Free Longarm #396 : Longarm and the Castle of the Damned (9781101545249) by Tabor Evans Page B

be there was a pretty good reason why the horse was cantankerous, Longarm thought. Not that it was any of his business, but there were better ways to treat an animal.
    It took something of a tussle, but the stableman managed to get bridle and saddle onto the dun, then handed the reins to Longarm. “All yours, mister. Bring him back when you’re done with him.”
    Longarm more than half suspected that the stableman was wanting to have a little amusement out of this deal. Likely he wanted to enjoy the show while one Custis Long was getting his ass bucked off the horse.
    Well, if it was a show he wanted, it was a show he would get.
    Longarm vaulted onto the dun’s back and clamped his legs tight to the horse’s barrel.
    By some odd chance the dun’s hind end happened to be pointed toward the liveryman at the time. The horse’s powerful hindquarters bunched and both back legs lashed out. One hoof caught the livery man square in the stomach, missing his nuts by inches.
    The man doubled over and Longarm quickly reined the dun away. After all, he wanted to give the idiot a lesson, not kill him.
    Longarm sat the dun through four more powerful explosions of muscle and fury before he guided the horse out into the street, reining it down long enough for him to find the stirrups. Then he eased off the pressure on the horse’s mouth and let it blow off some steam.
    The horse had both power and spirit, and he suspected the man at the Rawlins livery stable had chosen a horse that was much better than the fellow realized.
    â€œAll right, old son,” Longarm muttered aloud. “Let’s you an’ me do some travelin’.”
    The dun, he noticed, turned its ears about at the sound of his soothing voice. When Longarm nudged it with his heels, the horse flicked its ears forward again and set out at a swift, smooth road gait.
    Longarm was smiling when he rode south toward Baggs.

Chapter 23
    There just was not a whole hell of a lot to Baggs. A handful of stores surrounded by a scattering of houses and that was it. It was fine country for cows, though, with good grass and some surface water. Not so good for farming, because of the rock lying just beneath the surface of the soil. A few windmills jutting above the skyline suggested there was water not too far underground. All in all, Longarm thought, mighty good country.
    The dun stepped high and handsome down the road from Rawlins and gave him no trouble at all along the way. Indeed, Longarm thought, it was a much better horse than its owner knew. The animal just needed an easy hand and some exercise. Likely it was bored just standing inside a small pen day in and day out. Longarm had no business owning a horse, but if he did, he would want one like this.
    He pulled up outside a general mercantile that had a UNITED STATES POST OFFICE sign posted in a front window. Other signs indicated the store was also a stagecoach station, a buyer of wool, a dealer in farm equipment, and a telegraph operator, plus proudly proclaiming that the proprietor was one Alvin D. Zaum.
    Longarm tied the dun at the hitching rail and entered the cluttered store. A thin man, bald as a boiled egg, was behind the counter. He wore spectacles and an apron so spotlessly white as to almost blind a man from the glare. Well, almost.
    â€œYou would be Mr. Zaum, I presume?” Longarm said.
    â€œYou presume correctly, sir,” the gent in the apron said.
    Longarm introduced himself.
    â€œIt’s a pleasure to meet you, Marshal. How may I help you?” Zaum asked.
    â€œI’m lookin’ for a gent name of Carl Crowne or anyways his family. I’m told they have a place somewhere around here.”
    â€œOh, yes. Henry Crowne and Henrietta are fine folks. I’ve known them for some years now. You won’t find any finer.”
    â€œCould you tell me how to get to their place, please?”
    â€œEasily done. You ride due east about eight miles then take the