Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter by Tabor Evans Page A
Authors: Tabor Evans
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fall. He could not tell how badly they were hurt. As soon as the shells were spent, Longarm turned and hurried down the mountain as fast as he could. He had an idea that more work would be coming his way.
He got to his horse, but before he mounted, Longarm took a moment to reach into his saddlebags and take out some cartridges to reload. He leaned across the saddle, rammed the rifle home in its boot, and mounted up. He was moving a little more slowly than when heâd started. He did not recall ever running up and down so many hills before in all of his life. He also did not much like what he was doing, but he didnât see where he had any choice. It had been forced on him. A hand he hadnât cared to play had been dealt to him by a crooked dealer. Now he was going to make that dealer pay.
He turned the mare north, heading toward the break in the line of mountains. It was his guess that he had stirred up a hornetâs nest and that the hornets were shortly going to be coming out of the hole in the nest. He was going to be there to greet them.
As he rode, he rapidly ran through his mind what damage he possibly could have done. He knew of eight men, possibly ten, that he had finished off or seriously wounded that morning. Add to that the two from the day before, and he figured he had depleted Ashton of a quarter of his resources. He figured if he could get it down to about half, the men would begin to look at each other and wonder if they were being paid enough. It was one thing to lead the easy life and shoot strangers on Ashtonâs orders when you were in no danger yourself. They probably thought they were well paid, well fed, and well taken care of, but when men were dying around you, you had to wonder if you might possibly be next. Longarm didnât think they would view the job as such a plum.
At least, that was his hope. He hoped that he could discourage enough of them so that the rest would up and quit. He wanted Ashton on the ranch, all by himself in the big house with that good-looking Spanish woman. He didnât know about Early. He wasnât fooled by the manâs cheerful face. He had marked the man down for a stone killer. There was no doubt in his mind that of the men he had seen, Early was the most dangerous.
But for the moment, the business at hand was all he needed thinking about. He got to the cleft in the hills and found a firing point some two hundred yards from the opening. He took his horse back around behind a rock outcropping and dropped the reins. She would have earned her oats before this day was out. Then he went back to the firing position he had selected. It was a good two hundred yards to the opening, but that was to his advantage. It was a long shot for him with a rifle on a rest, but it was going to be much longer for the men on horseback returning his fire. He didnât want to be too close and he didnât want to be too far. If they were coming, he felt that he was well placed.
Longarm got out a cigarillo, and lit it with one of the matches that he used to light the dynamite. He had to chuckle about the dynamite. It was damned handy stuff and would really cause a commotion. He had used it before, but only in single sticks that he had thrown. Never before had he used it the way you would use a cannon to blast rocks at somebody.
He smoked quietly, his eyes intent on the opening in the mountain. They had to come. They couldnât sit in there and let people blow them up and shoot them without coming out to see what was happening.
It was another five minutes before the first riders came walking their horses through the cleft. That was another advantage of the opening. A number of men couldnât come riding at top speed through it. It was strewn with rocks and it was narrow, so they had to take their time and they had to be careful.
Longarm was already sighted on where he wanted to fire. He waited until the fourth man in line filled his sights, and squeezed off
He got to his horse, but before he mounted, Longarm took a moment to reach into his saddlebags and take out some cartridges to reload. He leaned across the saddle, rammed the rifle home in its boot, and mounted up. He was moving a little more slowly than when heâd started. He did not recall ever running up and down so many hills before in all of his life. He also did not much like what he was doing, but he didnât see where he had any choice. It had been forced on him. A hand he hadnât cared to play had been dealt to him by a crooked dealer. Now he was going to make that dealer pay.
He turned the mare north, heading toward the break in the line of mountains. It was his guess that he had stirred up a hornetâs nest and that the hornets were shortly going to be coming out of the hole in the nest. He was going to be there to greet them.
As he rode, he rapidly ran through his mind what damage he possibly could have done. He knew of eight men, possibly ten, that he had finished off or seriously wounded that morning. Add to that the two from the day before, and he figured he had depleted Ashton of a quarter of his resources. He figured if he could get it down to about half, the men would begin to look at each other and wonder if they were being paid enough. It was one thing to lead the easy life and shoot strangers on Ashtonâs orders when you were in no danger yourself. They probably thought they were well paid, well fed, and well taken care of, but when men were dying around you, you had to wonder if you might possibly be next. Longarm didnât think they would view the job as such a plum.
At least, that was his hope. He hoped that he could discourage enough of them so that the rest would up and quit. He wanted Ashton on the ranch, all by himself in the big house with that good-looking Spanish woman. He didnât know about Early. He wasnât fooled by the manâs cheerful face. He had marked the man down for a stone killer. There was no doubt in his mind that of the men he had seen, Early was the most dangerous.
But for the moment, the business at hand was all he needed thinking about. He got to the cleft in the hills and found a firing point some two hundred yards from the opening. He took his horse back around behind a rock outcropping and dropped the reins. She would have earned her oats before this day was out. Then he went back to the firing position he had selected. It was a good two hundred yards to the opening, but that was to his advantage. It was a long shot for him with a rifle on a rest, but it was going to be much longer for the men on horseback returning his fire. He didnât want to be too close and he didnât want to be too far. If they were coming, he felt that he was well placed.
Longarm got out a cigarillo, and lit it with one of the matches that he used to light the dynamite. He had to chuckle about the dynamite. It was damned handy stuff and would really cause a commotion. He had used it before, but only in single sticks that he had thrown. Never before had he used it the way you would use a cannon to blast rocks at somebody.
He smoked quietly, his eyes intent on the opening in the mountain. They had to come. They couldnât sit in there and let people blow them up and shoot them without coming out to see what was happening.
It was another five minutes before the first riders came walking their horses through the cleft. That was another advantage of the opening. A number of men couldnât come riding at top speed through it. It was strewn with rocks and it was narrow, so they had to take their time and they had to be careful.
Longarm was already sighted on where he wanted to fire. He waited until the fourth man in line filled his sights, and squeezed off
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