Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter Read online

  Longarm leaned down and flipped the man’s revolver away. Then he looked at another one of the hard-faced young gunmen who had hired out to Ashton. The gunman looked steadily back at him. He said, his voice choking,

  “I’m bleeding to death. You’ve got to get me some help.”

  Longarm stood looking down at him. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guarantee you’re bleeding to death and you ain’t far to go. You should have put a tourniquet on that.”

  The young man’s face twisted. “I don’t know how,” he said.

  “Tell you what. I’ll put one on you if you’ll tell me what’s ahead and where Ashton is and what I’ve got to go through to get to him. Is that a deal?”

  The man nodded quickly. “Hell, yes. What choice do I have?”

  Longarm said, “You have the choice between lying and telling the truth. If you lie, I’ll find out about it and I’ll come back and undo any good I’ve done. Do you understand that?”

  The man said, “I don’t owe that sonofabitch nothing. He paid us a little extra to stay on and try to stop you. He didn’t think you were very smart.”

  Longarm half smiled. “I don’t reckon you boys who’ve been working for him ought to be talking about who’s smart and who’s not.”

  “Damn it! Are you going to help me or not?” The man raised a weak voice. “I’m bleeding!”

  Longarm reached into his pocket and took out his big clasp knife. He opened the blade, and the man stared at him, frightened.

  Longarm said, “Don’t get nervous. I ain’t fixing to stick you. I’ve got to find something to make a tourniquet out of, and I was thinking about your sleeve. Wait a minute, what size belt are you wearing on your britches?” He reached down, lifted the man’s gun belt up, and looked at the belt that was run through the loops of his jeans. It was a narrow belt about the right size. He unbuckled it and pulled it, with some effort, out from under the man. After that, he quickly ran it under the man’s leg and worked it up until it was up to the very top of his thigh. Longarm buckled it back again, but there was a great deal of slack in it. He needed something to twist it with. The room had several packing crates in it with wooden slats. With the butt of his rifle, he busted one of the slats, got it loose, and worked it off, and then with his knife, peeled it down until it was not quite the size of a twelve-inch ruler. He ran that through the looped belt and twisted it until it began to put a pressure on the man’s groin. He knew that was where the big blood vessel was, and he knew that was where you had to shut the blood off.

  The man’s face was going chalky white. His eyes were afraid. “Is it doing any good?” He had taken his hands away so Longarm could work, and the blood had almost been gurgling out when Longarm first started putting the tourniquet on. Now that he had it tight, the blood ceased to flow. Longarm guided the man’s hand to the piece of wood. He said, “You’ve got to keep this tight. This is what is shutting off the blood and keeping it inside you so that it can’t run out that hole in your leg. It’s got to coagulate. Now, you’ve got a rough time ahead of you. Tell me the truth so I can get my business cleared up, and then I can get back here and bandage you better. What you need is that doctor in town, but you couldn’t get there by yourself.”

  The man’s face was still pale. He said, “Has it stopped bleeding?”

  “Yes, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. I don’t understand what you two were doing in that room in there.”

  The man said through clenched teeth, “We were just supposed to watch that door in there and shoot anybody who came through it. That’s all we were told. Mr. Early gave us an extra hundred dollars apiece for staying on for a couple more days. If we plugged you—I reckon it was you—we were going to get an extra five hundred, so naturally we jumped at the chance.”

  “All right. What other surprises do I have? First of all, where is Ashton?”

  “As far as I know, he’s in his big office,” the man said. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Yeah, it’s downstairs on the other end of the house.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who else is here?”

  “Well, there is his woman and her servant. She may be the woman’s aunt for all I know. And then there is two men downstairs.”

  “Is that all?”

  The man nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s all. All the other women left.”

  Longarm said, “They told me there was five men trying to get out. That only accounts for four.”

  “Early shot the other one. Slim somebody. He wouldn’t go along with it. Said he’d get out somehow. Early shot him with that shotgun of his, I reckon as some encouragement to us so we’d give him a helping hand.”

  “What kind of hands are those boys downstairs?”

  “Good ones.”

  Longarm said, “Where are they?”

  “I think both of them are watching the back door. One of them may be watching the front door. Early was real certain that the attack would come from the staircase you came up.”

  Longarm stood up, wiping his hands, where he had gotten some blood on them, on his jeans. “Well, here’s what you need to do. I don’t know if you can tell when fifteen minutes is up, but you need to loosen that tourniquet for about two or three minutes. If you don’t, you’ll get gangrene in your leg. Then you tighten it up for another fifteen minutes. Understand that?”

  “Hell, are you going to be gone that long?”

  Longarm shrugged. “It depends on how long it takes me to do my business. Do you know where they keep the counterfeiting machinery?”

  The man gave him a blank look. “The what?”

  “Where they make those counterfeit twenty-dollar bills.”

  The wounded man shook his head back and forth slowly. He said, “Mister, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Counterfeit twenty-dollar bills? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  Longarm believed him. It was very possible for only a few select individuals to carry on a counterfeiting operation. There was no need for even the guards to know what they were guarding. He started toward the door, carrying his rifle loosely in his left hand. He said, “Where does this door go?”

  The man on the floor said, his voice getting weaker, “It shoots over to the main hall. Take it over to the big staircase. That will take you right into Mr. Ashton’s office. I don’t know where the other two men are, so don’t hold me accountable. When you go through that door, I reckon you better be looking both ways.”

  Longarm stepped to the door with his rifle in his right hand. He reached out with his left and turned the knob. The door opened inward, and he pulled it to him, letting it go by him. The hall was alight with lanterns hanging from the ceiling. He took a quick look around the door frame. It was a small hall, and empty. He walked a few steps to the one door that led off it. Again, he followed the same procedure. As he held the rifle at his ready, he turned the knob and pulled it to him. Again, there was nothing but empty space.

  This time, the door had opened onto the main upstairs hallway. It was a good eight feet wide and long. At the other end, he could see the curved banister of the stairs where he had seen the beautiful Spanish-looking young woman a few days before. The hall was lit with several chandeliers. He guessed it to be about twenty-five feet long. He moved slowly. There were two doors that opened off to each side.

  He came to the first door on his left, and eased his rifle to his right hand and then pushed open the door with his left. It was dark. In the dimness, he could see the outline of a canopy bed and other furniture. He could see no movement. He pulled the door to, and then opened the one across from it. The room was practically empty, with only a few chairs and a table. He didn’t know its purpose. Then he came to the second door on his left. He opened it. Much like the first one, this was also a bedroom. Both of the rooms were big, just as one would expect for such a large house. After he looked the big room over, he pulled the door to as he had the other ones. If someone were to slip up behind him, if he had overlooked them,
he wanted at least some sound when they emerged.

  He turned, and was about to go to the next door on his right when it suddenly opened. He jerked the rifle up into a firing position, his finger on the trigger. He froze, staring in amazement.

  It was the Spanish girl. She just stood there, wearing a very thin housedress. It could just as easily been a bed gown, except that it buttoned up the front. She stood there, staring at him. Staring hard. For a second, Longarm didn’t know what to say. Then he stammered out, “Excuse me. I’m mighty sorry if I’ve disturbed you. I ... uh ... I was looking for ... uh ... Mr. Ashton.”

  She didn’t bother to answer him. Instead, she stepped out of the room and came directly toward him. As she moved, she put her hands up and began unbuttoning the flimsy dress. It was so thin, he could see the nipples of her breast through the material and see the dark patch of pubic hair at her crotch. He could feel his groin swell, and feel that copper taste come into his mouth. Her eyes were riveted on his, holding him tightly with her look. He sat the rifle down by his boot, not knowing what to do.

  Now, she was pressing her body up against him. She reached up and pulled his head down and kissed him full on the mouth. He could feel the softness of her lips and the wetness of her tongue. He could feel himself growing too small in that space in his jeans. But he had no time for this. He could feel her arms going around his neck. He tried to pull away. This was absurd. He was able to pull his mouth away in order to say, “Miss, miss. What are you doing?”

  But she was putting her hands on his member, rubbing him with her nimble fingers. It was impossible for him not to come to full erection. He could feel her fingers fumbling at his buttons. She was pulling him down, down, down toward the floor just with the weight of her arms around his neck. He didn’t know what to do. The next thing he knew, his member was free and she was holding it in her hands. She had pulled him down to his knees and she was on hers, and then she somehow rolled onto her back, opening her legs and pulling him onto her.

  His head was afire. His senses reeled. He couldn’t think. He heard the thud as he dropped his rifle. Then all he knew was that she was guiding him into her. He could see the flash of white skin and the pink depths that awaited him. He tried to regain control of the situation. He was in the middle of the hall in the enemy’s house with this girl. It was no time to be doing what he was doing. Ever since he had stood at the door at the top of the stairs, the hair at the back of his neck had been up. Now, it was rising even more. Almost as if by instinct, he glanced up. There was a man at the head of the stairway. He had a rifle in his hand.

  Without pause, Longarm jerked the revolver out of his holster and flung himself flat on top of the girl. He fired just as the man brought the rifle to his shoulder. Longarm saw the slug catch the man in the middle of his belly. It had not been the shot he had wanted, but it did have the effect of ruining the man’s aim. The rifle fired, but the bullet went whining overhead helplessly. The hard-faced young man had taken a step backward. He tried to lever another shell into the chamber. Longarm took careful aim this time, and fired. The bullet caught the man in the chest and he staggered back, his spine against the railing of the stairs. He stood there, his fingers dropping the rifle on the hard wooden floor. It clattered noisily. He turned to try and walk down the stairs. Longarm shot him again. This time, he could see the bullet hit the man in the shoulder. It spun the man around and he went falling, tumbling down the winding staircase.

  Longarm stood up. His erection was gone. He looked down at the woman lying on the floor. Her dress was still up around her hips and for an instant, he admired the view. She had unbuttoned her dress enough so that her breasts were showing. They were big and taut and tight. They were just the way he liked them, with big brown nipples.

  He said formally, buttoning his pants, “Ma’am, I’m right sorry, but I’m busy right now. Maybe we can finish this business a little bit later.”

  Then he stepped past her, over her leg, and went down the hall, his revolver at the ready. He had picked up the rifle, but he was carrying it loosely in his left hand. It was getting too close for rifle work. He figured the rest of the way, he’d be using a pistol, but he didn’t want to leave the rifle with the girl. She apparently was capable in more than one way. She had nearly done him in with her body. He didn’t want her to do him in with his own rifle.

  He found the gunman dead halfway down the stairs. Longarm took a moment to pick up the man’s rifle and jack all the shells out of it before slinging it back down near the man’s body. He took the man’s pistol as well, and emptied the cartridges out. Then he took time to reload his own revolver. As far as he knew, there was one man left. He didn’t know who he was or where he was, but Longarm hoped he wouldn’t be hiding behind the skirts of some really good-looking woman.

  Longarm finished the descent of the staircase, and stood in the big hall. He knew to his immediate left was the big library and then Ashton’s office. But he didn’t know what was ahead and to the right. He thought there was a back door, and perhaps that was where the other gunman was waiting. He was still shaken by the near calamity of the gunman and the woman. More than anything else, it struck him as a hell of a way to get killed, in a hell of a position and a hell of an activity. If the story ever got out about him like that, he might as well be dead because he’d never be able to live it down. He had enough of a reputation with the ladies as it was, and there was no need for a story to get out that he had died in the saddle, so to speak.

  He decided he would check to the right first. He pushed under the stairs and to some big double doors. He opened one of them slowly. It was dark inside, and he ducked down and half crawled into the room to get his bearings. It would be a good place for an ambush. When his eyes adjusted, he could see a long table and a number of chairs. It was a dining room. He kept looking around. He could see a door that opened toward a back wall. That should be the kitchen, but he couldn’t be certain.

  He rose to his feet and walked around the dining room table to the left. When he reached the swinging door that led to the kitchen, he hunkered down again and slowly pushed it open. It was dark inside, but warmer, and had the smell of a place where food was prepared. He got just inside the door, sweeping the room with his pistol and his rifle. There was not a sign of anyone there.

  He continued on around the dining room table until he came to the door on the opposite side of the room. It too was a big double door. He pulled one side open toward him, ducking as he did. Just as he guessed, it led into the front parlor. There was a little light coming through the front windows, and he could see better. It was a big formal affair with a lot of overstuffed furniture. It didn’t look like it got much use. Now, Longarm was ready to check out the part of the house that he thought might prove more interesting.

  He walked back down the dining room table, and exited quickly out the door, half expecting to be met by someone who had observed his entrance into the room. There was no one there. He was in a small hall-like area, with a door immediately to his right that either went to a room or went outside. He thought there was a back door, and he thought there was a man watching it.

  Longarm could feel the hair prickling on the back of his neck again. He looked at the door. It was just an ordinary door, but he had a feeling that it was a very dangerous door. He thought there would be some close work inside, so he leaned his rifle against the wall, reached around to his rear belt, and pulled out his spare revolver. He checked it again to make sure it was loaded, and then drew his other revolver out of the holster. He wanted to have all the firepower he could. He reached out and gently turned the doorknob as he had before. He pushed the door, ducking down again as he did.

  Nothing happened. He was just in a small dark room, lit partially by the light behind him. The only thing he could tell was that it was some sort of storage area for the kitchen, since there were cases of canned foods, sacks of flour, sacks of dried beans and peas and other bulk food. Just ahead was another door, this one with
a glass in the top. He eased over to it, bending down, and tried to see through the window glass. He couldn’t tell where it went. It could have been the door to the outside. He couldn’t imagine why you would put a window glass in the top half of an interior door, but then he couldn’t be sure. The hair was still standing up on the back of his neck. He gripped his revolvers more closely and squatted down just to the left of the door. With his right hand, he carefully turned the knob and then swiftly drew the door back.

  Chapter 8

  The black night was suddenly lit by the twin muzzle blast of a double-barrel shotgun. Longarm could feel the full charge of pellets go whistling right over his head. Instinctively, he fired with his left hand. His right hand, holding the other revolver, was still shoving the door aside. He felt as if something had tugged at his arm as the charge had gone overhead.

  Now, he fired again at where the barrel blast had been. He fired with his left revolver and then with his right hand, shooting two, three, four, five times. He heard a moan, then a sigh, and then the soft sound of something collapsing. He was outside. The steps led down to the ground. He went slowly, aware that he only had three or four cartridges in his guns. He was amazed that he’d had to fire so many times to hit the man. But then, in a few steps, he discovered the reason why.

  There was a large wooden box sitting just a few feet from the back door. It was about four feet high and about four feet wide. It apparently contained some kind of machinery, since it had shipping stickers all over it. Behind it lay another one of the hard-faced narrow-eyed gunslingers that Ashton seemed to have cut out with a cookie cutter. Longarm walked around the box that the man had been hiding behind and looked down at him. It was coming now toward dawn, and Longarm could make him out quite distinctly. He stirred him with the toe of his boot, but the man was dead. He turned and went back up the steps through the back door of the house, through the dark room, and back out into the wide hall underneath the stairs. To his right was a library, and beyond that was supposedly Ashton. If the man who was bleeding to death was telling him the truth, he had killed the last of the four gunmen.