Longarm and the Yuma Prison by Tabor Evans Page B

repair.
    â€œGood luck there,” Longarm said to himself with a wry smile. He looked up, hearing the train blasting its steam whistle letting everyone except those that were stone deaf know that it was leaving.
    He had just about finished the newspaper when his expected official arrivals barged through the door to confront him in the hotel. The marshal was flanked by two lean, tough-looking men, and they all looked as if they could bite through horseshoe nails.
    â€œI thought I told you to be on that train this morning,” Marshal Beeson said, legs wide apart and hands resting on his hips.
    Longarm smiled over his newspaper. “Marshal, I got to reading this paper and thinking what a nice place this might be to buy a winter home.”
    â€œThe hell you say!”
    Longarm neatly folded his newspaper and came to his feet. His gun was loose in its holster and he was aware that he would probably die if he had to try to take out all three of these corrupt lawmen. Even so, he had to make a stand and he had to state his business honestly this time.
    â€œMarshal,” he said, “you do know that I came here from Denver with Miss Ray.”
    â€œYeah, and I know that she married that gawdamn lawyer, Kent Hamilton, who has been a thorn in my side the last few years. That sure as hell means you have no more business in Yuma.”
    â€œYeah, honest men like Mr. Hamilton usually do pose a problem for your type.”
    â€œWhat the hell is
that
supposed to mean!”
    Longarm reached into his coat pocket and removed his federal marshal’s badge. He held it up for all three of them to clearly see and said, “I’ve been sent here from Denver by my boss to investigate the killings that sent Tom Ray to prison.”
    â€œYou can’t be serious!” one of the deputies hissed.
    Longarm stepped toward the deputy. “If I want to hear from you, I’ll let you know. Until then, this business is none of your business. Same goes for you,” he said to the other deputy.
    â€œNow wait just a gawdamn minute here!” Beeson roared. “These men work for me and they take orders
only
from me!”
    â€œPut a muzzle on them,” Longarm growled. “Or I’ll send them to the hospital and maybe the cemetery.”
    Longarm’s statement, given that he was facing three armed and dangerous men, was so audacious that Jeb Beeson blinked and took a step backward. He paused and then seemed to gather himself. “So you’re a gawdamn
federal
marshal, huh?”
    â€œThat’s right. And if you give me any trouble, I’ll send telegrams to Denver, Santa Fe, and San Diego, and you can bet your ass there will be other federal marshals coming this way before sundown.”
    The thin-faced deputy with the pale blue eyes whispered, “Let me take him, Jeb. I’ll put two bullets in him before he clears leather.”
    â€œTry it,” Longarm said, hand moving closer to the butt of his gun. “But if you’re wrong, I’m not only going to kill you, but also the marshal and your friend with the tarnished tin badge.”
    For a moment, no one moved, not even seeming to breathe, and Jeb Beeson said quietly. “There is no need for a bloodbath here this morning so everyone just simmer down and relax.”
    â€œNow you’re talking sense,” Longarm said.
    â€œWhat if I told you that the evidence against Tom Ray was overwhelming that he got a fair trial here in Yuma?”
    â€œI’d say I didn’t believe it.”
    â€œBut a judge and jury did.”
    â€œA
paid
judge and jury.”
    Beeson’s eyes narrowed. “That’s pretty bold and dangerous talk. You got any proof to support your words?”
    â€œNot yet,” Longarm said with a confident smile, “but I expect to have some before much longer.”
    â€œWell,” Beeson said, managing a smile of his own, “I think I’m going to let you stay a little