Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter Read online

  Longarm said, “I didn’t think I’d have to leave out until the morning.”

  “That’ll be soon enough. I think you need some time to spend planning and packing.”

  Longarm stood up. “I’m just supposed to head out of here with an extra horse and a pack mule, go over to Silverton, and hunt down this—what did you say his name was? Vernon Ashton? Slip up on him, do a job that a detachment of calvary can’t do, and bring you back his head and those things you called engraving plates? Is that about the size of it?”

  Billy Vail said, “You need to bring back the paper stock too. You might need to bring back any samples he has hanging around. And don’t let any of them stick to your hands either.”

  “Oh, yeah. I understand now, Billy. So that’s all there is to this job? I’m just supposed to sail on out of here like I know what I am doing?”

  Billy gave him a dry look. “There will be a Treasury man coming around to your boardinghorse tonight about eight o’clock. He’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  “If he’s so damned full of information, how come he doesn’t go on and do it himself?”

  Billy Vail threw his hands up. “Will you get the hell out of here and quit bothering me. Go and do your work so you won’t have to back up to the pay window and get your money. For once, do an honest day’s work.”

  Longarm shook his head as he came to his feet. “Boy, I’m glad I’ve got you for a boss, Billy. It’s damned near better than being married. This way I get all the heartaches and headaches and I don’t have to keep a wife up. I haven’t had to buy you a new dress in quite a while.”

  He ducked as Billy Vail threw a small book at him, and then he turned for the door. “I reckon you know, Billy, that this sort of foolishness can get a man killed.”

  Billy Vail said, “Get out of here!”

  Longarm lay on his bed, thinking. His mind was awhirl with details and plans and thoughts. He was in his room at the boardinghouse, and the lady who owned a dress shop who he considered his best girl was lying next to him. They had just finished making love. It had not been very satisfactory, mainly because Longarm couldn’t get his mind off the job. If anything, he was amazed that the Treasury Department, Billy Vail, or the President of the United States for that matter, thought that he could go and do a job of this size without any help. They weren’t even offering another hired hand to hold his horse.

  Almost idly, he reached over and ran his hand down her smooth belly and into the furry patch where his girlfriend’s legs met. She was about thirty, but she was well kept for her age. Pauline Gill was all lady in public, and all siren once you got her in bed. She was about as fine a woman as Longarm knew, and if he had been the marrying kind, she would have been the one he chose. But for now, he was content to stroke the silken patch of pubic hair and then bring his hands up to feel her firm, erect breasts. As he worked at it gently, the nipple of her right breast hardened and stood out. He could feel her start to breathe heavier. It didn’t take much to get her aroused, but he wasn’t sure he was up to it again.

  Showing what he considered good sense, he stopped fooling around with her body and put his mind back to the visit earlier from the Treasury Department agent. Before his thinking could run very far, Pauline said, “Don’t you want to?”

  Longarm turned and looked at her. She had a sweet open face and nice light brown hair. She had smooth, milky-tan skin. There wasn’t much about her that he didn’t like. “No, sweetheart, not right this minute. I’ve got something on my mind that’s interfering with the lower part of me. Until I get this figured out, I’m not going to be much better than I was just now.”

  Pauline patted him on the thigh. “Now, don’t you start worrying about that, honey. I didn’t notice that it was any the less for your worries. Of course, your worst is generally better than most men’s worst.”

  He gave her a mock severe look. “How would you know that? You told me that you were a virgin and that I was your first man.”

  Her eyes crinkled. “Oh, you are. I’m just telling you what I hear the ladies that come in my shop talk about.”

  Longarm half smiled. “They come in the door, do they, and talk about making love?”

  “Of course.”

  He let out a low whistle. “I reckon I’ve been hanging around the wrong places. I need to stay out of saloons and hang around your dress shop.”

  She gave his thigh a little slap. “Never you mind about any other ladies. When you are in Denver, you’re mine.”

  “Well, right now, I’ve got to do some thinking. Why don’t you go on to your room. I’ll come down later and we’ll have another go at this thing.”

  “All right.” With a smooth move, she was off the bed and gathering up her dress. Longarm enjoyed watching her lithe shapely body as she pulled her legs into her undergarments and then shrugged the bodice over her shoulder. She was a handsome woman indeed. In a moment, she was dressed. She didn’t bother with her stockings or her shoes, but simply went to the door and blew him a kiss. She said, “Come down when you can.”

  From the bed, he nodded, “All right, honey. I’ve got to do a little thinking.”

  She disappeared. He had not told her that he would be leaving the next morning for a long job. He thought it might have intefered with the pleasure of his last night in town. But as it turned out, the Treasury agent had been the one who had intefered with his last night in town.

  Chapter 2

  The Treasury agent’s name was Ladell Sump. He was a young man, younger than Longarm. The deputy marshal guessed the agent to be in his early to mid-thirties. He was very businesslike, very sure of himself, and very confident. At the time, Longarm thought that he was very free and easy with Longarm’s time and trouble.

  Sump had come up to his room a little after eight o’clock. Together they sat down across a small square table. Sump laid out in as much detail as he could all that he knew about Vernon Ashton and his affairs and how the man operated.

  He began by saying, “You understand, Marshal....”

  “I’m a deputy marshal.”

  “All right, Deputy. You understand that counterfeiting has been around for a long time?”

  “Yes, I understand that, Mr. Sump, but let’s just stick to this one counterfeiter in particular since this is the only one I ever expect to be after.”

  “The advantage that he has had over any others that we have ever run across is the quality of his paper. We think that he might have been in the papermaking trade somewhere or another. We have canvassed the country and all the appropriate companies, trying to find a very experienced employee who might have left in the past couple of years. I say the last couple of years, because that’s how long we think this man has been operating.”

  Longarm said, “Go on.”

  “So far, we haven’t come up with anything. We’ve found several men who have retired, but they didn’t pan out. Either they were not experienced in making this grade of paper, or we were able to locate them and determine that they could not be this man who we call, and who calls himself, Vernon Ashton. We think the actual counterfeit plates that the bills are printed on were engraved in Germany. We have no sure knowledge of that, but that has been where the best engraving has been done. It could be that we’re all wrong. It could be that this man is an engraver and he’s getting his paper stock from another source. It’s hard to tell. It is so damned close to United States Government stock that we at first suspected that our own supplier was selling him some of the seconds or thirds of the paper that didn’t quite fit our grade. But every sheet has to be accounted for, and every one of them were accounted for, so you can see where we are.”

  Longarm said, “I can see where I am. You want me to go charging up a canyon with about thirty or forty hired hands shooting at me while this guy buries all the swag and I get shot dead.”

  Sump cleared his throat. “I was given to understand from your immediate supervisor, Chief Marshal Billy Vail, that you are a man of some m
ental resources and that you would find a way to infiltrate this operation and to get close to Mr. Ashton and the counterfeit goods before he could hide them or destroy the evidence.”

  Longarm grimaced. “A few more compliments like that and I can go to making arrangements with the undertaker. No, Mr. Sump, I don’t have that kind of mental resources, whatever that means, and I damned sure don’t have any idea how I’d infiltrate this man’s operation, whatever infiltrate means. All I know is that I’ve been given a job that I think should be yours. What do you think of that?”

  Sump didn’t have the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Well, that’s not the way it worked out, Deputy Long. We asked for the Marshals Service to assist us in this matter. We were given permission to use any and all of their resources. Your chief marshal said you were the best resource he had. So, it’s your job.”

  “I suppose I just can’t up and say I won’t do it.”

  Sump nodded slowly. He was not a man who seemed to smile very much. He said, “Yes, you can do that, Marshal. I would imagine that it would result in your immediate dismissal.”

  “Is that the same thing as being fired?”

  “It’s the same thing as being fired without any hope of getting your pension.”

  Longarm gave him a look. He quickly decided he didn’t like this man. He said, “If I go up into this canyon, I don’t think a pension is going to do me any good at all.”

  Sump was wearing a bowler hat. He took it off, wiped his forehead on his arm, and then put the severe black creation back on his head. “That’s entirely up to you, Marshal... or Deputy. Excuse me. My job is to tell you everything I know.” He stood up. “I have done that. Now, let’s see what results you can get.”

  Longarm said to Pauline, “Sump. S-U-M-P. Ladell Sump. Can you imagine a man walking around with such a name?” He cocked his head at her. “I mean, I don’t like the sonofabitch anyway, but I sure don’t like him with a name like that. Coming in here, telling me what I got to do and how I’ve got to do it, and all that.”

  He was sitting on the bed, dressed. She was sitting in the chair across from him looking very trim in a light cotton frock. It made his mouth water as he looked at her breasts straining at the thin material of her bodice. She said, “Custis, I don’t quite understand just what your job is this time. You didn’t exactly tell me about it, so I have no way of knowing.”

  He shrugged. “Aw, honey, there ain’t no point in talking about it. It’s just another damned job. They all start to run together after a while. Go here, do that. Fetch this man, fetch that one. Catch this one, catch that one. Doesn’t matter whether he’s stolen a horse or robbed a bank or what he’s done—the job still pays the same. Are you going to miss me while I’m gone?”

  She looked down and fluttered her eyelashes. “That depends on how long you’re going to be gone.”

  Longarm shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that I’m not looking forward to being gone from here and gone from you.”

  She said, “Well, how long do you think it will be? A week? Two days? A month?”

  Longarm shrugged again. “I don’t know. I would guess however long it takes to do the job. Maybe I can get it done in a week. If I can, that’s what I’m going to do. How come you’re asking that? Is there a certain amount of time that I’d better not be gone beyond? Are you going to take up with another fellow if I’m gone longer than, say, two weeks?”

  She gave him the faintest of smiles. “I didn’t say that.”

  Longarm laughed. “No, but you damned well hinted at it, you little vixen.”

  She said, “I just wanted to give you a reason to hurry back as quick as you can.”

  He winked at her. “You already did. Earlier this morning.”

  It was not long until noon. She had come into his room that morning, and they had made love. Now, she was dressed to go to her shop and he was dressed to go on the train. Pauline had taken time off to be with him during these last few hours of the morning, and he had been grateful. He said, “Well, honey, I’m going to get back just as fast as I can.”

  “Just make sure it’s in one piece.”

  “I sure hope to hell it is,” he said. “But as much as I know about this job, I can’t guarantee anything. Now, why don’t you give me a quick kiss and run along to your dress-making business. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do before I get on that damned train. I’ve got two horses to load and some other errands to run.”

  He stood up and walked toward her. She rose as he did, and he gave her a lingering kiss on the mouth. After that, he watched her as she walked out the door. He shrugged as it closed, and said under his breath, “Damn you, Billy Vail. And damn you, Ladell Sump. Ladell Sump. What a name.”

  Longarm left his boardinghouse with his saddlebags over his shoulders and carrying a small valise. His saddlebags contained an extra .44—.40 revolver, the handgun of his choice. It was a .40-caliber Colt on a .44-caliber frame. The .40-caliber was strong enough to stop a man, but the .44 frame was heavier and sturdier in the hand and caused less barrel deviation. His rifle was in his saddle boot at the livery stable, where the two horses he intended to take with him were being kept. In the valise were two changes of clothes and a blanket, just in case he had to sleep out. He had packed his saddlebags with some jerked beef, cheese, crackers, and canned goods he had bought at a store near his boardinghouse. Longarm’s landlady had given him a good breakfast, and he had had a good lunch at a cafe nearby. He walked to the livery stable and took out his two horses. One was a big, strong bay gelding that was fast and had a little staying power. Longarm was also taking a small dapple-gray mare that he knew to be calm and confident under gunfire and that could keep a trail for twenty-four hours if need be, if she wasn’t pushed too hard. The gelding was a four-year-old. The mare was pushing eight. He had the stable boy bring them out and follow him as he walked to the depot.

  He still had not the slightest idea how he was going to get close to Mr. Vernon Ashton, or even how he was going to ask him to quit making counterfeit twenty-dollar bills. First, Longarm had to get in the general vicinity of where the man lived. Then he would have to see what the ground looked like, what the situation looked like, and plan from there. He had never been much of a hand for planning a campaign a hundred miles away from the site of the action.

  Longarm had ordered a stock car the night before, and now he loaded his horses into the slatted car that came complete with feed and hay and water. He made himself a seat on a bale of hay, and put his saddle and his rifle and his other gear down close to hand. The horses, as always, had been nervous walking up the ramp and into the unusual confines of a stock car. But soon enough, they were busy with the feed and the water, and had quit looking around in amazement at finding themselves in such a place. Longarm gave the stable boy a half dollar for his help, and then pulled the sliding car door shut. There was still a good half hour until train time, but he figured he’d make do with his time. He had brought along four quarts of his special Maryland whiskey, and he figured that some of that would do him to drink.

  Before the train started off, he spent some time inspecting his weapons, making sure that they were in working order. Both of his handguns had just been cleaned. One was a rimfire, double-action Colt with a six-inch barrel that he used for close-in work. The other was a single-action, the mate to the first pistol, except it had a nine-inch barrel. He didn’t use it often, but whenever he needed something between a handgun and a rifle, it was a mighty convenient weapon. The rifle held six rounds, the same as the handguns. Both the handguns had floating firing pins, so there was no necessity of keeping an empty cylinder under the hammer. He had one last weapon. His belt buckle was big and concave and inside it was a .38-caliber derringer, held in place with a steel spring. More than once, it had been his final resort and it had saved his life.

  Longarm sat back, not thinking much of anything, just waiting. Finally, the train started with a jerk and a flurry of smoke and steam and the clanking of
cars. Little by little, it began to pull away from the station in Denver. He looked through the slats at the size of the city. He was always amazed at how it was growing. All around were mountain peaks and valleys. It was rough, hard country, and it took rough, hard men to handle it. He wondered if he would be rough and hard enough to handle a man who was doing something Longarm hadn’t even known could be done.

  The horses had seemed to take the train’s start well enough, though they had spooked and jumped around a little bit. Now that the going was easier, they had settled down, and were eating grain and were looking perfectly content to take a train ride. Silverton was only a hundred miles away, straight across the peaks and valleys, but it took considerably longer by way of the railroad, which had to wind around the mountains and the chasms and the deep valleys. Normally, it was about a six- or seven-hour trip. Longarm hoped he would get in earlier. It was late July, and it usually got dark about 7:30. He was hoping to get to the area in time to maybe have a chance to ride out and have a look at what he was up against. But with the pace of the train being what it was, he figured he’d be spending the night in a hotel room in Silverton. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could find a poker game. And maybe, if he was really lucky, he’d find some talkative strangers who could tell him a little something about this Vernon Ashton.

  He thoughtfully pulled one of the bottles of Maryland whiskey out of one of his saddlebags, uncorked it, had a good pull, and then shoved the cork back home again and replaced the bottle. It was the kind of whiskey that was smooth enough that you didn’t need to chase it with water to put out the fire. He’d always been partial to it, but he couldn’t always get it, so he always tried to take as much of it with him as he could. He remembered a time in Colorado when a desperado had jumped him in his hotel room. The man had come in firing. He had missed Longarm with his first four shots, but he had busted the three quarts of good whiskey that were sitting on the bedside table. Longarm had almost had tears in his eyes as he’d finally shot the man in the chest, knocking him out in the hallway. If he’d had his way, he would have rather had the man take an ear off him, or maybe wound him slightly in the shoulder, than break that much whiskey. But that was life in the Marshals Service, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.