Longarm #399 : Longarm and the Grand Canyon Murders (9781101554401) by Tabor Evans Page B
Authors: Tabor Evans
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two days at most.”
“You think the mare is worth it?”
Whitfield nodded. “I sure as hell do. I’m certain we can get seventy or eighty dollars for her. Maybe even stir up a race. Those Hopi love betting on horse races, and I’ve seen the buckskin mare run before and she’s damn near unbeatable.”
“We got any money to put up on her?”
“I got thirty dollars cash. How much do you have?” Whitfield asked.
“Maybe twelve dollars.”
“That’s not a lot,” Whitfield said. “But we could put up our own horses and saddles as part of the betting.”
“And if we lost the race, what the hell would happen to us?” Hunt snapped. “We’d be up shit creek with no paddle. You reckon we could walk all the way back to Flagstaff?”
Whitfield shook his head. “Your problem is that you always worry too damn much about everything and are afraid to take a risk. I’m telling you, that buckskin mare is the fastest thing on four legs for a thousand damn miles. And you weigh no more than one hundred forty pounds soaking wet, so you could ride the mare. Al, for a little extra work and time, we can come out of this with five or six hundred dollars!”
“And kill the federal marshal.”
“That’s right,” Whitfield said, rubbing a hand over his battered and swollen face. “And there’s even more.”
“Keep talkin’.”
“The marshal’s wife is going to be going up to Lees Ferry…
alone
.”
“But she’ll be on the stagecoach.”
“Not all the time,” Whitfield said. “The stage holds over one night to rest the horses and passengers. We might be able to snatch her there.”
Hunt broke into a big smile. “And have our dirty ways with her before we kill her?”
“Yep. Or else figure out a way to ransom the beautiful bitch. It’s clear that she’s loaded with money. What’s to lose?”
Al Hunt chuckled obscenely. “I seen her when she got off the train and went into the hotel. Best-looking woman I’ve laid eyes on in years. Sure would like to ride her to a standstill.”
“Me too,” Whitfield said, voice hoarse with desire. “At the very worst, we could screw her for a few days and take all that jewelry she wears. I wouldn’t doubt that she’s also carrying plenty of cash.”
Hunt sleeved sweat from his bloodshot eyes. Up here on the Navajo reservation the dirt was red and fine, and there was alkali mixed in as well, and that was painful to the eyes. “Let’s get on our horses and get up ahead to that ambush place you were talking about.”
Whitefield thought that was a fine idea. He desperately wanted to kill the federal marshal who had once shot his brother to death. He’d wanted to kill the marshal in Flagstaff, even more after the bastard beat him up, and now his need for revenge was almost at a fever pitch.
Once they were on their horses, they kept the low, sage-covered hills between themselves and the federal marshal and made sure that they didn’t push their mounts hard enough to raise a dust trail.
“You know something,” Al said, “I got me a hard one just thinking about that blond woman and how much fun we’re going to have riding her while she hollers for mercy. I want her first, Carl. I
got
to have her first.”
“We’ll flip a coin for that,” Carl Whitfield said, feeling his own manhood swelling at the thought of thepleasure they’d be taking from the rich woman in just another day. “ ’Cause I want her real bad, too.”
Al Hunt gave his cousin a hard look, which the liveryman didn’t even notice, but Al saw that there was a twisted smile on his blood-crusted lips.
Two hours later, Whitfield suddenly raised an arm and pointed to a gap in the hills just a mile ahead. “That’s the place.”
Hunt pulled his hat brim low and squinted into the dry, colorless distance. “You sure?”
“I’m dead sure. We’ll ride around to the north and take our shooting positions on both sides of the gap. When the marshal comes through, he’ll be in both our
“You think the mare is worth it?”
Whitfield nodded. “I sure as hell do. I’m certain we can get seventy or eighty dollars for her. Maybe even stir up a race. Those Hopi love betting on horse races, and I’ve seen the buckskin mare run before and she’s damn near unbeatable.”
“We got any money to put up on her?”
“I got thirty dollars cash. How much do you have?” Whitfield asked.
“Maybe twelve dollars.”
“That’s not a lot,” Whitfield said. “But we could put up our own horses and saddles as part of the betting.”
“And if we lost the race, what the hell would happen to us?” Hunt snapped. “We’d be up shit creek with no paddle. You reckon we could walk all the way back to Flagstaff?”
Whitfield shook his head. “Your problem is that you always worry too damn much about everything and are afraid to take a risk. I’m telling you, that buckskin mare is the fastest thing on four legs for a thousand damn miles. And you weigh no more than one hundred forty pounds soaking wet, so you could ride the mare. Al, for a little extra work and time, we can come out of this with five or six hundred dollars!”
“And kill the federal marshal.”
“That’s right,” Whitfield said, rubbing a hand over his battered and swollen face. “And there’s even more.”
“Keep talkin’.”
“The marshal’s wife is going to be going up to Lees Ferry…
alone
.”
“But she’ll be on the stagecoach.”
“Not all the time,” Whitfield said. “The stage holds over one night to rest the horses and passengers. We might be able to snatch her there.”
Hunt broke into a big smile. “And have our dirty ways with her before we kill her?”
“Yep. Or else figure out a way to ransom the beautiful bitch. It’s clear that she’s loaded with money. What’s to lose?”
Al Hunt chuckled obscenely. “I seen her when she got off the train and went into the hotel. Best-looking woman I’ve laid eyes on in years. Sure would like to ride her to a standstill.”
“Me too,” Whitfield said, voice hoarse with desire. “At the very worst, we could screw her for a few days and take all that jewelry she wears. I wouldn’t doubt that she’s also carrying plenty of cash.”
Hunt sleeved sweat from his bloodshot eyes. Up here on the Navajo reservation the dirt was red and fine, and there was alkali mixed in as well, and that was painful to the eyes. “Let’s get on our horses and get up ahead to that ambush place you were talking about.”
Whitefield thought that was a fine idea. He desperately wanted to kill the federal marshal who had once shot his brother to death. He’d wanted to kill the marshal in Flagstaff, even more after the bastard beat him up, and now his need for revenge was almost at a fever pitch.
Once they were on their horses, they kept the low, sage-covered hills between themselves and the federal marshal and made sure that they didn’t push their mounts hard enough to raise a dust trail.
“You know something,” Al said, “I got me a hard one just thinking about that blond woman and how much fun we’re going to have riding her while she hollers for mercy. I want her first, Carl. I
got
to have her first.”
“We’ll flip a coin for that,” Carl Whitfield said, feeling his own manhood swelling at the thought of thepleasure they’d be taking from the rich woman in just another day. “ ’Cause I want her real bad, too.”
Al Hunt gave his cousin a hard look, which the liveryman didn’t even notice, but Al saw that there was a twisted smile on his blood-crusted lips.
Two hours later, Whitfield suddenly raised an arm and pointed to a gap in the hills just a mile ahead. “That’s the place.”
Hunt pulled his hat brim low and squinted into the dry, colorless distance. “You sure?”
“I’m dead sure. We’ll ride around to the north and take our shooting positions on both sides of the gap. When the marshal comes through, he’ll be in both our
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