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

place seemed to be popular enough. There were half a dozen horses already standing idle in the corral. Longarm added the dun to that collection.
    A well had been drilled between the saloon and the corral. He stopped there to pump some of the cold, clean water. He drank a little first, then splashed his face and neck to rinse off some of the dust of the road. He felt refreshed after he did so.
    Longarm slicked his hair back with one hand, wiped his face with his handkerchief, and replaced his hat. He squared his shoulders and headed for the door leading into the saloon.
    The place was bigger than it had appeared from the outside. A lack of windows was made up for by the numerous lamps placed on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. But then windows to bring in daylight were not important to a business that would be conducted mostly at night.
    A long bar lay on the left or north side of the big room. Tables for drinking—or gambling—were ranked along the south wall. The middle of the place was open, an expanse of plank floor where patrons could dance. At the back there was a foot-high platform with a few chairs on it. That would be for a small band, Longarm assumed, although there were no musicians present at this early hour. Likely they would appear sometime past sundown and play as long as there were customers to keep the money flowing.
    At the moment there were two men standing at the bar and four more gathered around a card table, one of them a dude with a yellow brocade vest, string tie, and hair so loaded with oil that it gleamed in the lamplight. That one, he suspected, would be Edgar Spurlock. Longarm ignored Spurlock and approached the bar instead.
    Longarm tipped his Stetson back from his forehead and smiled. “Howdy,” he said to the man behind the bar, who was wearing an apron, a spotlessly clean apron, he noticed. “Would it be possible for a gent to get a bite to eat here?”
    The bartender came down to Longarm’s end of the bar and said, “Friend, you can get most anything a man needs. You say it’s food that you’re wanting?”
    â€œFood an’ prob’ly a little more. I’ve about rode far enough for one day.” He laughed. “My butt ain’t used to this abuse, an’ my legs is about to fold up underneath me if I don’t light an’ rest for a spell.”
    â€œWe have a good kitchen out back,” the barman said. “You can get a full dinner for seventy five cents or a bowl of stew and slab of cornbread for a quarter. Either one comes with a beer included.”
    Longarm nodded. “I’ll have the stew an’ I’ll take that beer now if you don’t mind.”
    The bartender drew the beer and set it in front of Longarm, then stepped out of sight into a back room for a moment. When he returned, he said, “Your lunch will be right out. Help yourself to a seat and it will be brought to you.”
    â€œThanks,” Longarm said, lifting his beak from the foamy suds on his beer. He smacked his lips and said, “This is good.” He saluted the bartender with his upraised mug, then turned and chose a table close to the card players, close enough that he could listen in on their conversation.
    The barman must have passed word that there was a fresh fish in the place, for a girl soon appeared in the doorway. She was very young, the freshness of youth buried beneath a thick layer of powder and rouge. She wore a bright yellow dress that fell only to her knees. The bodice was tight and cut low enough to show what little cleavage she had. That was not very much actually, as her tits were little more than bumps under the cloth. Her pale blond hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She had freckles, he noticed. And a bruise on the left side of her face that the makeup could not completely hide.
    The girl came swaying over to the table where Longarm sat. “Hi, honey. Do you want company?” Without waiting for an