Longarm and the Horse Thief's Daughter by Tabor Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

that he wanted them.
    Of course just because he had seen no one like that, it was always possible that some wanted felon could have seen him and made the assumption.
    Longarm sighed. This was some damn vacation he was having. He would have to remember to thank Billy Vail when he got back to Denver. Hell, working would be a relief after this vacation.
    With that thought in mind, he drifted back into a light and fitful sleep.

Chapter 19
    No one shot at him when he led his animals around the stand of aspen and down toward Bedlam. Longarm considered that to be something of a plus.
    He walked into the town and back to that same cook tent.
    â€œTwenty-five cents, mister. Cash only, no credit.” It was the friendliest greeting—and the only one—he’d gotten that morning. He paid the quarter and plucked a tin plate out of the washtub beside the money man.
    This time he had remembered to bring his own knife, fork, and spoon out of his pack.
    Breakfast turned out to be flapjacks, all you wanted, with a ladle of sorghum syrup poured over them. He had had worse.
    Longarm hunkered down and placed his plate on his knees, then proceeded to fill up. The hotcakes were thin but tasty, but the syrup had too much of a sulfur flavor for his taste. All in all, not bad.
    After he finished gorging himself, he walked down beside the creek and had a smoke.
    He was just walking back up toward his animals, wondering if he could find Frank Nellis’s camp—and for that matter if he might find Frank Nellis—when it happened again.
    Some sorry son of a bitch threw a shot at him.
    He caught a glimpse of rapid movement off to his right. Looked that way and saw the familiar figure of the thief in the bib overalls and red undershirt.
    This time the man had a rifle in his hands and was taking aim. At Longarm.

Chapter 20
    Longarm did not really want to kill the man, despite the asshole’s habit of shooting at people he did not like.
    Longarm snapped off two shots, one beside each of the fellow’s ears. The idea was to discourage him.
    It did. Sort of.
    At least it made him turn tail and run. But the idiot kept shooting; he stopped every few yards to turn and fire back at Longarm.
    Fortunately he was a dreadfully bad shot. His bullets came fairly close, but they did not connect.
    Longarm’s worry was that if the thief kept this up, sooner or later he would get lucky. At which point Custis Long would be terribly
un
lucky. Sooner or later one of those slugs was going to hit, hit either Longarm or somebody else. Either of those would be bad. Longarm certainly did not want some bystander to be hit any more than he wanted to take a slug himself.
    The only real defense he had, Longarm figured, was to properly discourage the son of a bitch.
    He fired again, coming close to the man but careful to avoid hitting him.
    The man must have heard the whip-crack of Longarm’s bullet sizzling past his ear, because he turned and ran. Ran across the flimsy wooden bridge to the other side of the creek and up the side of the hill on the far side. He disappeared into the dark mouth of a mine opening after first tossing his rifle aside.
    Longarm followed, stopping every once in a while to encourage the retreat by sending another .45 slug close to his heels.
    At the entrance to the dark and narrow mine, Longarm was stopped by a burly fellow in overalls. The man had a clipboard and an official air about him. He grabbed Longarm by the arm and yanked him to a stop.
    â€œAre you after Henry?” he asked.
    â€œI’m after the fella that just ran in here. I got no idea what his name is.”
    â€œHis name is Henry. You could say he’s our town bully.”
    â€œAnd you could say,” Longarm said, “that Henry is about to get his ass whipped.”
    â€œThat’s fine,” the miner said, “but you aren’t going in there with that pistol you’re carrying.”
    â€œAnd why the hell not?” Longarm