Longarm and the Stagecoach Robbers Read Free Page B

later.” Hardesty grabbed his hat and was headed down the stairs before Longarm had a chance to change his mind.

Chapter 8
    Longarm was disappointed. It was not that he had really expected to learn anything new or illuminating from the Park County sheriff’s incidence reports. But he had certainly hoped.
    As it was, reading through the reports told him nothing more than Charlise Carver already had. In each instance the coach was stopped by two men—well, at least two; there could have been someone else hiding nearby—who held shotguns. One threatened the horses; the other targeted the driver. Neither man spoke.
    Longarm sat back in the sheriff’s swivel chair and scratched under his chin. He was making an assumption to think that the robbers were men. They wore dusters that hung from head to toe plus slouch hats and bandannas. One or both could as easily have been women. It was something to keep in mind.
    He leaned forward and concentrated on the reports, and again all three were similar. The robbers did not speak. They merely motioned with the barrels of their shotguns.
    The driver threw the mail pouches down, along with any other express messages, then the robbers stepped back and motioned for the coach to proceed. Which it did, just as fast as it could go.
    Longarm did not at all fault the driver. He was not armed and had the lives of his passengers to consider.
    Which brought something else to mind.
    Longarm shuffled through the incidence reports again. On one trip the coach was empty. On another there was one passenger, and on the third there were three passengers. On no occasion did the robbers attempt to hold up the passengers. They were completely ignored even though it would have been simple enough for the robbers to strip them of cash or valuables while the coach was stopped.
    That was not at all an ordinary way for a stagecoach robber to act.
    They took only the mail pouches. Those pouches, empty, were found lying beside the road on the next trip around.
    That, too, seemed odd.
    Longarm took out a cheroot and lit it—at least here he could smoke while he pondered—then laced his hands behind his head and thought about the reports he had in front of him.
    They told him little. All three robberies occurred on the Bailey to Lake George leg of the run. All southbound, that is, from Bailey down to Lake George and not from Lake George back north to Bailey on the other side of that run.
    Perhaps someone in Bailey was expected to mail something that the robbers wanted to intercept? The conjecture was thin but certainly possible.
    Longarm sat smoking—and thinking—until Deputy Hardesty returned from taking his overdue shit.
    â€œFeel better?” Longarm asked with a smile.
    â€œLots. Thanks.”
    â€œGlad t’ do it for a fellow badge carrier.” Longarm stood, stretched, and turned the chair back over to Chance Hardesty. “If I think of anything else, I might be back,” he said.
    â€œAny time at all, Marshal. The sheriff is always glad to help.”
    Longarm touched the brim of his Stetson and headed back down the steep stairs.

Chapter 9
    He idled the afternoon away, wandering from one to another of Fairplay’s many saloons, nursing a beer in each and keeping his ears open. The effort was wasted. Well, except for discovering which of the slop joints had the best beer or the prettiest whores. He learned a bit about that; unfortunately, that was not what he was interested in.
    When he heard the Carver stagecoach rattle in, the jehu cracking his whip and making a show of the arrival, Longarm shoved his beer mug away and went out to greet the coach.
    The driver surprised him. The fellow looked like he was barely old enough to shave. Hell, maybe he didn’t. He knew how to handle the whip and the driving lines, though. He brought the lathered four-up in with a swirl of dust and a high-pitched yip.
    Charlise Carver came out of the office to greet