Longarm and the Innocent Man by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 19

Longarm grunted, both in surprise and in satisfaction. He had just about despaired of finding a sheltered place to set up camp for the night, and there in the distance he could see a light. Two lights actually, one large, steady one and another smaller and moving. Unless the antelope hereabouts had figured out a way to make lamps, or at the very least fire, there pretty much had to be human folks up ahead. Longarm put the sorrel into a lope, relying on its eyesight, so much better than his own in the dark, to avoid any pitfalls.

The smaller of the two lights disappeared—a lantern, that one would almost surely be—while the big one remained constant. Five or so minutes later the little one reappeared going in the other direction. A very large rectangle of light showed itself and the little one disappeared into it. By that time Longarm was close enough to make out that the new, very large light was a doorway, and the little one was being carried by a dark shape against the brightly lighted door.

At the very least, Longarm figured he should be able to borrow the use of a straw pile overnight. That would be much more comfortable than laying out the sorrel’s blanket on the hard, cold ground. After all, he left Denver expecting to take the rails to Cañon City, visit with Neal Bird, and then possibly go home, if he didn’t take on Bird’s case. He had not brought a bedroll or any other preparations for laying out under the stars. He could do it. Of course he could. But a farm shed would be way the hell better.

“Hello the house,” Longarm called out loudly as he rode in past a pump and trough.

The door swung open, spilling lamplight across a small porch and onto the ground, and a dark shape stood in the doorway with what looked like a scattergun draped over the crook of an arm.

“Who are ye? What d’ye want?” a raspy voice called.

“Custis Long, deputy U.S. marshal outta Denver,” he called back.

“You got proof o’ that?”

“I do.”

“What be your business here?”

“Just passing by. I’m hoping to to find a place to sleep tonight. Maybe a bite to eat for me and for this horse.”

“I can’t afford to feed every damn wandering Jew as comes by my door.”

“I can pay.”

“You a Jew?”

“No, why?” Longarm asked as he swung down off the sorrel.

“ ’ Cause that’s the saying but I never met none. I been kinda hoping to, one o’ these days.”

“Sorry. I can’t accommodate you.” He flipped his near stirrup over the seat of the old saddle and loosened the center-fire cinch strap. “Where would you like me to put this horse?”

“The corral yonder would be all right. There’s hay in the bunk. He can eat his fill of that. It’s sweet hay. No mold nor loco weed. Water’s in the trough where he can get to it.”

“All right, thanks.” Longarm led the sorrel to the

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