving this evening is going to Silver Plume and that isn’t even the right direction. You want the Como route. But if you want to catch that one, you’ll need to hurry.”

  “Do I have time to get my bag?” Longarm asked.

  “If you rush, you should make it.”

  Longarm hurried out of the stately Federal Building on Denver’s Colfax Avenue and hailed a cab. He climbed onto the metal step at the side of the passenger compartment and gave the address of his boardinghouse.

  “And hurry. There’s something extra in it for you if you get me to my train on time.”

  “You got it, gov’nor,” the hack driver said.

  The man applied his whip and got Longarm home in record time.

  “Wait here. I need to grab my bag and be right back.”

  “Say, I’ve heard that one before. Once you’re gone, mister, I won’t ever see you again,” the cabbie said with a grunt of disgust.

  “Shit, if you don’t think I’m telling you the truth, mister, climb down from there and come with me,” Longarm suggested.

  The driver took him up on it, stepping down from his driving box and clipping a weight to his horse’s bit. “All right, now where?” he said.

  The man followed Longarm into the boardinghouse and upstairs to Longarm’s room. His carpetbag was always kept packed and ready for travel so it was only a matter of moments to grab it, take a last look around to make sure he was not forgetting anything—although he probably was—and head back downstairs.

  “All right. You wasn’t lying to me,” the cabbie admitted. He seemed almost disappointed to discover that his fare had been honest about his intentions. “Now where?”

  “Train station,” Longarm said.

  “Which one?”

  “Fairplay.”

  “I’ll have you there in jig time, mister,” the cabbie promised as he unfastened the horse from its tether and mounted the driving box. Longarm entered the cab, and the driver took up his lines and cracked his whip over the horse’s ears.

  True to his word, the man delivered Longarm to the train depot just in time for him to catch the up-bound string of now empty ore cars. They would load through the night and bring mineral-bearing ores back down to the Denver smelters the next day.

  There was no passenger accommodation, but as a deputy United States marshal, Longarm was entitled to passage amid the smoke and cinders in the caboose.

  Longarm handed a generous tip to the cab driver, picked up his carpetbag, and headed for the depot.

  Chapter 3

  It was nearly midnight when Longarm stepped down onto the cinders near the loading chutes in Fairplay, Colorado. The train crew would work through the night loading ore from the several mines in and near the small town and carry the ore down to Denver the next day.

  In the meantime Longarm needed to find accommodations for his stay in the South Park area, where the mail thefts were occurring.

  He hefted his carpetbag, took a last puff on the cheroot he had been smoking, and tossed the butt onto the tracks.

  The town was large enough to have two good hotels, another not so good, and a number of cheap flophouses where the hardrock miners slept. Longarm headed for the Pickens House. He had stayed there before.

  “Marshal Long!” the desk clerk greeted him when he entered the lobby. The man sounded genuinely pleased to see him.

  It took Longarm a moment to call the man’s name to mind. “Hello, Nathan. Would you have a room for me? I may be here for a few days.”

  “Please, Marshal.” Nathan sounded offended. “We always have a place for you.”

  Nathan rang a small bell and moments later a sleepy-eyed bellhop came groggily out of a back room. “Yes, sir?”

  “Take Marshal Long’s bag up to room eight, Johnny.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy came around the registration desk to take Longarm’s carpetbag and lead the way upstairs to the small but clean and tidy room.

  “Would you like a pitcher of water, sir?”

  Longarm nodded and the kid, awake now, hurried away. Longarm did not know how far the boy had to go to fetch the water, but he was back almost immediately carrying a full pitcher.

  “Do you want a tub or anything?” the kid asked.

  “No, this will do for tonight.” Longarm gave the boy a nickel and bolted the door behind him.

  He stripped to his drawers and gave himself a quick wash to get rid of the feel of smoke and cinders left by riding at the back of the ore train then crawled gratefully into the clean sheets of the Pickens House’s bed.

  He still had the sense that he could almost feel the rumbling vibrations of the train and the monotonous click of the rails, but that did not stop him from dropping off to sleep within seconds of lying down.

  Chapter 4

  Longarm slept until well past dawn, unusual for him, but woke up refreshed. He dressed quickly and went downstairs to an overpriced breakfast—fifty cents for flapjacks and porridge, with no meat included. So much for the hotel dining room, at least in the morning.

  From there he walked through town until he found a barber shop and joined a small group of men waiting for shaves. Longarm kept his mouth closed and ears open, but no one was talking about the robberies. The barber, however, gave him a good shave and a splash of bay rum.

  “Any idea where I can find the stage line office?” Longarm asked when he got out of the chair.

  “Mister, you have to be new in Fairplay. There isn’t so much of it that anything could be hard to find. You just go down to the end of this block and turn right. The stagecoach depot is at the end of that block on your left.”

  Longarm nodded and paid the man for his shave. “Thanks. Reckon I’ll see you again now an’ then.”

  “Any time. I’m here every day but Sundays,” the barber said, turning and beckoning for the next man in line.

  Longarm exited the barber shop and ambled down the street and around the corner. Ahead he could see a set of corrals with heavy-bodied horses standing there swishing their tails. When he got closer, he could see the sign painted onto the tall false front over the building porch: CARVER EXPRESS CO., DAILY SCHEDULES, CHARLIE CARVER, PROP.

  He paused outside long enough to light a cheroot, then entered the stagecoach l
ine office. There was a blond, middle-aged woman behind the counter fussing with some paperwork. She looked up when Longarm came in, a tiny bell over the door tinkling to announce his arrival.

  “Can I help you, sir? Our coach has already left on today’s run, but there will be another tomorrow.”

  Longarm leaned on the counter and produced his badge. “I’m hoping that I can help you folks, ma’am.” He introduced himself and said, “I’d like t’ speak with Mr. Carver if I may.”

  The woman laughed. It was an old joke for her. “I am Charlie Carver, Marshal, Charlie being short for Charlise. And yes, you may certainly speak with me. What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me the lay o’ things here. All I know is that there’s been some robberies o’ the mail. That and the fact that Fairplay is serviced by the railroad now but you still have stagecoach service. So tell me about it, please.”

  “Would you like to come back to my office, Marshal? I have some fresh coffee on the stove there.”

  “Coffee sounds just fine, ma’am,” he said, removing his hat.

  She unlatched the flimsy gate that separated the lobby area from the ticket desk and motioned him inside. Her private office lay behind the ticket section. There seemed to be no other employees present. But then she had said that the Carver coach had already rolled for the day’s run.

  “Sit down, please. Can you take your coffee black? I don’t keep any condiments. I never use them myself.”

  “Black would be fine.”

  Charlie poured two cups and handed one to Longarm before she sat at her rolltop desk and turned her swivel chair around to face him. “What do you need to know, Marshal?”

  “How’s about we start with everything an’ go from there?” Longarm said.

  “Before we get into this, would you mind putting that cigar out? I’m allergic to them.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Longarm crossed his legs and dutifully stubbed his ash out on the sole of his boot. He looked around, but there were no ashtrays or spittoons in the room so he tucked the cold cheroot into his pocket. “Now, where were we?”

  Chapter 5