"Evans, Tabor - Longarm 222 - Longarm and the Backwoods Baroness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Tabor)

into the roof that extended out over the platform. The roar of the gun
made the brawlers scattered around the platform stop what they were doing.
In some cases, they froze with fists cocked back in readiness for another
punch.

"That's enough, damn it!" shouted Longarm. "Next fella who throws a
punch is liable to be hobbling for the rest of his life from a bullet
through the leg!"

One of the lumberjacks glowered at him and demanded, "Who the hell're
you, mister?"

"And what gives you the right to go mixin' in with our business?"
added one of the cowboys.

"I'm a gent who just waded into a fight that ain't any of his
concern," said Longarm, preferring not to flash his badge and reveal his
true identity this early in the case, "but when you go to trying to knock
my head off, I'll make it my business."

"Nobody figured to hurt you, mister," said one of the lumberjacks,
rubbing a sore jaw. He pointed across the platform, where the cowboys were
regrouping. "It's them damn cow nurses who caused all the trouble!"

"That's a damn lie!" shot back one of the cowboys. "It was you
ax-swingin' bastards who bulled in where you weren't wanted!"

"If it wasn't for us, this whole state would go belly-up! You can't
raise cattle in the mountains!"

"The hell you say! We can raise cattle any damn place we want!"

Longarm sighed tiredly. It looked like he might have stepped right
into one of the sources of the trouble he was here to investigate.

Several days had passed since he had left Denver. Several days spent
in railroad cars that rattled more and shook more the closer he came to his
destination, days spent breathing air that grew more and more
cinder-clogged. Finally, the narrow-gauge spur line that ran up here into
the foothills of the Cascade Mountains had deposited him in a place called
Timber City, and when he had stepped off the train, he had found himself
smack-dab in the middle of a melee between lumberjacks in lace-up boots,
khaki pants, and red-checked shirts and cowboys in chaps and Stetsons and
cowhide vests. To save his own hide, he had been forced to drop his
warbag, saddle, and rifle and defend himself.

The combatants had grudgingly stopped fighting. The lumberjacks
formed a sullen group on one side of the train station's platform, the
cowboys an equally petulant knot of rannies on the other side. Longarm
looked at both groups in disgust and slid his revolver back into its