splinter into small groups.
'I've got about an hour of daylight left is all,' Longarm said. 'Best make use of it.'
'Good luck, Deputy. I wish there was something that I could do to help you. There must be more lawmen coming.'
'I prefer to work alone,' Longarm said. 'But you can bet that railroad detectives, Pinkerton agents, and other federal marshals are on their way. Thing of it is, I was on that train and it was my prisoner that escaped.'
'Yeah,' Allen said. 'And it was my men and passengers that died.'
Longarm tugged his Stetson low over his eyes and rode on, following the wagon and its tracks. The gang of train robbers was smart enough to travel single file in front of the wagon and its team of horses so that it was impossible to read how many there were. However, Longarm thought that he was following at least a half dozen-- and perhaps many more. If there was any good news at all, it was that so many men would attract attention and be remembered by anyone who saw them--anyone, that is, who lived to report a sighting.
CHAPTER 5
As sundown fired the western sky, Longarm crested the backbone of the Laramie Mountains and began to search for a campsite. There was a cold wind sweeping through the pines, and Longarm sought a heavy stand of timber to cut the wind. At least, he thought, there was no sign of another storm on the horizon. If there had been, Longarm would have pushed on by starlight, following the tracks all night if possible.
To Longarm's surprise, the outlaws' trail led to an old, abandoned cabin where the train robbers had spent their first night. In addition to the cabin, there was a sturdy pole corral. Before penning his weary sorrel, Longarm once again searched for any bit of knowledge that would serve him in the future. The buckboard used by the gang had been left behind and it held no clues.
All that Longarm discovered after an inspection of the corral was a horse's hoofprint revealing a broken right shoe. That, and a cigarette butt that was wrapped in an unusual pale yellow paper that Longarm had not seen before. Otherwise, the corral, the cabin, and the surrounding yard offered not a shred of evidence that would help to identify the train robbers.
'These boys are pretty careful,' Longarm muttered as he hauled his bedroll and gear into the cabin and then set about to make himself a small fire on a stone hearth.
That night, the wind blew hard and cold. Longarm slept poorly, and was up before dawn to saddle his horse. He could not exactly say why, but he was sure that the train robbers were heading for Laramie. No doubt they would filter into the busy town in ones and twos in order to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
Longarm's hunch was confirmed a few hours later when the tracks indicated that the gang had gathered about a mile west of town, then separated into a number of small groups, all moving toward Laramie from different directions and probably all staggered so that they'd arrive over a period of several hours.
'But then what?' Longarm asked himself aloud. 'Do they live in Laramie? Work on ranches in the vicinity? Or will they drift on down the line singly and in pairs, only to regroup and plot another train robbery?'
These were the questions that plagued Longarm as he approached Laramie. Unlike Cheyenne, Laramie had existed before the arrival of the Union Pacific Railroad. The town had been named after Jacques Laramie, a Frenchman who had first passed through this beautiful country while trapping beaver for the American Fur Company. Following his path had come the emigrants, soldiers, and fortune-seekers, many tracing the old Cherokee Trail. Fort Sanders, just to the South, had offered protection to the Overland Stage Line, and later for the predominantly Irish survey and construction crews of the Union Pacific.
Longarm had always liked this town, which was nestled against the western base of the mountains. Laramie was picturesque, and could boast of its wild and exciting history. Vigilantes had played a big part in the early years, and now Laramie was home to not only the railroad employees, but also to the cowboys, loggers, and even miners who worked this ruggedly beautiful part of Wyoming.
When the tracks he followed had begun to branch into many splintered pairs, just as Longarm had anticipated, he'd made sure that he followed the horse with the broken shoe. It was an easy track to follow, and Longarm was pinning all his hopes on being able to locate the animal and then its owner. If he could just nab one of the train robbers, he might be able to get a confession leading to the arrest of the entire gang.
The track he had chosen to follow, however, became obliterated at the edge of Laramie, where it was trampled and churned under by heavy wagon and horse traffic. Longarm sighed with resignation. He knew he had been unrealistic in his hope that the track would be plainly visible all the way into town, but still, he needed some break in this case.
At the edge of town, Longarm drew his horse to a standstill and considered his options for a moment. Actually, there was only one--he had to find the horse with the broken shoe before it was reshod and his only clue was lost.
'Best go see the town's blacksmiths,' he said to himself, thinking that the train robber had to be aware that his horse needed to be reshod.
Unfortunately, there were three blacksmiths operating in Laramie. Longarm made it a Point to visit them all. The first blacksmith had just closed his business and moved to California, but the second blacksmith was hard at work when Longarm arrived on his sweaty sorrel.
'Morning,' he said to the man, who was in the middle of shoeing a horse. 'I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long. Fella up the street told me that your name is Ned Rowe.'
'Whoever he was talks too damned much.'
The horse being shod was acting up and the blacksmith was clearly angry. 'Can't you see that I'm right in the middle of a horse that's about to raise holy hell!'
'I can see that,' Longarm said. 'So why don't you put his foot down and step back for a minute. I've got a couple of questions I'd like to ask.'
'You may be a federal officer, but you don't pay my rent,' the blacksmith growled. 'So if you got anything to say, say it while I'm tacking on this shoe. I ain't got no time to waste on free talk, DePutY.'
'Mister, I don't see how you stay in business with such a chip on your shoulder.'
The blacksmith glared at Longarm. 'If you had to shoe as many ornery horses and mules as I do each day to
