Longarm and the Yuma Prison by Tabor Evans Page B

might lend him some important insight.
    â€œThat’s right. They all like their whiskey and I sell it to them cheap. But enough of this foolish talk of killing and robbing. I came here in peace to try and bring some small measure of comfort and a little joy to your lives. So why would you want to kill me and put yourselves at odds with the marshal and the judge? You don’t need that kind of added grief.”
    â€œHe’s got a point there, boys,” one of the miners said. “Why, I’ll bet he’d take four dollars right now for them four bottles and we could pay him the rest next time the marshal sends a couple of replacements out here like he promised so we can go into town and get drunk.”
    The smallest of the miners scrubbed his scraggly whiskers and nodded. “Mister,” he said, still clutching his rifle. “You reckon you’d sell us four bottles and trust us for the rest of your money come our payday?”
    Longarm sighed and made a big deal of considering the request. After a few moments, he said, “Well, boys, I can see that you ain’t getting rich out here working in this gawd-awful country. When do you get paid next?”
    â€œNext Wednesday. Surely you can wait that long.”
    â€œMaybe I can at that,” Longarm slowly decided as he dismounted and began to open his saddlebags and pass the bottles around. “As long as you fellas give me your word that you’ll pay me the other four dollars next week.”
    â€œHell yes, we will!” the biggest of them shouted. “Won’t we, boys!”
    The other three nodded their heads vigorously and then scooped up the bottles, popped their corks, and drank fast.
    Longarm loosened the cinch on his roan and tied it to a rusty piece of mining equipment. He glanced at the cave and then strolled over to the ore pile and studied it, looking for flakes or gold nuggets. The ore was heavy with pink and pearl-colored quartz and shiny. Longarm didn’t know much about prospecting, but he did know that gold was often found alongside quartz.
    The four miners were drinking fast and two of them shucked off their clothes and waded out into the Colorado River where they sat in the mud with the cool water running up to their necks and drank their whiskey.
    â€œGive ’em an hour,” Longarm said to himself. “Or maybe even less and they’ll tell me everything they know.”
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    The hour passed pleasantly enough. Longarm had to smile as the miners whooped and hollered and splashed each other laughing uproariously. But by and by they finished their bottles of watered-down whiskey and laid down on the muddy bank in a half-drunken stupor.
    Longarm walked over to them and sat down on the bank far enough from the water where the sand was dry. All bare-chested and dripping wet, the miners were underfed, ribs clearly outlined. They had stringy muscles and oversized hands probably due to years of swinging a pick and clasping the heavy handles of wheelbarrows. Longarm knew that he had nothing in common with these men and he also knew that they weren’t experienced with weapons. Most likely they had been ordered to keep strangers at a distance and work like hell.
    â€œI hope you boys enjoyed my whiskey,” Longarm said, matter-of-factly. “I can see that you don’t have much fun around here.”
    â€œYou can say that again!” one of them agreed with a lopsided grin. “The boss comes around about every three days and he expects a couple of ounces of gold. We get paid on a percentage but I think he cheats us.”
    â€œSure, he cheats us!” another said. “We ain’t makin’ all that much money considerin’ how poor the food is that they haul out to keep us here. And we’re expected to drink that muddy river water, too!”
    â€œThat’s pretty hard,” Longarm commiserated. “Your boss’s name would