Tabor Evans - Longarm on the Border

"No. He'd have been tried in Texas, and I ain't betting a jury here'd stick him a long term on both them charges."

"If you didn't have that badge in your pocket, I might be taking you in for inciting to murder," Webster said, unsmiling. Then he added, "But I can't say I blame you. I get mad when a man calls me a son of a bitch."

"Who don't?" Longarm asked as he slid his Colt back into its holster.

* * *

Late the next morning, Longarm helped Flo aboard the Butterfield stage that he'd flagged down at the river crossing just outside Fort Lancaster.

"Wish I could ride with you," he told her. "I got a few loose ends that still have to be tied up in Los Perros, and then I got to take my horse back to the remount depot in San Antonio."

"I've got a feeling one of those loose ends is named Lita," Flo smiled. "I halfway wish I'd decided to ride with you instead of taking the stage to San Antonio."

"You'll be more comfortable on the stage," he assured her. "And I'll beat the stage there. You take a hack to the Menger Hotel. It ain't grand like New York, but it beats Baskin's saloon. We'll have a few days there before you go on East."

"I've changed my mind about taking the train from San Antonio, " Flo said. "Captain Hill told me I can get an express train from Denver that'll get me to New York quicker than the one I'd take from San Antonio. We'll have a few days, and then a few more."

Longarm watched the dust of the stage settle as it lurched down the rutted road. He'd have a day or two in San Antonio before the stage pulled in. He wondered if Cynthia Stanley — whose best friends called her Cyn — would get along with Flo as well as Lita had.

That's going to be something interesting to find out, old son, he told himself as he nudged Tordo with his knee. The dapple moved off.