Read Online Longarm and the Deadwood Shoot-out (9781101619209) by Tabor Evans - Free Book Online
Authors: Tabor Evans
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burying?”
“You’ll have t’ talk with your sheriff ’bout that, I’d think,” Longarm said. “I’d expect the county t’ pay, but that ain’t up to me.”
The barber, a beefy man with thinning hair, reached up to scratch his nose. Longarm noticed that his hands were bloody almost up to the elbows. Very likely, Longarm thought, the fellow had already dug the bullets out of the robber’s body. He probably would sell those to someone as souvenirs. Likely would have photographs taken, too. He might have to split those profits with the photographer but the bullets and anything else he could scavenge off—or out of—the body would be his alone. Longarm always found undertaking to be a damned strange business. Necessary, though.
Longarm set his bag inside the barbershop doorway and thanked the barber for the courtesy, then asked, “Where can I find your sheriff?”
“His office is over in the county courthouse. That’s it over there.” The man pointed toward a sprawling single-story structure two blocks over. “Marshal Bennett is across the street in the city hall. You can’t see it from here but there’s a sign. The sheriff is Ed Hochavar.”
“Bennett,” Longarm repeated, “an’ Hochavar. All right, thanks.”
“Ask them who’s gonna pay,” the barber said.
“I’ll do that, you bet,” Longarm responded, not meaning a word of it. “Oh, one more thing. Where’s the telegraph office here?”
“That would be in the post office. It’s right around the corner from the courthouse.”
“You been a big help. Thanks.” Longarm touched the brim of his Stetson, then turned and headed down the street in the direction of the local government buildings.
He undoubtedly would be asked to fill out some paperwork about the dead man. And if he was going to be stuck here for three days he might as well send a wire to Billy Vail informing the boss about the state of his investigation. Such as it was.
Chapter 22
Ed Hochavar was a big man with a big belly. He was getting on in years, late fifties or early sixties, Longarm guessed. That was old for a lawman. The sheriff was obviously liked by the local citizens, though, or they would not keep voting him into office.
When Longarm introduced himself, Hochavar extended a welcoming hand and said, “You’re the deputy who killed Tom Bowen this morning, right?”
“Bowen,” Longarm said. “I didn’t know the man’s name.”
“Tom has…had, I should say…a hardscrabble farm north of town. Dumb son of a bitch left a widow and half a dozen kids out there. I’ve already sent a man to tell Jeanine about her husband.” He shook his head. “Tony Conseca over at the barber shop is going to be pretty pissed off. Jeanine won’t be able to pay for the burying.”
“What about the county?” Longarm asked.
Hochavar shrugged. “Wasn’t our kill nor capture so I don’t see as how the county should be on the hook for it.I suppose we’ll just have to pass the hat around our saloons and maybe Sunday morning at church services. We’ll manage, of course. Folks always do, one way or another.”
“I can kick in a little, too,” Longarm offered.
“That’s good of you, Deputy.”
“T’ tell the truth though, Sheriff, Bowen isn’t why I wanted t’ talk to you.”
Hochavar’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”
“What I’m here about, sheriff, is your successful highway robbers. We both know that Bowen didn’t pull those jobs. I’d like you t’ tell me whatever you know about them.”
“I know they were committed across the line into Montana Territory. Out of my jurisdiction, you know.”
“Of course. Right now I’m looking for information, that’s all.”
Hochavar harrumphed and reached into a pocket for a meerschaum pipe that had passed through the golden color to a dark, glossy brown. “No offense taken, young fellow. I just want to be clear about this.”
“I assume you’ve spoken with the drivers and maybe some passengers who were
“You’ll have t’ talk with your sheriff ’bout that, I’d think,” Longarm said. “I’d expect the county t’ pay, but that ain’t up to me.”
The barber, a beefy man with thinning hair, reached up to scratch his nose. Longarm noticed that his hands were bloody almost up to the elbows. Very likely, Longarm thought, the fellow had already dug the bullets out of the robber’s body. He probably would sell those to someone as souvenirs. Likely would have photographs taken, too. He might have to split those profits with the photographer but the bullets and anything else he could scavenge off—or out of—the body would be his alone. Longarm always found undertaking to be a damned strange business. Necessary, though.
Longarm set his bag inside the barbershop doorway and thanked the barber for the courtesy, then asked, “Where can I find your sheriff?”
“His office is over in the county courthouse. That’s it over there.” The man pointed toward a sprawling single-story structure two blocks over. “Marshal Bennett is across the street in the city hall. You can’t see it from here but there’s a sign. The sheriff is Ed Hochavar.”
“Bennett,” Longarm repeated, “an’ Hochavar. All right, thanks.”
“Ask them who’s gonna pay,” the barber said.
“I’ll do that, you bet,” Longarm responded, not meaning a word of it. “Oh, one more thing. Where’s the telegraph office here?”
“That would be in the post office. It’s right around the corner from the courthouse.”
“You been a big help. Thanks.” Longarm touched the brim of his Stetson, then turned and headed down the street in the direction of the local government buildings.
He undoubtedly would be asked to fill out some paperwork about the dead man. And if he was going to be stuck here for three days he might as well send a wire to Billy Vail informing the boss about the state of his investigation. Such as it was.
Chapter 22
Ed Hochavar was a big man with a big belly. He was getting on in years, late fifties or early sixties, Longarm guessed. That was old for a lawman. The sheriff was obviously liked by the local citizens, though, or they would not keep voting him into office.
When Longarm introduced himself, Hochavar extended a welcoming hand and said, “You’re the deputy who killed Tom Bowen this morning, right?”
“Bowen,” Longarm said. “I didn’t know the man’s name.”
“Tom has…had, I should say…a hardscrabble farm north of town. Dumb son of a bitch left a widow and half a dozen kids out there. I’ve already sent a man to tell Jeanine about her husband.” He shook his head. “Tony Conseca over at the barber shop is going to be pretty pissed off. Jeanine won’t be able to pay for the burying.”
“What about the county?” Longarm asked.
Hochavar shrugged. “Wasn’t our kill nor capture so I don’t see as how the county should be on the hook for it.I suppose we’ll just have to pass the hat around our saloons and maybe Sunday morning at church services. We’ll manage, of course. Folks always do, one way or another.”
“I can kick in a little, too,” Longarm offered.
“That’s good of you, Deputy.”
“T’ tell the truth though, Sheriff, Bowen isn’t why I wanted t’ talk to you.”
Hochavar’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”
“What I’m here about, sheriff, is your successful highway robbers. We both know that Bowen didn’t pull those jobs. I’d like you t’ tell me whatever you know about them.”
“I know they were committed across the line into Montana Territory. Out of my jurisdiction, you know.”
“Of course. Right now I’m looking for information, that’s all.”
Hochavar harrumphed and reached into a pocket for a meerschaum pipe that had passed through the golden color to a dark, glossy brown. “No offense taken, young fellow. I just want to be clear about this.”
“I assume you’ve spoken with the drivers and maybe some passengers who were
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