Longarm and the Colorado Manhunt by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2007-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

The only lead Longarm had as to the likely whereabouts of Blake Richards and/or Karl Hix was the gunsmith’s offhand comment that he had seen Richards down by the railroad tracks a time or two. Pueblo being something of a railroad town, not to mention the steel mills, there were tracks in pretty much any direction a man might care to walk. And while that might be an exaggeration, it wasn’t all that much of one. Longarm hitched up his britches and headed for the main north-south line of the Denver & Rio Grande.

He knew better than to try to ferret out every asshole who haunted the tracks. But he knew who might well be able to point him in the right direction.

He asked a few directions and wound up at the D&RG yardmaster’s hut.

“You’re in the wrong place, mister,” he was told upon entry into the tiny, adobe brick building. “The passenger and freight depot is up that way ’bout a half mile. Just follow the tracks. You can’t miss it.” The fellow speaking was small, painfully thin, and wore a dark green celluloid eyeshade surrounding a nearly bald dome.

“Not if you’re the yardmaster, I ain’t.” Longarm showed his badge and introduced himself. “I’d sure appreciate the help o’ your railroad detectives,” he said. “I’m lookin’ for a couple fellas an’ think they might be able t’ point me in the right direction.”

“May I see that badge, please?” The yardmaster might be on the small side of things, but he was not intimidated. He held his hand out with an air of authority. Longarm handed over his wallet with the badge pinned inside. The yardmaster took his sweet time inspecting the credentials, even taking the tin out of Longarm’s wallet and turning it over to look at the back.

“What’d you do that for?” Longarm asked.

“Do what?”

“Turn my badge around like you just done.”

The yardmaster permitted himself a small and satisfied smile. Then he began carefully returning Longarm’s things to their original place and condition. “Counterfeiters,” he said. “In my day, I’ve seen all manner of fakes. Fake tickets, fake badges, fake uniforms. Your typical counterfeiter would be careful with the surface of a phony badge. He would not be so likely to pay attention to the back. That is what I was looking for.”

Longarm grinned. “I just learned something t’day. Thanks.”

“Glad to be of service.” The yardmaster stood and leaned across the desk to extend his hand to shake. “My name is Stokes. Now what is it that I can do for you, Marshal?”

“I’m lookin’ for two fellas name of Karl Hix and Blake Richards, Mr. Stokes. I’m told they been known to loaf about along your tracks, mayhap in your yards. D’you know anything about them?”

“I do not, but some of my people might. Can you wait a few minutes?”

“O’ course.”

Stokes left his desk and went outside. He had a heavy limp and it looked like one of his legs was shorter than the other—perhaps it was artificial—but it was obvious that he did not allow that disability to hold him down.

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