Tabor Evans - Longarm on the Border

"You found him, mister. That's me. Name's Flanders." "Mine's Long, Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long, out of the Denver office. I need to requisition a good saddle horse for a case I'm here on."

"Be glad to oblige, Marshal. Soon as you show me a badge or something to prove you're who you say you are."

Wordlessly, Longarm took his wallet from the pocket of his Prince Albert coat and flipped it open. The sergeant studied the silver badge pinned in the fold for a moment, then nodded. He measured Longarm's muscular body with his eyes.

"How far you going to be traveling?"

"To the border."

"You're a sizable man, Marshal Long. You plan to pack much more gear than what you've got here?"

"Nope. This is all the horse'll have to carry."

"Follow along, then. I guess we can fix you up."

Longarm followed the sergeant around the stable to a small corral where a dozen or so horses were milling. The rat-a-tat of carpenters' hammers nearby was obviously making some of the animals nervous, for they were walking around the corral's inner perimeter. The others stood in a fairly compact group near the center of the enclosure. Most of them were roans and chestnuts, but there was one dappled gray a hand taller than the rest. It stood out like a peacock among sparrows.

"Don't try to palm off any of them walking nags on me," Longarm cautioned the sergeant. "Last thing I need's a nervous mount."

"Maybe you'd rather do your own picking," the man suggested.

"Maybe I better, if it's all the same to you."

Longarm was still carrying his Winchester. He lilted the muzzle skyward, levered a shell into the chamber, and fired in the air before the sergeant knew what he intended to do. Two of the horses at the corral's center reared, three others bolted for the fence. Most of those that had been fence walking either shied or bucked. The gray was among the handful that did not react to the shot. Longarm studied the dapple through slitted eyes. A light-coated horse made a man stand out, more than a roan or chestnut would, but he told himself that could be good as well as bad. He pointed to the animal.

"I'll take the gray, if he stands up to a closer look. Bring him over here and let me check him out," he told the sergeant.

"Now, I'm real sorry, Marshal Long. That's the only one I can't let you have."

"Mind saying why? Is he an officer's private property?"

"Well, yes and no."

"Make up your mind, Flanders. Either he is or he ain't."

"He ain't an officer's private property, Mr. Long. Thing is, Miz Stanley, that's Lieutenant Stanley's lady, she's took a liking to Tordo, there. Rides him just about every afternoon. She'd be mighty riled if I was to~"

Longarm interrupted. "This lieutenant don't own the horse?"

"No, sir. Except, we was going to ship Tordo up to Leaven-worth for their bandsmen, seeing we got no band here, and the lieutenant stopped us because his lady'd took a shine to the nag."

"I suppose Miz Stanley'd be just as well off if she took her exercise on another horse, wouldn't she?"

"No, sir. Begging your pardon, Mr. Long, she'd want Tordo."

"Happens I want him, too. He's the best-looking of that bunch out there. Now, bring him here and let me check him over. You can give the lieutenant's lady my regrets next time she wants to ride."

Longarm's tone carried an authority the sergeant was quick to recognize. He opened his mouth once, as though to argue further, but the deputy's blued-steel eyes were narrowed now, and the soldier knew he was looking at a man whose mind was made up. Reluctantly, the sergeant walked over to the gray and put a hand on its army-style clipped mane. He started back to where Longarm waited. The horse, obedient to the light pressure of the man's hand on its neck, walked step for step with the sergeant.

"Seems to be real biddable," Longarm commented.

"Tordo's a good horse, Mr. Long. Can't say I blame you for picking him out."

Longarm checked the gelding with an expert's quick, seemingly casual glances and finger touches. Teeth, eyes, spine, cannons, hooves, were all sound.

His inspection lasted barely three minutes, but when it was finished Longarm was satisfied with his choice.

"He'll do, Sergeant. Make out the form for me to sign while I saddle him. Or is this the kind of post where commissioned men do all the paperwork?"

"No, sir. Most of the officers are out on a field exercise, anyhow. I've got the forms over yonder in the stable. I'll have 'em ready by the time you're fixed to ride. If you don't want to bother saddling him yourself, I'll call a trooper to do it for you."

"Thanks, but I'd as soon do it myself, Flanders. You go on and take care of the forms."

Longarm saddled the dapple with the same economy of motion that marked all his actions. He'd finished cinching the girth, had sheathed his Winchester in the scabbard that angled back from the right-hand saddle fender, and was knotting the last rawhide saddle string around his bedroll when a woman's voice spoke behind him.

"I don't know who you are, but that's my horse you're saddling. "

Without turning around, Longarm replied, "No, ma'am. It's the U.S. Government's horse."

"Don't be insolent! Now, take that saddle off at once and find yourself another mount! I'm ready for my afternoon canter."

Longarm finished knotting the saddle string and turned around. He doffed his Stetson as he spoke. "Beg pardon, ma'am, but I ain't about to do that. I need this one in my work."

"Really? Just who are you? And what sort of work do you do?"

"I'm Custis Long, ma'am. Deputy U.S. marshal from Denver. And I'm on a case, which is all I need to say, I guess." Longarm realized he was speaking arbitrarily, which wasn't his usual way with a woman, but this one was being just too damned high-handed.

His abrupt manner surprised and puzzled her, that was clear from the expression on her face. Longarm took the moment of silence to inspect her. He wondered if she kept one full black eyebrow higher than the other when she wasn't angry. He couldn't give her a good mark for beauty, he decided, her features were a mite too irregular. Her nose arched abruptly from the full brows down to wide nostrils now flared with displeasure. Her lips were compressed, but that didn't hide the fact that they were on the full side. Her chin was thrust out aggressively. Her eyes were dark, and her hair was dark, too. It was caught up in a bunch of ringlets that dropped down the back of her neck to her shoulders.

She was wearing a cavalry trooper's regulation campaign hat, though it didn't have the regulation four dents in the crown. A soft, plain white blouse was pulled tightly over upthrust breasts. Her feet, in gloss-polished riding boots, were spread apart to show she had on a split skirt that dropped nearly to her ankles. Her hands were planted on her hips, and from one wrist a riding crop dangled by its looped thong.

Longarm's unconcealed inspection didn't cause the woman to drop her eyes, or even seem to embarrass her. When she found her voice, she said firmly, "Mr. Long, there are ten or fifteen other horses over there in the corral. One of them will be just as satisfactory as Tordo for your use."

"I'm sorry if it makes you mad, ma'am, but the plain fact of it is, where I'm heading for, my life might depend on my having the best horse I can throw my saddle on."

As though he hadn't spoken, she went on, "I'll find Sergeant Flanders and tell him to get you another horse. Meanwhile, you will take that saddle off Tordo at once!"

"I ain't about to do that, ma'am. Let's see, you'd be Lieutenant Stanley's wife, I guess?"

"What difference does that make?"

"Not one bit, Miz Stanley. Except it ain't going to do you no good to call the sergeant. He told me you'd be mad, after I'd made up my mind which horse I wanted. It didn't matter to me then, and it don't matter to me now."