Longarm and the Golden Ghost by Evans Tabor

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

Chapter 11

He would never have a better opportunity to find out what was going on around here, thought Longarm. For the second night in a row, the mysterious Bloody Spaniard was putting in an appearance. Things appeared to be heating up in the Panhandle. Longarm had gotten to these parts just in time.

And now he was going to follow that glowing figure. The moon hadn’t risen yet, and though the starlight was fairly bright, Longarm didn’t think the Spaniard would spot him if he kept a good distance between them. With his quarry shining like that, Longarm wouldn’t have to be very close to stay on the trail.

Longarm loosened his Winchester in the saddle boot, then put his horse into an easy trot, turning the mount’s head so that he was traveling northwestward. The ghost didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Longarm was careful not to move in too close. He didn’t want the Spaniard to hear the hoofbeats of his horse, but he figured as long as he couldn’t hear the Spaniard’s horse, the armored figure couldn’t hear him, either.

On the other hand, maybe the apparition was riding a ghost horse, and its hooves didn’t make any sound.

Under the sweeping mustaches, Longarm’s mouth twitched in a half-grin, half-grimace as that thought went through his mind. He reckoned he was getting carried away with all this ghost business. The Spaniard was flesh and blood, and Longarm wasn’t going to believe otherwise unless and until it was proven to him.

He kept an eye out for lights that marked the location of the Hernandez ranch. With every minute that passed, it appeared more and more likely that the Spaniard was on his way to see Rosa and Ramon. For all he knew, he thought suddenly, the Spaniard might be Ramon Hernandez! Ramon carried a powerful grudge against all gringos. What better, more fitting way to strike back at the objects of his hate than to rob from them and kill them while wearing the ancient armor of his ancestors? If that ancestor had been one of Coronado’s men, the armor might have been handed down from generation to generation in the Hernandez family. The more Longarm thought about the theory, the more sense it made.

The only problem was that despite being hot-blooded and full of rash, youthful anger, Ramon Hernandez hadn’t struck him as an owlhoot and a murderer.

Maybe he would know before much longer, thought Longarm. They couldn’t be very far from the Hernandez spread now.

With no warning, a gun suddenly blasted from somewhere close by. Longarm heard the wind-rip of the bullet only inches from his ear. He bit back a curse as he twisted in the saddle, searching for the source of the shot. He knew he had only himself to blame for being bushwhacked like this. He had gotten so caught up in following the Spaniard and trying to figure out what was going on that he had forgotten about the threat of Arch Kellman.

A second shot rang out, and this time Longarm spotted the Colt flame blooming in the darkness off to his left.

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