LONGARM AND THE WENDIGO by Tabor Evans
Jove/HBJ New York Copyright 1978 by Jove Publications, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to: Permissions, Jove Publications, Inc., 757 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 78-71600
First Jove/HBJ edition published January 1979
Printed in the United States of America
Jove/HBJ books are published by Jove Publications, Inc. (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich) 757 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017.
Also in the LONGARM series from Jove/HBJ
Longarm Longarm on the Border Longarm and the Avenging Angels
Chapter 1
It was a glorious morning in Denver and Longarm felt like hell. The tall deputy squinted as he left the musty brown darkness of the Union Station to get punched in the eye by a bright morning sun in a cloudless sky of cobalt blue. A sharp breeze blew from the snow-topped Front Range, behind him to the west, as he walked stiffly east toward the Civic Center. The mile-high air was clear and scented with summer snow and green mountain meadows. Longarm wondered if he was going to make it to Larimer Street before he threw up.
At the corner of Seventeenth and Larimer he found the all-night greasy spoon he’d aimed for and went in to settle his guts. He wasn’t hungry, but ordered chili and beer as medication. The beanery was nearly empty at this hour, but Longarm recognized a uniformed member of the Denver Police Department seated at another stool down the counter and nodded. He’d only nodded to be neighborly, but the copper slid his own stein and bowl over next to Longarm’s and said, “‘Morning, Uncle Sam. You look like somebody drug you through the keyhole backwards! You spend the night drinking, whoring, or both?”
“Worse. I just came up out of Santa Fe on a night train that had square wheels and no seats worth mention. Rode shotgun on a gold shipment bound for the mint, here in Denver. Spent the night hunkered on a box in the mail car, drinking the worst coffee I’ve tasted since I was in the army. I suspicion they use the same glue in Post Office coffee as they put on the back of their stamps.”
He took a huge gob of chili, washed it down with a gulp of beer, and added, “Jesus, you can’t hardly get real chili this far north of Texas. Pass me some of that red pepper to the lee of your elbow, will you?”
The copper handed him the pepper shaker and opined, “Oh, I dunno, the cook here makes a fair bowl of chili, for a white man.”
Then he watched with a worried frown, as Longarm proceeded to cover his beans with powdered fire. To the policeman, Longarm was sort of interesting to study on. The Denver P.D. was sincerely glad the deputy marshal was a lawman rather than on the other side; arresting anything that big and mean was an awesome thought to contemplate.
The Deputy U.S. Marshal was civilly dressed in a threadbare business suit of tobacco tweed, but a bit wild and wooly around the edges. His brown flat-topped Stetson had a couple of large-caliber holes in it and the craggy face under the brim was weathered as brown as an Indian’s. The big jaw masticating chili under the John L. Sullivan mustache needed a shave, and though he wore a shoestring tie under the collar of his townsman’s shirt, he somehow managed to wear it like a cowhand’s bandanna. They said he packed a derringer in addition to the double-action .44 in that cross-draw rig he wore under the frock coat. They said he had a Bowie in one of the low- heeled army boots he stood taller than most men in. But the big deputy was one of those rare men who didn’t look like he needed weapons. When he was in one of his morose moods, like this morning, Longarm looked able to knock a lesser man down with a hard stare from his gunmetal eyes.
The copper asked, “You aim to eat that shit with all that pepper in it, or are you aiming to blow yourself up?”
Longarm chewed thoughtfully and decided, “That’s better. Chili’s no good unless it makes a man’s forehead break out in a little sweat. I can still taste that damned Post Office coffee, but I reckon I’ll live, after all.”
“You must have a cast iron stomach. You, ah, wouldn’t want to let your friendly neighborhood police in on it, would you, Longarm?”
“In on what? You want me to fix your chili right for you?”
“Come on. They never detailed a deputy with your seniority to ride with the Post Office dicks. Somebody important robbing the mails these days?”
Longarm took a heroic gulp of beer and swallowed before he belched with a relieved sigh, and replied, “Jesus, that felt good. As to who’s been robbing the midnight trains between here and Santa Fe, I don’t know anymore than yourself about it. I just do what the pissants up at the Federal Building tell me.”
“I hear since the Lincoln County War’s run down there’s about eighty out-of-work gunslicks searching for gainful employment. You reckon any might be headed for my beat?”
Longarm studied for a moment before he shook his head and said, “Doubt it. Denver’s getting too civilized for old-fashioned owlhoots like we used to see over at the stockyards. Your new gun regulations sort of cramp their style. To tell you the truth, I sort of dozed off once we were north of Pueblo. Colorado’s getting downright over- civilized of late, what with street lamps, gun laws, and such.”
“By gum, I run a cowboy in for a shooting just two nights ago, over on Thirteenth and Walnut!”
“There you go. That’s over on the other side of Cherry Creek where the poor folks live. ‘Fess up. You ain’t had a real Saturday night in the main part of town this year, have you?”
“The hell we haven’t. I’ll bet Denver’s still as tough a town as any! I disremember you saying you heard any shooting in Santa Fe! I’ll bet the hands riding into Denver of a Saturday night are just as mean as any you met down New Mexico way!”
“No bet. Santa Fe’s got sissy as hell since the new governor said folks can’t shoot each other any more in
