Longarm and the Wyoming Woman by Tabor Evans

and then knock down a couple of horses.”
    â€œWhere’d you get a weapon like that?” Longarm asked, becoming even more interested in the beautiful shotgun.
    â€œGlad you asked,” said the man, taking down the shotgun and holding it with near reverence. “You see, there was a rich English gentleman here hunting game birds this summer. But the shotgun kicked him so hard that he said it nearly broke his right shoulder. He had been shooting it on a guided hunt, and when he came to my store to unload that fine weapon, his arm was resting was in a sling and he couldn’t hardly move his shoulder. That’s why I purchased that fine sporting weapon for a fraction of its true value. Marshal, I’m willing to pass my good fortune on to you.”
    â€œYou got shells for this little cannon?” Longarm asked, taking the shotgun and hefting it for balance, then checking the barrel and breech. It was far too beautiful to kill men, but it had really caught Longarm’s eye and fancy. He wanted it very much.
    â€œI do. Two boxes.”
    â€œHow much do you have to have for it?” Longarm asked, doubting he could afford the weapon.
    â€œHmm, well, I sure don’t want to give this beauty away, Marshal.”
    â€œHow much,” Longarm repeated.
    â€œHow about . . . how about this remarkable shotgun and two full boxes of shells for just sixty dollars.”
    Longarm whistled and shook his head. “Afraid that’s a little rich for a working lawman.”
    â€œMarshal, this gun would easily bring a hundred dollars in Denver. Easily! And it would bring twice that much money back East.”
    The man was right. Longarm figured that, if he survived Buffalo Falls, he could take the impressive sporting weapon back to Denver and sell it for maybe a hundred fifty dollars. It would be a nice profit. Hell, that kind of profit would be worth a month’s salary . . . if he could bear to part with such a beautiful shotgun.
    â€œMister, you’re probably right, but I just don’t know if I can afford it,” he said more to Addie than to the store owner. “Provisions and a buying a horse, saddle, and that Winchester are taking up almost all of my travel money. If I spend another sixty dollars on top of all the rest for this shotgun, then I’ll be pretty near busted.”
    â€œI’ll buy it for you,” Addie said without hesitation.
    â€œAw, I couldn’t let you do that!”
    â€œI’m afraid you’re going to have to,” Addie told him. “After all the money you saved me from losing in Denver, it’s the least I can do. Besides, you just might need it to help me and my father against Wade Stoneman.”
    Longarm wasn’t a man to take gifts, but in this case if he declined Addie’s generous offer, he reckoned that it would be an example of a man being overcome by his foolish pride. “Okay,” he said. “But when this is over, if we’re still standing, then you can have the shotgun for your own.”
    â€œI wouldn’t even want to think of shooting that cannon,” Addie said with a grin. “It would knock me over and probably break my shoulder. Uh-uh, Custis. When we walk out of here, this shotgun is yours and yours alone.”
    â€œFair enough,” he said. “I’ll come back for it and the Winchester when we get the horses bought,” he told the store owner. “If you could have the provisions in a sack, we’ll pay the damages just before we leave town.”
    The store owner was very happy. He’d already made more than an average day’s sales in just a few minutes. “I’ll have everything ready, Marshal. Do you need two bedrolls . . . or one?”
    Longarm could see how the man’s mind was running, and he started to say two, but Addie answered, “One good, heavy bedroll and a tarp will get us up to Buffalo Falls reasonably warm and dry.”
    â€œGood