Read Online Longarm and the Missing Husband by Tabor Evans - Free Book Online

the trousers she had been wearing while on horseback. She turned away from Longarm and slid out of the offending garment.
    Longarm was treated to a look at her drawers, but nothing more. That was enough. The woman had a genuinely lovely ass.
    â€œThere,” she said, smoothing her dress. “I feel better now. At least I can die looking like a lady.”
    â€œThe idea here,” Longarm said, “is for us t’ keep on living.”
    â€œAll right. Now what?” Beth asked.
    â€œNow we walk. First off, pointing the same way we been going. We’ll let him see where he thinks we’re goin’. For our part, we want t’ see where he is so’s we can slip away from him.” Longarm gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Are you ready?”
    Beth nodded, her expression grimly determined. “I am ready, Marshal.”
    â€œThen, ma’am, let’s us go for a walk.”

Chapter 30
    The puff of white smoke and accompanying
crack
came half an hour or so later. The shooter fired from a hilltop a hundred yards or so to the left of their line of march, close enough for accurate shooting but far enough that Longarm could not charge him, far enough for Longarm’s revolver to be of little use.
    The bullet passed overhead and whined off to strike somewhere in the distance.
    Longarm threw himself on top of Bethlehem—a far from unpleasant posture—then quickly rolled away.
    â€œNow we crawl,” he said.
    â€œOn hands and knees?”
    â€œExactly,” he said. “On hands an’ knees. From where he was shooting, he won’t be able t’ see us if we stay low. Follow me real close. I’ll put you in a safe place.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œJust do it, dammit,” he snapped.
    Moving slowly on hands and knees, he led Beth to a shallow depression where she would be out of the shooter’s line of sight. He turned and laid a cautionary finger across his lips.
    â€œLay down an’ stay still,” he told her, his voice low and calm.
    â€œWhere will you—”
    â€œI got business over there,” he said, pointing toward the place where the gun smoke had been seen.
    â€œDon’t leave me alone. Please,” Beth said, her eyes wide with alarm at the prospect of being left behind.
    â€œJust do what I tell you an’ everything will be all right,” Longarm assured her, hoping it was true.
    He made certain Beth was lying flat, then began the laborious process of stalking the son of a bitch who was shooting at them.
    Longarm did not try to approach him directly. Instead he crawled at an angle toward the man, keeping brush and terrain between himself and the shooter as much as possible.
    He worked his way around a hill well to the right of the shooter’s last known position then rose to a crouch and palmed his .45.
    After half an hour or more, he was rewarded with a glimpse of red and black checkered cloth visible beyond a clump of sage.
    Longarm dropped flat and softly grunted his satisfaction.
    The shooter must have realized that he’d lost sight of his intended victims. Now he was trying to find them again. And was making his way toward the spot where Longarm now lay.
    Longarm waited for the man to come to him. The afternoon sun beat down on him and he wished, too late, that he had thought to remove his coat. He was thirsty and felt gritty. Beth’s notion of taking a bath when they reached the stagecoach relay station was sounding more and more attractive to him. Crawling around through sagebrush and sand, knowing he could be on the receiving end of a bullet at any moment, was hard on skin, nerves, and clothing alike.
    He wiped his hand free of sweat and grit then took a fresh grip on his Colt.
    â€œCome to Papa,” he whispered as the rifleman came within twenty yards of the place where Longarm lay.
    The man was a complete stranger, he saw. Middle aged with dark hair, wiry and muscular in