Longarm and the Train Robbers by Tabor Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

federal marshals are on their way.
Thing of it is, I was on that train and it was my prisoner that
escaped."
    "Yeah," Allen
said.  "And it was my men and passengers that died."
    Longarm tugged his
Stetson low over his eyes and rode on, following the wagon and
its tracks.  The gang of train robbers was smart enough to travel
single file in front of the wagon and its team of horses so that
it was impossible to read how many there were.  However, Longarm
thought that he was following at least a half dozen--and perhaps
many more.  If there was any good news at all, it was that so
many men would attract attention and be remembered by anyone who
saw them--anyone, that is, who lived to report a
sighting.

CHAPTER
5
    As sundown fired
the western sky, Longarm crested the backbone of the Laramie
Mountains and began to search for a campsite.  There was a cold
wind sweeping through the pines, and Longarm sought a heavy stand
of timber to cut the wind.  At least, he thought, there was no
sign of another storm on the horizon.  If there had been, Longarm
would have pushed on by starlight, following the tracks all night
if possible.
    To Longarm's
surprise, the outlaws' trail led to an old, abandoned cabin where
the train robbers had spent their first night.  In addition to
the cabin, there was a sturdy pole corral.  Before penning his
weary sorrel, Longarm once again searched for any bit of
knowledge that would serve him in the future.  The buckboard used
by the gang had been left behind and it held no clues.
    All that Longarm
discovered after an inspection of the corral was a horse's
hoofprint revealing a broken right shoe.  That, and a cigarette
butt that was wrapped in an unusual pale yellow paper that
Longarm had not seen before.  Otherwise, the corral, the cabin,
and the surrounding yard offered not a shred of evidence that
would help to identify the train robbers.
    "These boys are
pretty careful," Longarm muttered as he hauled his bedroll and
gear into the cabin and then set about to make himself a small
fire on a stone hearth.
    That night, the
wind blew hard and cold.  Longarm slept poorly, and was up before
dawn to saddle his horse.  He could not exactly say why, but he
was sure that the train robbers were heading for Laramie.  No
doubt they would filter into the busy town in ones and twos in
order to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
    Longarm's hunch
was confirmed a few hours later when the tracks indicated that
the gang had gathered about a mile west of town, then separated
into a number of small groups, all moving toward Laramie from
different directions and probably all staggered so that they'd
arrive over a period of several hours.
    "But then what?"
Longarm asked himself aloud.  "Do they live in Laramie? Work on
ranches in the vicinity?  Or will they drift on down the line
singly and in pairs, only to regroup and plot another train
robbery?"
    These were the
questions that plagued Longarm as he approached Laramie. Unlike
Cheyenne, Laramie had existed before the arrival of the Union
Pacific Railroad.  The town had been named after Jacques Laramie,
a Frenchman who had first passed through this beautiful country
while trapping beaver for the American Fur Company.  Following
his path had come the emigrants, soldiers, and fortune-seekers,
many tracing the old Cherokee Trail.  Fort Sanders, just to the
South, had offered protection to the Overland Stage Line, and
later for the predominantly Irish survey and construction crews
of the Union Pacific.
    Longarm had always
liked this town, which was nestled against the western base of
the mountains.  Laramie was picturesque, and could boast of its
wild and exciting history.  Vigilantes had played a big part in
the early years, and now Laramie was home to not only the
railroad employees, but also to the cowboys, loggers, and even
miners who worked this ruggedly beautiful part of
Wyoming.
    When the tracks he
followed had begun to branch into many splintered pairs,