reached the shelter of the big wooden boxes, he knelt there and tried to catch his breath.
This place was like a damned maze, he saw now as he looked around. Paths twisted and turned between the stacks of crates, and the handful of lanterns that were lit didn’t provide enough light. There were shadows everywhere. Things had probably been set up that way on purpose, Longarm thought. Anybody who looked inside the warehouse from the street would be unable to see the printing press set up in the center of the big room.
But Longarm had gotten a glimpse of it, and he knew it would be important to the counterfeiters because the plates were probably still locked into it. He had to hope they were, anyway, because while he couldn’t get a clear shot at any of the gang from where he was, he thought he might be able to put some slugs into the press.
He sprawled on the floor and edged his head past the corner of the crate. Through a narrow opening, he caught a glimpse of the heavy metal contraption that spewed out the false currency. He triggered three times, fast, and was rewarded by the clang of a bullet striking the press.
“No!” someone cried. That was probably Nowlan, Longarm thought. “Somebody stop him before he ruins everything!”
That was obliging of the fella. Longarm was sure now the plates were still in the press. He sent the final shot in his .44 toward the narrow gap, and then hunkered behind the crates again as bullets chewed bites from the wood and searched like angry hornets through the air around him. He took a box of cartridges from his coat pocket and calmly reloaded the .44. At least, he tried to stay calm. He was sweating again. Damn New Mexico heat.
Longarm could tell from the sound of the shots that Harrelson, Seeley, and Truelove had renewed their attack. Some of the pressure was off them now that more members of the gang were concentrating their fire on Longarm’s hiding place. In fact, after a moment the fusillade from the other lawmen increased even more.
That, in turn, took some of the heat off Longarm, and he was able to stand up without worrying too much about getting a bullet through the head. He peeked around the crates and saw how the stacks were lined up. The aisles between them were narrow, so narrow in places that a broad-shouldered man—like Custis Long—might have had to turn sideways to get through them.
He holstered his gun as a plan formed in his mind. Placing his hands against the top crate and flattening his body against the lower boxes in the stack, he started to push.
He wasn’t sure what was inside the crates. Considering what was going on in this warehouse, bundles of phony money were the most likely possibility. Whatever was inside the crates, they were heavy enough so that Longarm had to grunt and strain for a long moment before the stack began to tilt.
But when the crates fell, they fell hard, and they landed on more crates, knocking them over, and then those crates fell on others.
It was just like little kids playing with dominos, Longarm thought as he stepped back hurriedly and drew his gun again. The falling of the crates continued toward the center of the warehouse, where the gang was holed up. The crashing grew so loud it was deafening.
Dust rose along with the startled shouts of the gang, clogging the air so that it was hard to see. The counterfeiters broke out of hiding abruptly, going all directions at once. Longarm spotted a couple of them coming toward him, guns in their hands.
“Throw down those pistols!” Longarm bellowed. “This is the law!”
The counterfeiters ignored the order and jerked their guns upward.
That was exactly the reaction Longarm had expected. His .44 was already leveled, and he fired twice before either of the men could get off a shot. The slugs bored into their chests, throwing them back so that they disappeared into the clouds of dust again.
The next man came shooting, and Longarm had to dive forward onto his belly. He triggered once as bullets whined over his head. The counterfeiter spun around and tumbled off his feet.
“There goes Nowlan!” a voice shouted urgently. Longarm recognized it as Jim Harrelson’s.
The deputies’ orders were to take Edward Nowlan alive if possible. A quick death wasn’t punishment enough for a man who had made the federal government look like a pack of monkeys for more than a year. The powers that be wanted him behind bars where he could suffer properly. Besides, the theory was that despite being a master engraver, Nowlan wasn’t the head of this operation. Someone had backed him. The law wanted to know who.
But sometimes wanting to take a prisoner alive was one thing, and being able to do it was something else entirely. In this case, as Longarm scrambled quickly to his right to intercept the fleeing Edward Nowlan, the counterfeiter pointed the gun in his hand at the deputy and started blazing away.
Nowlan was no gunfighter. None of the bullets struck Longarm. But one of them came close enough to take a hunk out of the brim of his hat, and another practically kissed his ear as it whipped by. Longarm’s instincts made him return the fire. He aimed low, however, hoping to cripple Nowlan without mortally wounding him.
That might have been possible if Nowlan’s feet hadn’t slid on the sawdust on the floor. His legs went out from under him, and he fell as Longarm triggered twice. The first bullet missed, but the second one entered Nowlan’s mouth as the man yelped in alarm. The slug tore through Nowlan’s throat and out the back of his head, taking the lower third of his brain with it. He was dead, his limbs jerking crazily, by the time he landed on the floor.
“Hell!” Longarm said fervently.
The shots were dying away, and they came to a stop as Longarm strode angrily toward Nowlan’s body. “Long!” Harrelson shouted. “Are you all right, Long?”
“Over here,” Longarm called in return. “I got Nowlan.”
The dust was settling, and Longarm saw Harrelson’s bulky shape coming toward him through the thinning clouds. Harrelson stopped beside Nowlan’s body and looked down at the corpse with a frown. “We were supposed to take him alive,” he said.
“We were supposed to hit the front and back at the same time too,” snapped Longarm. “What happened?”
Harrelson’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “We made more noise taking care of the guards out front than I intended. Figured we had already tipped off anybody inside that something was happening, so we decided to get on in here while we could.”
That was reasonable enough, Longarm supposed, although he thought that after warning him to be quiet,
