Even if there’d been another live round in his Colt, Longarm wouldn’t have argued with the scattergun. He said, “You’ve got me, mister. Just don’t get an itch in your trigger finger.”
“Let go of your gun and move your hand away from it,” the uniformed constable ordered.
Longarm obeyed. The command itself, and the tone in which it was delivered, told him the man knew what he was doing.
“That’s fine,” the constable said. His voice was cool. “Now roll over, away from the gun, and lay quiet until I tell you different.”
Once again, Longarm did as he was told. He rolled, stopping on his back so that he could see what the Fort Smith officer was doing.
At the moment, the policeman was still standing where he’d been covering Longarm with the shotgun. It was a hammerless double, and Longarm couldn’t see from his position whether the safety was off or on.
Not that it would make much difference, he thought ruefully. Only a damned fool makes a move when he’s in the kind of fix I’m in right now.
Moving deliberately, without taking his eyes off Longarm, the constable picked up Longarm’s Colt. He dropped it into the capacious side pocket of his uniform coat, then he said, “All right. You can stand up now.”
Longarm got to his feet. He was once again faced with the same problem that had stopped him from surrendering to the railroad detective. For all he knew, and based on what Andrew Gower had told him, half of the Fort Smith constables might be on Belle Starr’s payoff list. He’d gotten by this far without the risk of revealing his identity to anybody except Gower, and with the end of his job in sight, he didn’t propose to waste the effort he’d already put in on the case.
Though he hadn’t quite decided just how he was going to handle things in this new situation, Longarm still stalled for time. He said, “If you’ll just listen to me a minute, officer, I’ll explain what this was all about.”
“I don’t need any explanation from you,” the constable said curtly. “I got here just as Castell was dropping. That’s all I need. You can give your explanation to the judge when you stand up to face a murder charge.”
“Castell? That’d be the fellow who was trying to hold me up?” Longarm asked.
“If you mean the man you just killed, his name’s Castell and he was a railroad bull for the Frisco. And if he was holding a gun on you, he must’ve had a reason to.”
“Sure he did. He wanted the money I’ve got in my coat pocket.”
“How’d he find out you’re carrying enough money to make him draw his gun on you?” the officer asked suspiciously. “That won’t wash worth a damn, mister. We got a report there was a gunfight going on here at the depot. That was quite a while ago. You and Castell must’ve been swapping shots for some time.”
“He mistook me for somebody else,” Longarm said. “That’s how the trouble started.”
“I think you’re lying. Castell can’t tell his side, and I’m damned if I’m going to let you get away with killing somebody, even a half-assed yard bull.” The constable shifted the shotgun in order to get to his handcuffs, which were dangling from a strap on his wide uniform belt.
Longarm took the only chance he was likely to get. With the speed of a striking snake, he whisked his hand along his watch chain to get the derringer that nestled in his vest pocket. Before the Fort Smith officer could bring his shotgun around, Longarm’s derringer was jammed into his throat.
Longarm said, “Now it’s your turn to keep quiet and follow orders, mister. First off, I’ll take that scattergun you’re holding.” He took the shotgun and slid the breech-lock aside with his thumb. The action opened and he held the gun up to drop its shells on the ground. “Now hand over your pistol,” he ordered. He gave the Smith & Wesson revolver the same treatment, breaking its breech to let the ejector ring lift out the shells, then upending the weapon to let the shells fall out. He handed the revolver back to the constable. “Here. Put it in your holster.”
“You mind telling me what you’re going to do?” the officer asked.
“I was just about to. If this depot’s like most I’ve seen, there’s likely a hack or two outside. We’re going to walk around the station to the sidewalk, and you’re going to tell the hackman to drive us along to Front Street. And that’s all you need to know right now.”
For a moment the constable seemed on the verge of refusing, but Longarm applied a bit of extra pressure with the derringer’s muzzle, and the man shrugged.
“all right,” he said. “If that’s what you want, I guess you’re the boss right now.”
As they walked around the back of the depot, Longarm moved the derringer from his captive’s throat to his ribs. The constable didn’t make any effort to escape or to slow their progress. As Longarm had anticipated, there were several livery rigs standing beside the sidewalk in front of the depot. He poked the man’s ribs with the derringer. The constable called to the hackman on the seat of the last carriage in line, “Police business! Take us down Front Street until I tell you to turn off.”
“You paying the hire?” the hackie asked suspiciously.
“I told you it’s police business,” the constable growled impatiently. “Now do what I said. Drive us along Front Street.”
Inside the hack, Longarm told the constable, “I’ll just take your handcuffs and keys now.”
Under the threat of the mean-looking little derringer, the officer passed the cuffs and keys to Longarm. He made no objection when Longarm handcuffed his hands behind his back and put the key into his own pocket. Then Longarm felt in the constable’s hip pocket and found the bandanna handkerchief he’d been pretty sure would be there. The bandana went around the constable’s mouth, silencing him.
The hack had been moving slowly up Front Street. Longarm looked out just in time to see the federal
