challenges. Once again, he was free to answer that siren's call.
Grinning to himself, Longarm said quietly, 'Much obliged, Billy. Reckon I must've been out of my head, 'cause I pert' near made a mighty big mistake.'
His mistake, Longarm reflected as he ducked the huge, knobby fist coming right at his face, had been getting off the damn train in the first place. He should have turned around and gone back to Denver and that rich widow. Cussing himself for his own indecisiveness and Billy Vail for being so blasted smart, he threw himself forward, driving his shoulder into the belly of the man who was trying to knock his head off.
The lumberjack staggered backward on the platform of the train station. Longarm caught hold of the man's legs and heaved upward, and with a wild yell the lumberjack went over on his back, landing heavily on the planks. Longarm almost fell too, but he caught his balance in time to stay upright. He twisted around, waiting to see who was going to jump him next.
Instead, he saw that the ruckus was about to escalate from fisticuffs to gunplay. One of the cowboys was reaching for a Colt.
Longarm stepped forward quickly, palming out his own.44 from the cross-draw rig on his left hip. The cowboy who figured to start shooting had his back half-turned to Longarm, so Longarm was able to take him unawares and clout him on the skull. The puncher's high-crowned hat absorbed most of the blow's force, just as Longarm intended, but it was still enough to drive him to his knees and make the half-drawn gun slip from his fingers.
Since he already had his own Colt in his hand, Longarm put a round into the roof that extended out over the platform. The roar of the gun made the brawlers scattered around the platform stop what they were doing. In some cases, they froze with fists cocked back in readiness for another punch.
'That's enough, damn it!' shouted Longarm. 'Next fella who throws a punch is liable to be hobbling for the rest of his life from a bullet through the leg!'
One of the lumberjacks glowered at him and demanded, 'Who the hell're you, mister?'
'And what gives you the right to go mixin' in with our business?' added one of the cowboys.
'I'm a gent who just waded into a fight that ain't any of his concern,' said Longarm, preferring not to flash his badge and reveal his true identity this early in the case, 'but when you go to trying to knock my head off, I'll make it my business.'
'Nobody figured to hurt you, mister,' said one of the lumberjacks, rubbing a sore jaw. He pointed across the platform, where the cowboys were regrouping. 'It's them damn cow nurses who caused all the trouble!'
'That's a damn lie!' shot back one of the cowboys. 'It was you ax-swingin' bastards who bulled in where you weren't wanted!'
'If it wasn't for us, this whole state would go belly-up! You can't raise cattle in the mountains!'
'The hell you say! We can raise cattle any damn place we want!'
Longarm sighed tiredly. It looked like he might have stepped right into one of the sources of the trouble he was here to investigate.
Several days had passed since he had left Denver. Several days spent in railroad cars that rattled more and shook more the closer he came to his destination, days spent breathing air that grew more and more cinder- clogged. Finally, the narrow-gauge spur line that ran up here into the foothills of the Cascade Mountains had deposited him in a place called Timber City, and when he had stepped off the train, he had found himself smack-dab in the middle of a melee between lumberjacks in lace-up boots, khaki pants, and red-checked shirts and cowboys in chaps and Stetsons and cowhide vests. To save his own hide, he had been forced to drop his warbag, saddle, and rifle and defend himself.
The combatants had grudgingly stopped fighting. The lumberjacks formed a sullen group on one side of the train station's platform, the cowboys an equally petulant knot of rannies on the other side. Longarm looked at both groups in disgust and slid his revolver back into its holster. He turned back to the spot where he had dropped his gear and picked it up again.
'You can beat the hell out of each other when I'm gone,' he said. 'I don't give a damn either way.'
He stalked across the platform and into the lobby of the depot. The railroad clerk had come out from behind his ticket counter so that he could watch the brawl through the windows. Now he retreated behind the counter as Longarm came toward him.
'Yes, sir, what can I do for you?' the man asked.
Longarm set his saddle down and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the platform behind him. 'What in blazes was that ruckus about?'
The clerk sighed and shook his head. 'They don't need a reason. Whenever those loggers from Mcentire's camp are anywhere around the punchers from the Diamond K, a fight breaks out, just like clockwork.'
'They don't get along, huh?'
'That's putting it mildly, Mister...'
'Long, Custis Long.' Longarm had never been to Timber City before, so he didn't see any reason not to use his real name. If he ran into anybody he had been responsible for throwing in jail in the past, they would recognize him as much by his tall, rangy build and longhorn mustache as they would by his name. He went on. 'I reckon the Diamond K must be one of the spreads hereabouts.'
'That's right. It's about ten miles north of here, spread out along the foothills at the base of the Cascades. And that's about where the Mcentire lumber camp is, only it's up higher in the mountains.'
Longarm nodded, thankful for the fact that most pencil pushers like this gent were the talkative sort. 'Well, I'll be sure not to get in the middle of those two bunches again. A fella could get killed, happen he wasn't careful.'
The clerk looked solemn. 'Several men have been killed already, I'm afraid. All by accident... or so the story goes.'
'That so?'
