Longarm and Hangman's Vengeance

“They must not have been as interested in magic as me, then. I spend lots of time at the Denver Library, reading up on all sorts of stuff. A man in my line of work can’t know too much, and I once made a fool out of a dangerous medicine man by knowing more than most old boys about electric wiring. He had a big old electromagnet rigged so only him and his friends looked strong enough to pick up an iron anvil. He sure looked dumb, once I done some rewiring.”

“All right, suppose you tell me how I dematerialized Maureen in one place and made her appear in another,” Costello challenged.

“Well, I ain’t no infernal magician, but even I know how easy it is to make any number of things look empty if you have a mirror in ‘em at a forty-five degree angle. With the lid open, the glass reflecting the side that ain’t covered by it makes it look as if one’s looking in at both sides—adding up to empty—when you still got half the space to hide things or folk in.”

The stage magician grumbled, “There ought to be a law against printing books like that. If you’re so smart, how did I get her clean across the stage to the other trunk without anyone seeing her travel a foot?”

“She didn’t have to get out of the first box,” Longarm said. “She just had to scrunch up under the hinged mirror so you could prove it was empty. The gal who got out of the second box, after acting invisible the same way, was no doubt her twin, or at least a sister close enough to pass for her at that range.”

The Great Costello stared across at Longarm, thundergasted, to demand, “Did she tell you that? I mean, fun is fun, but she had no right to give away trade secrets to a rube!”

Longarm soothed, “She never. You did. You slipped up and let me know you had at least two daughters. The notion they might be twins only came to me when you bragged on how you could make redheads fly through the air, invisible. When something don’t strike me as possible, I generally try to figure out what might be.”

The Great Costello sighed and said,“It’s just as well I gave up show business, if even cowboys can get at books published by traitors. But let me tell you about an illusion I pulled off in Toledo, one time. It was a one-of-a-kind, because the theatre had an unusual design, but …”

Then El Gato came back and Longarm was spared the brag. The young Mex hunkered down with them and said, “They don’t have Don Julio where we thought. They had already taken him to the railroad depot when word came in about that washed-out trestle. The special detail holding him works out of Ciudad Mejico, not here. So they simply bundled him upstairs in the hotel by the depot. Naturally, the arrogant bastards don’t have to worry about hotel bills. Had they not evicted guests to take over a luxury suite for their own use, I would have had more trouble finding all of this out.”

Longarm grimaced and said, “I’d say you found out good and bad. Getting in might be easier, but that hotel’s smack in the middle of town, with bright lights all around, save for the rail yards behind the depot, that is.”

El Gato said, “Si, I think our best escape route would lie in that direction, too.”

But the Great Costello objected, “So will they. And you said there’s a railroad crew working, under military guard, just to the south of those tracks. I like the front door better.”

Longarm told El Gato, “That’s how he walked out of the Denver House of Detention. Of course, to walk anybody out of any door we got to get him out of that top-floor suite, first. How far up are we talking, El Gato?”

“Six stories.”

“Ouch. A six-story running gunfight down a stairwell might not be all that bad if there was some way to avoid a reception committee at the bottom. No handy rooftops we might be able to scamper across?”

El Gato shook his head and said, “The hotel is the most imposing edifice in that part of town. Perhaps if we spliced our reatas together …?”

Longarm said, “I don’t carry a throw-rope on my old army saddle, and even if I did that’s just too damn far to dangle with gents shooting at you in the full glare of city lights. Do they ever turn the lights any lower in downtown Juarez?”

“Si, at sunrise. My people are more casual than your own about bedtime. Some go to bed and others get up, as the spirit moves them. But the city never sleeps, unless one wants to count the afternoon siesta, of course.”

“We can’t afford to wait that long,” Longarm said. “I for one would feel chagrined as hell if they loaded Valdez aboard a morning train after making me ride all this way.” He turned to the Great Costello and said, “You seem awfully quiet for a man who delights in doing the impossible, old son.”

The sly little magician sort of smirked and said, “I have a couple of ideas. It depends on what I can find to work with.”

He turned to El Gato to ask, “Can you get us some extra stooges to plant in the audience?”

Longarm had to explain that before El Gato said, “If I had my regular gang with me I would not have had to ask Longarm here to help me. Many here in Juarez love me, as well they should, since I rob from the rich and give to the poor, within reason. But I could not ask any of these pobrecito townsmen to ride against the government with us. If they had the balls, we would have a different government.”

“We don’t need anyone to risk his neck,” the magician said. “We only need more confusion than any three men could hope to stir up, see?”

El Gato nodded and said, “Oh, one can always arrange a riot after dark in Ciudad Juarez.”

“Good. Now it’s time to do some shopping. I know we’ll need some stopwatches, or at least some cheap watches that keep time for say, an hour or so, without losing track by more than a few minutes. I’m sure about the fireworks. I’ll cross the other bridges when you get me to them. Let’s go.”

El Gato rose, but told Longarm, “You’d better wait here. He’ll need me to speak Spanish for him. The three of us, together, may attract more than fireworks, no?”

Longarm considered. It would have been a waste of time to tell El Gato to keep a sharp eye on Costello. El Gato was called “The Cat” because his sharp eyes didn’t miss much, even in the dark. So he nodded and contented himself with saying, “Don’t come back without him. What time are we likely talking about, Costello?”

“Hard to say, before I see the merchandise. If we’re not back by midnight, start without us.”

Longarm waited until they’d left before he fished out his pocketwatch, struck a match, and read it as going on ten. He hadn’t wanted the little rascal to suspect he didn’t know just everything.

He finished his pulque and got up to wander back inside. The only furniture worth sitting on seemed to be the bunks against the ‘dobe walls. He sat on one. The mattress was stuffed with corn husks and sounded like it. He tossed his hat and coat aside, crunched his back to the wall, and settled down to wait a spell, wishing he had something to read, or at least that he wasn’t sitting on a fire hazard.

He’d about decided to go ahead and smoke, anyway, when the plump little mestiza came in for the tray. He waved her on out to the balcony, and when she came back in with it she told him he should be ashamed for to leave so much on his plate when people were starving all over Mexico. He smiled up at her and asked, “What happens if I swallow another bean? Does a kid in Yucatan sit up and burp?”

She laughed and left, if only for a little while. He’d just finished a cheroot, decided it tasted awful on top of peppeland pulque, and gotten rid of it when the mestiza came back, with nothing but herself to offer. He suspected that had to be what she was offering—he saw she’d changed her blouse for a clean one two sizes too small and smelled the rose perfume in her hair. But it wasn’t considered polite to just throw a gal down and tear her duds off, even in Juarez. So she got to sit down beside him and jaw about la revolucien and how brave he was to help El Gato save her people. He decided it was time to mention that El Gato would be back around midnight, and that they’d all be leaving soon after if she was really feeling dedicated to la revolucien.

She said she sure was and that he might have warned her sooner that he’d be riding off to battle any time now. Then she asked him to help her with the buttons on the back of her blouse and, one thing leading to another, they were making a hell of a racket atop those corn husks before they got around to each other’s names. She said she was called Felicidad and that she was a virgin, when it came to Anglos. He’d figured she had a healthy curiosity about such matters when she first went down on him before he could get his pants off.

Felicidad seemed grateful as well as surprised when he pounded her to glory the second time. But when he left it in she sighed, kissed him regretfully, and said she had other guests to take care of. Since she’d never mentioned money, he assumed she hadn’t meant that the way it could be taken, although, considering her warm and willing nature, anything was possible.

He watched her dress up innocent, standing over him in the soft dim light, and while it made a pretty picture, he couldn’t help wondering what she really looked like.

She bent over to kiss him a fond farewell, and then she was gone and he was getting dressed again himself. He had to chuckle as he considered what the others might have said if they’d come back early.

He got out his watch, lit another match, and marveled, “Hell, it’s already after midnight. Ain’t it a caution how time flies when you’re having a good time?”

Then he rose and began to pace back and forth, starting to worry about what he’d tell Billy Vail if the Great Costello had escaped again, or whether he was going to live or not, if the sneaky rascal had something else planned for this evening.

Chapter 15

When they finally did return, just as Longarm was about to go looking for them, he was mighty glad old Felicidad had turned out to be so cold-natured. For they were not alone—El Gato had enlisted a whole posse of young Mexicans. Half of ‘em were carrying bags of stuff the Great Costello had picked up at south-of-the-border prices.

Just the same, he’d spent more than twenty dollars, U.S., and thought Longarm ought to reimburse him.

Longarm told him not to be silly and asked what all the stuff was good for. So Costello said, “Misdirection. They may find some use for the two-bit watches and bugle, later.”

“You bought a bugle, too?”

El Gato said, “We have been very busy—you were so right about this one moving fast. These muchachos have their own instructions. Now it is time for us to go meet the girls.”

Longarm gulped and said, “Hold on, I never come all the way down here to get laid, even though sometimes things don’t work out as planned.”

The Great Costello explained, “Not those kinds of girls. Our handsome young friend here has recruited three reasonably respectable-looking dance-hall gals to go along with the act. Come on, they’re waiting for us downstairs in the carriage.”

Longarm shrugged and went along with the act, whatever it might be.

Downstairs, he found that, sure enough, three not-bad giggling gals were seated in this closed carriage the others had hired. It would have been close enough with all six of them piled in—all the cheap luggage the Great Costello had picked up as well made it worse—but at least one of the Mex gals needed a bath.

But the drive to the depot hotel was mercifully swift, and as he helped the one he was supposed to be with down from the carriage, he could tell from her hairy armpit that she was not the really stinky one. He still felt sort of red-faced as the six of them walked into the lobby, bold as brass, and El Gato hired three adjoining rooms for them. Longarm assumed the luggage was meant to make it look less indecent. But from the smirk on the room clerk’s face, it hadn’t.

They couldn’t get rooms on the top floor. The ones they got on the fifth, however, were almost under the suite they were holding Valdez in, overlapping by one room, according to El Gato. The rooms the conspirators had booked separate could be turned into a suite by opening some inside doors, with Longarm’s lock-pick blade—so that’s what they did. The girls asked how come, as one of them bounced playfully on a bed and asked who she was with. El Gato told her to shut up and be serious.

The Great Costello opened a hatbox he’d carried in and took out a more sedate black dress as he told El Gato, “Oh, let her have fun. She’s going to have to take that red satin dress off anyway, and if you don’t want to enjoy the experience, I can’t say when I’ll ever get a chance to get laid again.”

Longarm said, “Hold on, damn it. This surely is a lot of fuss if you mean to stage an orgy, Costello. Can’t you ever do anything plain and simple?”

“I’m not sure just what I mean to do, yet.” Then he opened a closet door, laughed like a mean little kid, and said, “Oh, yes, perfect! I hoped this would be an up-to-date as well as first-class railroad hotel!”

Longarm stared over his shoulder at the full-length mirror stuck to the inside of the door where guests of fashion could make sure they were dressed right before going out. He started to ask what all the fuss was about, then he gasped and said, “Oh, shit. A magic box yards away on the far side of the footlights may be one thing, but now you’re really talking foolish.”

The Great Costello took out his watch as he observed, “It won’t work unless your pal, Valdez, has plenty of nerve. You’re going to need even more.” Then he told them the plan.

When he’d finished Longarm and El Gato were staring at each other soberly, and the three girls were crying and pleading with them not to talk so scary.

El Gato sighed and said, “I do not enjoy staring down from trees any more than any other cat, but you are the stronger of the two of us. Plus, I am wearing black, and Valdez knows me.”

Longarm didn’t argue. His palms were sweating just thinking about it. The Great Costello said, “You two work that part out as you go along. Could I borrow that pocketknife, Longarm? We haven’t much time and the screws holding this big mirror look a bit rusty.”

They weren’t. As the nimble-fingered little man removed the mirror from the door he warned, “Don’t drop it. It may be the only one.” So Longarm was careful as he took the big fragile sheet of glass from him.

El Gato already had his coil of braided reata handy. He said, “Bueno, let’s get up to the roof, poco tiempo. I understand the part about the bullring.”

Longarm wished he’d spent all that time with the Great Costello. He could only carry the fool mirror as El Gato led the way, rope in one hand and drawn gun in the other.

They made the stairwell without incident.

Then they were up on the roof. Even away from the edge it seemed higher than Longarm felt the last time he’d been up in the capital dome in Denver. They moved over to the edge above their own hired rooms and, they hoped, the ones Julio Valdez was being held in. Longarm leaned the big mirror against the parapet and said, “Well, we’d best rig an ass-sling for you, old son. Are you sure you know how this trick with a mirror works?”

El Gato said, “I think so. I just shove Don Julio in the closet and place the mirror over him, no?”

“You don’t know how it works,” Longarm said. Then he moved over to a vent pipe and fastened one end of the reata snuggly to the rusty iron. He gave it a couple of tugs and said, “That ought to hold me. I’ll never speak to you again if it don’t.”

El Gato protested, “Pero no, I won’t be able to haul you back up, you moose.”

“I know,” Longarm said. “Why don’t you run back down and make sure my prisoner don’t escape? If he was half as smart as me, he’d know this is a one-man job, and he just may be.”

El Gato said he wanted to watch, at least. But Longarm told him to go on down.

Longarm took a deep breath, got as good a hold as he could on the glass with one hand, and backed off the roof holding on to the reata with the other. He’d never have been able to slide down so easily if it hadn’t been oiled and braided rawhide. As it was, he almost slid past the sixth-story sill, and caught it with his boots just in time. This left him hanging just outside the window. It was lucky the window wasn’t nailed shut, and even luckier that the only man inside was Don Julio. The Mexican politician looked mighty surprised when Longarm tapped on a bottom pane with his toe. But he was too smart to shout out loud as he rolled off the bed, came over, and opened the window inwards, whispering, “Who are you, aside from an obvious lunatic, I mean?”

Longarm swung on in, mirror and all, and as he dropped to the rug, whispered back, “I’m glad your English is so much better than my Spanish. We ain’t got time to talk. Do just what I say, even if you think it’s crazy, and there’s a hundred-to-one chance we’ll get you out of this fix, alive.”

The older man said, “That’s a better chance than they will offer at my so-called trial in Ciudad Mejico. What is it you wish for me to do?”

Longarm glanced about for a handy closet, spied a tall but skinny cedar wardrobe he liked even better and told the Mexican to climb in.

Then he wedged Don Julio in one corner, standing atop the bottom drawers under the hang-up space, and offered a few words of terse explanation as he wedged the mirror in between them at an angle. He said, “You’ll have to grip the top edge with your fingertips to hold this steady. But they ought to be shaded by the hanger-rod along with the top edge. Now hold that pose and not a peep out of you until I come back to haul you out of there personal.”

He stepped back to view his handiwork and muttered, “Shit.”

Don Julio asked what was wrong. Longarm said, “That was a peep. I told you not to do that.” Then he shifted the mirror until it was only bouncing the image of dark cedar-wood out at him, and got rid of the clothes hanger that was messing up the illusion with an oddly angled twin. He said, “I’m going to leave this door wide open and shut the closet. There’s more call to peer sharp into something you have to open. Pay no attention to all the noise you’re about to hear, and remember nobody can see you no matter how much they’re yelling at YOU.”

He turned away, shut the closet door, and trimmed the only lamp in the room low and shadow-casting, but not all the way out.

He’d no sooner done so when a side door opened and a rurale came in muttering something, then froze with his jaw hanging open when he saw how Don Julio had suddenly grown so tall. It was not the best way to be standing when anything as big as Longarm was throwing a left hook.

He nailed the rurale on the button. His victim dropped with no more fight in him, and little more noise than a wet dishrag. Longarm left the door ajar beyond the rurale’s boot heels and ran over to the window to grab the reata in both hands and start climbing. The height didn’t bother him as much now, as he considered what it might feel like to get shot right up the ass.

But he made it to the roof, rolled over the parapet, and made it to the stairwell just as somewhere in the distance a tinny bugle blew an after-midnight invitation to the bullfight. Then the skies above Ciudad Juarez began to light up red, white, green, and purple as the first skyrockets commenced exploding.

From the point of view of the rurales who thought they were holding Valdez overnight in a safe place, the festivities seemed even more confusing. Attracted by the noise outside, three of them ran into the prisoner’s murky room, almost tripped over their unconscious comrade, and added to the confusion by yelling a lot and bumping into one another as they tried to cover all bets at once. Their sergeant joined them, demanding to know what in the hell they were fussing about, in the harsh tones only a topkick with a parade-ground roar could muster. The rurale who’d opened the closet door roared back, “The cabren is not here!” just as the one peering under the bed got back to his feet to groan, “Nada! But where could he have gone?”

The sergeant swept a casual eye around the dimly lit but all too obviously vacated premises, including the gaping door of the obviously empty wardrobe, and snapped, “The window is open!”

The rurale closest to them stuck his head out and said, “I found it! He used a rope for to climb down!”

The smarter sergeant shoved him out of the way, stared morosely down at the milling crowd in the street far below, and shouted, “Not down, up! The line is only hanging a few meters below this sill. Get out to the stairs before he makes it down from the roof!”

All of them but the one helping the dazed man on the rug tore out of the room, guns drawn. The one Longarm had knocked galley-west was muttering, “What happened? I remember coming in to check on the prisoner and then everything went black. I think I am going to puke.”

His buddy replied, “Not if you do not enjoy standing against walls you won’t, Heman. The prisoner has escaped. On your feet and help us find him if you value your life! Someone shall have to pay for this if he gets away, and between you and me, Heman, I’d say you were it!” He helped his dazed comrade to his feet and hauled him in the wake of the others. By this time they were on the roof, but all they could see up there was a fireworks display. They could hear it as well. Above the noise of exploding skyrockets the sergeant roared, “That makes no sense. I have lived more than forty years and in all that time I never heard of a bullfight at night.”

One of his men said, “Just the same, they’re shooting off all that stuff near the bullring, if not in it.”

Their leader snapped, “That’s what I just said. Corporal Gomez, take half the detail over to the Plaza del Toros and arrest whoever you find there. The rest of you follow me. We must search this hotel from top to bottom!”

They did, with the rough skills los rurales were notorious for, albeit without their usual needless brutality.

Longarm, El Gato, and the Great Costello were expecting to get caught in bed with red-faced women, in three separate beds. Other hotel guests were more surprised, made more of a fuss, and some of them wound up naked on the floor, with bruises, as los rurales looked under every bed and in every closet. But they didn’t have time to rape even the pretty female guests during their frantic sweep of so many rooms.

Downstairs, they slapped the hotel help around just enough to determine they had no sensible suggestions to offer. The sergeant clanged his spurred boots out the front entrance, stared in bewilderment at the passing crowd, and grabbed an excited youth to ask where everyone was going. The kid laughed and said, “I don’t know. They seem to be holding a fiesta over that way. I want to see if any pretty muchachas will be there.”

The burly rurale leader let him go with a cuff across the back of his head and stomped back inside, roaring, “The whole town has gone loco en la cabeza, or perhaps some friends of Valdez are trying to be clever. Heman and Quico, stand guard here and make sure the old fox can’t get out the front way. Robles and Castro, get to the back exit on the double and make sure it is locked as well as guarded.”

The dazed Heman said, “I have to sit down. I am going to puke if I don’t. Where are you going, Sergeant?”

His leader said, “Out to make some arrests, if we can get through that damned mob. Sit down if you must, I don’t see how he could still be anywhere in the building. But if he is, and you let him escape again, you won’t have to worry about your weak stomach, you poor stupid cabren!” he waved his drawn .45 at the others and charged out into the jam-packed street, pistol-whipping a path through the crowd.

The two men remaining in the lobby moved over to an overstuffed chair with a potted palm sprouting above it. The rurale Longarm had left in a dazed but meditative mood sank down in the soft seat, lowered his head to his knees, and moaned, “He can’t fool me. I know where he’s going.”

His comrade asked where and Heman said, “Los Estados Unidos. That’s where I am going as soon as I feel up to riding again. El Presidente will never be satisfied with standing less than the whole detail against the wall if that bastard gets away.”

His comrade sighed and replied, “Es verdad. But the night is still young and how far could he have gotten by this time?”

Don Julio Valdez had in fact never left the wardrobe in the room where they’d been holding him. But as the upper stories of the hotel returned to normal, Longarm rolled out of the bed he’d been sharing, platonically, with the fair dance-hall gal called Rosalinda, and told her to get dressed. She said she would but added, with a hurt look, she’d seldom been in bed with a man who didn’t even remove his gun rig.

Longarm laughed and cracked the door ajar. He saw the coast was clear, but made good use of his gun rig as he went upstairs to get Valdez out of that wardrobe. He told the Mexican to carry the mirror and stick tight. When Valdez asked how come, Longarm explained, “If we mount that glass back where we found it they’ll never figure out how we did it.”

Valdez said that sounded fair and they were soon downstairs with the others. The middle-aged but macho Valdez put up more of an argument when the Great Costello ordered him into the red satin dress and black lace mantilla another lady had been wearing when she checked in. Longarm told him, “Do it. When three gents check into a hotel dressed sort of casual, with three gals dressed sort of cheap and flashy—no offense, senoritas—nobody expects ‘em to spend more than an hour or so upstairs. The management knows that it won’t be long before more serious lawmen are asking questions about every guest in this hotel, so they ought to be only too happy to see you leaving with El Gato, little darling.”

Valdez said he understood, even if he didn’t like it, and just plain refused to take off his pants. El Gato turned to the gal who’d exchanged her red dress for dowdy black and told her, “You must go with God, now, my little patriot. It is important that they see you leaving alone, with no connection to us as far as they can see, if they notice you at all.”

She asked what would happen to her if they did, and El Gato told her he would burn a candle for her and someday her name might be inscribed on a monument to all the brave ones who’d laid down their lives for Mexico. She laughed, gallantly, said she doubted there’d be room enough on any one slab of marble, and moved to the door. Longarm saluted her, even though she was the one who needed a bath the most.

They gave her a good five minutes. By this time they had Don Julio passing for a mighty thick-waisted and flat-assed dance-hall gal, if nobody looked too close. The Great Costello, nearest the window, said, “There went the last volley of skyrockets. Things will soon be getting back to normal. We’d better go for it, now.”

They did. They sweated bullets going down all those stairs, but as they crossed the lobby they saw one of the rurales posted there barely glanced their way and his pal, bent over in a chair, never even looked up. The desk clerk didn’t even want to notice them and ignored the keys Longarm tossed on the counter top.

They were across the crowded main street and heading up an alley Longarm might not have noticed if El Gato hadn’t been in the lead with the disguised Don Julio. Once they were deeper into the dark stinky maze, the man they’d rescued began to strip off the female duds, saying, “Bueno. Where do we mount up for some riding, amigos?”

El Gato said, “We don’t. The horses we rode down on are safe enough where they are and, not likely to inform on us. By this time the small detail that was holding you will have enlisted la policia ciudad and los federales. They will have roadblocks set up all around, and there are few places one can cross the Rio Bravo when it’s in flood.”

Valdez protested, “Damn it, we can’t just stay here.”

El Gato told him, “I know. That is why we are on our way to the house of ill repute these girls work for. The first floor is a big cantina. The second floor is lined with cribs. Few rurales or federales who come in for to get drunk or laid could know there is a third story, above the cribs, see?”

The rescued Mexican laughed but asked, “Are you sure we can trust women who enjoy sex with the enemy?”

Rosalinda, clinging to Longarm’s arm, sniffed indignantly and said, “Shame on you. How can we enjoy it when they never pay?”

Her comrade in arms added, “Si, we fight for a free country where nobody gets to screw a woman por nada unless she really likes him.”

So the four men and their two patriotic ladies of the evening made their way through the inky maze, guided by El Gato’s amazing night vision, to the last place los rurales might search for them. The attic of their favorite whorehouse.

Chapter 16

“What is the matter with you?” asked Rosalinda in the privacy of her own quarters under the sloping roof. “Do you scorn me because of the business I’m in, or are you one of those men who prefers young boys?”

Longarm chuckled as he reclined on one elbow aboard the one item of furniture there was in the tiny room, the sleeping mat, and said, “Land’s sake, Rosalinda, we just crept up the back stairs with the whole place crawling with the law.”

She hugged her knees at the far end of the mat to insist, “Pooh, the madam says all the lawmen in town are out looking for you caballeros. This floor is solid and we have no bedsprings for to worry about. I can understand your coldness back at that hotel—I confess I was worried myself—but we got away as planned and, damn it, all this excitement has made me feel most passionate.”

Longarm knew himself well enough to guess he might be feeling more like celebrating if he hadn’t spent an hour or so, earlier, with another mighty passionate gal. He was sort of vexed about that, too. For chubby little Felicidad had only been pretty, while Rosalinda was downright beautiful, and built a lot more interesting, too. He said, “We just got here. Give a man time to get used to the situation before he takes his gun rig and boots off, for Pete’s sake.” She asked, “Who is this Pete, some pretty gringo boy you like more than me? I can take it that way, if that is your desire.” He stifled the laugh he felt like laughing and said, “That’s an awful thing to say about the gent you call Pedro, and I feel sort of insulted myself. I like gals fine, the old-fashioned way, but there’s a time and a place for everything and, besides, I don’t know if I can afford you. I only make a little over five hundred a year plus expenses, and I’ve been spending money like it was going out of style since leaving Denver.”

“Oh, for why do you speak to me in such a cruel manner? Have I asked you for money, even when I risked my life for you?”

“No, and I admire gals with a romantic nature. I’ve always felt too romantic to pay for it, myself.”

But now she had her head down on her knees and was crying fit to bust, intimating he’d called her a whore. She was a whore, but a good old gal who’d backed a dangerous play as well. He took her in his arms to soothe her and say, “Aw, hush, there’s no need to carry on so silly, Rosalinda. Didn’t El Gato promise all you gals would get your names engraved on stone someday? I’m sure that once Don Julio overthrows the government he’ll be glad to put you in for a medal.”

She didn’t seem to be groping for a medal right now—Longarm was sure he hadn’t hung one on his fool pecker, ever. So as she got to working on his fly buttons he said, “Hold on, now. What do you think you’re doing?” even though he knew what it was.

She got it out and wailed, “I knew you loathed me! You are only half erect, you brute!”

He kissed her throat and told her, “That’s more than I had any right to expect, and you’re doing just fine, querida mia.”

So as he kissed her sweet passionate face and they both fell back across the bedding together, she got to playing with him more skillfully, and since it only seemed polite to run his free hand up under her satin skirts to return the favor, he forgot all about his earlier affair at the posada that same night. By now he might have gotten his second wind with old Felicidad in any case, if she hadn’t insisted on leaving early, bless her consideration.

Rosalinda purred, “Oh, it’s beginning to feel as if you do like me, after all. But don’t you think we should get out of all these awkward clothes?”

He said that sounded like a fine idea. She beat him, easy, having less to take off, and knelt naked on the floor to haul his boot off, panting, “Apresusa! I am mad with passion?”

That made two of them by the time their healthy naked bodies were entwined in good clean animal lust atop the rumpled bedding. But because he’d been with another animal, earlier, Longarm took longer than usual to satisfy himself, and she took that as a compliment that satisfied her immensely.

As she moaned like a coming cougar he warned her to keep it down to at least alley cat, explaining, “I’m hot, too. But let’s not forget our manners to the other guests downstairs.”

She gripped him tighter around the waist with her legs and said, “Forgive me. I seldom feel free to let myself go with a man, and I have not even done this with a customer since my last indisposition of the moon. Do you do this so good with all the other poor women you overpower, handsome yanqui?”

He said, “Only the pretty ones, and I’m not sure who might have overpowered whom, just now.”

“Are you cross with me for falling for you?” she asked.

He allowed he wasn’t and braced himself on stiff elbows to enjoy the view of what she’d gotten him into. There was only a little light through one dusty window to see by. It was enough to see she was built nice enough to pose for one of those marble statues the Old Greeks had gone in for, although he’d never yet seen a statue posed so sassy in any museum open to the public. Since great minds ran along the same channels at such times, she gazed up at him adoringly and said, “Oh, you are so handsome and so strong and, ay caramba, there is so much of you!”

He stopped what he’d been doing to ask if he was hurting her. She shook her head wildly, begged him not to stop, and told him it was most considerate to show such concern.

They’d just discovered he could when the door opened enough for El Gato to say, “Oh, excuse me. I thought you might want to know your prisoner, the Great Costello, does not seem to be with us anymore.”

Longarm swore and assured Rosalinda he didn’t mean her. “How great a lead are we talking about,” he asked El Gato, “and how come he has any at all, damn it?”

El Gato said, “The girl I sent to bed with him was watching. That is, she was until he knocked her out at a very rude as well as unexpected time. She just came to. She has no idea how long she may have been unconscious. But of course none of us have been here a full hour, you fast worker.”

Longarm began to haul on his duds as he growled, “He has to be headed for the horses, risky as that may be. I thought you told me a couple of patriotic pimps were keeping an eye on things down below.”

“They have been. Your prisoner did not leave by any of the usual exits. You’ll never guess how he got out of a room very similar to this one.”

Longarm said, “Sure I will. It occurred to me right off that if we got trapped up here my best bet would be straight up through them tiles and across the other rooftops.”

He strapped on his gun without bothering to button his vest. Rosalinda was welcome to his long johns if she had any use for them. He reached for his hat, found the gal’s bare rump in the way, and patted it fondly as he said, “I’ll never forget you and please hand me my hat, querida. I’m sorry, too, but I got to get going.”

As the girl passed his Mexican sombrero to him with a sad sigh, El Gato told him, “Wait, you are not thinking. That stable is right across from the bullring.”

“Yeah,” Longarm said, “but the boys we detailed to draw the whole town over that way are long gone by now and Costello knows it.”

“Not all the people attracted by the false alarm, and certainly not all the local lawmen. Even if he makes it to the horses, how far can he get? He’s a gringo, without a dozen words of Spanish. They’ll have roadblocks set up all around the city.”

Longarm said, “Yeah, but not looking for him, The Great Costello ain’t wanted on any charges in Mexico, right?”

“Wrong. They know Don Julio has many yanqui friends. By now they have to know he never got away from them without any help. If they grab a strange gringo on the trail, and he does not know how to answer them, well … los rurales are hardly famous for their saintly patience, even with people who can talk to them.”

“He rode down with us. He’s heard all you just now said. You may have noticed he knows how to move sneaky, a Cut above your average border jumper.”

As Longarm rose from the mat, stooping some, El Gato said, “In that case I shall go with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Longarm protested. “I never hung by one hand off the side of a six-story building just to see Don Julio caught again. You got to get him out of here to another hideout. Fast. Don’t tell me where. I don’t want to know. They might catch me as well as Costello. He could be spilling the beans this very minute. So this is it and you’re on your own, pard. I done all I can for you and now it’s time I got back to my own chores.”

El Gato and Rosalinda wished him via con Dios as he ducked out the door, knowing he’d need some help from the Lord. He sure wasn’t getting much cooperation from anyone else.

He made it down the back stairs without incident, meaning the sneaky little son of a bitch hadn’t been picked up yet. As Longarm made his way out to the front street, he knew Costello would have done the same. Whether their big hats and charro jackets worked or not in dim light, neither would have been able to thread all the way to the posada via the inky back alleyways of a strange town without getting hopelessly lost.

The streets of downtown Juarez weren’t as crowded now, cuss all sleepy heads, but they weren’t yet deserted enough for even a taller-than-usual-looking vaquero to draw much interest. As he got closer to the bullring a shabby young gal popped out of a doorway to ask if he was lonely. When he said he wasn’t, in as good a Mexican accent as he could manage, she cursed him and said her baby brother was available, but didn’t follow him.

He didn’t think it would be a good notion to stroll into the posada by way of the front door. He was close enough, now, to work his way around to the back without getting lost. As he stood there in the darkness, trying to figure a way into the stable, a back door opened and a familiar plump figure splashed his boots with the contents of a wash basin before she spotted him and sucked in her breath. Before she could let it out with a scream he moved closer and assured her, “It’s me, Felicidad. Has anyone else been by, asking about us?”

She made the sign of the cross with her free hand and told him, “Not you by name, querido. But a short time ago la policia and some rurales lined us all up out front and Made us tell them the stories of our lives. They took a man away who had no papers.”

Longarm groaned and asked, “The short clubfooted hombre who was here, earlier, with El Gato and me?”

“No. He was just here, for to get his horse. Didn’t you know that?”

He muttered, “I do now. El Gato was right, he’s acting dumb as hell. Can you sneak me into the stable from back here, Felicidad?”

She could and did. They encountered no one as she led him through the kitchen and showed him a side door into the stable.

There was nobody there but the horses. He struck a match and commenced to cuss a blue streak. When the plump mestiza cowered away and asked him why he was so angry, he told her, “It ain’t you. It’s him. The dirty little polecat took the fine army mount I was riding and left me ten dollars worth of crow-bait. He’s even ridden off with my possibles, Winchester, private saddle, and my favorite hat and coat!”

She suggested, “Can you not catch up with him riding El Gato’s big black caballo?”

“Don’t tempt me. El Gato may need to do some serious riding before long, and a man who’d stick a pal with a poor mount would lick up spit. That’s what I mean to make the Great Costello do when I catch up with him. I might not let him lick up anything as nice as my spit, neither.”

He led the livery nag from its stall and began to saddle it with the borrowed saddle that was no doubt worth more. Felicidad said, “If you ride out, now, you are sure to run into a roadblock. I heard los rurales talking about that. Why don’t you spend the rest of the night with me? I have finished all of my work and this time I will not have to ask you to stop, eh?”

He told her she had no idea how tempting her suggestion was, kissed her, and led the uglier critter out front to mount up and ride. Behind him, Felicidad wailed that he was surely going to get himself killed. He hoped she was wrong, but what she said made a lot of sense.

Chapter 17

The best way to avoid roadblocks was by avoiding roads. There was no moon, and the stars, while bright as stars could get away from city lights, didn’t light up the cross-country brush and cactus worth mention. Longarm’s only consolation was that it hardly seemed likely anyone could see him at any distance when he couldn’t see as far as his mount’s ears without squinting. He knew there were no serious cliffs between them and the Rio Bravo, and horses were said to see their way in the dark a lot better than humans. He found out how cat-eyed the old stable plug was when he hooked a tweed-clad knee on cholla, and missed his long johns Considerable.

He swore, reined in, and scraped the cactus pads off with his knife, muttering, “I ought to be carrying you, you bat-blind waste of your mother’s oats.” But he would have found it even harder to find his way north on foot, of course. So he heeled the nag into further slow but steady progress, saying, “Pay attention, damn it.”

Since Juarez was a border town, the border wasn’t far enough to matter. As he walked his mount slowly, which was about all it could manage, Longarm kept an ear cocked for the sound of running water and an eye peeled for night fires. He was hoping bored border guards would be considerate enough to light one, once they’d been stuck long enough in one place to feel how cold the desert night could get this close to sunrise.

He failed to see anything but stars above a dull, black blanket of nothingness. One place was as good as another to cross the river, this far east of the more sensible as well as official ford between Juarez and El Paso. He figured by this time the Great Costello would have made it across, if he hadn’t drowned or been picked up. Neither Mexicans nor Americans were dumb enough to plant street lamps near a river that couldn’t make up its mind whether it was Cherry Creek or the wide Missouri from time to time. But now he could see pinpoints of light off to the north-west. They told him he was maybe three or four miles east of El Paso, and just south of Fort Bliss, if they hadn’t moved it. He didn’t think the Great Costello would want to aim for the military post, as his best chance would be a beeline for downtown El Paso and another hole-up with his gang. Once he was out of sight with that clubbed foot, the game would start from scratch with a fresh deck.

He forged on for the river. Then he heard the hammer of a repeating rifle click in front of him and, worse yet, someone levered a round behind as a sinister voice between him and the country of his birth asked, “Quien es?”

Seeing this was no time to be taken for smart, Longarm called back in English, “Howdy. I am U.S. Deputy Marshal Long, on the trail of an Anglo outlaw. I don’t suppose you boys have seen a runty rascal on a handsome chestnut gelding?”

His unseen questioner switched to bad English and replied, “We heard someone crossing the river just now. He did not seem fit for to stop when I yelled halt. We were about to cross over and see where he might have fallen. You, of course, are under arrest and, if you try anything funny, you shall die right here, slowly.”

Another voice called out, “Si, is fun for to gut-shoot you gringos. You do not know for how to die with dignity.”

Longarm said, “I can see you boys have to be rurales. Before you gut-shoot anybody, you’d best listen tight. For despite your surly manners I’m a friendly cuss, and I just might be able to save your asses for you.”

Their leader moved close enough to Longarm to make him out as a blur, albeit his sergeant’s stripes weren’t visible as he sort of purred, “I am a sweetheart, too, except when you suckers of pigs’ corkscrew cocks are around. Say something friendly, gringo.”

“Don Julio Valdez got away clean,” Longarm said. “You’re never going to catch him, now.”

There was a moment of ominous silence before the rurale leader opined, “That did not sound so friendly. How do you know about the escape of that political prisoner, gringo?”

“A little pussy cat I know told me. Before you get your bowels in an uproar, I don’t know where El Gato and old Valdez might be right now. So tying me down atop an ant pile would be a waste of time and you boys don’t have much time.”

“We are still listening, gringo. So are the ants.”

“Shit, nothing you can do to me will smart as much as what El Presidente’s professional torturers are going to do to you, if you ever fall into their hands after letting Valdez get away. You know you don’t know how he done it, and I know you don’t know how he done it, but before old Diaz is convinced, you’re all going to suffer considerable.”

The rurale sergeant purred, “You won’t be there to see it whether they catch us or not.”

“We’re running out of dark as well as time. It’s got to be after four in the morning and none of us want to be on this side of the border when the sun pops up. So cut the gringo-baiting, listen tight, and I’ll tell you what you ‘d best do.”

“you are going to tell us?” their sergeant roared as all the others laughed. The laughing men added up to more than a dozen.

Longarm said, “Damned if the skyline ain’t visible over to the east, now. You boys could gun me for my boots or the hell of it, and likely make it across the river before it’s broad-ass day. But then where would you go in them big rurale hats? Even the Anglos are sore at you in El Paso and, if army patrols from Fort Bliss ain’t patting down every cactus for miles for hidden weapons, their post commander has neither imagination nor ambition worth mention.”

“Bah, I spit in his mother’s milk. We are neither Apache nor mere bandits. We know a thing or two about such matters.”

“I ain’t finished and I’m glad you’ve done such tracking your ownselves. It saves having to explain the odds in detail. Suffice it to say you’re talking about hiding out a large party of new faces under big hats, with no visible means of support, on range they’ve never rode before. Any Tex-Mex you meet is likely to shoot first and ask about them rurale uniforms later. I doubt many an Anglo-Tex would ask questions before or after, and since it was your own government who had the great notion about Indian scalps being cash redeemable, we’d best not even talk about you boys meeting up with Apache if you make for less populated parts.”

The rurale sergeant shrugged and said, “You have made your point. We shall have to keep our wits about us until we get some money and gringo hats. But we are used to getting what we want.”

“I can still show you how to avoid your perhaps just desserts from Mexico without taking on the U.S. and Texas combined. But why don’t we talk about it on the far side of the river? Yonder horizon is pearling by the minute and I can already see the tops of fourteen big gray hats at this range.”

The rurale sergeant seemed to think that was a sensible notion and so they were soon all mounted up and fording the Rio Bravo in a bunch, with Longarm in the middle. A couple of them made rude remarks about him in Spanish. He didn’t let on as if he understood. So they got to talking more freely in their own lingo, and it was good to hear they didn’t plan on shooting him down like a dog until he’d gotten them someplace safer.

By the time they’d ridden a few miles north he could see the features of the rurale sergeant riding to his right. The Mex was larded over some from self-indulgence, but big and mean as one had to be to ride for such a mean outfit. As the rising sun gilded the tips of the mesquite and cactus all around, he asked Longarm just where they might be headed. So Longarm said, “Fort Bliss. You’ll like it. The starting pay for a U.S. Cavalry trooper is thirteen dollars a month and all the beans he can eat. How much do they pay you rurales in peso paper?”

“They expect us to pick up a little extra on the side. But you can’t be serious, you just said your army is out looking for us!”

Longarm nodded and said, “I did. I doubt they’ll be expecting you to ride in for breakfast. With me vouching for you, I can promise you breakfast at least. Whether they’re willing to take you in entire or not will be up to them, of course.”

The sergeant laughed like hell, turned in his saddle, and called out, “This crazy cabren wants us to join the Americano army!” and while some laughed, at least a couple opined it sounded safer, if not easier, than joining the Apache nation.

The sergeant turned back to Longarm and repeated that he was crazy, adding, “Who ever heard of anyone but yanquis joining the yanqui army?”

“Me. More than half of the enlisted men are immigrants. Most of the native-born who join are colored. I never said it was considered a good job. A man can make a lot more as a cowhand, if he don’t mind working hard.”

The larded-over sergeant rode on in silence for a time before he growled, “Tell me, how difficult do you think it would be for a man with my military experience to make a few stripes in your own army?”

Longarm laughed and said, “There you go. Bucking for corporal before you’ve spent an hour in the chow line. To be honest with such an honest cuss, I can’t rightly say how long it takes to get promoted in a peacetime army. I met an old German boy, up near the South Pass during the Shoshone rising, who’d made buck sergeant in one hitch. Of course, he’d been an officer in the Prussian army, before he got in trouble with his colonel’s wife and had to join another army, fast, as a private. His English wasn’t as good as yours. On the other hand, he’d likely had more experience, fighting the French and all.”

The rurale sergeant snapped, “That’s a lie. I fought the French Legion at Camerone when we rose against Louis Napoleon’s puppet emperor, Maximillian. I guess I am as good a soldier as any square-headed German!”

Longarm didn’t answer. The sky above was clear as well as blue, now. The early morning air was cool, but it looked as if they were in for another scorcher. He still wanted his frock coat and more regular hat back, damn it.

One of the others called out in Spanish, asking their leader where on earth they were riding so boldly in broad daylight. The sergeant called back, “This one says we should join the Americano army. Don’t laugh, It’s beginning to make sense to me. It’s the last place anyone they send after us would look for us. It avoids a lot of tedious discussion with the Texas Rangers as well, and, what the devil, if we don’t like it we can always ride on, with fresh mounts as well as gringo disguises.”

They thought that was funny as hell. They were still joshing back and forth, promoting each other to lance corporal or putting each other on kitchen police when, ahead in the distance, a bugle blew and a tiny flag rose above the chaparral. Longarm said, “I figured it was morning. It’s more gloomy in the winter, when they run the colors up in the dark. The army pays no mind to the weather outside. Are you boys still with me?”

The rurale sergeant hesitated. Then he said, “Why not? You were all too right about every other hand being turned against us now. But what if they don’t need new recruits?”

Oh, I feel sure they’ll take you in. They got recruiting stands set up on the docks to grab greenhorns getting off the boats. Thirteen dollars sounds like more to a Swede than say a farmboy from Iowa.”

It must have sounded like a lot to a Mexican as well. The rurale leader said, “Bueno. But how are we to explain these uniforms we already have on?”

“Let me do the talking. I know the officers and it ain’t like deserting from foreign outfits is a federal offense in the U.S. of A. I told you about that German boy who had to leave the Prussian army sort of informal.”

And so, while some in the rear ranks still voiced a few reservations, Longarm was soon leading the ragged column of gray-clad rurales across the parade of Fort Bliss toward the guardhouse. From the barracks all around, blue-clad troopers gaped, and officers who’d meant to sleep a mite longer woke up.

Longarm reined in near the guardhouse and dismounted first as a wary-eyed sergeant of the guard came out to ask him what was going on. He murmured, “We got a dawn patrol out searching for Mex border raiders, Longarm. I sure hope you can vouch for this bunch.”

Longarm said, “I figured you might be on the prod out here, that’s how come I had ‘em ride in, slow, across the parade. Did I give you time to rouse the supernumerary gun hands inside?”

The army man said, “You did, and the officer of the day ought to be headed this way by now as well.”

Longarm nodded, turned on his heel, and called out to the still-mounted rurales, “You boys are all under arrest on the charge of crossing the border uninvited, more than once.”

The rurale sergeant gasped and roared, “Traidor! You told us you would help us join your army!”

“You weren’t listening sharp. I only said I felt sure they’d take you in. So I took you in to ‘em and-“

Then he had to shoot the rurale sergeant out of his saddle because the cuss was slapping leather. He only got one other rurale as the rest lit out in all directions, calling him and the U.S. Army awful names.

But, of course, none of them got all that far with the guard detail blazing away with rifles, and more than one pistol firing from windows all around as the confused rurales milled in dusty confusion until every saddle was empty.

By the time the last shots echoed away and the dust was starting to settle, the officer of the day was coming with the corporal of the guard at his left. They both had their service revolvers out. As they joined Longarm and the sergeant of the guard, the O.D. stared soberly out across the carnage and put his gun away, saying, “My, what a pleasant surprise. How did you do that, Longarm?”

The tall deputy smiled modestly and said, “I had to. They was planning to murder me as soon as I guided ‘em to safety. So I figured this was the safest place for me to guide ‘em. I didn’t want such disgusting gents running loose in the U.S. of A. in any case. But now I got to get going, Lieutenant. This unplanned side trip has given more important killers I’m after one hell of a lead on me.”

The O.D. said, “We were afraid they’d killed you, too, when the army mount we loaned you came home without you.”

Longarm blinked and asked, “My saddle, gear, and that chestnut wound up here, you say?”

The O.D. nodded and said, “We were just talking about it, over at the corrals, when you showed up as well. The gelding came in lathered and jaded, as if you’d really put him through some hard riding.”

Longarm said, “I didn’t do it all to the poor brute. The Great Costello swapped mounts with me down Mexico way and no doubt rode like the devil was after him, even if it was only me. I was expecting to catch up with my hat and all in El Paso, not out here, though.”

The O.D. shrugged and said, “Maybe the chestnut threw a rider who abused him and just naturally decided to come on home.”

Longarm thought before he sighed and said, “Mat would be too nice to ask. The little bastard is a fair rider, even on a poor mount. Try her this way. He made her to El Paso, or close enough to matter. Then he turned the chestnut loose, knowing it was an army mount who’d be likely to rejoin the army. He had no way of knowing I was headed here instead of into town after him. He done it to throw me off his trail. I was supposed to scout every livery and hitching post in El Paso in vain while he and his sidekicks made further plans. But, thanks to them good old boys sprawled all about us, I don’t have to waste as much time as he counted on, searching for my stuff. I got a railroad timetable in my frock coat, too, if it’s still rolled in my possibles. I’d best go see.”

As he headed for the corrals, the O.D. ordered the sergeant of the guard to do something about all those bodies before the colonel’s lady saw them and had a fit. Then he chased after Longarm, caught up, and said, “We’ll have to issue you a fresh mount if you’re going after them again. What was that about a timetable?”

Longarm said, “I can get me and both saddles back to town aboard the livery nag I have to return in any case. That magic act gone bad won’t be planning on riding out on horseback. They know he’d attract less attention aboard a train, and I think there’s an eastbound express coming through this side of noon.”

Chapter 18

The timetable Longarm found in his recovered coat confirmed his thoughts. The eastbound flier was due to stop for water and whatever in El Paso at ten-fifty-five, pull out at eleven, and not stop until it had another drink at the Pecos.

Longarm had plenty of time to get into town, even aboard the overloaded stable nag. But he suspected they’d have members of the magicians guild watching for him and, worse yet, he had no idea where they were holed up in downtown El Paso. So he didn’t go there.

He rode into Mex Town, short of his goal, and when he reined in by a herreria and told the Mex blacksmith he was a friend of El Gato, they said they’d be proud to guard both saddles and the tired old nag to the death.

He took advantage of their hospitality to put on a more sensible hat, and gave the charro jacket to a grinning kid who looked like he’d always wanted one. Then he walked on, in shirt sleeves and vest, with the Winchester from his McClellen cradled in one elbow, and his .44-40 still riding his left hip, cross-draw.

Since Mex Town lay on the less fashionable side of the tracks, Longarm saw no need to approach the depot via its front entrance, and legged it across the yards from the south. Nobody challenged him but a big desert locust buzzing atop a rail, as if it thought he’d take it for a rattlesnake. When he didn’t, it flew off on its undersized butterfly wings and cussed him some more from a safer distance. He’d forecasted the weather right for a change. The sun was glaring down with hellish glee and it wasn’t near noon yet.

He climbed up on the deserted sun-baked loading platform and entered the depot from the less expected side. The waiting room was empty. The blackboard above the ticket window agreed with his printed timetable. He went over to the window and asked the white-haired and bearded gent behind the brass bars if he’d sold a mess of railroad tickets in recent memory. The old-timer didn’t bother to look up as he muttered, “I just came on duty. You’re the first customer I’ve had so far.”

Longarm said, “I ain’t a customer, I’m the law. I’m hunting a sort of vaudeville troupe, in a hurry to move on. I figure, let’s see, half a dozen gals and four men left.”

The old-timer on the far side of the bars shook his white head and said, “Ain’t seen even one good-looking gal so far today.”

Longarm hauled out his watch and muttered, “Damn, it’s even later than I figured. If someone was in too great a hurry to buy tickets from you, they could just get on and work it out with the conductor, though, right?”

The old-timer shrugged and said, “Sure. Why not?”

Longarm put his watch away, saying, “Well, for one thing it’s not the way I’d do it if I wanted to travel without attracting much attention. If I was a bunch, I reckon I’d get on sort of separate, with tickets in all my hands, and sort of sit spread out like I didn’t know me at all.”

The old goat in the ticket booth didn’t have any suggestions to offer about that. Longarm thanked him and made his way over to the front entrance. The sun-baked street out front was empty, save for a dust devil swirling up the sunny side like an officious ghost. Everyone at this hour would be at work, until lunch time at least. Morning deliveries had all been made and nobody with a lick of sense brought fresh produce into town under a Texican summer sun.

So how come three distant figures were coming down the center of the street from the north, as if they’d never heard of shade?

Longarm stepped out under the depot’s overhang to study them as they came toward him. The one in the middle was short, wearing a big Mex sombrero and charro jacket. The gun rig he had strapped on looked less familiar. He was walking, with a slight limp, between a matching pair of female travel dusters and, though they both had sunbonnets on, the red hair down to their shoulders matched, too. He couldn’t tell, yet, if they were true identical twins, or just close enough to look the same at any distance. Longarm waited until all three of them were about a hundred feet away, midway between either shaded walk, before he stepped out into the sunlight and called out, “Howdy. I see you still have someone watching my hotel and stable. But, as you see, there’s more than one way to get to El Paso, and I fear you won’t be leaving it as planned, neither.”

The two more feminine figures moved away to either side as their old man gave them stage cues Longarm couldn’t make out. He let that go, for now. Gunning women was considered sort of sissy, and the Great Costello had said all the killing had been done by the male members of his troupe.

Longarm called out, “You’re doing fine, so far. Now I’d like you to unbuckle that gun rig, slow and polite, and let that hog leg fall anywhere it has a mind to.”

The other man didn’t seem to admire that notion. He called back, in an oddly strangled tone, “Damn it, we made a deal!”

Longarm shook his head and said, “This wasn’t it, Costello. I might have gone along with your loco notion, south of the border where U.S. laws ain’t binding, but you was the one who chose to pull a fast one. So all bets are off and I’m still waiting for you to unbuckle that gun.”

The other man’s big sombrero swung sort of comic as he shook his head and insisted, “If you had any sense of honor at all you’d put aside that Winchester and have it out with me man to man, damn it!”

Longarm snorted in mingled disgust and surprise. The only two gals in sight to comment on his honor were the sunbonnet twins, now well clear of his field of fire to either side of the street. But then a window opened across the way and another gal stuck her head out to see what all the fussing was about.

Longarm called back, “It’s as tempting to let you have it your own dumb way than to simply gun you if you won’t do as I say. So how about it, Costello? Are you willing to come quiet or do I have to take you noisy?”

The lonely little figure took a step backwards but didn’t look any more cooperative as he jeered, “I dare you, big man. What’s the matter, are you afraid of me?”

Longarm swore softly in disbelief. Then he hunkered to lean his Winchester against the steps, straightened up with a puzzled but determined smile, and stalked forward, growling, “All right, if that’s the way you want it.”

Then, as his intended target kept the range between them the same distance by crawfishing backward up the center of the street, Longarm added, “Aw, for Pete’s sake, make up your mind, Costello. If you don’t want to fight, just do as I say. If you want to fight, slap leather, damn it. It’s too hot to chase you. I didn’t even want to fight you, damn it. It was your notion to hold this fool duel. So hold still and let’s get to it.”

It didn’t work. His quarry didn’t seem to want to draw any more than he wanted to stop walking backwards. Longarm was almost abreast of the gals to either side, now. That was how far the fool had backed. Longarm called out, “This foolishness has gone far enough, Costello. I’m going to count to three. If you’ve neither gone for that gun or raised your hands by that time I’m fixing to go for mine, and end it, one way or another, hear?”

The sort of pathetic little gent didn’t seem to be paying any heed as Longarm started counting. Longarm already wished he’d said he’d draw on the count of ten. It was too one-sided. The poor little rascal didn’t have a chance.

Or did he?

Longarm swore and dropped to one knee as one of the innocent-looking redheads put a .32 slug through the space he’d been about to step into. He fired back, sending the duster-clad sweet miss crashing back through the window of a feed store, and then he’d spun his knee to fire at the other as, sure enough, she seemed to be aiming at him, too!

That inspired the more masculine figure who’d been crawfishing him into the cross fire of the twins to go for his own gun at last. Since Longarm already had his own out, it was a poor move indeed.

As his target tossed that sombrero high as only a spine-shot gent could manage with just his head, a bullet tore dust a lot closer to Longarm, and went screaming off into the distance with a harmless banshee wail. Longarm leaped up, pegged a shot into the smoke cloud near the door of the depot behind him, and took a running dive over a watering trough to enjoy some shade, a place to reload, and a chance to sort out his thoughts.

By the time he had it figured out, police whistles were blowing and the street wasn’t empty anymore. Longarm rose from his hiding hole and moved out to join the gents standing over the one he’d downed in the center of the street. One of them wearing a copper badge, recognized Longarm, took in the .44-40 he was still holding, albeit pointed politely down, and asked him, “Did you do this and who was he, Longarm?”

Longarm had already guessed, from the exposed brown hair, that he might not have shot the Great Costello after all. He rolled the body on its back with his boot, stared soberly down, and said, “He was eating dinner at my hotel the same time I was last evening. I reckon he was keeping an eye on more than his steak and spuds. That accounts for one more male member of the bunch as robbed your post office. I was supposed to take him for their leader.”

Another more excited gent ran up to them, complaining, “I just had a redheaded gal in a travel duster delivered through my front window. Only, when we looked closer, it was a man with a red wig and gal’s duster over his more natural duds.”

Longarm said, “That’s two we don’t have to worry about, then. I was mighty worried about a real female redhead I know. But when someone’s shooting at you, gallantry can get you killed. I think I left another one under yonder awning. Let’s go see if it was a him or a her.”

It was a him, once they got the sunbonnet and red wig off. Longarm sighed with relief and said, “I saw him escorting a real redhead to the depot last night. He must have been the one who told the Great Costello she left with me instead of a train. So that still leaves the Great Costello. And if that ain’t a train whistle I hear in the distance right now some lobo wolf has sure picked an odd hour to howl at the moon.”

He headed back to the depot at a run, with the town law and some just plain helpful El Paso gents in tow. He scooped up his Winchester, entered the waiting room, and saw it was empty. You could still smell gunsmoke, though.

He moved over to the ticket window. Before he could ask, the white-haired cuss in the booth said, “They run out to the platform. A short man and a taller redheaded gal. Who was they shooting at, just now?”

Longarm didn’t answer. He was already streaking for the platform exit. He skidded to a stop on the dry, splintered planks to stare far and wide across the dusty yards. Everything was moving. Heat waves made ‘em move on a day like today. But he saw nothing worth chasing, at first. Then he spotted a distant but rapidly growing column of black smoke.

As one of the town lawmen joined him to ask, “See anything?” Longarm said, “Yeah. The train they mean to board is coming in. Would you stay out here and let me know if you see anybody popping out of thin air to board it? I got to talk some more to that old ticket clerk.”

The town lawman agreed. Longarm went back inside, moved over to the brass-barred window, and said, “You forgot to mention they had wings. How many tickets did you sell them before they lit out?”

The white-bearded gent behind the bars replied, “Six, as a matter of fact. That was before the gent with the gal started blazing away out yon doorway, of course. How was I to know they was homicidal lunatics? I just work here.”

Longarm grinned wolfishly and said, “No you don’t. It was a nice try, Costello. But now I want you to put both hands on the counter and just keep them there whilst this nice El Paso lawman here kicks his way in to disarm you.”

The white-wigged and fake-bearded rogue on the far side of the brass bars did no such thing. As he crabbed sideways out of sight Longarm shouted “Down!” but did some crabbing on his own instead. When the Great Costello fired through the planking between them, Longarm wasn’t directly in the line of fire and only picked up some splinters with his pants.

He fired back with his Winchester, of course, and his own calculations worked better, judging by the awful yelp and dull thud inside the ticket booth. He fired some more in the direction of the thud and heard Costello cry out, “I give! I give!” He ceased fire as he moved down to the door and kicked it in, or tried to. Something soft and soggy was blocking further progress at floor level.

Longarm put his back into it and shoved the door open wider by sort of sliding the body of the real ticket clerk on the lubrication of his own blood. Then he stepped in and threw down on the other man at the far end of the narrow booth. The Great Costello was half reclined and half sitting up, with his shoulders wedged in a corner. He’d lost his white theatrical wig, and his fake beard was flecked with blood as well as sort of loose. As the treacherous clubfoot coughed again Longarm asked, in a conversational tone, “Couldn’t you have just bound and gagged this other gent, you murderous little shit?”

“He put up a struggle,” explained the Great Costello, as if it justified cutting a man’s throat like that. The flooring under all of them rumbled as, outside, the eastbound flier rolled into the station. Longarm knew the others, outside, could take care of such explaining as might be needed. He moved closer to the man he’d downed, hunkered down beside him, and after sliding Costello’s Remington .45 clear, patted Costello down, found a .32 Harrington Richardson whore pistol in a vest pocket, and said, “Shame on you. It’s my considered medical opinion that you don’t need a doc. But as long as you can still talk, could we discuss some of your recent waywardness in hopes of clearing a few minor details up?”

The great Costello grimaced and asked, “Why? I don’t owe you shit. You just treated me and my poor relations mean as hell.”

“It was your notion to let them take all those chances,” Longarm said. “I noticed down Mexico way that while you liked to plan razzle-dazzles, it was El Gato and me you expected to take the real risk. You told your nephews or whatever about the dueling brag you’d made, then got them to play you and two gals I’d be even less likely to shoot at. All four of you were hoping I wouldn’t get here before that train outside. But just in case I did, you set it up with the dice loaded in your own favor.”

The dying man coughed and grumbled, “How were we to know you were immortal, for God’s sake? How did you see through my neat disguise, Longarm?”

The younger and smarter man in the booth replied, “I didn’t, at first, even though I ought to be stood in the corner for being so dumb. It only occurred to me, after you’d made one last dumb move, that you’d said you just came on duty, in the middle of the morning. When I show up for work around ten I get pure hell at my office. But, like you counted on, nobody pays all that much attention to ticket clerks. So how was I to know you’d come in ahead of your act to act as a lookout and make sure all of you could board that train with tickets, cheap, and no record of the transaction or probable destination?”

“You’re wrong,” Costello said, “I do need a doctor. It’s starting to hurt, now that the shock’s wearing off.”

Longarm soothed, “Try to breathe shallow. Let your lungs fill up with blood natural and it won’t hurt so bad. Where are the gals, Costello? I know you was trying to send Maureen on ahead when we made our little deal. Where were you all planning to meet up again, later?”

“Go to hell. They got away clean. I give you my word none of them had any hand in the jobs the boys and I pulled off while they kept the home fire burning.”

“No offense, but your word ain’t much. I reckon it was fair for you to give me the slip down Mexico way after all that empty boasting about a fair man-to-man showdown. I didn’t mind fibbing to some rurales who meant to double-cross me in the end. But the boys I just shot it out with were your kin. You told ‘em they only had to play their parts and that if I was really here before that train you’d do the real fighting behind my misdirected back. The one playing you must have liked to shit his pants when I kept coming and you took so long getting up the nerve to back-shoot me. You had me in a four-way cross fire and you blew it. Pearl of Wisdom told me your magic act was marred by a bad sense of timing. Like a lot of half-ass magicians, you knew all the tricks, but your stage fright made you hesitant and Clumsy.”

The Great Costello closed his eyes, gave a sad little moan, and went limp. Longarm reached with his free hand to feel for a pulse. The magician’s small, strong hand suddenly clamped on his wrist and he said, “Gotcha!” Then he laughed like hell and died.

An El Paso lawman who’d eased into the booth in time to hear the last of it asked, “Is he?” and Longarm said, “He is, and in a way I’m sort of disappointed. I figured if anyone was about to escape from a situation like this, it would have to be him.”

Chapter 19

Longarm had better luck on the train back to Denver than he’d had coming down. Her name was Susan and she said she sold female notions, wholesale, and that while she was on her way to Denver to practice her traveling trade she didn’t know a soul in town. So after he’d bought her some sickening cocktails in the club car and persuaded her to try tequila mucho gusto cocktails instead, it seemed only natural for her to invite him to her line of wares.

He had no use for black silk stockings or the lacey garters ladies used to hold ‘em up with. Once he had old Susan out of her own black lace, he decided making love on sooty sheets wasn’t all that bad, now that it wasn’t so hot and sticky on the high plains.

The traveling saleswoman had hair—all over—the same color as that chestnut gelding he’d said adios to down at Fort Bliss, albeit she was built a lot more petite. She gave a man a good ride for such a diminutive mount, and by the time the train got them both to Denver she was still frisky. So when she pleaded with him to meet her after working hours at her hotel near the Union Depot, she didn’t have to twist his arm. Longarm did have friends in Denver, but there were still a few positions he hadn’t gotten around to, yet, with old Susan.

They shook on it and parted friendly after he helped her get her sample bags over to her hotel. Then, knowing Billy Vail was as interested in railroad timetables as he was, Longarm started legging it uptown to the federal building to build some character with his boss. He didn’t even stop for breakfast, even though he hadn’t managed any aboard the train. This was one time he didn’t want to wind up working late.

As he was crossing Larimer Street, Crawford of the Post grabbed him by the elbow and steered him under the awning of a vaudeville theatre on the shady side of the street. Crawford said, “We got most of it from the wire service, but I want an interview from you, anyway. Weren’t you scared when you found yourself in a four-way cross fire down El Paso way?”

Longarm said, “I was scared when I only figured it was three ways. You can quote me on that. I’m only a hero, not a total asshole. Now let go of my damn buttonhole and let me get on to my damn office. Knowing Billy Vail, it’s been open for hours. He has his own key and must figure they expect him to milk cows at the federal building every morning.”

But the reporter was insistent. So Longarm answered a few more fool questions, tersely, as his eyes wandered over the new three-sheets posted out front by the theatre. Pearl of Wisdom was of course long gone, and he didn’t recognize anyone on the new bill as an old pal who put out. He finally got loose and ducked around the corner to beeline for the office. Thanks to his meeting with old Crawford, there went the beer he’d meant to have at the Parthenon as well. He entered the federal building dry, and morosely climbed the marble steps to the second floor. As he entered the Federal Marshal’s layout, old Henry, the prissy young dude who played the typewriter out front, congratulated him on a job well done and said to go right on back. Longarm knew they were plotting against him.

Billy Vail didn’t glance at the banjo clock on the wall this time as Longarm took a weary seat across from him. Longarm was trying to decide whether he was out of shape or whether shapely Susan lifted weights, when his boss said, “I just got a curious telegram from the Mexican government. I thought I told you to stay the hell out of Mexico.”

Longarm smiled sheepishly and said, “You have my word I shot them rurales on our side of the border, Billy.”

Vail tried not to smile as he replied, “Well, far be it from me to call anyone big as you a liar, but they do say a gringo answering to your description left one rurale sort of bent out of shape in a Juarez hotel. But all’s well as ends well, and Don Julio was a pal of mine when I was riding with the Rangers. What are we going to do about them magical outlaws I sent you after?”

Longarm reached for a cheroot as he protested, “Hell, Billy, if you’d pay more attention to wires from me than wires from that piss-ant Diaz, you’d know all six of ‘em must be planted by this time. They said, down El Paso way, it’s ever a good notion to dig graves as soon as possible after a good rain, down yonder.”

Vail beamed at him and said, “It ain’t true that Ned Buntline writes pure bull about the wild west. You treated them rascals wild as hell. But whilst the male members of The Great Costello’s traveling act have all been accounted for, the women they was traveling with ain’t.”

Longarm shrugged and said, “I noticed. But what the hell, none of their gals took part in any hanging offenses and, without Costello and his clan of wild Irishmen to lead ‘em from the straight and narrow, they’ve no doubt split up and gone back to just being wild and wicked. The gents in the outfit were all related, and two of the gals were Costello’s daughters, but the rest was likely stage-struck gals they picked up along the way.”

“Back east, some time ago, before they went from bad to worse,” Vail said. “They have neither kith nor kin out west. They don’t know the parts they ain’t been to before. I figure they’ll stick together and backtrack along the primrose paths they know so well.”

Longarm sighed and said, “Well, they ain’t in El Paso, and I don’t want to go up to Leadville. I got better things to do here in Denver than round up poor scared doxies the federal prosecutor down the hall has no real use for. Can’t we call the case closed, for Pete’s sake?”

Vail shook his head and said, “Not until it is, old son. You may have nailed all the more murderous members of the gang, but what about the money?”

Longarm lit his cheroot and said, “I wish you’d read the reports that give me writer’s cramp. I told you we found around four hundred plus change in the pockets of them gents now buried in El Paso. They was carrying no luggage. With the help of El Paso P.D., I backtracked ‘em all to the various hotels they’d been holed up in. Needless to say, they hadn’t left any money behind. I reckon one of Costello’s twin daughters was holding on to the bulk of the loot for safekeeping. It wasn’t the one called Maureen, I searched her just before she lit out of town with no luggage, either.”

He took a thoughtful drag on his smoke before he nodded and said, “All right. Say they spent a good part of the loot from that first robbery, but never had time or reason to spend all the money from that post office safe in El Paso. We’re talking about … Ouch, more money than you and me figure to draw from Uncle Sam together in the next dozen years or more. But the trail is cold, Billy. I only know what one of them gals looks like for sure, and they could have gone most anywhere by now.”

Vail said, flatly, “One of ‘em, at least, was here in Denver about the time you was shooting it out with her father, lover, or whatever. She cashed a couple of hundred dollars worth of stamps at the main post office a spit and a holler from this very office. Ain’t that a bitch?”

Longarm scowled and said, “It was dumb as hell, too. They just couldn’t have spent all that cash they stole already.”

Then he blew a thoughtful smoke ring and studied it as he mused on, “Wait a second. It works if only one of the gals was packing most of the cash and a sister in sin run low on funds before they could all meet up again. I hope the post office gave some thought to what the gal cashing all them stamps might have looked like?”

Vail nodded and said, “They did. They saw no call to grab her until a supervisor recalled the flier on them special delivery stamps, too late. But the clerk who made the awful mistake says them stamps was redeemed by a mighty pretty redhead. How do you like them apples?”

Longarm whistled and said, “Unless they get a buy on henna rinse it don’t make sense. Costello might have entrusted one of his twin daughters with the proceeds of that last robbery, but I suspicion one of the other men grabbed them sheets of stamps as icing on the cake for his own lady love.”

“Whoever she was,” Vail said, “even a hundred dollars is enough to rent them a house or fancy French flat for two or three months. She’d have never risked cashing that many stamps if all she’d planned on was a fancy dinner and a Pullman berth east. So it adds up to them meeting somewhere here in Denver, dividing up the loot, and leaving town together or separate by, say, election time, when anyone who wasn’t as smart as you and me should have given up on ‘em, see!”

Longarm blew another smoke ring and said, “You surely are a poor loser, boss. What am I supposed to do now, canvas every real estate agent and beauty shop in town?”

“Nope. I got lesser lights doing that already, and since Denver P.D. wants in on the case, they’re searching for a gaggle of good-looking wild geese as well. I was hoping you’d be able to come up with one of your more clever notions. So why don’t you?”

Longarm shrugged and said, “Well, since the twins leading the female fugitives was brung up in the magical trade, they’ll no doubt make some sneaky moves above and beyond the usual fugitives. Can I borrow Smiley, Dutch, and Guilfoyle this evening? Like me, old Guilfoyle has reasons for not being the arresting officer in the case of one such gal. But I reckon we can work it out so nobody has to arrest anyone he screwed, when the time comes.”

Chapter 20

It was a weeknight, so even the Denver Dry Goods & Department store was closed by sundown. When he met Susan in the lobby of her hotel, she said they already had her line of goods in stock at Denver Dry Goods, but that she’d made a few modest sales and was looking forward to an evening of less walking and more healthy exercise.

As he carried her sample bag upstairs for her Longarm said, “Well, there went a great notion I had about a dance hall up on Colfax. But what say, after we have supper, We take in a Vaudville act on Larimer?”

She unlocked her door and stepped in ahead of him, protesting, “I don’t want to see any damned dancing poodle dogs or listen to any damned trained seals play music, Custis. Take off your duds and let me entertain us both, right.”

He cast a wistful eye on the big bed in the one small room and told her, “It’s early. We got to eat if you expect me to survive another night with you.”

She stopped unpinning her hat and turned back to him to say, “All right. There’s a dining room right downstairs. Guess what I mean to serve you for dessert.”

He didn’t argue, yet. He waited until they were seated in the dining room and she was sipping her mucho gusto before he told her, “I hope you won’t get sore enough to bust plates over my head, honey, but as I told you when we first met, I ride for the Justice Department.”

She smiled wickedly across the table at him and said, “They sure taught you a lot about riding, dear. But didn’t you say you’d be off duty by the time I finished for the day?”

“I did, but my boss is an infernal spoilsport. He asked me to check something out for him this evening and I reckon I have to, unless we want him pounding on your door just as we’re starting to enjoy ourselves.”

Susan didn’t answer as the waiter came over to take their order. He was one of those snooty-looking hotel waiters who acted like a ration of chili con carne over a T-bone was an unusual order. He seemed to think Susan’s notion of trout and string beans was more civilized. When he’d left she asked Longarm what Billy Vail wanted him to do on her time, damn it.

He said, “Maybe nothing. Remember me telling you about them wicked young gals who got away whilst I was tracking down their men-folk? I don’t recall if I told you they was vaudeville entertainers or not.”

“You did, while we were getting our second wind. Is that why you just invited me to watch a vaudeville show with you, for heaven’s sake?”

“You don’t have to come along if you got better things to do,” he said. “I figured to sort of combine business with pleasure by inviting you along. There’s only a bare outside chance I’ve guessed right, and there won’t be no danger, either way. If I picked the wrong three-sheets, we’ll be able to leave early and be back upstairs in no time. If my wild hunch pays off, it won’t take more than an hour or so to book the wicked gals. So how’s about it?”

She hesitated. Then she said, “Well, I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a poor sport, and it does sound sort of exciting. Who told you those bad girls might be at that theatre this evening?”

He smiled modestly and said, “Me, Knowing the bills had just changed yesterday, I took a noonday walk the length of Larimer and read all the three-sheets. You was right about poodle dogs and trained seals. Slapstick comics and jugglers seem to be in oversupply this season as well. But there was only one place with a magic act on the bill. There was no matinee this afternoon, so I had to take the doorman’s word that none of the gals in the all-gal act are redheads. You got to admit, though, that an all-gal act is sort of unusual.”

The waiter brought their order, sniffed at Longarm, and left them alone some more. Susan said, “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ll have to sit through small-time vaudeville in vain. You told me you only knew what one of those girls you’re after really looks like. Wouldn’t she be terribly stupid to show her red mop in the same town you patrol, dear?”

He frowned and said, “I don’t patrol Denver, they got boys in blue to do that. I said it was a long shot. There’s no law against putting on all-gal magic acts. On the other hand, a mess of strange gals boarding in town with no visible means of support could attract more attention than they want to attract and, since magic acting is the only honest profession they have-“

“I said I’d tag along,” Susan cut in with a sigh. “I certainly hope you’ll be as good a sport, later. For there’s something I read in a wicked book that I’ve always been sort of curious about. I’ve been waiting for a good sport who doesn’t seem easy to shock before I got around to really trying it.”

Chapter 21

“This is really dreadful,” Susan was saying from the vantage point of their private box as she and Longarm watched a couple of men in baggy pants slap each other with slapsticks. Longarm had been able to spring for such luxury because his office would be paying for it. A box seat cost more than it was worth, even in such a second-rate house. At least half the audience below them needed a bath and the rest were smoking tobacco worse than old Billy Vail admired.

Longarm glanced down at his printed program and soothed, “I’m sorry the Brothers Malone are so dreadful. They’re almost finished.”

As if to prove his point, one of the Brothers Malone dropped his slapstick, hauled a soda-water syphon out of his baggy pants, and chased the other one offstage, squirting at him, as the orchestra gave them a rousing send-off. A couple of folk in the audience even clapped their hands.

Then a young gal in a rainy-Suzie spangled skirt came on stage to change the cards on the easel set up to one side. She got more applause, in one minute, than the Brothers Malone likely had since they’d first come west.

The new card announced the act of Fata Morgana and Company, and the orchestra commenced to play sort of spooky oriental music as a gal sitting center-stage in a harem outfit on a magic carpet slowly rose, carpet and all, to thundergast the audience. As she hovered in midair with the limelight centered on her, two other gals dressed even more shocking ran out from the wings with a long length of red silk stretched between. They kept running as they passed the silk over the hovering gal to show her carpet wasn’t suspended on wires. She made snaky movements with her bare arms and tore after them on her flying carpet as yet another gal tore out the other way to do cartwheels as the limelight followed her in turn. Longarm yawned as, at his side, Susan gasped and said, “Now that was pretty good. How do you suppose she made her carpet fly like that?”

He said, “Easy. They got a sheet of plywood under it to keep it flat. She had her waist through a hole in said plywood. The legs crossed atop the carpet were fake. Her real legs were in black tights. All she had to do was stand up and run offstage before anyone wondered why nobody passed silk under her on a half-dark stage.”

The woman sharing the box with him gaped at him in wonder and asked, “How did you know that? You told me on the train you were a lawman, not a magician.”

He shrugged and said, “I’ve been studying the subject more than most, of late. Once you know there’s no such thing as real magic, you sort of get the hang of it. Touring magic shows have to keep their tricks simple. Theatres just don’t have all the secret trapdoors and overhead cranes the audience is watching for. Let’s see what they do next.”

Fata Morgana and her troupe mostly waved silk streamers about, as far as he could tell. The streamers kept changing colors and it was hard to judge how many were in the act, let alone where half those streamers were coming from or going to. Longarm had to agree it was a run-of-the-mill show for a small-time show house. He was pretty sure he’d never made love to any of those three, or was it four gals, by the time he’d watched them flash their silk-clad figures all over creation without really doing much. Then, as if they too sensed it was about time to do something to top that first trick with the magic carpet, they dragged two big boxes, painted red and gold, out from either wing. As two of ‘em picked up one box to tilt toward the audience—as if it was as empty as it looked—Longarm nodded, folded his program into a paper glider, and let fly.

As the silly-looking creation swooped back and forth above the audience, some looked up and laughed while others yelled to cut it out and give the little ladies a chance. Longarm leaned back, satisfied, as his paper glider made it as far as the orchestra pit and vanished. Susan stared at him as if he’d just suggested something disgusting and asked him why he was acting so silly. He said, “Misdirection. I was taught by the Great Costello never to make an expected move when you can manage another.”

She said, “Well, I certainly never expected a grown man to pull a kid stunt like that. Oh, look, one of those harem girls is climbing into a box.”

He said, “I know. She had no way of knowing the Great Costello bragged to me about that trick. I reckon they feel it’s a good trick as well. But let’s see how my trick works.”

Before she could ask him what he meant, two uniformed Denver coppers stepped out on stage to sit firmly on the lids of both magic boxes. Others were coming on stage as the curtain suddenly dropped, so the audience didn’t get to catch the rest of Longarm’s own stage illusion, and booed accordingly.

Susan started to rise, saying, “Let’s get out of here. I fear you’ve started a riot.”

But he hauled her back down and soothed, “No sense getting trampled on the stairs. Denver P.D. and the other federal deputies I invited to the show can control the crowd without our help. What was that shocking sex act you were saving up for later, honey? I’ve always been a curious cuss and we got plenty of time to talk as we wait for things to simmer down.”

She laughed, wildly, and said, “I was looking for adventure, not a police raid, when I picked you up, you goof!”

Then Deputy Guilfoyle parted the curtains of their box and stuck his face in, grinning, to say, “We got five of ‘em—the four on-stage and the one lurking offstage as their manager. Her hair ain’t red no more, but otherwise she answers to your description of the one twin daughter, Maureen. I’m sure glad old Dutch grabbed the one I met at the hotel that time. She keeps yelling rape and Dutch never done a thing but handcuff her.”

“I hope you searched the dressing rooms like I said,” Longarm said.

“I did. Found another sheet of them special delivery stamps, but not much cash. That wicked twin is still at large, so she likely has it.”

Longarm sighed and said, “I was afraid of that. They used the cash from that stamp transaction to buy the new props they just showed off. They had to do something honest-looking while they waited for big sister to get here with the real money.”

Guilfoyle asked, “Don’t you mean the twin to the one we just caught?”

“I thought I did. Costello never denied it, and I jumped to conclusions. I figured they worked that magic box trick with twins. But as you just saw, two gals in the same wigs and outfits are close enough. Costello never saw fit to point out that, like everyone else trying to figure a magic trick, I made it more complicated than it really needed to be. It was dumb of me to conclude Maureen was the boss sister when Costello swapped his fool self for her. As soon as you study on it you can see a fond parent would value all his daughters. It would have been dumb of Costello to entrust the loot to a daughter the law knew anything about, and Maureen got to know me in the biblical sense when she picked me up to keep an eye on me the night before the big Denver bust-out.”

Guilfoyle grinned sheepishly and said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. The gal who picked me up in the taproom that night was the one who rides magic carpets a lot. That’s why I got Dutch to arrest her.”

Longarm nodded and said, “Smart move. The only one left for any of us to arrest is the one who stayed well out of the picture. The one entrusted with the money. Knowing the way the Great Costello thought, I’m betting she didn’t travel with ‘em and made sure she stayed in other hotels in other parts of town as they traveled.”

Susan had of course been listening all this time, but seemed to find it all distasteful as well as confusing. She rose to her feet and said, “The crowd down there has thinned out enough for us to leave. Or would you rather stay a while? I could meet you at my place, later.”

Longarm said, “Hold the thought, honey. I’m just about done here and I don’t want you on the streets without no escort.”

She started to protest. Then Billy Vail joined them to announce, “Well, Longarm, I’ll allow I thought it was a wild shot, and the judge who issued the search warrant thought it was even wilder. But when you’re right, you’re right.”

Then he held up an all-too-familiar sample case and, as Susan gasped in dismay and Longarm sighed in resignation, Vail continued. “We found this in the hotel room you intimated we might. It sure was heavy, like you said, for a case packed with frilly female notions. That was because of all the silver certificates in high denominations packed in under the false bottom, of course.”

All three lawmen in the box turned to Susan to see what she might have to say about the luggage Longarm had carried to her hotel for her, earlier. But she didn’t say a word. She turned to grab the railing of the box and vault gracefully over it before anyone could stop her.

She almost made it. She landed feet-first on a seat far below. Then the seat folded under her. She crashed down, face up, to snap her spine on the upright backs of the seats one row closer to the stage. They could hear the ghastly crackle of her parting vertebrae, then her body crumpled down between the seats in a series of dull thuds. Then it got very quiet.

Longarm broke the silence by muttering, “AW, she didn’t have to do that. All we had on her for certain was aiding and abetting. But I noticed on the train, coming up from El Paso, that she was sort of excitable.”

Some Denver lawmen were moving toward the dead girl down there, now. Vail said, “I never heard that remark about anyone coming excited on any train, official. But for my own informal curiosity, would someone please tell me how a gal could get that passionate with a lawman who’d just shot it out with her own father, and won?”

Longarm shrugged and said, “Desperation. Knowing I was a lawman still searching for her friends and relations must have excited her more than any desire for revenge and, well, you know what they say about love and hate being close kin. She picked me up to find out how close I might be to figuring the whole deal out—It was a trick she’d either taught or learned from her kid sister, and I have to confess it almost worked on me a second time. Ain’t us men fools when it comes to nice-looking women?”

Guilfoyle sighed and said, “I’ve noticed that, myself. But how did you get on to her, pard?”

Longarm said, “I didn’t, until I’d been on her a spell. It’s a shuddersome thing to study on. I even went to sleep a few winks, with her and my guns in the same compartment. I wasn’t thinking all that much about members of the gang at large until Billy told me some of ‘em at least were in Denver.”

He reached absently for a smoke as he continued, “Once I knew that, and that the early arrivals had to be strapped for cash if they were cashing in stamps so risky, I started thinking again.”

He lit his cheroot and explained, “I recalled how heavy that one sample case had been, and that reminded me that I’d have had a time meeting any gal aboard that train from El Paso if she hadn’t been in El Paso about the time I was shooting it out with the last male members of the gang. I was still hoping she just admired my shoulders as much as she let on, but I thought it only common sense to wire the outfit she said she sold stuff for and, guess what, she’d been fibbing about that. She knew a lot of show business terms for a traveling saleswoman. But, like I said, we’d have never convicted her all that serious if she hadn’t kept acting so wild to the end.”

He turned to Vail to ask, “Do you reckon her sisters in sin will get off light, seeing we recovered the money and all?”

Billy Vail said, “I doubt any of the others will have to serve much time. I don’t want either of you two to testify how any of ‘em might have served you!”

All three had to laugh. Then Guilfoyle said, “It was mean of them to poison me like that. But I have to admit that this time the law came out ahead, in more ways than one.”