Longarm and the Arapaho Hellcats by Tabor Evans Read Free Book Online

McIntyre shifted his sickly gaze to where the young county sheriff lay did in the street. “Just like that, they killed him. Took his bride to be . . . on their weddin’ day.”
    â€œI’ll get her back.”
    â€œWe will.”
    â€œThrum, you’re in no condition. As soon as I get Miss Larimer and her aunt into town, and see to you, I’ll get on the trail.”
    McIntyre shook his head. He was still staring at his son. “I’m goin’, too. Soon as that fire’s out, I’ll form a posse. Get Casey back, send that whole pack to hell on a greasy platter.” He paused, sighed. “Put somethin’ over him, will you, Custis? Hate to see him layin’ out there, so exposed.”
    â€œSure thing, Thrum.”
    Longarm went inside the dress shop and came out with a length of dark muslin. He draped it over the young, dead lawmen, and then looked at the burning bank and the men scurrying around it like bees in a swarm. Just then, the roof caved in, and the flames grew, shooting out the top opening.
    Longarm turned to his old friend. “I’m going to fetch the two women I accompanied here from Denver, Thrum. Then I’ll help those men get that fire out. You stay there, all right? Don’t go movin’ around too much. You don’t look well.”
    Thrum McIntyre leaned back against the awning support post, flanked by the dead, eyeless killer, and merely shook his head as he stared at his dead son lying sprawled in the street.
    Longarm started walking back in the direction from which he’d come. As he did, he pulled out a hand­kerchief and mopped his brow and mustache. The sun burned down on him, still intense in early September. He was sweating under his frock coat, but he hardly noticed.
    He was still trying to work through all that had happened in such a short time. He dreaded informing Cynthia, but when he reached the carriage, he saw no reason to sugarcoat it. He could tell by the dark looks in both Cynthia’s and her aunt’s eyes that the women were expecting bad news.
    And they got it.
    Both sat back in the carriage’s rear seat, flabbergasted, while Longarm climbed into the driver’s seat and hoorawed the ­smart-­stepping Hanoverian back onto the trail and into the town. Most of the men were fighting the fire, so the dead men remained in the street, the dog that had been barking now sniffing around one of the bodies. Longarm stopped the carriage near where McIntyre still sat, looking sallow and jaundiced.
    As he helped Cynthia down from the buggy, Longarm glanced at McIntyre and said, “Don’t let him join that bucket brigade. He’s had one heart attack, and he looks like he could have another one.”
    â€œI won’t,” Cynthia said, shaking her head. Her eyes were wide with disbelief as she looked at the dead men on the street and on the boardwalk around her. “Don’t ­worry—­Aunt Beatrice and I will see to Mr. McIntyre, Custis.”
    â€œI’m sorry about Casey,” Longarm said. “But I’ll get her back.”
    Cynthia’s eyes filled with tears, but she put on as brave a face as possible and nodded.
    â€œI’ll be back soon,” Longarm told her, and then helped Mrs. Schimpelfinnig down from the buggy, the old woman looking around and shaking her head with incredulity.
    â€œOh, good Lord,” she kept saying half under her breath. “Oh, good ­Lord—­when will men quit behaving like barbarians?”
    As Cynthia and Mrs. Schimpelfinnig went over to be with McIntyre, Longarm removed his frock coat, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and joined the effort to douse the fire. He soon discovered that, as he’d expected, about all that could be done was to keep the fire from spreading.
    Two hours later, he and the other townsmen had managed to do just that.
    The bank was a smoldering hulk, with occasional flames still leaping from the