Longarm 243: Longarm and the Debt of Honor Page 2

  Longarm had no idea what Crow’s Point looked like nor how large a place it was, mostly because by the time the stage arrived—hours late thanks to repeated problems with one of the wheel hubs—it was nigh onto midnight and even the saloons, if any, seemed to have shut down for the night.

  “You aren’t gonna just leave me here, are you?” Longarm protested to the surly jehu on the driving box.

  “Mister, if you wanta buy a ticket on to Riceville you can stay with me. Otherwise you get off here.”

  “But dammit, the stationmaster has closed up an’ gone home for the night. You can at least point me to a hotel or a boardinghouse, some damn thing.”

  The driver let fly with a stream of dark brown juice that narrowly missed splattering Longarm’s coat sleeve.

  “Take your things off here or buy another ticket, mister, it don’t make no never-mind to me.” He picked up his driving lines, and Longarm had to hurry to snatch his carpetbag and saddle off the roof before the stage rolled on with them still there on the luggage rack.

  “Thanks a helluva lot,” Longarm grumbled as the coach clattered off into the darkness, the driver trying to make up for lost time.

  Longarm scowled, realized that complaining would not do much to improve his situation no matter how often or how fervently he went back to that same dry well, and decided the only sensible thing here was to set about making things better.

  The first order of business was to trim and light a cheroot. The next was to open his carpetbag and find the bottle of finest-quality Maryland rye whiskey he’d packed. A dram of that made the current misery a mite more bearable, and he corked the bottle and returned it to the protective nest of clean drawers he’d wrapped around it for travel purposes.

  “Now,” he told himself aloud, “whyn’t I do something ’bout a place to sleep. Damn place is sure to look better to me after a good night’s rest.” He picked up his things and set off down the barren main street in search of a place—any would do—where he could spread his blankets.

  No, he thought, Crow’s Point looked better at night than in the gray light of dawn.

  Longarm stood in front of the barn where he’d helped himself to a free night’s lodging—a sign beside the wide doors claimed it was a livery and wagon park, but he hadn’t been able to find a hostler or anyone else in charge last night—and surveyed what he could see of the burg.

  He wasn’t impressed.

  There were a few dozen sun-weathered storefronts along the street, and scattered pretty much willy-nilly around the business district, perhaps twice that many houses. The homes did not look any tidier or more prosperous than the businesses. Longarm judged there hadn’t been a paint salesman come through in a good many years, but the next man in would have a world of opportunity.

  It was colorless, Longarm decided after taking a few moments to figure out what was wrong. There was no color here. The buildings were all weathered, unpainted wood. The few scrawny trees and undernourished shrubs were dry and dust-covered. If there were any flower patches to be found, Longarm couldn’t see them from where he stood. Hell, even the couple of stray cats he saw slinking out of the barn—no doubt with their bellies full thanks to all the rodents he’d heard during the night—were drab and gray. He got the impression that an ordinary old yellow tomcat would have been cock of the walk in this town, and a calico likely would have made all the lady cats moan.

  The nearly flat fields lying outside the town proper ran mostly to farmland, with very little of the ground left in grass. Longarm had had the idea that Hirt County in central Kansas would have been on the edge of cow country, but he could see he’d been wrong about that. Apparently this was country more given to small farms and smaller livestock holdings of milk cows, maybe a few pigs and goats, and like that. For sure this was not the sort of rollicking cow town that Norm Wold used to specialize in taming.

  Shit, a dump like this was already so tame, it would take a kick in the ass just to make the residents wake up enough to yawn and roll over.

  Well, in that case, Longarm thought, it was time to commence kicking.

  He left his things stashed inside the barn together with a note saying he’d be along later to collect them and settle up for use of the straw pile, then headed into town.

  Breakfast first—his sense of smell assured him that somewhere up ahead there was bacon frying—then he’d have to find Norm and get filled in on the bullshit charges against his old friend and mentor.

  Chapter 4

  “By God there’s still one thing I can be sure of,” a deep voice boomed from somewhere toward the back of the county jail. “Now I know there’s at least one human person in this county that’s uglier than I am.” Longarm heard a well-remembered laugh fill the sheriff’s office. Grinning, Longarm ignored the young deputy seated at a desk near the front door, and hurried on back toward the cells where he could see Norman Wold behind the bars.

  Behind the bars. Incredible. Longarm had expected that, of course, but he found that it shook him anyway. Norm was one of the people who put others in jail, not the other way round. Yet here he was.

  And he’d changed. Lordy, but he’d changed. It had been five years or so since Longarm last saw him, and back then Norm was still the same tall, lean old fart he’d always been. Now his hair was thinning and his belly was spilling over his belt. Five years, but it looked as if Norm had aged fifteen in that time.

  “Damned if you ain’t still the same handsome son of a bitch you always been,” Longarm declared as he reached out to shake Norm’s hand. “You haven’t changed a lick since the last time I seen you.” It was a lie, sure, but what the hell.

  “Just happen to be in the neighborhood?” Norm asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “Sure. I believe you.”

  There was a slightly oily metallic sound behind Longarm that was all too recognizable. Longarm froze in place.

  “Don’t move, mister. Don’t you move.” The young deputy’s voice was shaky with fear.

  “I wouldn’t think of it, son,” Longarm assured him without so much as turning his head.

  “Dammit, Jeremy, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Norm scolded. “It isn’t polite to come up behind folks with shotguns. Not very sensible either. This here is my old friend Custis Long. United States Deputy Marshal Custis Long. You might’ve heard of him? Goes by the nickname Longarm?”

  “Shit!” the deputy muttered.

  “Believe me, Jeremy, if Longarm wanted to do you any harm, he could’ve shot you ten times by now. Then reloaded and done it all over again. Now be a good boy and put that scattergun back on the rack where it belongs. Then why don’t you run down to Dottie’s place and bring us up a pot of coffee and three cups.”

  Longarm decided it was safe enough to take a look. Jeremy’s shotgun was no longer aimed in the direction of Longarm’s backside—it seemed a pretty safe assumption that it had been a few moments earlier—and the young man looked pleased to hear that he was invited to bring a cup for his own use.

  “Yes, sir. D’you, uh, want any doughnuts or like that too, Marshal?”

  Norm patted his belly and shook his head. “Just the coffee for right now, Jeremy.”

  “Yes, sir.” The deputy returned the double-barreled shotgun to a wall rack and hurried away. Longarm could hear his footsteps loud and hollow on the stairs leading down to the ground floor. The Hirt County sheriff’s office and jail were located on the top floor of a three-story building, above the first-floor county offices and the second-floor courtrooms and judge’s chambers. Longarm had noticed that much on his way up to find Norm.

  Longarm waited until Jeremy was well out of hearing, then asked, “That kid know who he’s supposed to be working for, Norm?”

  “Jeremy’s a good boy, Longarm. Don’t you go confusing him any.”

  “I’ll try an’ keep that in mind,” Longarm said in a dry tone of voice. “So while we got some privacy here, whyn’t you tell me what this crap is all abou
t, Norm.”

  “It’s a long story and kind of stupid.”

  “That sounds like one of yours, all right.”

  “If you want to hear it all, friend, drag that chair over and make yourself comfortable. And don’t worry about Jeremy. He isn’t as dumb as you might think. He knows I’ll be wanting some privacy and he won’t be back for a spell.”

  Longarm nodded and hauled out smokes for himself and for Norm, then did as the old man suggested and made himself comfortable in anticipation of a lengthy yarn.

  Chapter 5

  “Politics,” Norm said with a shrug and a grin, as if that explained everything. And hell, maybe it did at that, Longarm conceded. Politics was responsible for most of what was fine and good about the country. But partisan political bickering was also responsible for one hell of a lot of what was ugly and rotten too. Not all, of course. But certainly an outsized proportion of the bad could be chalked up to politics.

  “Tell me,” Longarm said, crossing his legs and drawing deep of the clean, rich-tasting smoke from his cheroot. Inside the cell, perched on the edge of a mighty hard and uncomfortable-looking bunk, Norm did the same.

  “Like I said,” Norm repeated, “politics. In a nut-shell.”

  “That mayhap tell everything, but it sure doesn’t tell a man much, old friend.”

  Norm grinned again. “Relax, Longarm. I got time to tell it all.” The grin turned into a laugh. “It isn’t like I’m in a hurry to go someplace, y’know.”

  Longarm leaned back and decided to let Norm tell the story in his own good time.

  Come September there was a referendum election scheduled in Hirt County, Kansas. Crow’s Point, which used to be the focal point for cow-country ranching in this part of the state, was the current seat of the county. A nearby farming community called Jasonville wanted that honor. In September the voters would decide where to situate a planned new courthouse along with the sheriff’s office, county clerk and records, all of that.

  The result of the coming election was a foregone conclusion, Crow’s Point Town Marshal Wold admitted. The residents of Jasonville outnumbered those of Crow’s Point by a good three to one. More to the point, the population of farmers in the county was at least six times larger than that of the ranchers who’d remained after the cow business had moved north into Nebraska, Wyoming, Dakota, and lately, Montana. Cattlemen were getting kind of thin on the ground these past few years, Norm allowed. Soon after the election the county seat would leave Crow’s Point, and a new one would be born at Jasonville.

  “And you, you old curmudgeon, you’re still thought of as a cow-town peacekeeper, I take it,” Longarm said.

  “Hell, yes, I am. I was a town tamer, Longarm. The real thing. Dammit, Custis, should I start in to be ashamed of that all of a sudden? I did a fine job for these folks ... and for the folks in a lot of other towns and railhead cesspools... for a lot of years. I’m proud of my record.”

  “As you damn well oughta be,” Longarm agreed.

  “Right. But that won’t buy me no groceries once the farmers take over everything. Which they will come September.” Norm sighed. “I’m getting sidetracked here, aren’t I?”

  “Are you?”

  “I expect so. It’s just... it gravels me, that’s all.”

  Longarm nodded and took another drag on his cheroot, waiting patiently for the old man—Norm hadn’t been old the last time Longarm saw him, but now he sure as hell was—to go on with his story of how he came to be sitting inside a jail cell.

  “The county seat moving, that’s going to have a lot of consequences, you see. This old courthouse, such as it is, will revert to the town as a town hall. Not that there will be much point to having a town hall, since most of the business will move to Jasonville along with the courts and all those public jobs that go along with a seat of government.”

  Longarm nodded. He too had seen the same thing happen in a dozen towns or more. Once the source of money left, so did the people who fed off the government, those who held the public jobs and those who depended on them for trade. Crow’s Point was sure to wither if not entirely die once this Jasonville became the county seat.

  “What it means to me personally,” Norm said, “is that I’ll soon be out of a job. Hell, I know that. I’ve been out of work before, you know. They can fire me, but they won’t be getting no virgin. Every town tamer I ever knew has had the same. We’re heroes as long as we’re needed, but an unnecessary expense once that need is gone. That’s when we get fired. Hell, I don’t mind that. But I expect some folks don’t understand it. There’s some that think I want to try and hang on here no matter what. Which is where these charges come in, if you see what I mean.”

  Longarm didn’t see. Yet. But he didn’t say anything about it, just let Norm run on.

  “Somebody . . . I don’t have any idea who and can’t look into it so long as I’m sitting in here . . . tried to burn down the courthouse. Or at least to burn all the voting records that are stored downstairs. The popular theory is that I did it in an attempt to destroy the voter registration records so the election can’t be held. Dammit, Custis, an accusation like that is purely crazy. If every voter record went up in smoke tonight, there’d still be plenty of time for it all to be reassembled before the election. If nothing else, they could re-register everyone, pass a special resolution allowing folks to register at the polls on voting day. Burning those records wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing. Which I’ve tried to point out, but no one is listening.”

  “So why’d they point the finger at you anyhow?” Longarm asked.

  Norm snorted loudly. “Evidence, of course. I have a little place over on the east edge of town. It isn’t much, but it’s mine. I’d even thought of retiring there. Now I’m not so sure. Anyway, out back of the place I got a shed. Somebody... whoever it was that started the fire, I’d expect . . . hid an empty coal-oil tin there along with a couple things that’d been stolen out of the clerk’s office.”

  “Somebody tried to frame you, Norm?”

  The tired old town marshal shook his head. “The truth is that I doubt it. I don’t own a horse. Haven’t bothered to own a mount of my own in years. Don’t have any saddle or harness or anything like that either. The fact is that I own that shed but don’t hardly ever use it. Hell, I doubt I walk inside the thing twice, three times a year. Anybody that knows me could know that. No, what I think is that the arsonist, whoever the hell he is, just thought my shed was a good spot to hide something. Likely thought it wouldn’t be looked at, me being a law officer and everything.”

  “So how was the stuff found?” Longarm asked.

  “Our sheriff... he’s favored by the sodbusters, Longarm, but he’s a good man. Thorough. Him and his deputies looked every damn place. It wouldn’t have occurred to any of them, I suppose, to walk past my shed. They were intent on looking for evidence, and so they searched everything they came across.”

  “Like you said,” Longarm agreed. “Thorough.”

  “Sure. And I got no grief with that.”

  “Malfeasance in office?” Longarm asked. “I think that was one of the charges the article in the newspaper mentioned.”

  Wold chuckled. “Longarm, if arson and larceny aren’t malfeasance, then I don’t know what would be. I mean, if all the others are true, then that would sorta have to be too.”

  “Do you have any idea what the motive of the arsonist might have been?” Longarm asked.

  Norm shrugged. “I’ve wondered about that. Believe me, I have. But without knowing who, it’s hard to figure out why in this case. It could be as simple ... and as stupid... as some cowman not wanting to lose the county seat to Jasonville like they’re accusing me of thinking. More likely, I’d think, it could be some idiot thinking to get his tax records done away with or ... I dunno ... get rid of some sort of evidence against him.

  “Or hell, I suppose it could be nothing more sinister than some kid breaking in to see what he could steal and thinking to sweeten the fun by watc
hing the courthouse burn. After all, it’s going to be abandoned by the county soon anyhow, right? And the town won’t hardly need anything this big for what little business the town does. Damn fool just might’ve wanted to watch the flames and see everybody get in an uproar. It could be nothing more than that, Longarm. I wish I knew for sure.”

  “I expect you won’t mind if I poke around some, Norm? Ask a few questions here and there?”

  Norm kneaded his chin and jaw with his hands and made a great show as if pondering Longarm’s offer. “Oh, I suppose I won’t get too awful mad at you if you want to hang around for a few days.” The old man’s grin returned again. “My trial comes up in a couple weeks. If nothing else, you’ll be able to learn what prison I’m sent to so you’ll know where to send my card come Christmas.”

  Norm Wold seemed to be taking the possibility lightly enough, but Longarm’s expression hardened. “You aren’t going to any damn prison, Norm. Not you.”

  “All in all,” Norm mused, “I expect I’d rather not. Considering what the other cons are like to do to a former peace officer behind prison walls.”

  “We can’t let that happen, Norm. We just can’t.”

  “Longarm, old son, if you can think of some way to keep the wolf off my doorstep, then I reckon I’d go so far as to thank you.” Norm winked at Longarm, then turned to face the doorway and bellowed, “You can bring that coffee up now, Jeremy. But mind that it’s hot, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir, Marshal, I hear,” the young deputy’s voice called thinly from the next floor down. “I won’t be long, so wait there for me if you don’t have more important stuff to do.” Longarm could hear a distant clatter of boots on the staircase.

  Chapter 6

  Longarm glanced down to check the crude sketch he was carrying in the palm of his hand, decided this pretty much had to be the right spot, and nudged the gate open with the toe of his boot. His hands were full, what with his saddle and carpetbag and other gear, along with a sack of canned goods and such that he’d picked up on the way over.