Chapter 2
The ice was two inches deep on the water troughs the next morning. Longarm didn’t care. His firstclass ticket would afford him a rare five days of comfort after he boarded the Denver Pacific Railroad, whose 106-mile line would deliver him to Cheyenne. From Cheyenne, he would transfer into another firstclass berth on the Union Pacific, which would carry him in luxury all the way to Reno.
Longarm did not appear to be at all the same man who had ridden into Denver the previous morning sore, tired, and dirty from a long, hard ride up from Arizona. In fact, those who had seen the tall, haggard deputy marshal would not even recognize him as the well-to-do-looking gentleman who now held a firstclass ticket in his hand and wore a new suit, new black Stetson, and new boots. Longarm had spent most of his extra government money on his clothes, but he figured he was worth it. Besides, he could never have traveled firstclass looking like a saddle bum without attracting a great deal of attention.
“Why, Marshal Long!” the conductor said as Custis boarded the train. “I hardly recognized you and-“
“Don’t recognize me, Jess. Okay?” Longarm pulled the conductor up the aisle where they could not be overheard. “You see, I’m sort of traveling incognito.”
“Incog what?” Jess asked, his face a complete blank.
“I’m sort of traveling in disguise, Jess. I’m traveling firstclass, and I’d appreciate it if you’d just act like I was your ordinary successful and wealthy businessman, rancher, or politician. You understand?”
Jess had been a conductor on this line since its start in 1870 and he was a fixture. Long past normal retirement age, the old gent was extremely popular both among the passengers and the other railroad employees.
But right now, he was confused. “Why, sure, but … well, what am I supposed to call you?”
“Mr. Long. Not Marshal, or Longarm, or even Custis, because that would be too informal if I’m supposed to be a prominent businessman.”
“All right,” Jess said, “but everyone else on this train is going to be callin’ out ‘Longarm’ or ‘Deputy,’ and I don’t hardly see how you can stop ‘em.”
“Maybe it isn’t even necessary until I get on the Union Pacific,” Longarm said. “But let’s just start pretending right now. Okay?”
“Why sure, Cust … Mr. Long.”
“Good.” Longarm gave the man his firstclass ticket. “I’ll expect the best of your service, just like everyone else in first class.”
The conductor stared at the ticket. “Is this costing us taxpayers?” he asked with a frown.
“I’m afraid so, although it’s only an additional forty-three dollars over the second-class fare between Cheyenne and Reno,” Longarm said, understanding the old man’s disapproval. “And I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
Jess’s pale and watery blue eyes widened and he grinned. “What is it?”
“I’m going to recover a bunch of stolen taxpayers’ money and that’s why I have to spend a little extra on this firstclass ticket.”
“How much are you going to recover?”
“I can’t tell you that, Jess. But at least a hundred times what it’s costing the taxpayers to send me to Reno.”
“That’s where you’re going?”
Longarm nodded.
“Then you must be after that ten thousand dollars that was stolen off the Union Pacific Railroad a couple of months ago up near Donner Pass!”
“Shhh!” Longarm put his finger to his lips. “Dammit, Jess, I don’t want any of this leaking out. Do you understand me?”
“Well, sure!” Jess vowed, looking slightly offended. “I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
“I know that,” Longarm said, wanting to mollify the conductor. “Now just keep all of this under your cap and we’ll both be a lot better off.”
“I’ll do it, and I’ll tell your firstclass porter and the dining room staff not to call out your name.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Longarm said with relief. “I’m sure that a few of my fellow firstclass passengers will also transfer at Cheyenne and proceed on to Reno. When I get to Nevada, I hope to go about my investigation without anyone knowing who I am.”
“It’d help if you shaved off that mustache and got a haircut.”
“I got a haircut just yesterday.”
“A real short haircut, Marsh … I mean, Mr. Long. The fellas with money have their hair cut a whole lot shorter than you.”
“So do prison convicts,” Longarm said. He removed his new black-felt Stetson. “Fine hat, isn’t it?”
“It sure is, but it looks just like your old one, only it’s new. You should have bought a derby.”
“I hate derbies and bowlers,” Longarm said with considerable passion. “They look like soup bowls turned upside down on a fella’s head. The little bitty brim is worthless for keeping the sun out of a man’s eyes, and it’ll allow the back of a horseman’s neck to get burned to a crisp.”
“Yeah, only people with money don’t much ride horses, Custis. They ride carriages.”
The old man had a good point, which Longarm chose to ignore. “You’re to call me Mr. Long, remember?”
