Read Longarm #399 : Longarm and the Grand Canyon Murders (9781101554401) for Free Online Page A

local law officers who not only envied him for his much higher pay, but also considered him a rival. Local law officers resented any higher authority that entered their jurisdiction.
    “It’s a long way up to Lees Ferry and the Grand Canyon,” the liveryman crowed.
    “So I’ve been told. What’s your name?”
    “Carl Whitfield.”
    “Well, Carl, I can see that you and I are just not going to be doing business. And I’ve got a piece of advice that you ought to pay attention to.”
    Carl hawked and spat a stream of brown tobacco juice between them. “Marshal, I sure as hell don’t want any of your damned advice.”
    “Take it anyway,” Longarm said. “If you so much as cross my path, local law or not, I’ll put a bullet hole in you before you can bat an eye, and I’ll walk up and laugh in your pig face.”
    Whitfield swallowed and spat again, all his teeth stained brown. “I’ll keep that in mind when we meet somewhere on the trail.”
    “Does that mean that you’re going to try to ambush me on the way up to Lees Ferry?”
    A craftiness crept into the man’s close-set eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
    “Yeah, but that was your message.”
    Whitfield paused and took a deep breath. “There’s a man named Clayton that lives just up the street. If the price is right, Otis Clayton will take you north in a wagon or he’ll rent you horses for the trip. If I were you, Marshal, I’d go see Otis and tell him I sent you his way. He’ll take care of you.”
    “Is that right?”
    “For a fact,” Whitfield said, smiling coldly.
    “Is this fella named Otis Clayton by any chance related to you or the town marshal?”
    Whitfield rubbed the stubble of his jowls. “Might be.”
    Longarm shook his head. “Carl, my only regret here is that you didn’t make a grab for the shotgun. I’m sure that I’ll have the opportunity to kill you sooner rather than later.”
    “I hear you have a yellow-haired beauty traveling with you,” Whitfield said. “She your whore?”
    Longarm had been willing to put off this confrontation until another time. But because of this crude insult to Heidi, he decided that he just couldn’t wait until later.
    Reversing his direction, Longarm reached across his belt and unholstered his Colt as he kept walking forward. Whitfield’s nasty grin dissolved and his eyes widened with fear. “Now, wait just a damned—”
    Longarm didn’t give the man a chance to say another word as he slashed the barrel of his big Colt across Whitfield’s face, opening up a deep gash. Blood cascaded down the liveryman’s ugly face, and he staggered backward. Longarm went after him with fists and boots. He caught Whitfield with a wicked kick to the groin that caused the man to scream. When Whitfield’s dirty mouthflew open in a howl, Longarm closed that mouth with a tremendous uppercut to the jaw that sent the big man backpedaling into the side of his barn. Longarm hammered Whitfield across the bridge of his nose and heard bone crunch. The liveryman collapsed on his knees, trying to cover his destroyed face.
    Longarm stepped back and holstered his weapon. “You may own a livery, but you’re still the same piece of rotten trash as your kid brother. Next time we meet, I’ll kill you and think up a legitimate reason afterward. Is that crystal clear, you stinking piece of horse shit?”
    Whitfield moaned, face a mask of blood.
    “I’ll take that as a yes,” Longarm said to the beaten man before walking away.
    He did not go to see Otis Clayton but instead found the local stage station, where he met the owner, whose name was John Wallace. Wallace was middle-aged and of average size. He had a band of hair around his ears, but the top of his head was bald as a billiard ball and shiny. But what Longarm liked about Wallace was that the man looked him straight in the eyes when they talked, and he was no bragger.
    “I operate a stagecoach to and from the Grand Canyon once a week.”
    “It doesn’t leave until