Longarm 217 - Longarm and the Whiskey Woman by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans [Evans, Tabor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780515119985
Google: r4TxNAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0515119989
Publisher: Jove
Published: 1997-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

That night, Longarm sat in the cabin, wondering if Sally would slip in to see him. He desperately hoped that she wouldn't. He was fairly certain that he was being watched. How they had gotten away with that afternoon, he wasn't certain, but he had an idea that it would be pretty difficult for her to get into the cabin without being seen. It had bothered him that she hadn't shown up for supper that evening. Perhaps it didn't mean anything. Perhaps she didn't always come to supper. Perhaps she wasn't hungry. Perhaps it had nothing whatsoever to do with him. He knew he was jumpy and nervous and was probably reading more into the situation than was there, but he was in the midst of a dozen armed men, each one probably more ruthless than the next, and all he had for defense was a revolver with six slugs in it and a wall to put his back against. It wasn't a very advantageous position.

He wished that Frank Carson would hurry back. He did not know the man, and he did not necessarily count him as an ally. For all he knew, if Carson discovered what he was, he would probably lead the attack on him, but at least Carson talked, and at least he seemed to have a sense of humor. And they both agreed on how foul the green whiskey tasted. Longarm could see how very easily the potent, raw whiskey could be cut and then cut again before being aged for a time and turned into a very potable drink. There was a lot of money to be made off such a raw product, and he imagined that there were a lot of folks up in the East and other areas making a good deal of money off the corn squeezings coming out of the Colton clan.

Longarm finished the cigarillo he had been smoking and took one last sip of the watered whiskey he had been drinking. He thought longingly of the bottles of Maryland whiskey that were in his room and then began preparations for turning in. There was no lock on the door or on the windows. The only night watchman he had was himself. Fortunately, he was a very light sleeper. When he had undressed down to his skin, he slipped into the covers, his revolver handy under his pillow. He normally didn't take such risks. He knew of a man who had shot his ear off one time keeping his revolver under his pillow, but to Longarm, these were dangerous times, and they called for dangerous methods. Finally, when he could, he slipped into a light, fitful sleep, dreaming half about whiskey and half about Sally.

The next morning at breakfast, the old man told Longarm that he would be willing to sell him some whiskey. He said, "You calculate that you be after two thousand gallons? I hear word is that you already got the price from Salem. He rode over when you wasn't looking and said it was all right with him.

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