Longarm and the Colorado gundown

_{Longarm checked this body too, but found nothing exceptional in any of the pockets. The only weapon had been the shotgun—and come to think of it, he realized now, neither ambusher had carried extra buckshot shells with them; their total ammunition supply seemed to be the two charges each carried loaded into their guns. That made no sense to him whatsoever, not if either man knew what he was doing there tonight. Moreover, the clothing and personal possessions were consistent with what any town dweller might have when out for an evening stroll. Damned odd, Longarm thought.}

_{“There’s something on the ground over here, Mr. Long,” Parson said. “I c’n see something shiny over beside the cabin, sir.”}

_{“Let’s have a look.” Longarm got to his feet, the cartilage in his knees popping, and followed Parson and the lamp back underneath the precariously balanced shed roof.}

_{He whistled softly under his breath when he saw what Parson had spotted in the gleam of the lamplight.}

_{“Not real friendly, huh, Mr. Long?”}

_{“Not real friendly,” Longarm agreed.}

_{In addition to their shotguns, the recently deceased had carried a few other items with them when they came to call.}

_{And the fact that they’d come without extra ammunition no longer seemed quite so silly. Hell, they hadn’t expected to use those guns for anything tonight.}

_{They’d expected fire to do all the dirty work for them.}

_{What they’d left tucked beside a low pile of split aspen were four tins of coal oil. Each of the tins held four, maybe five gallons of highly flammable liquid. More than enough to douse the door and windows of Aggie Abie’s cabin, and start a conflagration that would kill the occupants of the place from oxygen deprivation long before the walls and roof might collapse in flames.}

_{In addition to the coal oil, they had come thoughtfully equipped with a brand-new box of lucifers. The sandpaper scraper-panel glued to the side of the box was unblemished. No match had yet been struck there. Longarm grimaced and turned his head to spit. It was only coincidental that he happened to spit in the general direction of the nearer of the dead arsonists.}

_{Longarm was a practical man, though. Before he moved away he retrieved die box of matches and helped himself to a pocketful. He offered the rest to Parson, and got a chuckle in return. “No thank you, sir, I don’t smoke.”}

_{“Good for you, man. It’s a nasty habit. Expensive too. Wouldn’t stand for it myself except that it tastes so damn good.”}