Free Longarm and the Deadwood Shoot-out (9781101619209) by Tabor Evans Page A

beginning to show up and down the street and decided on a saloon that was close to the center of town. His experience was that such places generally had a quiet clientele. That would suit him just fine for this evening.
    As he had hoped the place was, if not silent, at least calm when he entered. There were a good many customers, most of them seated at the several round tables that dotted the sawdust.
    Another good sign was that there were no whores in the place. It was obviously a saloon where the local gents came to drink and socialize and unwind after their days of doing whatever it was that they did to make a living.
    Longarm nodded to the barkeep and placed a quarteron the bar. “Rye whiskey an’ a beer chaser,” he said. He examined the free lunch spread and helped himself to a pickled egg.
    “Coming right up, friend.”
    The rye was of an excellent quality, and the beer had a crisp, clean flavor. Longarm saluted the bartender with his glass.
    “Excuse me, mister.”
    Longarm turned to see a gentleman in sleeve garters and a bowler hat. “Yes?”
    “I don’t know if you play poker, but we’re looking for a fourth hand at our table. It’s just casual play. Low stakes, if that makes a difference. We’d be pleased if you’d join us.”
    Longarm smiled. “Sir, you just made my evenin’. I’d be right happy t’ join you.”
    He spent the next very pleasant hours playing stud poker and came away about a dollar and a half down. Longarm considered it money well spent for a thoroughly enjoyable evening.
    About ten o’clock the game broke up, the other gents heading home to their families. Longarm stayed for a nightcap, then tipped the bartender a half dollar and headed back toward the hotel.

Chapter 26
    Come morning Longarm was lazy; he stayed in bed a good half hour past dawn. Then he got up, dressed, and went in search of first a breakfast and then a shave. Both were more than satisfactory. The barber in particular had a nice touch, his razor featherlight on the skin but leaving not a hint of beard behind. Longarm was so pleased with his shave that he tipped the man a dime.
    Done with the morning necessities, he looked up Town Marshal John Bennett—tall, young, and eager—but learned nothing new about the robberies. From there he found the Bastrop office and spoke with the line’s agent.
    Lew Arnold was a shopkeeper who contracted with Bastrop to handle their freight and ticketing rather than being employed by the line full time. He was aware of the robberies, of course, but could add nothing to what Longarm already knew.
    “In my opinion, Marshal,” Arnold said, “Tom Bowen was not the man who pulled those other robberies.”
    “I agree,” Longarm told him.
    Arnold nodded toward the front door of his saddleryand harness shop. “In case you’re interested, I saw Jeanine go past a couple minutes ago. Looked like she was headed for Bix Dooley’s place.”
    “And Dooley would be…?”
    “Our barber. He has…”
    “The body. Right,” Longarm said. “I helped drop him off the stagecoach yesterday.”
    Considering that he was the person who shot her husband down, Widow Bowen might not welcome a sympathy call from Custis Long. Still, he felt he owed it to the lady to pay his respects. He thanked Lew Arnold and headed back to the barbershop he had left just a couple of hours earlier.
    The street in front of the barbershop had been empty when Longarm was there before, Belle Fourche not being so large that men could not walk in for their morning shaves. Now there was a buckboard parked there, drawn by a pair of undersized Spanish mules.
    Longarm paused to scratch the mules under their jaws—he liked mules and anyway was in no hurry to confront Jeanine Bowen—then squared shoulders and marched inside.
    The only person he saw inside was a customer who was already in the chair, lathered and covered with an apron.
    “Where’s Dooley?” Longarm asked.
    The customer pointed toward the back of the place.