"Evans, Tabor - Longarm 204 - Longarm and the Arizona Ambush" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Tabor)

his loves, his fight for justice.
SLOCUM by Jake Logan
Today's longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail
of hot blood and cold steel.
Mcmasters by Lee Morgan
The blazing new series from the creators of Longarm. When Mcmasters
shoots, he shoots to kill. To his enemies, he is the most dangerous man they
have ever known.

Chapter 1

He had been able to see the little cabin for some distance as he'd ridden
slowly across the harsh, flat prairie of southeastern Arizona.

Sometimes there would be a low place and he'd only be able to see the top
half of the cabin, but then he'd strike a rise and be able to see the whole
structure. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the vastness of the high plains
which didn't seem fit to nurture even varmints, much less human beings and
their animals. It was the only thing in sight much taller than a man. Off in
the distance, looking deceptively close, were buttes and single mountains that
would rise to heights of five and six thousand feet, but the cabin was the
only thing that bespoke the presence of man in any direction for miles and
miles.

He was coming straight at the cabin, directly from the front. To his
eye, it looked deserted. He had no intention, however, of making straight for
the place without giving it a lengthy and thorough inspection. The man he was
trailing was the worst kind; he was mean and he was smart. Mean wasn't so
bad, but mean and smart were a bad combination.

He continued on over the harsh ground. It was mostly dust and rocks with
patches of buffalo grass and, here and there, bunches of the tough mesquite
weeds. Occasionally there were small brakes of greasewood brambles and beds
of thorny mescal cactus, but there wasn't a tree in sight or a bush higher
than a man's waist. As he approached the cabin, he was uncomfortably aware of
just how empty the country was with not a sign of cover in sight.

A half mile short of the place he pulled up his horse and sat staring at
the cabin. He had a packhorse on a lead rope. Both the horse he was riding
and the packhorse were thirsty and hungry and just about played out. If the
cabin was occupied, there would be water and, perhaps, feed for his animals.
But if it was, there would also be at least one very dangerous man inside.
Maybe more than one. He had been on their trail for five days and the better
part of two hundred miles.

His name was Custis Long, though most people referred to him as Longarm,
and he was a deputy United States marshal. His base was Denver, Colorado, but
his work took him wherever federal law felt the need of a man who didn't mind
going into dangerous situations and setting matters right. At least that was
the view that his boss, Billy Vail, took. Longarm wasn't so sure about not