Free Longarm #398 : Longarm and the Range War (9781101553701) by Tabor Evans

persuading. In fact the lady required no persuasion at all. She quickly opened herself to him, giving back as good as she got with thrusts and moans, clutching him hard with arms and legs alike.
    When they were done, Helen insisted on pouring some water into the basin and washing his cock and balls. With a smile she said, “So you won’t be sticky all day. Change your mind about that breakfast?” she offered.
    â€œNo, I don’t think so. But I hope I’d be welcome to come back for another roll in your hay sometime.”
    â€œAnytime,” she said.
    He dressed quickly and carefully settled the .45 at his waist. He liked to be precise about the placement of the Colt. Just in case he needed to get to it in a hurry.
    When he was done, Longarm kissed Helen good-bye and slipped out the back door into a trash-strewn alley rather than be obvious about leaving her place when she was just opening her doors to business. He did not want to ruin the lady’s reputation, after all.
    He emerged from the alley onto a side street and walked over to the lone café, which now had opened for the day.
    The place quite understandably was full, customers crowding the tables until there were only two chairs open. Longarm approached one of them. “Mind if I join you fellas?”
    The three men already seated at that table barely looked up. “Sure thing, Marshal,” one said, waving in the general direction of the vacant chair.
    Longarm sat and tilted his Stetson back from his forehead. “Seems you boys already know who I am. An’ you would be . . . ?”
    The man who had spoken left off chewing for a moment and said, “I’m Cullen Tifton. These here are Kurt . . . he’s the ugly one there on the left,” a comment that brought a wide grin from the gentleman in question, “and Karl Biederman. They’re krauts.”
    â€œ Deutsch ,” Karl corrected.
    â€œRight. Krauts,” Tifton said with a chuckle. Longarm gathered these three were friends of long standing.
    â€œKurt and Karl raise chickens. They butcher cockerels and sell eggs too, of course. I raise the grain they feed to their chickens and I run some hogs in the brakes. We all of us farm just south of town where the valley spreads out some. It’s good country.”
    â€œSo I noticed on the drive up here from Casper,” Longarm said.
    â€œYou’re here about the range war, I suppose,” Tifton said.
    â€œAye, so I am. What can you tell me about the trouble that’s brewing?” Longarm asked.
    Karl piped up. “Dem Meskins, they crazy sons bitches. Try to steal our birds.” He turned his head and feigned spitting. “Bastards. Dey come back, I shoot their asses. Got me a shotgun. Load it with salt and shoot der asses, ja , I vill.”
    â€œDo you know anything about the Mexicans threatening the Basques?” Longarm asked.
    â€œWay I heard it,” Tifton said, “it was the Basques saying they were going to fight to keep the Mexicans’ goats off their graze.”
    Longarm thought for a moment and asked, “Mind telling me where you heard the Basques wanted to start a fight?”
    â€œCommon knowledge,” Tifton said, “but I can’t say as I remember where I heard it. Around town, I guess.”
    â€œYou?” Longarm asked the Biederman brothers.
    â€œI do not remember this,” the one on the left said. Longarm could not remember whether that would be Karl or Kurt.
    â€œThey say the Meskin goats eat too much grass. The Basque sheep need that, eh?” the other added.
    â€œIt’s open range,” Longarm said.
    Tifton shrugged. “They want to keep it all for themselves. So do the Mexicans. I say let them kill each other off if that’s what they want.”
    â€œNo,” Kurt said. “They buy our egg. Their money is good.”
    â€œI just don’t like the idea of foreigners . . . no offense, boys . . . of