Longarm and the Dime Novelist Page 13

“You’ve got a hard head so I doubt that you would have suffered all that much.”

  “And you’ve got a big head, Delia.”

  “But also a pretty one.”

  “True.”

  “That must be Fallon,” Delia said, leaning close to the window and pointing up ahead. “From what I can see, it’s about the same size and appearance as Elko.”

  “Both are mainly cattle towns so that shouldn’t come as any surprise.”

  Longarm rolled his shoulders and gritted his teeth. The blow that Pete had delivered on the top of his left shoulder was painful but he could still move his arm well enough. He just hoped that Fallon’s sheriff was an honest man and would help them discover the truth about the murderers. And if they were very lucky and this was to have any kind of a good ending, Emily would be at the Pennington ranch and she would have had no earthly idea that her handsome lover was the cold-blooded killer of her parents.

  Unlikely, Longarm thought as they grew nearer to Fallon, very, very unlikely.

  Chapter 20

  “Sheriff Hopper’s office is just up the street. You can’t miss it,” a cowboy told them in front of the Dusty Trail Saloon. “But at this time of the day, his office door is likely locked.”

  “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon,” Delia said. “Why . . .”

  “Sheriff Hopper likes to take a little nap after his noon meal. He says that because he has to go out at night sometimes when there’s trouble, he deserves a nap.”

  “The hell with that,” Longarm snapped. “But thanks for the information.”

  “You’d better have something important to say if you wake him up or he’ll be madder’n an old grizzly bear comin’ out of his hibernation.”

  “We all have our trials,” Longarm said, taking Delia’s arm and leading her up the street. Somehow, word must have spread that a beautiful new woman had just arrived in town because men actually came out of their shops to stare.

  “You do attract a crowd, Delia.”

  “I know. I have for years and I like it.”

  “I expect so.” They stopped in front of the sheriff’s office and Longarm tried the doorknob. “Locked.”

  He began to pound on the door hard enough to cause it to shake, and then they both heard an angry shout from inside. “Who the hell is it at this hour!”

  Longarm didn’t answer but kept pounding.

  “We’re sure not getting off on the right foot here,” Delia offered. “He’s going to be uncooperative.”

  “Good. That means that he’ll likely be mad enough to tell us the truth about how he feels toward Maxwell Pennington.”

  “Gawdamnit!” Hopper shouted. “Stop hammering on my damned door!”

  “Then open the damned thing,” Longarm yelled, “before I kick it in.”

  Hopper unlocked the door and tore it open. He was a big man with three double chins and very little hair on his head other than a long, tobacco-stained mustache. “Who the hell are you?”

  “We’re looking for the Pennington ranch,” Longarm replied.

  “Well, do you think the fuckin’ ranch is in my office!” Suddenly, the sheriff realized Delia was standing right behind Longarm. “Oh, sorry, ma’am.”

  “That’s all right. Can we come inside for a minute?”

  Sheriff Hopper wasn’t wearing any shoes or boots, just a pair of socks with holes in them and he reeked of tobacco and smoke. Even in his socks he was almost as tall as Longarm and fifty pounds heavier. His belt was unbuckled probably to give some comfort to a large beer belly. To Longarm’s way of thinking, he was a damn sorry-looking sheriff.

  “What are you all gawkin’ at!” Hopper shouted at some cowboys across the street that’d gathered to watch Delia and now were grinning at this new and unexpected turn of events. “Go on and get about your business!”

  The cowboys didn’t budge and Hopper’s face grew red with anger. He was about to yell something else at them when Longarm firmly pushed him back into his office and closed the door so they could speak in private.

  “Have a seat if you can find one,” Hopper grumbled. “Couldn’t this business about the Pennington place wait until after my nap? I had to roust a couple of boys from the Rafter Bar Ranch last night and I’m running short of my badly needed rest.”

  “We’re sorry to bother you, Sheriff Hopper,” Delia said in her sweetest voice. “We’ve heard how hard you work for this town.”

  “You have?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, that’s nice to hear for a change,” Hopper said, brightening. “I been sheriff of this town for eight years and it seems like eighty. They don’t pay me enough to have any deputies and I only get fifty cents a day for prisoner’s food and my own when I’m stayin’ here overnight. I’m not young anymore and I got no pension or savings. My wife ran out on me twelve years ago and she married a railroad engineer. They have a hell of a nice home in Reno and my kids are grown and never come to see me. Life has been hard and I can only see it get harder as my health declines.”

  “I’m sorry for your troubles,” Delia said as if she really meant it. “And also sorry for the interruption. But we just wanted to pay you a visit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my father was a sheriff in a little Wyoming town even smaller than this one and he always told me that when I visited a new town to pay my respects to the underpaid lawman in charge. He said it was the right and decent thing to do.”

  Hopper plopped into an office chair. He scratched his belly and yawned. “Well, if your father was a lawman in a small town, then he understood how poorly paid and appreciated we are. So what brings you here wanting to visit Max Pennington?”

  “He was a good friend of mine,” Longarm said. “We were in the mining business up in Virginia City.”

  “That went to hell in a handbasket. Did you lose your ass by hanging on too long there like the Pennington men?”

  “I sold out six years ago,” Longarm said. “Did pretty well.”

  Hopper studied Longarm for a moment and said, “It appears you have done well.”

  “We are honeymooning,” Delia said, feigning a blush. “We’ve only been married two weeks.”

  “Well, I’ll be. And why in blazes did you come here instead of goin’ someplace nice?”

  “Like I said, Maxwell invited us and we thought it would be interesting to come and visit him at his ranch.”

  “It ain’t been his for long,” the sheriff told them. “Maxwell’s father went missing just a short while back. Probably murdered and tossed down one of those abandoned Comstock mines. They’re so deep a body would never be found there.”

  “How tragic!” Delia cried, hand fluttering to her mouth. “So no one has ever found the poor man?”

  “No. Maxwell put out a reward but it was never collected. The authorities investigated but found nothing. Mr. Pennington was pretty well regarded here in Fallon and since he loved his ranch and spent most of his days here we had a funeral for him. It was damned impressive if I do say so myself. Black pair of matching horses, shiny black hearse, flowers, and lots of tears and fine words shed and spoken at his gravesite. Did you know the man?”

  “Afraid not,” Longarm said.

  “Too bad. He was real generous with this town and he helped me get elected. I owed him like most everyone around did.”

  “What about Max?” Longarm asked. “Is he pretty popular as well?”

  “Sure. But Max ain’t nothing like the old man. He’s pretty quick with his temper and I’ve had to arrest him a few times for fighting and raising hell. But he has a good heart and the women flock to him like bees to honey.”

  “Yes,” Delia said, “I know all about that!”

  Longarm blinked with surprise but before he could say a word, Delia continued. “Maxwell and I had our little . . . uh, fling som
e time back.”

  Hopper leered and laughed. “Yeah, I can picture that. No offense, sir, but it just seems easy to imagine your wife and Max had some . . . some history.”

  Longarm acted offended by scowling. “Maybe we ought to just let you go back to taking a nap. I told Delia that we could come by on our way out of town just as easy as now.”

  “Aw, don’t worry about it. Besides, Max has his hands full right now with a mighty pretty young thing.”

  “He does?”

  “Yep,” Hopper said, making no attempt to hide a smile. “She’s younger than most he’s brought here and prettier than a sunflower in springtime. Yellow hair and a tiny waist with a big bosom. She’s a dandy, all right.”

  “Is she at the ranch now?”

  “Far as I know. But she never comes to town. We saw her when she arrived with Max in a buggy and they bought some ranch supplies and then she never came back.” Hopper winked. “I expect he’s got her tied to the bedposts . . . I know if I had her that’s what I’d do.”

  “My oh my!” Delia exclaimed. “It sounds as if Max hasn’t changed at all since I knew him.”

  Hopper’s jaw sagged and he grunted, “Did he tie you to his bedposts?”

  Delia tittered and looked away. “Oh, we don’t tell our most naughty of little secrets, do we?”

  “Hellfire! If you tell me yours, then I’ll tell you mine!”

  Longarm went over and grabbed Delia’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Give us directions.”

  “Two miles north out of town you’ll see where the road forks by an old cottonwood tree. Take the right fork and you’ll soon come to the ranch gate. Whole damn place is fenced with barbed wire and the senior Mr. Pennington liked to keep the gate locked but then men started cutting the wire so he threw away the padlock. You can ride right in and you’ll see the Pennington house up in a stand of big cottonwoods. Nice place. Max really inherited a fine herd of cattle and good water. Even with his wild ways he’s bound to make a profit there . . . if that pretty young thing with the golden hair don’t give him heart failure in his bed.”

  “Thanks,” Longarm said, closing the door and leading Delia down the street. “So we found out quite a lot.”

  Delia stopped abruptly and turned her face up to him. “Custis, do you think it’s her? Do you think it’s Emily Pierce?”

  “More than likely.”

  “And do you think she’s there because she wants to be with Maxwell . . . or is she being held hostage by the man?”

  “Only one way to find out and that’s to go out to the ranch and see.”

  “I hope she’s a hostage, a sex slave for him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Delia said, “if she isn’t it must mean that she helped Maxwell Pennington kill her own parents!”

  “More than likely,” Longarm repeated with a dark scowl on his handsome face.

  “Do you think that he might really . . . really tie her to his bedposts?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time it has happened or the last.”

  “I’m going to use all of this in my next dime novel! It will turn my editor’s hair gray but it will sell a million copies!”

  Longarm’s expression softened. “Just go ahead and do that but remember that . . .”

  “I know. Change all the names and places.” Delia brightened. “When we get there I just have to sneak into the man’s bedroom and see if there are manacles or straps attached to his bedposts! I can’t wait to find that out.”

  “Delia,” Longarm said, “you are hopeless.”

  “I know but I’ve never tried to convince you otherwise.” She looked up at him. “And besides, you’re no saint, either. In fact, in the bedroom you can be a real devil.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Longarm replied, grinning.

  “So where are we going now?”

  “We need to rent a couple of saddle horses.”

  “Can’t we rent a buggy? I don’t how to ride a horse.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I don’t even like them.”

  “All right, you’ve got a lot more money than I do so you rent the horse buggy.”

  “With pleasure.”

  They spied a livery up the street and their pace quickened. “Custis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You forgot to ask if there are a lot of tough men on the ranch payroll.”

  “There will be,” Longarm said, glancing around. “I can size up the territory as well as anyone and I can say for certain that Maxwell Pennington is not working his new ranch without a pretty good-sized crew.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Cowboys like to drink and screw and raise hell but they’re not all that keen to get into a gunfight. I think we’ll be okay . . . but you can stay here in town if you want.”

  “And miss the chance to see if Emily Pierce is there tied to four bedposts? And to hear what Maxwell has to say about the death and our finding his father buried in the backyard of his father’s Virginia City home? Not likely I’ll stay here wondering and waiting.”

  “Fine.” Longarm turned abruptly into a gun shop. “You told me earlier that you can shoot straight. I think this is the time to buy you a good gun that you can hide in your dress pocket.”

  “Do you really think I might need it?”

  “I’m pretty damned sure of it.”

  “Oh, shit,” Delia breathed, pasting a smile on her lovely face as they walked up to a counter and saw a row of pistols both used and new for sale.

  “What can I help you with today?” the man behind the counter asked.

  Longarm turned to Delia. “You have a lot of cash?”

  “Enough.”

  Longarm pivoted back to the gun shop owner. “We’ll need a shotgun, a smaller caliber revolver, and a derringer . . . and ammunition.”

  “My, my!” the man said, beaming with anticipation of a big profit. “That’s quite an order! You must be going to go out and target practice.”

  “Yeah,” Longarm said distractedly as he sized up the arsenal and hoped that they would not have to use it in a short while to defend their lives.

  Chapter 21

  Longarm was a bit annoyed with the livery in Fallon because the horse that they’d hitched up to the buggy was ancient. It was a thin, sorrel gelding that stumbled constantly in harness and walked at a pace that any desert tortoise could have exceeded.

  “Yah!” Longarm growled, snapping the lines across the animal’s bony back. “Come on, old fella, we’d like to get to the ranch before sunset.”

  “Don’t hit him,” Delia said, placing her hand over Longarm’s. “The old guy is doing the best he can.”

  “You’re right,” Longarm agreed, feeling guilty about his impatience with the horse that was obviously long past the age of retirement. “But I’ll tell you this, Delia, if the shooting starts and we have to make a sudden run for it, we sure as hell don’t want to jump into this buggy and try to escape with this horse pulling us.”

  “I can’t really imagine you retreating.”

  They were on a grade and the sorrel was straining. Longarm pulled on the lines and the gelding stopped, rib cage rapidly expanding and contracting. “Let’s give him a moment to catch his breath.”

  “I’m going to walk to the top of the hill so that will make it a little easier.”

  “I might as well do the same,” Longarm decided. “Besides, I’d like you to test that Colt revolver and derringer. We damn sure want to make sure that they are reliable. And I’ll just fire the shotgun a couple times. We need to do that before we come to the ranch gate.”

  Longarm set the brake though it surely wasn’t necessary. The sorrel’s head dropped almost to the ground and it stood spraddle-legged sucking wind.

  “Here,” Longar
m said, making sure the Colt and derringer were loaded.

  “What should I aim at?”

  Longarm studied the ground out ahead of them. “See that juniper. Aim for its trunk.”

  “It’s pretty far. You must think I’m an awfully good shot.”

  “I don’t know what kind of a shot you are,” Longarm replied. “But move in close for the derringer and let’s see if you can hit the tree from around fifteen or twenty feet.”

  Longarm stood back. Delia moved toward the tree, the double-barreled derringer in her hand. She raised the little gun, aimed, and fired. Longarm saw wood splinter off the juniper. “Nice shot. Do it again.”

  Delia fired the derringer a second time and hit the tree squarely.

  “Now back up and try the revolver. Here, I’ll reload the derringer for you.”

  “I did pretty good, didn’t I,” Delia said, looking pleased. “I’d never shot a derringer before.”

  “You have to get close to make them effective,” Longarm said. “But the revolver is accurate for at least fifty feet. Lift the gun and cock back the hammer. Take a steady aim, then squeeze the trigger.”

  “I know all that. I have been taught how to shoot before.”

  “Then let’s see you do it.”

  To Longarm’s surprise, Delia didn’t hesitate but brought the gun up with both hands, took a moment to aim, and fired. Longarm saw bark splinter off the juniper.

  “Not bad. But do it again.”

  Delia fired twice more, missing once but hitting the tree dead center with her last bullet. “So,” she asked, “how about that?”

  “Much better than I’d hoped,” he admitted. “There are a lot of cowboys who can’t shoot that straight.”

  “I like shooting. Could I try the double-barreled shotgun now?”

  “You bought it.” He handed the shotgun to Delia. “There’s going to be a strong kick so snug it tight against your left shoulder.”

  “Like this?”

  “Exactly. And remember, this is a scattergun and all you have to do is to point it at that juniper and fire.”

  Delia took a deep breath. “Here goes!”