Longarm 241: Longarm and the Colorado Counterfeiter by Tabor Evans Page B

a shot. The man went backward out of the saddle. Before he could get anywhere near the ground, Longarm had already levered another shell into the chamber and fired at the third man, the one in front of the one he had just shot. He too went flying off his horse, throwing his hands in the air.
    There was a general commotion as the two men in front tried to turn back and those behind, uncertain what was happening, bulged forward. It was what Longarm had hoped would happen. Now, he fired at the backs of the two men trying to get away. One sagged forward over the neck of his horse, and the other grabbed at his shoulder and seemed to dismount more than fall. Fresh targets were presenting themselves, and he fired into the pack of men that were coming forward with the two shots he had left. He saw more confusion as one of the two men fell. His carbine was now empty and as quickly as he could, he grabbed up the cartridges he had laid out on the rock and rammed them home into the magazine. There was some shooting, but none of it seemed directed his way. They were just firing. Most of them were shooting handguns. Now there was just a mass of men in the opening, none of them going or coming. He fired six rapid shots into the bulk that he could see. He continued firing into the center of the confusion of men. He saw some bodies fall, but now they seemed to be retreating. Again, he reloaded. Longarm could feel the heat of the rifle barrel through his calloused left hand. As he threw his rifle up to his shoulder again, he could see that the opening was clearing out. He fired two more shots, but he doubted there were any results.
    Longarm waited, watching. He could see men on the ground, some moving, some lying very still. A horse was down, and a few others were running around riderless, their bridles trailing on the ground. It was time, he thought, for him to make a quick departure before he could be seen or recognized or even located. He didn’t think any of them had known where the fire had come from. Bending low, he raced around the outcrop to where his mare was waiting. Holding his rifle in his right hand, he stuck a boot in the stirrup and swung aboard. Then he sat off riding the mare at a high lope heading toward the north, circling around the foothills of the mountains. He kept going that way until the rise and fall of the land would hide him from view of the entrance to Ashton’s place.
    When he was certain he couldn’t be seen, he turned to the northwest, toward town. He wanted to come into town from an angle where it would look like he hadn’t been anywhere near Ashton’s place. As he rode, he kept circling further and further to the west to circle around and come in from the west. Finally, he pulled the mare down to a trot, and then to a slow walk, and then let her amble her way into the back side of town. He directed her to the livery stable and then stopped her. She was a little fatigued. She’d had some pretty good runs that morning. He dismounted and handed the reins to the stable boy, along with a quarter. He said, “Rub her down, sonny. Take right good care of her. She’s been hard at work.”
    Longarm turned and walked around the hotel, stepped up on the porch, went through the front door, and then went through the dining room. His stomach was telling him it was well past time for breakfast. The clock on the wall said it was ten minutes after eight, and that was mighty late.
    As he crossed the lobby, he saw Finley coming down the stairs. He stopped until the rancher or land broker, or whatever he was, could reach the ground floor and come up to him. “Well, good morning, Mr. Finley,” he said. “I’m just now going in for breakfast. Would you care for coffee?”
    Finley cocked his head. “Just going in for breakfast? My heavens, Mr. Long. You keep odd hours for a man used to trading livestock. I thought you boys tried to make most of your deals before the sun got