Longarm and the Horse Thief's Daughter Read Free Page B

plans . . .” He laughed, then said, “I don’t have any plans, actually. Feels strange for a change.”
    He checked the loading, but Eugene knew his business and did a more than competent job of getting Longarm’s saddle and packs secured in place. Longarm just hoped he could get everything back the way it was supposed to be after he broke the packs down come evening.
    That, however, would be hours and miles away from Silver Plume. And from Amanda.
    Longarm smiled, thinking of her. And her girlhood friend LouAnne. They were quite a pair.
    He wondered if he was going to have to stop somewhere this afternoon and take a nap. He damn sure had not gotten much sleep during the night.
    â€œYou’re all set,” Eugene said just as the sky was beginning to grow pale toward the east.
    The hostler had chosen a sturdy, brown mare for Longarm’s mount and a fuzzy-eared burro to carry the packs. The saddle on the brown was wide and comfortable, unlike the army-style McClellan ball-buster Longarm usually rode.
    He almost felt guilty about granting himself so much comfort. Almost. He was on vacation, wasn’t he? He
deserved
a little time away to fish and loaf and relax.
    He stepped up onto that very comfortable saddle and smiled. It felt good for a change.
    â€œThanks, Eugene. Don’t look for me to be back for a couple, three weeks or so. I figure to be up in the high country enjoying life.”
    â€œWish I could go with you, Marshal.”
    â€œNext time maybe you can,” Longarm said, not meaning it but wanting to be polite. He touched the brim of his Stetson and let the mare walk out of the barn, the burro following docilely behind on a cotton lead rope.
    It was good to be on vacation, he thought.

Chapter 8
    A narrow switchback trail led north from Silver Plume, probably an old game trail widened and put into use by prospectors seeking the precious metals that made Colorado such an integral part of the nation’s economy, and by the freighters and miners who came after them.
    Longarm made his way slowly up the south slope of the mountain that loomed above Amanda’s boardinghouse. He was in no hurry. After all, he was on vacation.
    He passed only one other outfit, a short string of very large mules that were on their way down the same trail. Longarm tried to be sociable, but the muleskinner was in no humor for pleasantries. The man barely grunted an acknowledgment of Longarm’s presence after Longarm politely pulled off on the side of the trail to allow the mules to pass. Then man and mules were gone, and Longarm was left with no company save his own animals and a hawk riding high overhead on some unseen air current.
    Noontime found Longarm midway up the mountain. He paused for a cold lunch of hardtack and jerky and a swallow of tepid water from his canteen, then continued on hoping that the damn trout were worth all this.
    Dusk came just as he crested the mountaintop. The view was fabulous, even by Colorado standards. Tall mountains and deep canyons surrounded him, and the cold, crisp air reached deep into his lungs. It seemed to please his soul as much as it did his body, and he dismounted to stand and admire.
    If there were any church or cathedral as grand as this, he reckoned, he would be a regular attendee.
    Standing and ogling was not accomplishing anything, though. He quickly stripped both horse and burro of the burdens they had carried all day long. He hobbled the animals and turned them loose to forage a meal for themselves while he added some rocks to a firepit that others before him had used up here.
    He collected some reasonably dry deadwood and built a small fire. He poured enough water into his pot to make two cups of coffee, one for tonight and the other to be saved for morning, and gave the rest of his water to the animals.
    Come morning he would need to find that fishing lake or mountain stream, if only to provide water for himself and the animals.
    He