LONGARM AND THE INDIAN WAR [066-066-5.0]
By: Tabor Evans
Synopsis:
Up in Dakota Territory, two Indian tribes are at each other’s throats. So the government sends Longarm to fix things—as if one U.S. marshal can stop hundreds of mad-as-hell warriors from killing each other. Longarm’s having a hard time getting the nasty neighbors to play nice. He’s having a harder time ducking the lead that’s flying at him from all directions. And once he finds out who’s behind it, he’ll trade in his peace pipe for a piece of the action … and dole out frontier justice, Longarm-style! 220th novel in the “Longarm” series, 1997.
Jove Books New York Copyright (C) 1997 by Jove Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
ISBN: 0-515-12050-2
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
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A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Printing history Jove edition / April 1997
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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LONGARM by Tabor Evans The popular long-running series about U.S. Deputy Marshal Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.
SLOCUM by Jake Logan Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.
Chapter 1
This was the day. The one Longarm had been dreading. They all knew it was coming, and they all damn well hated it. Unfortunately they had no choice in the matter, not Longarm and not any one of the other United States deputy marshals who worked under Marshal William Vail, head of the Justice Department’s Denver District.
This detestable job was going to require the efforts of every man the marshal could put in the saddle, and even then it would take weeks to complete.
The problem, of course, was the United States Congress and its meddling committees. In this case the committee members—well, more accurately their staffs; the Congressmen themselves would only lend their hands to the effort when there was glory to be handed out—were investigating alleged profiteering and political kickbacks among the moneyed silver mining interests.
Big surprise if true. Sure it was, Longarm told himself ruefully as he made his way through the pedestrian traffic along Colfax Avenue not far west of the gold-domed State Capitol Building.
It was morning of the day he’d been dreading, and his gait was considerably slower today than normal.
The problem for Billy Vail’s deputies was not the actual investigation that was about to take place. Congressional staff members would take care of all that.
The deputies’ jobs would be to get all the damned witnesses subpoenaed so the investigating—or political grandstanding, whatever—could begin.
There were, Longarm and the rest of the boys had been told, literally hundreds upon hundreds of subpoenas to receipt and deliver. To hundreds upon hundreds of potential witnesses. Who might damn well not want to be found and served with these particular instruments. And who, even if they held still and docilely waited for service, were spread out over much of Colorado, New Mexico, Utah, Wyoming, and Montana.
Finding them all, serving them all, completing the paperwork on them all was going to be a daunting proposition. Or in simpler terms, this was gonna be a bitch.
The formal start of the massive campaign was scheduled to begin this afternoon. Every deputy Billy could claim was supposed to show up at one o’clock for final instructions and a bundle of subpoenas.
For some reason Billy had sent word to Longarm last night that his presence was required at nine, though, well in advance of the general meeting.
Hence Longarm was making his way along Colfax at roughly his usual starting hour.
He reached the gray stone edifice that was the Federal Building and bounced up the steps, pausing in front of the glass panels of the double doors to check his reflection and make sure he was fit to present himself for duty. What he saw was reasonably reassuring.
Deputy Marshal Custis Long was a tall and rangy man, standing something over six feet in height, with broad shoulders and a horseman’s lean hips. He had a craggy and somewhat wind-burned face, brown hair, brown eyes, and a massive sweep of brown mustache as well.
This morning he wore a dark gray broadcloth suit, a pale yellow vest, and his customary flat-crowned brown Stetson hat.
Beneath the coat could be seen a gunbelt that supported a large and much used Colt double-action .44 revolver set in a cross-draw rig. Not so obvious was the perfectly normal-looking watch chain that stretched across Longarm’s flat belly. One end of the chain was attached to the expected watch, in this instance a key-wound
