'You don't say?'
'I do say.'
Longarm paid the man, tipping him well. 'If anyone asks, I rode southeast on my way to Denver.'
'Sure thing,' Jimmy said, sticking out his hand. 'Good luck. If I was a younger man, I'd up and ride after them train-wreckin' bastards.'
Longarm mounted his sorrel. 'Did you have some friends on that wrecked train?'
The blacksmith's expression turned wintry. 'Yeah, I had me a son-in-law that's got both legs broken. The doctor says he'll always walk with a limp and probably never be able to swing up on a horse again. I'm not sure what he's going to do to support my daughter and grandson in the years ahead.'
'He could work for you.'
'He can if he wants,' Jimmie said. 'But I'm hard to get along with, and he favors holding a rope to a blacksmith's hammer.'
'He'll learn that blacksmithing is steadier than cowboying and a better life for a family man,' Longarm said.
He rode out a few minutes later, careful to keep off the main street. When he had passed beyond the outskirts of town, he put his heels to the sorrel's flanks and headed for the lightning-blackened pine that Jimmy had described. And sure enough, there were the tracks of the horseshoes. Most shoes were squared off at the ends, but for some reason, Ned Rowe forged and hammered them off in points. It was going to make following the blacksmith very easy.
For the next three hours, Longarm pushed the sorrel hard. The trouble was Ned Rowe was in just as much of a hurry. Longarm followed the palomino's tracks, which paralleled the Union Pacific for about twenty miles, then angled due north into some low hills. It was not until sundown that Longarm spotted the glint of metal on the horizon, and guessed that it was the reflection of a concho or even polished spurs or a bit. He was within a mile of overtaking the Laramie blacksmith.
'That will be Ned Rowe,' Longarm muttered into the teeth of a cold wind sweeping in from the north.
Longarm followed the tracks for another quarter hour and when he came to a low ridge, he tied his horse to a bush and then went ahead on foot until he reached the crown of the ridge. There he flattened and crawled up to take a peek at the country just beyond.
What he saw was a long, winding valley cut by a meandering stream. Farther out were cottonwoods, a small ranch house with corrals, and some crude outbuildings. And riding up the valley as bold as brass was Ned Rowe on his palomino horse. When the man drew near the house, he drew his side arm and fired it into the air to announce his arrival. With the shot, a pair of men suddenly emerged from the house.
Longarm watched as Rowe dismounted and was enthusiastically greeted. After a few minutes, they all went inside to escape the biting wind.
Longarm eased back from the crown of the ridge and considered his next move. Night was fast falling, and there was an ominous cut to the wind that told Longarm he might be in for another snowstorm or at least a hard rain. The prospect of remaining out on those exposed Wyoming plains was not appealing. For another thing, the three men in the ranch house might be totally innocent of any crime and have nothing to do with the train robbery, despite Jimmie's well-formed suspicions.
Longarm decided to wait another hour. Then it would be dark and he could sneak up on the ranch house and attempt to eavesdrop. If he were detected, he could always try to get the drop on Ned and his friends. He'd then interrogate them until he either had confessions or was convinced that they were innocent.
That decided, Longarm passed the next frigid hour hugging the crown of the ridge. He watched the lights go on in the ranch house and the sun go down in the west. It was a beautiful sunset, but the dark clouds that were momentarily fired by the sunset had the look of rain or snow. One way or another, Longarm decided, he wasn't going to spend the night out on this barren plain and freeze his ass off waiting for something to happen.
When it was time to go, Longarm tightened his cinch and rode down into the valley. It was an excellent site for a cattle ranch and the grass, though brown now, was thick and would be rich feed for cattle and horses next spring.
The ranch house was ablaze with lights, and even though a cold rain began to fall, Longarm had no trouble finding his way to the place, nor did he fear being detected by the three men before he had the drop on them. There was a barn and he rode into it, grateful for the shelter. The sorrel nickered wearily as Longarm unsaddled it and then fed it hay in the middle of the barn floor.
When Longarm left, he pulled the heavy doors shut and hurried across the muddy yard. The ranch house had a front porch, and Longarm stepped lightly onto it drawing his six-gun. He ducked under a front window and listened, hoping to hear something that could make his job easy.
But Ned Rowe and the three men were playing cards and joking among themselves, as near as Longarm could tell over the sound of hard rain falling on the porch's tin roof. When Longarm tried to peek into the window, he discovered that the panes were so filthy both on the inside and outside surfaces that clarity was impossible.
After about fifteen minutes, Longarm realized that he was stiffening from the cold. The wind was icy and he needed to get inside, but he was not ready to barge in the front door because he was almost certain this would result in a bloody gunfight.
Pulling his Stetson low on his forehead, Longarm ducked back under the window, crossed the front porch, and edged along the house until he came to a back door, which he was able to open without a hitch. He drew his gun and stepped into the kitchen, then tiptoed forward until he stopped less than ten feet from Ned Rowe and his card- playing friends.
'And I'll raise you twenty dollars,' Ned challenged.
'Then I'll call you!'
Ned won with three jacks, but Longarm hardly paid the game a moment's thought. What was most interesting was that the three men were betting with a stack of what appeared to be railroad stock certificates. The type that had been stolen during the train wreck.
