Tabor Evans - Longarm and The Branded Beauty

“Let’s get out of here,” Hackett muttered. “Maybe whatever ails her is contagious.”

But Longarm shook his head. “Ma’am, did he ever tell you that he was going to try and kill Marshal Walker?”

The woman was red in the face, but she managed to nod her head and say, “Not exactly. Not the marshal anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was supposed to kill Noah Huffington with a stiletto. Did he do it?”

Longarm took a deep breath. “Are you saying that he was talking about murdering Noah Huffington?”

“Yeah. With Art Mead and Nick Huffington. I got some of Claude’s money after they all got drunk! Stole it right out of Claude’s pockets! He promised to give me more, but he spent it on some whore. That’s why I was going to kill the cheatin’ sonofabitch!”

Longarm knew that he finally had the evidence he needed to arrest Mead and Nick Huffington—if this harridan would testify in court and if she could be believed by a judge or jury, which was doubtful.

“Ma’am,” Longarm said, digging into his pockets but not trusting the hounds enough to dismount. “Here is twenty dollars. Buy yourself a dress and some shoes.”

The woman just stared at him. “Why?”

“You’re going to testify to what you heard in a court of law.”

“Not for no twenty dollars, I’m not!”

“All right,” Longarm said, “then it could be a lot more.”

“You payin’ me?”

“No, but I promise that you and your kids will be generously helped, if you just tell the truth and repeat the conversation that you overheard between Claude, Mead, and Huffington.”

“You want me to say they plotted to murder that rich Auburn preacher?”

“That’s right.”

The woman gazed out at her kids, her dirty face reflecting powerful emotions. “We got it real hard here, Mr. Lawman. I reckon you can see how hard my kids got it. Everyone else in these parts looks down their damn snotty noses at my family.”

“You can leave this behind and start over,” Longarm said, knowing he would have to worry about the money later. Stella would no doubt help. She had the money and the heart of gold. She’d help, all right.

“Maybe a real house for us,” the woman said quietly. “Nothing fancy, mind you. Just a real house with a roof that didn’t leak and walls that kept out the winter wind.”

“You deserve that much,” Longarm assured her.

“Maybe I don’t, but my kids do. Claude wasn’t good to ‘em. The youngest are his, but he treated them like dirt. I hated Claude. He wasn’t much of a man anymore, not around here and not even in bed.”

“You could go away and start over fresh,” Longarm said. “There’s nothing here worth staying for.”

Hackett hissed, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

“I’ll be back,” Longarm promised the woman.

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe you’ll just kill Art and Nick like you did Claude. If you kill ‘em, you wouldn’t need me, would you.”

“Here’s twenty dollars,” Longarm said, handing the money to one of the grubby children. “There will be more.”

And then, with Hackett close on his heels, Longarm rode away.

Chapter 15

“Hey!” Marshal Hackett shouted, flogging his horse in an attempt to overtake Longarm. “Wait up, dammit!”

Longarm reined in for a moment to let Hackett catch him. He had a strong dislike for the man because he was only interested in a personal reward rather than in seeking justice.

“What is it now?” Longarm asked impatiently.

“You offered that witch money!”

“That’s right.”

“Where’s my five dollars for bringing you out here?”

“Sorry, that twenty was all that I had.”

“Dammit, why’d you give her my money?”

“Because I never saw a family that needed it more and I have a friend who has been falsely accused of murdering Noah Huffington. I’m sure that she’ll be more than happy to show her appreciation for any testimony that woman can provide.”

“I’ll testify to what I heard her say! You can count on me, Marshal Long.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We got ‘em!” Hackett said excitedly. “Ain’t no doubt about that now!”

“Yes, there is,” Longarm countered. “That woman could be lying.”

“Hell, she’s telling the truth! Why, even a blind man could see that.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Longarm said. “It’s very clear that she hated Claude Blanton and his friends. Hated them enough to say most anything out of spite.”

“I suppose. But we could probably twist a few of them dirty little arms and also get them older kids to back up whatever their mother says.”

Longarm gave the man a look of disgust. “You’ve no scruples at all, have you.”

“No what?”

“Never mind,” Longarm snapped. “But we’re not going to force testimony out of anyone—big or small.”

“Just an idea,” Hackett grumbled. “No reason to get all huffy about it. So what are we going to do now? Ride over to Placerville and arrest Art Mead?”

“That’s the general idea,” Longarm replied. “Given his bad reputation, the man shouldn’t be very hard to find.”

“I’ll be ready to back you up.”

“I think,” Longarm said slowly, “that you don’t need to bother. I work best alone.”

“Oh, no! If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t ever have found that witch, let alone got her to tie Nick Huffington and Art Mead into the murder.”

“I’d have found her, with or without you,” Longarm said. “When we get back to Newcastle, return to your office and stay there where you belong.”

Hackett’s jaw sagged. “And let you take all the credit and reward! Ha! I’m-“

Longarm had more than enough of this reprehensible character. He reached out and backhanded Hackett across the side of his fat face so hard that he rocked the pathetic lawman back in his saddle.

“Owww!” Hackett bawled, dropping his reins and cradling his head in his hands. “What’d you do that for!”

“I did it because I resent you thinking that we’re both out here for the same selfish reasons. We’re not! You want a cash reward. I want justice and to clear the name of my friend.”

“You mean that fancy whore named …”

Before Longarm could belt Hackett again, the man spurred off toward Newcastle.

“Good riddance,” Longarm grumbled, anxious to find the first road that would take him to Placerville and Art Mead.

Placerville was located about twenty miles southeast of Auburn. According to a sign posted just outside town, in 1848 Placerville had been the site of a big gold discovery by three prospectors who quickly excavated almost twenty thousand dollars. The following year, thousands of miners had staked out every gulch and hillside and dubbed the settlement “Dry Diggings,” but then they changed that name after a series of highly popular lynchings to “Hangtown.”

Longarm read that more than fifty million dollars worth of gold had already been mined from the surrounding hills, and that the famous Central Pacific Railroad tycoons Mark Hopkins and Collis P. Huntington had both gotten their start as Placerville merchants.

“Hey there!” Longarm called to a passing horseman. “Can you give me some information?”

The man reined in his mount. He was young, and Longarm noticed that he warily kept his right hand close to his gun. “What kind of information, stranger?”

“I’m looking for Art Mead. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Probably in the Big Pine Saloon.” The young man studied Longarm with suspicion. “Are you a friend?”

“Nope.”

“Well,” the rider said, “if you’re an enemy, I wish you all the luck because you’ll need it in order to stay alive. Mead is dangerous, especially when he’s had a few drinks—which is most of the time.”