Longarm and the Border Wildcat

“But they won’t know who was doing the shooting,” said Longarm.

“You’re right, though. We’d better not waste any more time.”

Within a matter of minutes, they were mounted up and had found the tracks of El Aguila’s gang. The outlaws had continued south, riding up into the hills. The ground was harder and dotted with stretches of rock, which made following the tracks more difficult, but all three of the pursuers had keen eyesight. If one of them lost the trail momentarily, another soon picked it up.

Longarm expected Scott to ask more questions about the captive they were trying to rescue, but the tall drifter didn’t seem particularly curious about Sonia. It was possible, thought Longarm, that everything Scott had told them was true. Some men were just too fiddle-footed to stay in one place for very long, and such types generally didn’t pay too much attention to things like borders. Riding across Mexico was just as good as riding across Texas to men like that. And the excitement of a good fight with an owlhoot gang, despite its dangers, could be a powerful lure to such an individual.

But every instinct Longarm possessed told him there was more to Scott than met the eye. He resolved to keep a close watch on the man. If Scott was telling the truth, he would likely be a valuable ally. If not, he might turn out to be more dangerous than El Aguila himself.

Midday came and went, and the sun blazed down on the three men, forcing them to stop fairly often and rest the horses. They tried to find some shade whenever they paused, and were usually able to do so. As they climbed higher into the hills, there was more vegetation, including mesquite and cedar trees.

At one such halt, Scott poured water into his hat for his horse and said, “Here you go, Phantom.” Coffin frowned. “You gave your horse a name?”“Why not?”

“I never heard of nobody namin’ their horse. Hell, you might as well give your gun a name.”

“What about Old Betsy, Davy Crockett’s long rifle?” Scott asked. “Davy was fond of that flintlock, and I’m fond of Phantom here. We’ve ridden many a trail together, and he’s saved my life more than once.”

Longarm was lounging in the shade of a cedar tree. He spoke up, saying, “I’ve ridden some good horses, but I don’t recall ever naming one. Of course, they’ve usually been rented or borrowed mounts, so I didn’t have them for very long.”

“Just strikes me as foolishness, that’s all,” said Coffin.

“Seems like it’d be harder to ride an animal into the ground if you had to if it had a name you’d given to it.” Scott shrugged. “You’re something of a philosopher, Lazarus, but on matters of philosophy, men often have to agree to disagree.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, I reckon you’re right. But I still wouldn’t give a hoss a name.”

Longarm just chuckled and shook his head. He would remember in the future to leave the arguing with Coffin to Walt Scott. If there was a future after they caught up with El Aguila’s gang ...

By late afternoon, they hadn’t caught up with the outlaws, but Longarm was convinced the tracks they were following were fresher. He estimated they were only a couple of hours behind now. But even with the frequent rests, the horses were getting tired, and so were Longarm and Coffin. Neither man had gotten any sleep the night before, and dozing for a minute or two in the saddle every now and then didn’t do much to refresh a man. Longarm’s eyeballs were beginning to feel like they had been plucked out, rolled around in sand for a while, then stuck back in their sockets. He was rubbing them when Coffin said, “Well, looky there.”

Longarm looked, and saw that the Ranger was pointing at the tracks they had been following. The trail split, one group of tracks vanishing through a narrow gap between some hills, the other winding down a ridge toward a broad, shallow valley.

“There’s a village down there,” said Scott, nodding toward the valley.

Longarm saw the settlement too. It was a small cluster of adobe buildings, the largest of them crowned by a square bell tower. That would be the local mission. The other structures were probably a cantina or two, maybe a store, and the homes of the farmers who worked the land alongside a narrow creek that ran through the valley.

Coffin looked at him. “That bunch we’ve been followin’ split up, Long. What do we do now?”

Longarm frowned in thought. Which group of outlaws would have been the most likely to take Sonia with them, the ones that had headed for the village or the bunch riding on further into the hills? He couldn’t answer that question, because there was no way of knowing what the men intended to do with their captive. Longarm had figured they would all head for El Aguila’s hideout, but it was possible they had taken Sonia down to the settlement, planning to sell her to the owner of the cantina as a whore. Or maybe they had something else entirely in mind.

“We could split up,” Scott suggested.

Longarm shook his head. “There’s not enough of us. One man would have to ride alone.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that,” Scott said quietly.

“No, we’ll stay together.” Longarm was emphatic about that. He reached another decision and went on. “We’ll ride on down to that village. It won’t take long, and if the girl’s not there, we can always pick up the trail again here.”

“What if we find some of those outlaws but not the gal?” asked Coffin.

“Then they can tell us where the others are taking her, can’t they?”

Longarm said with a tired grin.

“I’m sure they’ll be glad to cooperate,” Scott added dryly.

Coffin reined his horse around. “All right, all right, let’s just get on with it.”

The three of them rode openly down the trail that led to the Mexican village. It was past siesta time, and as they approached, Longarm saw several peones in sombreros, white shirts and trousers, and rope-soled sandals moving around the adobe buildings. One of the buildings had half-a-dozen horses tied up at a hitch rail in front of it, marking it as the cantina, even though there was no sign painted on it. The door was open, and the arched entranceway reminded Longarm of the mouth of a cave. With the glare of the lowering sun flooding the dusty street, it was impossible to see anything in the shadowy interior of the cantina. The skin on the back of Longarm’s neck prickled as he rode closer to the building.

“Careful, boys, careful,” breathed Coffin, who was evidently feeling some of the same sensations. Even the easygoing Scott seemed more tense than usual.

But no shots came from inside the cantina, and the men Longarm, Coffin, and Scott passed on the street looked at them with only the casual interest they would direct toward any strangers.

There was room at the hitch rack for the three horses, but that just about filled it up. Longarm looped the bay’s reins around the rail, tying them loosely so that they could be jerked free in a hurry if need be. Coffin and Scott followed suit.

“I’ll go in first,” Longarm said quietly. “You two hang back a little, in case there’s trouble right away.”

Coffin looked as if he wanted to argue, but Scott nodded and said, “All right.” Coffin shrugged and waited with Scott as Longarm walked over to the door of the cantina.

The inside of the place was lit by several candles, Longarm saw as he stepped through the doorway. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness. Over the years, he had been in probably a hundred cantinas similar to this one. A crude bar ran across the back of the room, built of rough-hewn planks laid across the tops of several barrels. The floor was hard-packed dirt, and scattered around it were a handful of tables and chairs, all of them as crudely made as the bar. Another arched doorway, this one covered by a beaded curtain, led into a room in the back. A few Mexican farmers stood at the bar, being served by a grossly fat woman in a peasant blouse that revealed far too much of her pendulous breasts. A quick glance around told Longarm that the woman behind the bar was the only female in the place.

All the tables were unoccupied except for one in the corner. Six men were crowded around it, passing a bottle of tequila from hand to hand as they played cards and smoked small black cigars that looked like burning pieces of rope. Smelled like it too, thought Longarm as he moved unhurriedly toward the bar. As he reached it and turned slightly, he saw Coffin and Scott step through the door of the cantina.

In the brief moments since he had entered the building, several pieces of information had burned themselves into Longarm’s brain. For one thing, he was convinced the men at the table were members of El Aguila’s gang. Four of them were Mexicans, the other two gringos, but they were all cut from the same cloth—hard-cases, each and every one. For another, they were drunk and not paying attention to anything except their celebrating. That meant the loot from the latest raid on Del Rio had probably been split up already.

Their inattention to the newcomers also meant that no one had warned them about the three men riding into the village. Evidently none of the townspeople felt any great liking for these members of El Aguila’s gang. Still, Longarm was a little surprised that fear hadn’t prompted someone to try to curry favor with the desperadoes by telling them about the strangers.

These folks really didn’t like El Aguila, Longarm realized. That was all right with him.

The only real disappointment was the fact that Sonia wasn’t there.

Or maybe she was. As Longarm rested his left hand on the bar, he heard an unmistakable sound—the moans and sighs of a woman caught up in the throes of passion. The noises were coming from the back room. Whoever was back there sounded as if she liked what was happening to her. Longarm’s jaw tightened. He hated to think that maybe Sonia was enjoying her captivity.

The woman behind the bar edged over to him, a nervous expression on her face. “You want something?” she asked in heavily accented English.

“Tequila,” said Longarm. He glanced over his shoulder. Coffin and Scott were staying close to the door, lounging with their shoulders against the adobe wall. The outlaws in the corner hadn’t glanced toward them, as far as Longarm could tell.

The sounds of lovemaking had ended in the back room. With a clatter, the curtain of beads was shoved aside. Longarm turned his head and saw a young woman step out into the main room. The neckline of her blouse was pulled down so that half of one brown nipple was visible. She had a satisfied smile on her face.

But she wasn’t Sonia Guiterrez.

The woman behind the bar thumped down a glass in front of Longarm and splashed some tequila in it from a bottle. As Longarm reached for it, a man followed the younger woman out of the back room. He was smirking, clearly pleased with himself.

But when his gaze locked with Longarm’s, his eyes widened and his hand dropped in a blur to the gun on his hip.

A couple of thoughts whipped through Longarm’s brain in that instant. He had figured that because there were six horses at the hitch rail outside and six men around the table in the corner, all of the outlaws were accounted for. But the man who had come out of the back room, the man who was now grabbing for his gun as a curse sprang to his lips, had definitely recognized Longarm. And Longarm thought he recognized the man too. He remembered the duster the man wore, and the cream-colored hat with conchos around the band.

The last time Longarm had seen him, he’d been tossing a stick of dynamite into Sheriff Sanderson’s office in Del Rio.

All of that flashed through Longarm’s mind even as he acted. He flicked his left wrist, and the tequila in the glass he held in that hand flew up into the face of the outlaw. At the same time Longarm twisted toward the man, his right hand flashing across his body to palm the Colt out of the cross-draw rig. The outlaw in the duster yelled in pain as the tequila stung his eyes. He stumbled back a step as he blinked furiously. His gun was already out, and it was coming up fast, even though he was half-blinded.

Longarm triggered twice, the slugs slamming into the outlaw’s midsection at close range and driving him backward like a giant hammer. Before the man even hit the dirt of the floor, Longarm was spinning around toward the table where the other owlhoots were.

One of the men at the table went diving away from the others,

indicating to Longarm that he was probably one of the locals and not a

member of the gang at all

The others were all leaping to their feet and reaching for their guns.

“Hold it!” yelled Coffin, who had drawn the pearl-handled Remington.

The long-barreled revolver was leveled at the outlaws.

They ignored the command, as Longarm expected they would. Everyone else in the cantina had wisely hit the floor, so Longarm and Coffin had a clear field as they opened fire. The gunshots were deafening as their thunder filled the low-ceilinged cantina.

From the corner of his eye, Longarm saw Scott tip over one of the tables and crouch behind it for cover. The drifter had drawn his guns, but he hadn’t fired yet. Of course, he didn’t really need to. Longarm and Coffin had had the drop on the outlaws, and it had been foolish of the men not to surrender. Most owlhoots weren’t noted for the sharpness of their wits. These had tried to blaze away at Longarm and Coffin, and were getting cut down for their trouble.

The shooting lasted only a handful of seconds, though it seemed longer. A couple of the outlaws were thrown back against the adobe wall behind them by the lead plowing into their chests. Another doubled over, gut-shot, and collapsed onto the table where they had been playing poker, scattering the cards. The pasteboards fluttered to the ground, stained with outlaw blood.

That left just two of the gang on their feet, and one of them was wounded. The man dropped his gun and clutched at a bullet-shattered elbow. He whimpered and cursed in pain as he stumbled against a chair. The other man let his gun fall to the floor too, though he wasn’t wounded. He lifted his hands and cried out, “Don’t shoot! For God’s sake, don’t shoot no more!”

The man who was surrendering was one of the gringos, Longarm saw. His companion with the broken arm was Mexican. The fight was out of both of them, and as Longarm and Coffin approached, guns still leveled, they cringed back.

As all the innocent bystanders in the cantina scurried out the front door of the place, including the barmaid, Longarm kicked the fallen guns out of reach and said harshly, “You’re two of El Aguila’s men. No use in denying it. We trailed you here from Del Rio.”

The Mexican with the wounded arm spat at Longarm’s feet. There were tears in his eyes and his face was contorted in pain, but he found the strength somewhere inside him to put up a stubbornly defiant front. “We deny nothing,” he said.

Scott had followed Coffin. He checked the men on the floor and announced, “These boys are all dead. That was pretty good shooting.”

Longarm grunted and bit back a comment about how that was no thanks to Scott’s efforts. The man was no coward—he had proved that when he took on those Yaquis—but for some reason he had decided to remain in the background this time.

Longarm might have puzzled over that more, but right now he was more worried about Sonia Guiterrez. “Where’s the girl you took from Del Rio?” he asked the two survivors.

The American started to say something, but the wounded Mexican cut him off. “You gringo lawmen will never find her,” he gloated. “She has been taken to our stronghold, where not even an army of bastards like you could reach her.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, old son,” Longarm said.

“I would,” said Walt Scott. The words were accompanied by the ominous double click of gun hammers being cocked.

And those sounds told Longarm just what a damn fool he had been.

Chapter 12

“You’re double-crossing us, aren’t you, Scott?” Longarm said.

“Afraid so. Drop your gun, Long. You too, Coffin.”

Coffin started cursing, a venomous rant that fairly stank of brimstone. After a moment, Longarm interrupted him by saying, “That’s not going to do any good, Coffin. Scott’s got us where he wants us.”

“Yes, and if you don’t drop those guns, I’m going to have to shoot

you,” Scott warned. “I don’t particularly want to-“

“Sure you don’t, you sneakin’, yella-bellied, goat-lovin’ excuse for a

human bein’!” said Coffin. “I’d like to get my hands around your throat

just for a minute! I’d-“

Scott prodded Coffin in the back with the long barrel of his right-hand gun. Reluctantly, Coffin shut up and lowered his Remington to the floor. He dropped it carefully on the hard-packed dirt.

Longarm did likewise with his Colt, and Scott said in satisfaction, “That’s better.”The wounded Mexican outlaw asked, “Why are you doing this, senor?”

“You mean Scott’s not one of the gang?” The surprised question came from Longarm.

Scott chuckled coldly. “Not yet. But I’m going to be.”

Understanding dawned in Longarm’s brain. “You’re going to turn us over to El Aguila. Buy your way into his bunch with a couple of gringo lawmen.”

“Now you’re thinking, Custis. I’m a man who likes to seize an opportunity when it presents itself. I don’t reckon I’ll ever get a better one.”

The Mexican bandit turned to his uninjured companion. “Bind up this wound, Grady,” he ordered, “and then get me a bottle of tequila. I am in great pain.”

“Sure,” Grady said with a nod. Now that the threat from Longarm and Coffin was over, he didn’t look nearly as frightened. “Listen, Manuel, you know I didn’t really mean to tell these law-dogs anything.”

Manuel gave a skeptical snort, but made no other reply. Instead he glared at Longarm and said, “It was your bullet that shattered my arm, bastard. It will never be right again. I shall not forget.”

Longarm didn’t say anything in response to the implied threat, but Coffin spat on the floor and said with a scowl, “I hope you die of blood poisonin’.”

Scott moved around so that he could cover Longarm and Coffin from the front. “Sit down at one of those tables, boys,” he ordered. “It’ll still be a while before we’re ready to leave, I imagine.” He glanced over at Manuel as the Mexican sat down at another table, moving somewhat awkwardly due to the way he clutched his wounded arm. “You will take me to see El Aguila, I assume.”

“I have little choice but to take you to our stronghold,” said Manuel. “Otherwise you might betray Grady and me just as you betrayed these men who thought you their friend.”

“The odds are pretty much even now,” Scott said with a grim smile playing across his wide mouth.

“That is why you did not declare yourself until the rest of my compadres were dead,” Manuel said accusingly.

Scott shrugged broad shoulders. “Sometimes a man has to wait a bit to see which way he wants to jump. Anyway, the ball got rolling before I could do anything about it. Personally, I don’t like to see a lot of killing.”

Longarm managed not to laugh scornfully at that statement. He doubted that killing bothered Scott a bit. The self-proclaimed drifter was a cold-blooded son of a bitch, that was for sure.

And Longarm was kicking himself for not realizing what Scott had had in mind. He hadn’t fully trusted Scott, not even after the man had pitched in to help fight off the Yaquis, but his concern for Sonia’s whereabouts and well-being, along with the excitement of the gunfight with the outlaws, had made him let down his guard. If he got out of this mess alive, that wasn’t going to happen again, he vowed.

Of course, it was looking mighty doubtful that he would have to worry about that. Once El Aguila got his hands on the two lawmen, they probably wouldn’t live very long.

While Scott kept his guns trained on Longarm and Coffin, the barrels rock-steady in his firm grip, Grady patched up Manuel’s arm as best he could. Manuel slugged down half a bottle of tequila to dull the pain from the injury, then got unsteadily to his feet. “Come,” he said. “We ride for the hills.”

Scott gestured with the twin Colts, motioning Longarm and Coffin onto their feet. Supported by Grady, Manuel stumbled out of the cantina, followed by Longarm and Coffin with Scott bringing up the rear. “What about the bodies of your friends?” Scott asked.

Manuel’s right arm was supported in a crude sling that Grady had rigged. He waved his left arm without looking around. “Leave them,” he said with the typical callousness of the outlaw breed. “They are no longer any use to us.”

The sun had set behind the hills to the west, leaving the shadows of dusk gathering in the little village. Nervous faces watched from the windows of the other buildings as Longarm and Coffin were forced at gunpoint to mount up. Grady helped Manuel onto his horse, then kept a pistol trained on Longarm and Coffin while Scott swung up into the saddle atop Phantom. Once Grady was mounted too, he gathered up the reins of the horses belonging to the dead men inside the cantina and led them as the little group started up the slope to the point in the ridge where the trail had split.

Longarm took a deep breath and suppressed the anger he felt inside. He had to think clearly and calmly now; his life, as well as those of Coffin and Sonia, might depend on it.

There was one good thing about this, he reminded himself. He and Coffin were being taken straight to the gang’s hideout. That was something they might not have been able to accomplish without being captured. Now all they would have to do was escape from their captors, free Sonia, and take her with them when they fled.

Yep, thought Longarm grimly, that was all.

Despite the pain of his wound and the fact that he was half drunk, Manuel was able to lead the group along a trail that wound like a maze through the hills. Longarm had figured out by now that Grady was a half-wit, at best, relying on the Mexican to tell him what to do.

Coffin was still muttering sulphurous curses under his breath as he rode alongside Longarm. Their hands were not tied, and Longarm hoped that fact wouldn’t give Coffin the false confidence to try some sort of escape. Scott rode right behind them, and Longarm had seen the man’s speed and accuracy with those black-handled Colts he wore. If Coffin made a break for it, Scott could shoot him down with little or no trouble. A dead lawman might be just as good to El Aguila as a live one.

Stars glittered brightly overhead in the vast sable cloak of night. As usual in this part of the world, the temperature cooled off rapidly once the sun was down, and by the time the group had been riding for a couple of hours after leaving the village, Longarm wished he could get his coat out of his saddlebags. The air had a definite chill in it.

Or maybe it was just the knowledge that he was being taken into the stronghold of a bloodthirsty outlaw gang at gunpoint that made icy fingers play along his spine, he thought. It wasn’t the first time he had been in a spot this tight, but knowing that didn’t help overmuch.

The landscape had grown even more rugged. Some of the hills were small mountains now. The trail wound between them. Longarm tried to keep track of landmarks so that he could find his way back along this path if he got the opportunity, but the darkness made that difficult. Manuel must have a good sense of direction, Longarm mused, or they would have been hopelessly lost by now.

Maybe they were, he thought. Maybe that was exactly what had happened. Manuel might not be thinking or seeing as clearly as he believed he was, and they might be wandering around aimlessly. Longarm hoped that wasn’t the case. The one ray of light in this seemingly hopeless situation was the prospect that he and Coffin were being taken to the same place where Sonia was held prisoner.

As those thoughts were going through Longarm’s head, the trail rounded a bend and ran through a narrow gap between two huge upthrusts of rock. Beyond this natural gateway, Longarm saw, moonlight washed down over a good-sized valley with overhanging cliffs on both sides that came together at the far end to form a blank wall. The valley looked as if it could have been formed by a giant hand molding mountains out of clay, then pressing a thumb down in the center of them. The gap seemed to be the only entrance.

And a few men could hold that gap against an army for a good while, decided Longarm. That was what made this such a good hideout. Lights glittered on the floor of the valley, and he knew there must be buildings down there.A harsh voice hailed the party. “Who’s there?”

Longarm couldn’t see the sentry, but he was willing to bet that more than one rifle was trained on them at this moment, and if the wrong answer came back, a hail of lead would fall on them.

“It is Manuel,” called the wounded outlaw. “I am hurt, muchachos.

Grady is with me, but the others are dead.”

“Who’re those other three bastards, then?” asked the hidden guard.

“Two of them are gringo lawmen from Texas,” replied Manuel. “The other is a man who wishes to become one of us. He kept the lawmen from capturing Grady and me after they had killed the rest of our compadres.”

Longarm wanted to point out that he wasn’t from Texas at all, but had been born and bred in West-by-God Virginia, but he supposed that didn’t really matter much right then. He kept his mouth shut.

“This ain’t some sort of trick, is it?” the sentry asked suspiciously.

“You have my word it is not,” answered Manuel, his voice thick and a little slurred. “Now, we must pass. My arm is hurting a great deal, and I would have the curandero attend to it.”

So the outlaws had a physician among them, a former doctor maybe, or at least somebody with some medical training who had wound up following the owlhoot trail instead of the healer’s road. That came as no surprise. Bandits got shot up all the time, and they would need someone to take care of their wounds.

“Go ahead,” said the guard. “I reckon it’s all right. Deke ain’t goin’ to be happy about those other boys gettin’ themselves killed. He didn’t want y’all goin’ off to get drunk and play cards in the first place.”

“Deke is not ... the boss,” said Manuel, the words coming now between teeth clenched in pain. That tequila was starting to wear off, Longarm figured.

“Maybe not, but he thinks he’s in charge,” said the hidden sentry.

Manuel heeled his horse into motion, riding through the gap trailed by Grady. The opening was so narrow that Longarm and Coffin had to go through it single file. Scott brought up the rear, as he had ever since they’d left the village.

The trail sloped down to the valley floor at a fairly sharp angle. Once they reached the bottom, Longarm saw in the moonlight that there was lush grass on the ground, along with clumps of trees here and there. This bowl in the mountains would have made a nice ranch, and perhaps that was what it had been at one time. As they neared the lights, Longarm saw that the yellow glow came from the windows of a large adobe house built in the Spanish style. The hacienda of the valley’s former owner? That was likely, thought Longarm. But had the rancher abandoned the place for some reason, or been killed when El Aguila’s gang took it over? Longarm couldn’t answer that one.

They were challenged again as they approached an adobe wall that surrounded the hacienda. Double gates of black wrought iron were closed, blocking off the courtyard inside the wall. Manuel identified himself again, and shadowy figures carrying rifles appeared inside the gates and opened them.

“If I was you, mi amigo,” one of the men said to Manuel, “I would speak to Deke first before seeking out the curandero. Those empty saddles will not please him.”

“The fault was not mine,” protested Manuel. “But you are probably right.”

Scott spoke up for the first time in quite a while. “I want to see this fella Deke myself. Sounds like he’s the second in command around here, and I’ll probably have to go through him to get to El Aguila.”

Manuel laughed humorlessly. “Si. This is true. Come with me.”

He rode through the gates and into the courtyard, followed by the others. Coffin muttered, “Damn,” as the gates clanged shut behind them. Longarm guessed the Ranger didn’t care for the sound. From what he knew of Coffin’s past, the big man had heard such sounds plenty of times before, as jail cells were closed and locked with Coffin on the wrong side of the bars.

Even in the shadows, the house was an impressive U-shaped structure with two stories, the second one with a balcony running along its entire length. A wrought-iron railing bordered the balcony. Lamplight came from several of the windows on both floors. Somewhere, someone was playing a guitar, and a faint hint of wood smoke filled the air along with the melodic notes. Under other circumstances, this would have been a peaceful, beautiful place.

For Longarm and Coffin, it was more than likely a death trap.

Manuel reined in at a hitch rack bordering the stone-paved patio between the wings of the house. He gave Grady a curt command to help him down. Grady did so, then turned and covered Longarm and Coffin while Scott dismounted. The routine was the reverse of what they had gone through when they left the isolated village.

A few moments later, Longarm and Coffin had dismounted as well, and Scott said dryly, “After you, boys.”

Coffin growled a few more curses as he followed Manuel and Grady across the patio and through an open door into a large low-ceilinged room. Longarm was beside him, eyes flicking quickly around the room, taking in the scene and judging the odds.

No one else was in the room at the moment. It was furnished with heavy divans and chairs, and a thickly woven Indian rug lay on the stone floor. On one side of the room was a huge fireplace. It was a simple, yet comfortable room, no doubt reflecting the tastes of the original owner. Once again Longarm wondered what had become of him.

A door on the far side of the room opened, and a tall rawboned man in denim pants and a gray shirt walked in. There was something familiar about him, and after a second Longarm realized where he had seen the man before. This hombre was the one he had pegged as possibly being El Aguila during the first raid on Del Rio. The man had ridden in the forefront of the raiders galloping up and down the street.

Now, like all the other outlaws, he was unmasked, and Longarm saw an ugly, lantern-jawed face topped by thinning fair hair. He scowled at the newcomers and said, “I hear there was trouble, Manuel. What happened?”

Manuel half-turned toward Longarm and Coffin and indicated them with a curt wave of his uninjured arm. “These two men attacked us in the cantina. Higgins must have recognized one or both of them from Del Rio, because he went for his gun first. That one killed him.” Manuel nodded toward Longarm. “The bastards broke my arm with a bullet too. They killed everyone except for Grady and myself.”

“It was a close one, Deke,” put in Grady, clearly eager to mollify the lantern-jawed man. “They never would have got any of us if they hadn’t taken us by surprise.”

“They wouldn’t have taken you by surprise if you weren’t idiots,” said Deke with a disdainful curl of his upper lip. “None of you could wait to take your share of the loot and spend it on tequila and cards and whores.”

“We fought valiantly,” Manuel protested. “I have the wounded arm to prove it.”

Deke’s hand made a small, seemingly involuntary movement toward the gun holstered on his hip. “I ought to shoot you both right now.”

Manuel flinched slightly, and Grady looked about ready to shit in his pants, thought Longarm.

Deke took a deep breath to bring his anger under control, and jerked a thumb at Scott. “What about this hombre? Who’s he?”

“He gave us a hand-“ Grady began.

Manuel interrupted him. “He rode in with the two lawmen, but he did not take part in the fight. When it was over, he drew his guns and disarmed them, keeping them from killing Grady and me in cold blood.”

Coffin exploded. “We ain’t murderers like you, greaser! We don’t shoot men down like dogs—even when they deserve it!”

Deke silenced Coffin with a short wave of his hand. “Shut up.” He looked at Scott. “Seems like you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Name’s Walt Scott,” the drifter said easily. “I’ve heard of your bunch, and it sounds like the kind of organization I’d like to hook up with. I hear tell you come up with some pretty good money.”

“We get our share of loot,” said Deke. “But we’re not running a haven for gunfighters. Why should we take you in?”

Scott gestured with his guns at Longarm and Coffin. “I brought you a couple of lawmen to do with as you will.”Deke laughed harshly. “What are a pair of badge-toters worth?”

“You tell me. Anyway, Long and Coffin here are pretty smart fellas ... most of the time. If I hadn’t come along, they might’ve found this hideout and given you some real trouble, Deke. They’re looking for a girl, a Senorita Guiterrez they say you kidnapped back in Del Rio.”

Longarm had remained silent as long as he could. “Where is she?” he

asked sharply. “If you’ve hurt her-“

Deke jerked his gun out suddenly and stepped forward, making Manuel

and Grady jump back in fright. Instead of threatening the outlaws,

however, Deke brought the barrel of the revolver up and eared back its

hammer as he lined the muzzle on Longarm’s face. “Start threatening me,

you son of a bitch,” Deke grated, “and I’ll blow your brains out right here

and now-“

“Deke! Put that gun down.”

The imperiously voiced command made Longarm’s breath catch in his throat. Even though the muzzle of Deke’s gun bore an uncanny resemblance to a cannon at this range, Longarm was able to tear his gaze away from it and look toward the door that led into the other room.

Sonia stood there, dressed in a low-cut gown the color of burnished copper, just like her hair. She held a glass of wine in one hand, a small pistol in the other. The glitter of mocking laughter danced in her dark eyes.

“This bastard was shootin’ his mouth off,” Deke began without looking back at her.

“I know Senor Long quite well,” said Sonia, “and I am certain that his words were prompted only by concern for me. Misplaced, perhaps, but still concern.”

“What the hell?” exclaimed Coffin.

Longarm wasn’t as puzzled as the big Ranger was. The realization of what was really going on hit him like a fist in the gut, making a sour taste rise in his mouth. “El Aguila didn’t kidnap you at all, did he, Sonia?” he said tautly. “It was all just an act. You came willingly.”

She smiled at him. “You are a shrewd man, Custis.”

“No, I’m a damned fool. Here I thought you were in danger from El Aguila, when all along you were working with him.”

“Not exactly.” Sonia took a sip of her wine. “You see, Custis, there is no El Aguila.”

Chapter 13

“Or rather, there is,” she went on, “but he has nothing to do with us.”

Coffin shook his head. “I ain’t understandin’ this at all.”

Longarm was. He said slowly, “You just used the name so that everybody would be more afraid of the gang. El Aguila’s reputation carries some weight in the border country, doesn’t it?”

“He is well known to be a fierce outlaw,” Sonia said with a shrug that made her breasts bob slightly, intriguingly. Even under these circumstances, Longarm couldn’t completely ignore the lush appeal of her body. “As you say, my men simply used his name.”

“I thought it was sort of funny that a fella who’d always been known as a lone wolf would suddenly throw in with a bunch of owlhoots,” said Coffin, scowling darkly. “I should’a knowed El Aguila wouldn’t be runnin’ with a gang of no-accounts like this.”

Deke started to step forward again, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a grimace of hate, but Sonia stopped him with a look. “Say what you will, Senor Coffin,” she told the big Ranger, “but you and Senor Long are still our prisoners.”

She was right about that, thought Longarm. It didn’t matter whether El Aguila was here or not. He and Coffin were still in deadly danger.

“Nobody’s answered my question,” Walt Scott put in. “Do I get to join up or not?”

“Senor ... Scott, was it?” Sonia took another sip of her wine and sidled closer. Her gaze raked blatantly over Scott’s tall, rangy figure. He wasn’t a handsome man; his features were too rugged and powerful for that. But what Sonia saw seemed to meet with her approval. She reached out with the hand holding the wine glass and brushed a finger across the sleeve of Scott’s shirt. He met her bold stare impassively.

“I think there may be a place for you in our organization, Senor Scott,” Sonia went on after a moment. “You seem to me to be a resourceful man. Such a man could rise to a position of power.”

Longarm glanced toward Deke. As he suspected, the second in command didn’t look at all happy about the way Sonia was practically drooling over Scott. Deke’s face was flushed with jealousy and anger. Longarm wondered just how many men Sonia thought she could keep under control with her sexual powers.

Sonia said to Scott, “Our leader will be here soon, and he will make the final decision regarding your presence in our stronghold. But for now ... welcome, Senor Scott. I hope your stay is a pleasant one. I will do everything in my power to make it so.”

“We’d better get these two locked up,” Deke said sharply, gesturing with his gun toward Longarm and Coffin.

Reluctantly, Sonia took her attention away from Scott and turned toward the captive lawmen. “Yes, you are right, Deke. Make certain they are secure. Senor Long, I fear, could cause us a great deal of trouble, given the opportunity.”

“What about me?” protested Coffin, sounding offended. “I’m dangerous too, damn it.”

“Shut your mouth,” Deke growled. He jabbed the air with the gun.

“Get moving, both of you.”

He indicated that they should leave the room by the same door through which he and Sonia had entered. Coffin went first, followed by Longarm, and as he walked out of the room, Longarm cast a final glance at Sonia. Her eyes met his for an instant, and he thought he saw something like regret there.

Then Deke moved between the two of them, cutting off Longarm’s view of Sonia and shutting the door behind him.

They were in a hallway that led toward the rear of the big house. Several doors opened off the corridor, and as they passed one that was open, Deke spoke in Spanish to some men who were the side room. They came out, drawing their guns as they did so, and Longarm figured they were extra guards to keep an eye on him and Coffin while Deke was taking them wherever they were going. One of them carried a lantern.

While the other men covered Longarm and Coffin, Deke searched them, removing Longarm’s matches and cheroots and the pocket watch with the derringer attached to the other end of the chain. Longarm just shrugged when Deke gave him a hard-eyed look.

He wasn’t surprised when they left the house through a rear door and proceeded toward a smaller building set just inside the high adobe wall that ran around the entire place. The small, square, flat-roofed structure was made of sturdy logs and had only one door and no windows. Longarm knew a smokehouse when he saw one.

“We’ll lock up the two of you inside there,” said Deke, indicating the smokehouse with a jerk of his gun. “There’s no way out. When the boss gets here, he’ll know what to do with you.” Deke gave an ugly laugh. “I’m betting you’ll die, both of you.”

“We’ll see,” said Longarm. “I’ve always believed in eating the apple one bite at a time.”

“You’re going to choke on this one,” Deke predicted smugly. He holstered his gun, and while the other men covered Longarm and Coffin, he brought out a key and unlocked the heavy lock on the smokehouse door. When it was open, he stepped back so that the other outlaws could prod the two lawmen inside.

“Get a good night’s sleep,” Deke told them as he shut the door. “it might be your last.”

The thick wooden door slammed shut with finality. A moment later, Longarm heard the lock click into place.

“Well, ain’t this a fine howdy-do,” Coffin said bitterly into the darkness. The inside of the smokehouse was stygian in its lack of light. “I reckon I owe you an apology, Long.”

“How do you figure that?” asked Longarm.

“I was the one who invited Scott to join up with us. If it hadn’t been for that low-down rabid skunk, we wouldn’t be in this damn mess.”

Longarm shrugged, even though he knew Coffin couldn’t see him. “I might have done the same thing, especially after the way Scott took a hand in that fight with the Yaquis. He saved our lives.”

“Only so that he could double-cross us later.”

“Maybe. Maybe, like he said, he just saw an opportunity and took it.”

Longarm wasn’t sure whether he believed that or not. From his first glimpse of Scott, days earlier in Del Rio, he had sensed that there was something odd about the man, something dangerous. Scott had certainly proven Longarm’s instincts correct.

In the brief glimpse Longarm had had inside the smokehouse while the lantern light illuminated it, he had seen that the little building was empty. It had looked as if a long time had passed since it had been used for smoking meat. Now Longarm extended a hand and moved carefully to the side until his fingertips brushed the rough wood of the wall. He sat down on the hard ground and leaned his back against the hard logs.

“Might as well get as comfortable as we can,” he said to Coffin. “I reckon it’s going to be a long night.”

“Yeah,” rumbled the big Ranger. Longarm heard faint noises as Coffin sat down. “Somethin’ else is botherin’ me,” Coffin went on. “Deke and that gal both said something about the real boss of this outfit. What do you reckon they meant by that? Once we found out the real El Aguila wasn’t mixed up with ‘em, I figured Deke was runnin’ things, or if not him, then the girl.”

“I noticed that too,” replied Longarm. “And I thought the same thing you did before they said that. There’s something mighty strange going on here, Coffin. I don’t think we’ve got the whole story yet.”

“Me neither.” Coffin chuckled. “Reckon we’ll live long enough to figure it all out?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, old son,” Longarm told him. “But we ain’t dead yet.”

Even though the circumstances weren’t very conducive to sleep, both of the lawmen were exhausted and were unable to fight off slumber. Longarm heard loud, rattling snores coming from Coffin, and not even that could keep him awake. He dozed off moments later.

When he awoke, the tiny shafts of light slanting in through small chinks in the walls told him it was morning, and his neck was painfully stiff from leaning against the log wall all night. There was enough light in the smokehouse now for Longarm to see Coffin sprawled on the ground on the other side of the makeshift prison. The Ranger was stirring around and making snorting noises. Longarm climbed stiffly to his feet and stretched the best he could, considering the fact that his head brushed the low ceiling of the building. Then he said, “Coffin. Wake up, Coffin.”

Grunting and grumbling, Coffin rolled over and blinked blearily up at Longarm. “Hey, we’re still alive,” he said, sounding surprised by that fact.

“For a while anyway.” Longarm wondered if the outlaws were going to bring them any breakfast or just let them go hungry. His belly was rumbling from emptiness, and he could have used a few cups of coffee and a leisurely smoked cheroot too. He doubted if he was going to get any of those things.

Which meant he was surprised a few minutes later when the lock rattled and a voice called, “Step back away from the door in there. If you’re anywhere close when I open up, there’s a pair of shotguns out here that’ll blast both of you to hell.”

Longarm didn’t recognize the rough voice. When he and Coffin moved over to the far side of the smokehouse and the door swung open, he didn’t know the bearded face that peered in at them either. It had to belong to one of the outlaws, though. The man was flanked by two more of the gang who held greeners pointed at Longarm and Coffin. They followed the bearded man inside, keeping the double barrels of the weapons pointed at the prisoners.

The big man was carrying a tray with a couple of tin cups, some chunks of bread, and a few slices of bacon on it. Longarm’s mouth watered at the sight of the food.

“The senorita says that no matter what happens to you boys, we ain’t goin’ to starve you to death,” said the bearded outlaw. He set the tray down on the ground and backed away from it. Reaching outside the door, he picked up a wooden bucket and set it on the floor inside as well. “You got food and coffee, and you got a slops bucket.” An evil grin split his weathered face. “All the comforts of home, ain’t it?”

“You goin’ to shut up and let us eat,” asked Coffin, “or do you figure on jawin’ at us all day?”

The bearded man waved a hand at the food. “Go ahead, eat.” He gave a cackle of laughter. “Might be your last meal.”

Longarm sighed. He was getting mighty tired of folks saying things like that to him.

The outlaws backed out of the smokehouse, slammed the door behind them, and locked it. Longarm and Coffin dug in. The bread was stale and the bacon was cold, but neither man cared much about that. The coffee, at least, was hot, and strong too. Longarm drank it gratefully.

After they had polished off the crude breakfast and relieved themselves in the bucket, Longarm and Coffin retreated to the rear corners of the smokehouse and sat down again. “Goin’ to get mighty hot in here ‘fore the day’s over,” commented Coffin.

Longarm nodded in agreement. “Maybe we won’t be in here that long.”

Of course, he added to himself, that might not necessarily be a good thing.

As it turned out, less than half an hour later, the door was unlocked and opened again. This time Deke stood there, his gun out, accompanied by several guards. “All right, Coffin, come out of there,” he snapped.

Both Coffin and Longarm stood up. Deke’s gun swung over to point at Longarm. “Not you,” said the outlaw. “Just Coffin.”

The two lawmen exchanged a glance. Neither of them knew what this development meant. The outlaws might be taking Coffin out to shoot him. On the other hand, splitting them up like this could mean that Longarm would be the first to die. There was no way of knowing.

But Coffin stuck his hand out anyway. “Good workin’ with you, Long,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get a chance to do it again sometime.”

“Sure,” Longarm agreed easily as he shook hands with the big man.

“Vaya con Dios, Coffin.”

“Come on, come on,” Deke said disgustedly. “I ain’t got all day.”

Coffin gave Longarm a grin and stepped out of the smokehouse. Longarm watched as the guards began marching him toward the house. Then Deke slammed the door, and semidarkness closed in around Longarm once more.

It didn’t last long. A little later, as he was sitting against the rear wall again, he heard footsteps pause outside the smokehouse. When a key rattled in the lock, he squinted his eyes against the glare he knew would fall through the entrance when the door was opened. Sure enough, the door swung back and a figure stood there, starkly silhouetted against the brilliance of the sun.

Only one person in this outlaw stronghold had a shape like that, Longarm thought.

Sonia stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. Longarm’s eyes had already started to adjust to the glare, and for a moment he couldn’t see her clearly. Then, as his vision returned to its usual sharpness, he could make out the white shirt she wore and the denim trousers that snugly hugged her hips and thighs. “Been riding?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she said as she came closer to him.Longarm didn’t stand up. “What do you want?”

“I came to see you, Custis, to make sure that you are being treated well.”“What happened to Coffin?”

Sonia looked and sounded slightly impatient as she said, “He is in the house with Deke and some of the other men. He has not been harmed, Custis. Do not worry about him.”

Longarm shook his head. “I don’t understand. What was the point of splitting us up?”

Sonia’s hands went to the buttons of her shirt. “I did not think you would like to make love to me with the Ranger watching. Of course, if you prefer it that way, I do not mind. It would not be the first time I have made love with people watching.” She spread the shirt open, revealing her large, coral-tipped breasts.

Despite his anger at Sonia and the entire situation, Longarm felt a quickening in his groin at the sight of her body. Still not getting up, he said, “You risked coming in here alone with me just so we could fool around a mite?”

“There is no risk,” she said casually. “Inside the house, so that they cannot hear what we do, are four men with rifles trained on the door of this smokehouse. If anyone other than myself opens that door, they will open fire. So you see, Custis, no matter what you do to me, you still cannot escape.” She gave him a sultry smile. “So you might as well do something that we will both enjoy, no?”

She took the shirt all the way off and dropped it at her feet. Her hands went to her breasts, cupping and kneading them, caressing them as a lover would. As her thumbs stroked the erect nipples, her hips began to sway enticingly back and forth.

Longarm’s throat was dry, and his breath seemed to clog inside it. He knew now the kind of woman Sonia was, knew that she was thick as thieves, so to speak, with these outlaws. She had used him, then been responsible for him and Coffin winding up in this death trap. But she was still one hell of a woman, and God help him, he wanted her.

She reached down to her waist, unfastened the trousers, pushed them down over her hips. She wore nothing under them, and Longarm saw beads of moisture sparkling in the thick triangle of dark hair between her thighs. Sonia kicked her boots off, then the pants, and stood completely naked before Longarm. Parting her legs slightly, she reached between them with her right hand and began stroking herself. After a moment, as her breathing became harder and harsher in her throat, she lowered herself into a crouch. With her legs spread wide as she balanced on her heels, Longarm could see plainly as she plunged her middle finger into the folds of female flesh.

“You could do this ... much better, Custis,” she said breathlessly.

Longarm had a difficult time getting the words out, but he managed to say, “I thought you liked it when folks watched YOU.”

She closed her eyes and began stroking and thrusting harder, pumping her hips back and forth with wanton abandon. Longarm’s manhood was like a thick length of iron bar by now. Sensation throbbed through it as he watched Sonia bring herself closer and closer to a climax.

Suddenly, she threw herself forward at him. Longarm grabbed her, pulling her against him so that his mouth could crash against hers. Her fingers, still wet with her own juices, fumbled desperately with his belt and the buttons of his trousers. There was no gentleness here, only raw, naked need. Longarm lifted his hips enough for her to push his trousers and long underwear down, and as his fully erect shaft bobbed up, Sonia impaled herself on it without hesitation. She clasped her thighs tightly around his hips and stuck her tongue deep in his mouth as she began rocking back and forth, her channel filled with him.

Longarm thrust up from beneath her. His left hand cupped her right breast while his right reached around behind her to squeeze the cheeks of her bottom. Sonia moaned as she bounced up and down wildly on him. It was all Longarm could do to make sure he remained deeply socketed inside her.

The end came quickly, as he knew it would. With one final thrust, he began to spew his seed in her, even as spasm after spasm rippled strongly through her, shaking her as if the ground itself had begun to heave and buck. Maybe it had, a part of Longarm’s lust-stunned brain told him. Earthquakes sometimes occurred in this part of Mexico, didn’t they?

The movement of the earth was only in his imagination, he realized a moment later as he slumped back against the wall of the smokehouse, drained and sated. The ground was steady underneath him. Little tremors were still running through Sonia’s body, though.

“You are ... much man ... Custis,” she was able to say after a couple of minutes. “I will ... miss you.”

Longarm cupped her chin and tilted her head back so that he could look into her eyes. Whatever tender feelings he might have had toward her were gone, driven away by the knowledge of who and what she really was. But there was one thing he wanted to know. “Back in Del Rio, just before the raid ... why did you take me into that alley?”

“Why ... because I wanted to, of course.” She looked at him as if she couldn’t believe he had asked such a foolish question. And now that he thought about it, neither could he. Sonia Guiterrez took what she wanted. Always.

Chapter 14

A few minutes after Sonia had left the smokehouse, Coffin was brought back, escorted by Deke and a couple of other men. Deke planted his hand in the middle of Coffin’s back and gave the Ranger a hard shove that sent him stumbling into the little building. Deke laughed. Coffin caught his balance and righted himself, then swung around with a thunderous scowl on his face and his hands balled into fists. He looked as if he was ready to ignore the guns pointed at him and throw himself at Deke.

Longarm stepped forward and took hold of Coffin’s arm. “No point in giving them a good excuse to ventilate you,” he told Coffin in a low, urgent voice. “We’ll stand a better chance of getting out of here if we keep our heads.”

“You won’t be getting out of here, either of you,” said Deke. “It doesn’t matter how the girl feels about you, Long, you’ll still die. I figure as soon as the boss gets here, he’ll give us the go-ahead to get rid of you. We’ve got some boys riding with us who’re part Yaqui. They’ll have a fine time working you over with their knives, and then we’ll throw your bodies in a gully at the far end of the valley. The coyotes and the zopilotes will have a good time too.” Longarm tried not to think about coyotes and buzzards and other scavengers. He tugged Coffin over to the rear wall of the smokehouse. The big Ranger went reluctantly. Longarm knew he was making an effort not to lose his temper.

The door slammed shut. Deke snapped the padlock back on the hasp and laughed again, the sound fading as he walked away from the smokehouse. Longarm let go of Coffin’s arm and asked, “What did they do to you in there?”

“Just knocked me around a mite,” replied Coffin. Longarm could see bruises starting to form on the Ranger’s face, and a small cut over Coffin’s left eye oozed blood. “It didn’t amount to much. I been hit a lot harder in friendly fights. Hell, you walloped me better’n this when we were tusslin’ over Anna Marie back in Del Rio.”

The mention of Anna Marie made Longarm think of the fiery redhead. She was a whore who worked in a border-town saloon, while Sonia Guiterrez had all the advantages of wealth and breeding and a father who was in a position of power. Yet there was no question in Longarm’s mind which of the women was more respectable.

“We got to start thinkin’ of some way to get out of here,” Coffin went on. “I’d still like to take that gal back to Del Rio, just so’s I could dump her at her pa’s feet and tell him just how low-down she really is. Or you reckon he knows already?”

Longarm thought about the things Capitan Hernandez of the federales had told him about Sonia. “No, Don Alfredo doesn’t know,” he said. “He won’t allow himself to know. I reckon that’s the only way he can handle it.”

“Well, I might feel sorry for the poor son of a bitch—if it hadn’t been him who sent us down here and got us into this mess in the first place.”

“Can’t blame the man for being worried about his daughter,” Longarm pointed out. “Remember, we thought she’d been kidnapped by El Aguila too.”

A short bark of laughter escaped from the Ranger. “You reckon wherever the real El Aguila is, he knows that this bunch has been usin’ his name?”

“No telling,” said Longarm with a shake of his head. “But if I was him, I wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

With a sigh, Coffin sat down on the dirt floor and leaned against the log wall. “Well, I reckon now we wait some more ... unless you’ve got some ideas about how we might get out of here.”

“Not yet,” said Longarm. “Besides, I’m sort of interested in finding out just who the real boss of this setup is.”“You mean we ought to wait until he shows up ‘fore we make our move?”

“The thought occurred to me,” admitted Longarm.

“I hope you’re right, Long. We best get out of here mighty quick-like after that, though, or else we’ll wind up with some o’ them Yaqui halfbreeds peelin’ our skin off in inch-wide strips.”

The hours passed as slowly as any Longarm could remember. None of the outlaws brought food or water to them at midday, and by late afternoon Longarm’s stomach was rumbling loudly from emptiness and his mouth was dry and parched. The heat in the smokehouse wrapped around him like a living thing and made him gasp for breath. Coffin was just as uncomfortable, but while the federal lawman suffered in silence, the Ranger gave vent to his spleen in a never-ending stream of muttered curses. Longarm got used to the sound, and actually fell asleep to it.

He woke up abruptly only a few minutes later when Coffin said sharply, “There’s somebody comin’, Long.”

Longarm sat up. He heard the footsteps approaching the smokehouse too, and a moment after they stopped right outside the door, a key rattled in the lock. The door was pulled open, and as usual, Longarm and Coffin were left squinting and blinking against the glare.

“Come on out of there,” ordered Deke, and even though they couldn’t see him very well against the brightness of the sunshine, the tone of his voice made it clear that he was holding a gun on them.

Longarm stood up and stepped out of the smokehouse, followed by Coffin. Longarm’s eyes were adjusting to the light by now, and he saw Deke standing several feet away, six-gun leveled just as Longarm had expected. Four more of the outlaws accompanied the man.

“Time to go inside,” Deke said. “Somebody wants to see you boys.”

Longarm didn’t like the tone of amusement in Deke’s voice. If the outlaw was that happy about something, it couldn’t bode very well for the two prisoners. As they started walking toward the house, with a couple of the men flanking them and Deke and the other guards following closely behind, Longarm said, “The boss must be here.”

“Must be,” said Deke, still sounding cheerful.

Longarm and Coffin exchanged a wary glance. They hadn’t been able to work out a suitable escape plan, but the meaning in each man’s eyes was clear: They had run out of time, and if either of them saw even the slightest opportunity for escape, they should seize it without hesitation.

They were taken in through the rear door of the house, then escorted down the same corridor by which they had left it. Their destination was obviously the same large comfortably furnished room in which they had first confronted Deke and Sonia.

Sonia was in that room now, Longarm saw as the door was opened and he and Coffin were prodded through it. She stood next to the fireplace, wearing another expensive gown that hugged her lush figure and showed off its appeal. A man in a dark gray suit was standing beside her, his back to the newcomers.

Longarm recognized the man anyway. He should have been shocked, he supposed, but he really wasn’t.

“Here they are,” Deke said, and Franklin Barton turned from where he stood beside Sonia to smile arrogantly at Longarm and Coffin.“Son of a bitch!” exclaimed Coffin. “It’s that diplomat fella!”

“Indeed it is,” said Barton smoothly. “I’m glad you remember me, Mr.

Coffin.”

“It’s only been a few days, Barton,” Longarm said. “I reckon it’d take longer than that for us to forget a skunk like you.”

For a moment, Barton’s eyes turned hard and cold and his jaw tightened. Then he relaxed and gave a dry chuckle. “Well, we can certainly all see that you’re not a diplomat, Marshal Long.”

“Never claimed to be. I’m just a fella who tries to do his job.”

“So am I.” Barton waved a hand, the gesture encompassing the room as well as Sonia and Deke. “And my real job is here.”

“You mean you’re the one who’s ramroddin’ this gang?” asked Coffin, his expression a mixture of anger and amazement.

“Indeed I am.”

“But ... why?” This time puzzlement won out on Coffin’s bearded face.

Barton reached over to Sonia, taking her hand and lifting it momentarily to his lips before he turned back to the captive lawmen. “Isn’t it obvious? What man wouldn’t betray even those closest to him for a beautiful creature such as this?”

“The two of you met in Arizona last year, didn’t you?” guessed Longarm. “You were with the Vice-President, Barton, and Sonia was with her father.”

“You are a smart man, Custis,” said Sonia. “You have figured it all out, no?”

“Maybe not all of it,” Longarm said slowly, “but I reckon I’m on the right trail.”“Barton smirked at him. “Then why don’t you tell us all about it?”

Anything to keep their captors from killing him and Coffin for a while, Longarm thought. He said, “You didn’t want Coffin and me coming down here after Sonia because you knew she hadn’t really been kidnapped. Grabbing her in Del Rio was just one more part of your scheme.”

“But of course Don Alfredo wouldn’t be dissuaded from the idea, so I had no choice but to go along with him and hope that the two of you would meet a bad end down here south of the border,” said Barton. “As you soon will. But go ahead, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Seems to me like what you’ve probably got in mind is to make Don Alfredo pay a big ransom to El Aguila in order to get his daughter back alive and unharmed.”

Barton nodded. “Excellent reasoning. For a price, Guiterrez will get Sonia back as pure and untouched as she was when she was taken from Del Rio.”

Longarm supposed that statement was true enough, even though Barton didn’t mean it the way Don Alfredo would likely take it.

“That’s it?” asked Longarm. “This whole scheme was just to bilk some money out of Don Alfredo?”

“Of course not. The important part is where that money will go,” Sonia said proudly. “It will go to help free Mexico from the iron hand of the corrupt dictator Diaz and his lackeys such as my father.”

“That sounds like revolution talk to me,” said Longarm.

“It is!” Some of the same fire he had seen in Sonia’s eyes during their lovemaking burned in her gaze now as she stepped toward him. “Soon the government my father represents will be nothing but a bitter memory in the minds of the Mexican people.”

Longarm had crossed paths with Porfirio Diaz in the past, and held no affection for the Mexican president. In fact, the two of them had been outright enemies, and nothing would have pleased El Presidente more than the death of the man known south of the border as El Brazo Largo.

But that didn’t mean Longarm wanted to see Diaz overthrown when it would also mean that Franklin Barton would get away with betraying his own country. Longarm figured that Barton’s interest in revolution was more financial than political, so he said skeptically, “You’re not getting anything out of this, Barton?”

“Oh, I’ll be well compensated in the end,” Barton admitted, “both by the favors of Senorita Guiterrez here and the gratitude of the new ruling party. You see, Long, there’s more to this than simply getting Don Alfredo to ransom his daughter. There’s also going to be trouble between our government and Mexico, because that will further weaken Diaz.”

“So you plan to sabotage the border negotiations,” Longarm said grimly.

Coffin seemed to be catching on. He growled at Barton, “That’s why you was bein’ such a pain in the ass about everything back in Del Rio.”

“Very perceptive of you, Mr. Coffin, and of course you too, Marshal Long.” Barton looked so pleased with himself that Longarm wanted to fling himself across the room and wipe that smug expression off the treacherous diplomat’s face. Longarm controlled the impulse.

“So the two of you hatched this whole scheme last year when you met in Inferno.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Sonia nodded. “As soon as I met Franklin, I knew he was muy simpatico to my goals.”

Coffin grunted and said, “What fella wouldn’t be if he thought goin’ along with you would get him in your pants?”

Barton frowned. “There’s no need to be crude, Mr. Coffin,” he snapped.

Maybe a wedge could be driven between the plotters, thought Longarm. He said, “Doesn’t it bother you, Barton, that while Sonia’s using you, she’s jumping into bed with damn near every other man she meets?”

Barton shook his head and said, “Not at all. I’m well aware of the, ah, capacity of Sonia’s appetites. No one man could ever satisfy all of them.” He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him so that he could reach up and stroke her breast through the gown. Sonia smiled and practically purred as she snuggled against his side. “But we both know who she really loves,” Barton went on.

It was a bold statement, but Barton was just deluding himself, Longarm thought. Somewhere deep down, Barton probably knew that too. But the fantasy that Sonia was really in love with him, plus the money that he stood to make on this deal, would be enough for Barton. It would have to be.

“What about El Aguila?” asked Longarm, still stalling for time.

“What’s his part in this?”

“I told you, he has no part,” replied Sonia. “Our men merely used his name during their raids and made certain that it was overheard.”

“So you had a ready-made scapegoat if anything went wrong. The law would be looking for El Aguila, when it was really Deke here who rounded up the gang and led them on their raids.”

“That’s right,” Deke said, as satisfied with himself as Barton and Sonia both were. “And I’m getting a good payoff too, Long. “How often does Sonia visit your bunk?”

“That’s enough,” Barton said sharply. “I don’t care about the past, but now that I’m here, things will be different.” Longarm thought Deke’s jaw was a little more taut than it had been before Barton’s bold statement, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyway, it looked as if trying to cause friction between Barton and Deke over Sonia was a lost cause. Lust was one thing, but for some men, money could make up for a lot of lonely, frustrated nights. “Take them back out to the smokehouse and lock them up,” Barton continued. “We’ll deal with them later.”

Deke frowned. “I figured we’d go ahead and kill ‘em now.”

“I said later.” An ugly smile tugged at Barton’s mouth under the mustache. “Condemned men deserve a last meal. Mr. Coffin and Marshal Long will dine with us this evening. Sonia and Deke both looked surprised by Barton’s order, but neither of them argued the point. Deke drew his gun and started toward Longarm and Coffin, obviously intending to prod them from the room and take them back to their makeshift prison. “Wait a minute,” Longarm said quickly. “What about that fella Scott?”

“Yeah,” growled Coffin. “If I’m goin’ to die, there’s a few things I’d like to say to that double-crossin’ bastard first.”

“Save them until dinner,” Barton said. “I intend to ask Mr. Scott to join us.”

“Just for the meal,” asked Longarm, “or is he part of the gang now?”

“We’ll see. I do owe him a debt of thanks for delivering the two of you to us. I believe you would have caused no end of trouble had not fortune—and Mr. Scott—placed you in our hands.”

“You’re damned right about that,” said Coffin.

“Shut up and get moving,” snapped Deke.

Menaced by the guns in the hands of Deke and the other guards, Longarm and Coffin had no choice but to walk slowly from the room and along the corridor to the rear door of the house. They were taken back to the little log building and shoved inside. Deke stood just outside the door, and as he sneered in at them, the last rays of the setting sun touched his face and turned it a hellish red.

“This next meal really will be your last one,” he said. “You won’t be alive to see the sun come up in the morning.”

“We’ll still be breathin’ when you’re nothin’ but a corpse crawlin’ with maggots,” Coffin blustered.

Deke’s finger tightened on the trigger of the gun he was pointing at the Ranger, but he stopped the motion short of firing. An ugly laugh came from him. “Say whatever you want if it makes you feel better,” he said as he reached out to grasp the door. “You’ll still be just as dead later on.”

The door slammed shut, plunging the two lawmen into a thick gloom.

But the darkness inside the smokehouse wasn’t as deep as that of the grave, thought Longarm. He and Coffin had survived another test, and they were still alive. They still had a chance.

Chapter 15

The night was a beautiful one. The heat of the day had begun to fade when Longarm and Coffin were taken from the smokehouse and marched toward the hacienda. A cool breeze laden with the scents of pine and wildflowers brushed their faces. Normally, the prospect of sharing dinner with a beautiful woman on a night like this would have Longarm’s brain turning to thoughts of passion.

But tonight he might as well have been dining in a nest of rattlesnakes. His muscles were taut as he and Coffin were taken down another hallway to a big dining room on the far side of the house. They hadn’t been there before.

French doors opened from the dining room onto a patio that was bordered with flower beds, and the scent of flowers was even stronger there. It was mixed with the delicious aromas emanating from the platters of food on the long hardwood table in the center of the room. Heavy chairs with high, elaborately carved wooden backs were lined along the sides of the table. Franklin Barton sat at the end, in the place of honor. On his right was Deke, to his left was Sonia. The other chairs were vacant except for one on the left side, near the far end from Barton’s place. Walt Scott sat there.

The drifter lounged in the chair, the long, slender fingers of his left hand toying with the stem of the wine glass in front of him. A cigar just like the ones Barton and Deke were smoking was between the fingers of his right hand, the red coal on its tip smoldering. Scott seemed to be at ease and completely pleased with himself.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Barton greeted Longarm and Coffin. “So nice of you to join us. Sit wherever you like.”

Longarm pulled out a chair across from Scott, but Coffin hesitated. “I don’t want to sit where I have to look at this son of a bitch,” he said with a gesture toward Scott. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.”

“Probably all too true,” agreed Barton. Scott didn’t seem to be offended by Coffin’s blunt statement. A faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Just sit down, Coffin,” Longarm told the Ranger. He glanced at the other places set at the table. “Looks like you’re having even more company.”

“Some of dear Sonia’s associates will be riding in this evening,” said Barton. “I thought it would only be polite to ask them to join us once they arrive. However, if you’re worried about the delay, I suppose we could go ahead and begin dinner. After all, the sooner we’re finished, the sooner we can go on to other matters.”

Coffin sat down on the same side of the table as Scott and Deke, about halfway between the two men. He exchanged a glance with Longarm. They both knew what Barton meant. The sooner dinner was over, the sooner the two prisoners would be turned over to the outlaws with Yaqui blood in them to be tortured.

“I don’t reckon we’re in any hurry,” Longarm said dryly. “We can wait for the other guests.”

Barton puffed on his cigar and then blew smoke to the side. “Somehow I thought you might feel that way,” he said. “In the meantime, would you care for some wine?”“I could use a real drink,” declared Coffin. “Got any whiskey?”

Barton sighed. “I try to bring a little culture into the proceedings, and this is my thanks. Of course we have whiskey, Mr. Coffin. I’ll have one of the servants fetch some for you.” Barton turned and flipped a hand at an elderly Mexican man who was standing near the door of the dining room. The man nodded and slipped out of the room.

Longarm didn’t see any other servants, but there were a couple of gunmen standing guard, one near the doors that led out to the patio, the other leaning against the wall a few feet away from the end of the table where Longarm and Scott were sitting. Longarm and Coffin had been disarmed, of course, and with the two outlaws, Deke, Scott, and Barton all in the room and no doubt carrying guns, the odds were awfully high. However, they would get even higher when the Mexican revolutionaries arrived and joined them. If he and Coffin were going to at least die fighting, they would have to make their move soon. When Longarm met Coffin’s eyes for a second, he could tell that the big Ranger felt the same way.

Before either of them could do anything, the door opened again and a young man carrying a bottle of whiskey and a tray with two glasses on it glided into the room. This servant was a different one, and it was obvious that the old man had sent him to fetch the whiskey and bring it into the dining room. Longarm didn’t remember seeing the young man around the hacienda before, but that didn’t mean anything. The gang could have several of the local people working for them, doing menial tasks. This youngster wore the white shirt and trousers and rope-soled sandals of a peasant farmer, which was probably exactly what he was most of the time.

“Ah, here’s your whiskey, Mr. Coffin,” said Barton with a smile, playing the good host. “Would you care for some, Marshal Long, or would you prefer wine? I should have asked you before now.”

“That’s all right,” said Longarm. “I think I’ll have some of that wine.”

“Excellent.” Barton looked around for the elderly Mexican. “Blast it, where did Pablo go? I was going to have him pour.” With a sigh, Barton scraped his chair back and stood up. “I suppose I’ll have to do it myself.”

He took a step toward a bucket of water in which the bottle of wine sat, then stopped short as a crash of glass filled the room.

Longarm’s eyes jerked toward the young servant, who was still clutching the bottle of whiskey but who had dropped the tray containing the two glasses. They were what had shattered on the tile floor. The young man was staring, wide-eyed, in awe. His mouth moved, and he uttered hoarsely, “El Aguila! Si, it is really you!”

He was looking straight at Walt Scott.

Longarm studied Scott through narrowed eyes. Scott laid the cigar on the table, being careful not to place the burning end against the wood where it would scorch the polished surface. He was still outwardly calm, but his fingers had tightened on the stem of the wine glass. Longarm wouldn’t have been surprised if the crystal had suddenly snapped into half. Scott drew a deep breath and said to the servant, “I think you’re mistaken, son.”

“No, no, senor!” protested the young man. “I would never forget you after the way you helped us when those evil men tried to take my father’s farm on the Rio Grande. All along the river, the kindness of El Aguila is legend to the common people!”

Barton leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. His voice lashed out. “Well, Scott, what about it? Is this true?”

A lazy smile drifted across Walt Scott’s face as he said, “Reckon it is.”

That was the last lazy thing to happen for several moments.

Scott was on his feet in an instant, the long-barreled, black-handled Colts snaking out of their holsters as he pivoted toward the closest guard. He lashed out with the right-hand gun, taking the startled outlaw by surprise. The barrel raked across the man’s forehead, opening a bloody gash and stunning him.

At the same time, Coffin lunged from his chair and tackled Deke, who was also trying to get up. They went down with a crash.

That left the guard by the patio doors for Longarm. The outlaw was further away from Longarm than either of the other two men had been from Scott and Coffin. He had time to draw his gun before Longarm could reach him. Longarm grabbed desperately for the weapon as he threw himself forward. He got hold of the barrel with one hand and wrenched it aside, at the same time jamming his other hand between the hammer and the cylinder so that the gun couldn’t fire. The hammer pinched the web of his hand painfully. Longarm let go of the gun barrel with his other hand and brought his fist across in a slashing blow that caught the outlaw in the jaw.

While Longarm was struggling with the last guard, Scott pivoted smoothly away from the unconscious outlaw on the floor and turned to face Sonia and Barton. The hammers of both guns were eared back. “If either of you let out a peep,” he told them grimly, “I won’t have any reason not to kill you both.” His gray eyes were like chips of ice in the light of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling over the big table. “Take that gun out of the holster under your coat, Barton, put it on the table, and slide it down here.”

Barton’s face was set in lines of fury, but he complied with Scott’s orders while Sonia looked stunned by the unexpected developments. Some thudding and bumping came from underneath the table, where Coffin and Deke had rolled in their struggle. Coffin suddenly appeared, raising himself up and lifting his right fist while he used his left hand to pin Deke down. The big fist fell, rose, fell again. A gurgling sound came from under the table. Coffin pushed himself to his feet. “Reckon that’ll hold that fella for a while,” he said in satisfaction.

Longarm, meanwhile, had yanked the pistol away from the last guard. He slammed the gun against the man’s temple and heard the brittle crack of bone. The outlaw’s knees folded up, and he collapsed on the floor with rivulets of blood leaking from his nose and ears. He was either dead or soon would be. Longarm turned back toward the table and lifted the gun he had taken from the guard.

Coffin was on the far side of the table, still breathing a little hard from his fight with Deke. Scott stood at the far end, guns trained on Barton and Sonia. Between them were the platters of food, forgotten now in this twist of fate. The young servant was gone, having slipped out in the confusion. Longarm hoped he wouldn’t raise the alarm. Considering the way the boy had looked at Scott with an almost worshipful gaze, Longarm thought that was a distinct possibility.

“You’re El Aguila?” Barton asked in a choked voice. “The real El Aguila?”

“That’s right,” said Scott. “That’s what folks along the border got in the habit of calling me anyway, and I never disabused ‘em of the notion.” Without taking his eyes off Barton and Sonia, he went on. “I owe an apology to you, Marshal Long, and to you too, Ranger Coffin. I know it was pretty low-down of me to use you like that to get into this stronghold, but I wanted to find out who was muddying up my name.”

“So you damn near got us killed,” Coffin said harshly.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you,” Scott said. “I’ve just been biding my time, waiting for the right moment to free the two of you so that we can get out of here.” His broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “The way things worked out, I didn’t have much of a choice about when to start the ball.”

Longarm wasn’t completely sure if he should be pointing his gun toward Barton and Sonia or Scott. “What do you intend to do now?” he asked.

“You may not believe this, Marshal, but just because I’ve got a reputation as an outlaw, that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and watch my country being betrayed by a man who’s supposed to be representing its best interests. I think we should get out of here and take these two with us, back to Texas where they can face justice.”

Scott’s deep, resonant voice certainly sounded sincere enough, but Longarm had trusted Scott before, with nearly disastrous results. “What about you? Are you going to turn yourself in too?”

“You probably won’t believe this either, but I haven’t broken any laws, Marshal. At least not in Texas. There’s been plenty of talk, but you won’t find any reward dodgers out on me.”

“The hell you say!” exclaimed Coffin. “I’ve heard about you, mister, heard how you like to horn in on every crooked scheme you come across.”

“But did you ever see a wanted poster on me?” Scott persisted. “I don’t think so.”

They didn’t have time for this argument, Longarm thought. He said, “It looks like we’re going to have to trust you again for the time being, Scott, at least until we get out of here. But I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else from the fella they call Longarm,” Scott said easily.“You know who I am?”

“I make it my business to keep up with all the lawmen I can. Never know when I’ll run across one.”

“Well, you won’t be running across any more unless we get out of here before those revolutionaries show up,” said Longarm. “It’ll be hard enough just slipping out with all of El Aguila’s gang around.”

Scott winced a little. “Please, Marshal. You’re besmirching my reputation.”

“When we get back to Texas, I’ll smirch you, you lowdown-“ Coffin began.

“Let it wait,” Longarm interrupted. “Coffin, you reckon you can slip out through that patio, get to the stable, and bring back horses for the five of us?”

“Damn right I can,” the Ranger replied. He bent over and jerked a pistol from the holster strapped around the waist of the still-unconscious Deke. “Feels good not to be naked no more.”

“Don’t use that gun unless you have to,” Scott warned. “Shots will bring everybody in the valley down on top of us.”

“I know that, blast it,” Coffin muttered. Moving with surprising stealth for a man of his size, he cat-footed out the door and vanished into the shadows of the patio.

“Now what?” Barton asked, his face impassive.

“Now we wait,” Longarm said as he pointed his gun at the diplomat, “and hope nobody comes along and makes us shoot you. I’d a whole lot rather see you hang back in the States.”

Barton gave a contemptuous sniff, as if he thought that was unlikely to ever happen. Longarm had to admit that the odds against it were steep. To get Barton back to Texas, they would first have to escape from this outlaw stronghold, then make a long, perilous ride across the wasteland between the mountains and the border, probably being chased the whole way by the rest of the gang.

But if there was any way to bring Barton to justice, he was going to do it, Longarm vowed.

“There’s only one way out of this valley that I know of, Scott said to Longarm, “and if any of those outlaws get between us and the gap, they can block us off. We need some sort of distraction to draw them away.”“I was thinking the same thing,” Longarm agreed. “Any ideas?”

“I happened to see a box of dynamite in the storehouse, like the raiders used to blow up Sheriff Sanderson’s office in Del Rio. If we got hold of a few sticks of that stuff, and if one of us rode to the other end of the valley and set them off, that would draw the attention of all the outlaws. It might even be enough of a disturbance to draw the guards away from the gap.”

“But that man wouldn’t have a chance to get away,” Longarm pointed out. “He’d be sacrificing his life.”

“Not if there’s actually another way out of the valley.” Scott looked intently at Barton, who was standing at the other end of the table with one hand on Sonia’s shoulder. “What about it, Barton? I’ve never seen an outlaw hideout without a back door. Where’s the one in this valley?”

Barton laughed harshly. “There isn’t one, you fool. And if there was, do you think I’d tell you?”

“I don’t have a whole lot to lose by killing you right here and now,” Scott said grimly.

Barton just shook his head. “You’ll have to, because I’m not telling you anything.” The soft clop of hoofbeats sounded outside the patio door. Longarm swung in that direction while Scott kept Sonia and Barton covered. A moment later, Coffin’s bulky figure appeared in the doorway. “I’ve got horses outside for the five of us,” he announced. “Scott, that black devil of yours nipped a hunk out of my hide.”

Scott smiled faintly. “Phantom’s a one-man horse. He doesn’t care much for other people messing with him.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw your saddle on another hoss instead of riskin’ life and limb the way I did.” Coffin came farther into the dining room and peered down at Deke. “This old boy’s still out cold, I see.”

“You hit him pretty hard,” said Longarm. “You may have killed him.”

“Good riddance,” muttered Coffin. “Now, how are we goin’ to go about gettin’ out of here?”

“Scott and I were just talking about that. We need a diversion to clear the way to the gap in the wall around this place.”

Scott said, “I suggested that I set off a few sticks of dynamite up at the far end of the canyon.”

Coffin grunted. “Might as well put a gun to your head and pull the trigger. You’d never get out alive.”

“We don’t know that. And it’s worth a try, don’t you think? You and Marshal Long can take Barton and Senorita Guiterrez back to Texas that way.”

“Well, you’re about the oddest owlhoot I’ve ever run across,” said Coffin, “offerin’ to give up your own life to save ours that way.”

“Maybe we should draw straws to see who takes the dynamite,” Longarm suggested.

Scott smiled again. “I’m the one who knows where it is. And besides, as Ranger Coffin pointed out earlier, I’m the one who got us into this.” With a smooth movement, he holstered his guns and started toward the patio door, pausing only long enough to pick up his hat from a side table and settle it on his head. “Give me ten minutes.” With that he was gone, vanishing into the shadows outside.

“Damn it,” grated Coffin. “You reckon we can trust that hombre, Long?”

“I don’t see that we’ve got much choice,” Longarm replied. He moved toward the end of the table. “On your feet, Sonia.”

Her lovely features contorted with hate until they were anything but beautiful. “You will never get away with this, Custis,” she said, practically spitting the words at him. “Turning you over to the Yaquis is too good for you. We will hang you from your feet and let you roast in the sun.”

Longarm ignored the threat and motioned with the gun in his hand for Sonia to stand up. She did so reluctantly.

“There’s no need for all these melodramatics, gentlemen,” Barton said suddenly. “There’s plenty of money to be made in this arrangement, plenty to go around for everyone. All you have to do is put up those guns and join us.”

Coffin grinned. “Sounds to me like this fella’s startin’ to get a mite scared, Long. You reckon he figures there’s a chance we might actually get him back to Texas to face a hang-rope?”

“Could be,” said Longarm.

Barton’s face was pale and taut. “Come now,” he insisted, “how much does either of you make in a year’s time? Give up this ridiculous idea and I can promise you ten times as much.”

Longarm shook his head. “Might as well forget about it, Barton.

Money’s mighty nice, but there’s some things it won’t buy.”

“That’s preposterous-“ the renegade diplomat began, but Coffin interrupted him.

“How long’s Scott been gone?” asked the Ranger.

“Almost long enough,” Longarm replied. He started toward the patio door. “Come on, you two,” he said to Barton and Sonia. “By the time we all get mounted up, it’ll be time to go.”

“Custis, please,” begged Sonia. “If I ever meant anything to you ...”

“You meant just as much to me,” Longarm said coldly, “as I meant to you.”

Again her face twisted in a snarl as her true feelings were revealed.

Under the threat of Longarm’s gun, she started slowly toward the door.

Barton moved alongside her.

That was when Deke surged up from the floor and leaped toward Coffin, grabbing the big Ranger’s gun arm and thrusting it toward the ceiling. “Get the marshal, Barton!” Deke shouted.

Barton had no intention of tackling Longarm physically, though. As Longarm swung instinctively toward the fight between Coffin and Deke, Barton grabbed Sonia’s arm, shoved her at Longarm, then threw himself toward the long table. Scott had left the diplomat’s pistol lying on the far end. While Longarm struggled with Sonia, who was trying to claw his eyes out, Barton slid full-length along the polished wood, scattering the platters of food and reaching out to close his hand around the butt of the gun.

Over the shoulder of the cursing, spitting Sonia, Longarm saw Barton reach the pistol and twist back toward him. Silence was no longer an option. Longarm backhanded Sonia, knocking her to the side, and jerked up the pistol in his other hand. He and Barton fired at the same time, the mingled explosions deafening in the low-ceilinged room.

Longarm was accustomed to standing up in the face of enemy fire. Barton wasn’t. The slug from Barton’s gun whined harmlessly past Longarm’s head to thud into the far wall. Longarm’s bullet ripped into Barton and flung him backward off the table. Barton gave one brief cry of pain before he slammed into the floor and lay still and quiet, blood pooling under his side.

Deke still had hold of Coffin’s gun arm, holding the weapon away from him. But Coffin’s other hand was wrapped around Deke’s throat, and as Longarm turned toward them, the muscles in the Ranger’s arms and shoulders corded and bunched under the homespun shirt. Coffin lifted Deke off the floor and let him dangle. Deke had no choice but to let go of Coffin’s gun arm and try to break the death grip.

He wasn’t in time. Coffin’s hand squeezed even tighter as he jerked his arm, and Longarm heard the sharp crack of Deke’s neck breaking. The outlaw went limp, and when Coffin released him, Deke slumped to the floor as if every bone in his body had turned to jelly. He would never lead another raid pretending to be El Aguila.

But there was no time for the lawmen to congratulate themselves, Longarm knew. That pair of shots would bring down a storm of trouble on their heads in a matter of moments. If they were getting out of there, they had to go now.

“Head for the horses!” Longarm snapped as he stuck the pistol behind his belt.

“What are you goin’ to do?” asked Coffin.

Longarm bent and hefted Sonia’s body. She was still half stunned from the backhand blow. “We’re taking at least one prisoner back to Texas,” Longarm said grimly as he threw her over his shoulder.

That was assuming, of course, that any of them reached the border alive.

Chapter 16

Longarm heard shouts of alarm nearby as they hurried across the patio. Sonia was no lightweight, and she became even more of a handful as her wits returned to her and she began to struggle. “Stop it!” Longarm hissed at her. “Damn it, Sonia, I don’t want to knock you out, but I will if I have to!”

“Bastard!” she yelped as she struck at his back with her fists.

“Amigos! Back here! Help me!”

She was kicking her feet at the same time, and as one of them sunk into Longarm’s belly and made him gasp for breath, he muttered, “The hell ... with this!”

He stopped short, lowered the surprised Sonia, and clouted her in the jaw with a loose fist. Her head jerked to the side, and she once again slumped senseless in his arms. Longarm bent over and lifted her onto his shoulder again.

“If you’re through waltzin’ around with that gal, Long,” called Coffin, “you’d better get mounted up.” The big Ranger had already swung up into the saddle of one of the horses tied at the edge of the patio.

There was an extra mount now that Barton wouldn’t be coming with them. Longarm didn’t want to take the time to tie Sonia onto the saddle of the remaining horse either. He said to Coffin, “Grab the reins of those other critters. We may need extra mounts before we’re through.”

“That’s just what I was thinkin’,” said Coffin as he leaned over to jerk loose the reins from the flowering shrub where he had tied them.

Longarm saw that Coffin had brought the bay mare from the stable. With a grunt of approval, he slung Sonia’s body over the back of the horse, just in front of the saddle. Holding her there awkwardly, he mounted the bay and took hold of its reins.

A group of outlaws came boiling around the corner of the house, while several more ran out the rear door. One of the men yelled orders in Spanish, while another shouted, “There they are! Don’t let ‘em get away!”

Longarm snapped a shot at the group on the patio while Coffin threw lead at the ones near the corner of the house. The gunfire made all of the outlaws duck back into cover. Longarm and Coffin jabbed the heels of their boots into the flanks of their mounts, and the horses leaped forward into a gallop.

Wisely, Coffin had left the rear gate open when he brought the horses from the stable. The fugitives galloped through the opening as guns began to bang behind them. The outlaws had hesitated before opening fire, obviously fearing—and rightly so—that Sonia was with Longarm and Coffin. But they were unwilling to let the two lawmen escape, even if it meant taking a chance on hitting Sonia.

Riding fast in the dark like this was a chancy proposition, but Longarm and Coffin had no choice. They circled the hacienda at breakneck speed, heading for the trail that led to the gap at the end of the valley. Longarm had his hands full keeping Sonia on the horse with one hand while trying to control the galloping animal with the other.

He was also worried about Walt Scott. The man called El Aguila had to have heard the shots from the hacienda. Scott might figure that Longarm and Coffin had already been recaptured or killed. Would he go through with the planned diversion? Even if Scott intended to carry on with the plan, he might run into some of the outlaws before he was able to set off the dynamite.

Longarm figured that he and Coffin would have to outrun the pursuit to the gap and fight their way past the guards. They couldn’t count on any help from Walt Scott.

The big house fell behind them. Longarm glanced over his shoulder and saw a clump of riders coming after them. Orange fire winked from gun muzzles, and Longarm faintly heard the shots over the pounding of hooves. Coffin was a little ahead of him, the Ranger’s big buckskin not being forced to carry double. Neither of the lawmen tried to return the fire from behind them. Their ammunition was limited, and they might need all of it to get through the gap up ahead.

The trail sloped steadily upward, slowing the horses even more. But it would slow down the outlaws’ mounts too, Longarm thought, trying to reassure himself. Another quick look back told him that the pursuit wasn’t much closer. And the gap was only a few hundred yards ahead.

They had a chance. A slim one, but still a chance.

Longarm looked at the opening between the two spires of rock and bit back a groan of dismay. Enough moonlight shone down for him to see the riders who had suddenly blocked the gap. They were coming through from the other side, he realized.

The revolutionaries! The insurrectionists who wanted to overthrow Diaz who had been coming to the hacienda tonight to meet with Barton and Sonia—that had to be who the horsemen in the gap were, Longarm thought. Now the only escape route from the valley was truly blocked.

Shots began to come from up ahead. The guards at the gap must have realized that some of the prisoners were trying to flee. They would enlist the aid of the revolutionaries, and Longarm and Coffin would be mercilessly cut down. With only a handful of bullets between them, there was no way they could fight through such overwhelming odds.

Suddenly, a bright red star seemed to fall among the horsemen blocking the opening. But it wasn’t a star at all, Longarm realized. It was the burning, hissing end of a length of fuse connected to a stick of dynamite. And it hadn’t fallen from the heavens, but from one of the towering cliffs beside the gap. With a blast that shook the earth and lit up the night, the dynamite went off.

As the echo of the explosion rolled away through the valley and the screams of men and horses filled the air, more of the glowing points of light fell like drops of crimson rain. Longarm and Coffin never slowed down as more blasts shattered what had been a still, peaceful night. They galloped on toward the holocaust that the passage through the mountains had become.

It had to be Walt Scott up there throwing down the dynamite, Longarm realized. He must have heard the shots from the house and changed the plan, knowing that Longarm and Coffin would be leaving in a hurry. Somehow, he had gotten up there above the gap in time to use the dynamite to blast a way through for the fugitives.

Maybe Scott had soared up there like the eagle that was his namesake, Longarm thought wildly. Right now he didn’t care how Scott had managed the feat. The important thing was that once again he and Coffin had a chance to get away with Sonia.

The rain of dynamite had stopped. As Longarm and Coffin raced up the last stretch of trail leading to the opening, Longarm heard an ominous rumble. He cast a desperate glance at the twin towers of rock flanking the gap, but it was too dark to see anything. He knew that the blasts could have loosened some of the rock, and an avalanche might be about to drop tons of stone and earth into the gap. “Go! Go!” Longarm shouted at Coffin. They might have only seconds to clear the opening.

No gunfire sounded as they approached the gap. The guards and the revolutionaries were all either dead or unconscious from their wounds. Longarm and Coffin had to weave their horses around gaping holes in the ground that had been blasted out by the dynamite. Bodies were sprawled everywhere.

Longarm tried not to think about the carnage. Some of the revolutionaries probably hadn’t been bad men at all, merely men who’d wanted a fairer shake from their government. But they had allied themselves with a group of bloodthirsty outlaws, and they had paid the price for that folly. Longarm certainly wouldn’t have traded his own life or that of Coffin for those of the revolutionaries.

The rumbling noise grew louder as the two lawmen raced through the gap. Pebbles pelted Longarm’s back, and he knew that at least part of the wall was coming down. He leaned forward, shielding Sonia as much as he could with his own body. A fist-sized chunk of rock slammed into his left shoulder and made that arm go numb. Longarm gritted his teeth against the pain and kept riding. Coffin was right in front of him.

Then, with a roar that dwarfed that of the exploding dynamite earlier, huge sections of the rock wall to the left began to turn loose and slide down into the gap. A massive cloud of dust enveloped Longarm so that he could no longer see where he was going. He knew they had to be almost out of the opening, but would they make it in time?

Fresh air whipped the choking dust away from his face, and Longarm gratefully drew in big breaths of it. He looked up as he rode, and saw stars all around him on both sides. They were out of the gap. Behind them, more rock fell, blocking the opening.

Longarm’s heart thudded heavily in his chest, both from the horror of almost being crushed beneath tons of rock and from relief at the narrowness of their escape. Not only had he and Coffin made it through, but the avalanche would effectively close off the gap for quite some time, maybe forever. Any pursuers would have to either dig through the wall of fallen rock or find some other way out of the valley and take the long way around.

Either way, he and Coffin would have a good-sized lead before anyone could come after them.

Coffin slowed his horse, looked back, and let out a whoop of triumph.

“We did it, Long! We did it! Those sons of bitches won’t catch us now!

Texas, here we come!”

A part of Longarm wanted to warn Coffin not to be so confident just yet, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he just grinned wearily as he tightened his grip on Sonia, who was starting to stir a little. Luckily, the feeling had come back in his left arm, so he could hold on to her with it while he guided the bay with the right.

“But what about Scott?” Coffin asked abruptly, his exultant mood turning solemn. “That had to be him up yonder tossin’ down that dynamite. You reckon he got away?”

Longarm shook his head. “I don’t know. We may never know. But we know we wanted Sonia taken back to Texas so that his name would be cleared of those raids. That’s what I intend to do.”

“Me too,” said Coffin with a nod. “You know, he was a mighty tricky fella, but maybe Scott wasn’t so bad after all. For an owlhoot, that is.”

“Maybe not,” agreed Longarm.

Side by side, he and Coffin rode on into the night, heading north for Texas.

The sun blistered down on the three riders as the horses moved wearily across the flat, semi-arid landscape. It was noon of the next day, and since escaping from the outlaw stronghold the night before, Longarm and Coffin had paused for only a few minutes at a time to give the horses some rest. Longarm estimated that they had covered a little over half the distance back to the border. With any luck, they would reach Del Rio sometime that night or early the next morning.

But only if they didn’t have to make a longer stop, and Longarm didn’t know if that was humanly possible. He and Coffin were worn down, riding on the edge of exhaustion, and Sonia swayed groggily in the saddle where Longarm had tied her. She was only half conscious, suffering from the effects of heat, hunger, thirst, and the long ride.

There hadn’t been time to gather any provisions for the trip before fleeing from the hacienda, so the fugitives had been forced to make do with the game they could catch. Longarm didn’t want to waste bullets, just in case they ran into more trouble, but luckily during one of their stops, Coffin had been able to bring down a jackrabbit by pegging a rock at it. They had built a small fire, roasted the rabbit lightly, and gnawed the tough, stringy meat. Sonia had even stopped complaining and threatening for a few minutes as they ate.

A few water holes along the way had provided them with a drink, but they had no canteens to fill. It would have been a relief to be able to carry water, instead of having to hope that they would run across another spring or tank, but that wasn’t the case.

Still, despite the hardships, they pushed on. Longarm figured they could suffer through for another twelve to eighteen hours without much trouble. He had gone longer than that without food and water, and he figured Coffin had too.

Sonia was another matter. The pampered existence she had led had not prepared her for a grueling trek such as this.

But she had made her own choice when she’d thrown in with Barton and they had hatched their treacherous, vicious plot. She would just have to make do as best she could until they got back to Texas.

Longarm and Coffin both checked their back trail frequently, and it was Longarm who said not long after the sun was at its zenith, “Somebody’s following us.”

Coffin twisted in the saddle, looked back at the plume of dust rising in the distance to the south, and cursed. “Looks like a good-sized bunch, judgin’ from the dust they’re kickin’ up.”

Longarm nodded in agreement. “They’re pushing their horses fast too.

They must’ve brought extra mounts.”

“Well, so did we. The gal’s the lightest, so we ought to put her on your bay. Then you can take her hoss, and I’ll take the one we were goin’ to put Barton on.”

At the mention of Barton, Sonia perked up a little and spat some more curses at them. Longarm thought Coffin’s suggestion made sense, so he reined in and dismounted, going over to Sonia’s horse to untie her from the saddle. He ignored the vitriol she poured out on him. Leaving her hands tied in front of her, Longarm hauled her down from the horse and carried her over to the bay. Hoisting her into the saddle took a lot of the strength he had left. While Longarm was doing that, Coffin switched from the buckskin to the fourth horse, a long-legged chestnut with white stockings and a white blaze on its nose. Within moments, they were all ready to ride. Longarm held the reins of Sonia’s mount while Coffin led the buckskin.

They prodded the horses into a ground-eating lope. Longarm glanced back over his shoulder fairly often, gauging the progress of the pursuers. They were still closing the gap, but not as quickly now.

“Look for a stretch of rock or hardpan,” Longarm called to Coffin.

“We’ve got to throw ‘em off our trail.”

The big Ranger nodded his understanding. It was still a long run to the border, and anything they could do to make it more difficult for the outlaws was worth it.

Instinct told Longarm to urge his horse into a gallop, but he suppressed that impulse. The strength and stamina for a last dash might be needed later, and it would be foolish to waste those resources now. Instead he and Coffin held their mounts at the easy gait and used their eyes to search for a stretch of ground that wouldn’t take tracks.

They found one about half an hour later, where some small hills that were really little more than hummocks rose from the Mexican plains. The sandy soil thinned and soon became solid, grayish-white rock. The area was several hundred yards wide and ran as far as the lawmen could see in both directions. Longarm felt a surge of relief at the sight of the rocky ground. This was just what they needed.

He and Coffin slowed the horses to a walk. Though tracks would not show up on the rock, the shoes on the hooves of their mounts could chip the stone and leave small shiny places that the eyes of an experienced tracker might spot. The delay chafed on both men, but it was better to proceed slowly and leave fewer signs of their passing.

When they were in the center of the rocky area, they turned to the west, angling toward the far side now. Again, this cost them time, and Longarm glanced anxiously at the dust cloud marking the position of the outlaws. It was closer now. He waved Coffin toward the far side of the rock.

“We’ll split up now, so they won’t know which set of tracks to follow,” said Longarm. “See those double hills in the distance?” He pointed to the north.

“The ones that look like a pair of tits?” asked Coffin.

Longarm grinned tiredly. “Those are the ones. We’ll meet there at dusk. If we haven’t shown up by a quarter hour after sunset, go on without us. We’ll do likewise.”“All right,” Coffin said with a nod. “You takin’ the gal with you?”“Yep. That all right with you?”

Coffin leaned over in the saddle and spat. “It damn sure is. I’d’ve done most anything for her back there in Del Rio if she’d wanted to play a little slap an’ tickle with me. But it’s funny how some folks don’t look near as appealin’ once you get to know ‘em better.”

Her face twisted with a snarl, Sonia said, “I would sooner lay with a snake than with you, gringo.”

“The feelin’s mutual, ma’am.” Coffin lifted a big hand in farewell as he turned the horse he was riding and the buckskin toward the edge of the rocks.

Longarm rode on for more than a mile before he and Sonia left the rocky ground behind them and headed almost due north again. The outlaws would have to search a while before they found the place where Coffin had left the rocks, and when they saw the tracks of only two horses, they would be faced with a dilemma. They would have to either split up their own party or waste more time looking for the tracks Longarm and Sonia were leaving. Either way had its advantages for the fugitives.

The odds were still against Longarm and Coffin, though. The outlaw stronghold must have had another exit, Longarm figured, just as Walt Scott had thought. They couldn’t have cleared away the avalanche quickly enough to be this close behind.

Longarm began to push the horses harder now. The sun was lowering in the western sky, and he wanted to reach those twin hills before time for the rendezvous with Coffin. Splitting up temporarily had been a necessary evil, but if it came down to a fight, they would stand a better chance together than apart. Sonia rode in silence now, too tired to even complain.

The light in the sky became a harsher shade, almost like that of blood, as the sun neared the horizon. A wind whipped up from the west, and things in the distance began to blur as dust filled the air. Longarm’s eyes stung from the grit. When he looked back to the south, he could no longer see the dust cloud being raised by their pursuers. The air was too full of blowing sand.

Sonia roused from her half-stupor and said bitterly, “I cannot go on!

We must find a place to wait out this storm.”

“I said we’d meet Coffin at those double hills,” replied Longarm. “That’s what we’re going to do.” He reined in, pausing long enough to lean over in the saddle and tear a wide strip from the bottom of Sonia’s skirt. As he tied it around her head so that it covered her nose and mouth, he said, “This’ll help a little.”

He tied his own bandanna around his head and hunched forward in the saddle as he resumed riding. It would have been better if he could have dipped the bandanna and the piece he’d torn from Sonia’s skirt in some water, so that they would more effectively block the blowing sand, but that wasn’t an option. Neither was stopping or turning back.

He just hoped he was still heading in the right direction. The double hills that were his destination had vanished into the sandstorm. He could see only a few feet in front of him now. To the west, the sun was a glowing orange disc that barely touched the horizon.

Even when the ground began to slope up beneath the hooves of the horses, Longarm wasn’t sure they had reached the goal. He brought his mount to a stop and looked around, feeling his heart thud a little faster as he realized that he could vaguely see the outline of two small hills looming over them. Instinct had guided him and brought him to the right place. The question remained whether or not Coffin had reached this spot too.

“Coffin!” shouted Longarm. “You here, Coffin?” He had to bellow at the top of his lungs just to hope that he might be heard over the howling of the wind. He didn’t hear any answer, but that didn’t really mean much. Coffin might be yelling for him, but the sound was being snatched away by the fierce, sand-laden gusts.

Despite what he had told Coffin, there was no hope of going on tonight, not until the wind died down anyway. Longarm swung down from the saddle and found a sturdy little mesquite tree where he could tie the reins. He tied Sonia’s horse to the same tree and lowered her from the back of the animal. Both horses turned their rumps to the wind and ducked their heads.

Longarm led a stumbling Sonia into the narrow valley between the hills. The hill to the west acted as a windbreak of sorts, though it Was too small to completely block the raging demon that the storm had become. Longarm found some rocks and sat down among them, putting his back against the largest of the boulders. That helped even more. He held Sonia close beside him, wrapped in his arms—though he made sure she couldn’t reach the gun he had stuck behind his belt. Of course, by now that pistol was probably so clogged with grit that it wouldn’t even fire, but Longarm didn’t plan to take any chances. Even in the middle of a hellacious sandstorm, he didn’t trust Sonia even a little bit.

The situation could have been worse, Longarm told himself. Wherever they were, those outlaws who had been chasing them were experiencing the same choking, blinding fury of the storm. It would stop them in their tracks, just as it had stopped Longarm and Sonia. And even though Longarm and Coffin had gone to the trouble of trying to throw the pursuers off their trail, the storm would do a much more effective job of wiping out any telltale signs of their flight. This was really just about the best thing that could have happened, Longarm thought.

Provided, of course, that he didn’t choke to death or wind up buried in sand before the storm finally passed ...

Chapter 17

“Well, if this ain’t a purty sight, I don’t know what is.”

Longarm sat up sharply at the sound of the mocking voice, his hand going automatically to the butt of the gun at his waist. He wasn’t going to need the weapon, however. He realized almost right away that the voice belonged to Lazarus Coffin, who was standing nearby, his shaggy hair and beard even more tangled than usual by the wind.

Only there was no wind now. Not only that, but the sky overhead was clear, filled with bright stars and a huge, glowing moon. The silvery light washed down over the hills where Longarm and Sonia had taken refuge from the storm.

Longarm glanced to the east and saw a thin strip of light along the horizon. Dawn was an hour or so away, he estimated. The sandstorm was finally over, but while it had still been raging, Longarm had fallen asleep and dozed through most of the night.

Beside him, Sonia was stirring around. Both she and Longarm had a thick layer of dust on their clothes, and around them were little piles of sand that had settled out of the air and formed snow-like drifts. Stiffly, Longarm unwrapped his arm from Sonia and brushed away some of the dirt before pushing himself to his feet.

“Looks like you two spent a mighty cozy night,” said Coffin. He still had both horses and was holding their reins as he stood there.

“At least we got to where we were supposed to be,” Longarm replied.

“Where were you?”

Coffin jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back on the other side of the hills. I didn’t have no notion you two were around here. Figured I’d wait out the storm and hook up with you again later.” He grinned. “Course, from the looks of things, you might be just as glad I didn’t find you.”

Longarm shook his head. “We were just waiting out the storm, like you.” He reached down and took hold of Sonia’s arm, then helped her to her feet.

“I need some water,” she croaked.

Longarm’s throat was pretty dry and raspy too. “We all do,” he said. “But I don’t know if there’s any around here. We’ll just have to push on and keep looking.”

Sonia groaned, but she didn’t complain any more as Longarm found their horses, which had also come through the storm all right. He used a rag to clean some of the dust from the horses’ nostrils, then led them around the hill.

“Where do you reckon El Aguila’s bunch is?” asked Coffin as the three of them mounted up and headed north again.

“You mean Barton’s bunch,” Longarm said. “Walt Scott turned out to be the real El Aguila, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Coffin shook his head. “I hope that son of a buck made it through the avalanche.”

“We’ll probably never know,” said Longarm. “But I do too.” He rubbed his jaw for a moment, then went on. “I reckon those outlaws could be most anywhere. I’m sure they had to stop too when the storm hit, but there’s no telling where they were by then.”

“After all that wind, our tracks’ll be long gone.” Coffin sounded pleased at that prospect. “We’ve got a good chance now, Long.”

Longarm nodded. He felt good about the odds too. Sometimes, even something as brutal as that sandstorm had been could have some advantages, and he didn’t intend to waste this opportunity.

They pushed on, the two lawmen and their reluctant prisoner, bound for Del Rio.

“The Rio Grande!” Coffin exclaimed as they sighted the winding, slow-moving stream late that afternoon. “Prettiest river in the world—at least when you’re headin’ north, it is.”

At the moment, Longarm could almost agree with that sentiment. On the far side of the river, visible in the distance, lay the settlement that was their destination.

They hadn’t seen any more signs of pursuit during the long day, and by now they were willing to accept the possibility that the outlaws had completely lost their trail. In less than half an hour, they would reach Del Rio, and they would be safe again at last.

That thought made Longarm glance cautiously behind him. Over-confidence was something he always tried to guard against. He wasn’t going to believe this was really over until they were back in Del Rio and the truth had been exposed.

He frowned as he considered what Don Alfredo’s reaction would be to the news that his daughter had been plotting against him all along. Don Alfredo had always turned a blind eye to Sonia’s failings. Would he again in this case? What proof did they have, Longarm asked himself, that Sonia and Barton had really been in league with the outlaws?

It might be difficult, but he and Coffin would just have to convince Don Alfredo of the truth. It would have been easier if they could have brought Barton back with them, but things hadn’t worked out that way. Longarm wondered whether Barton had tried to find some excuse for his absence from Del Rio, or if the diplomat had simply vanished into the night?

“Almost there,” said Coffin as the hooves of their horses splashed into the water of the Rio Grande. “Hope I ain’t jinxed us by talkin’ about it.”

Longarm shared that hope, even though he wasn’t really a superstitious man. He kept a tight grip on the reins of Sonia’s horse, not wanting her to have any chance to escape when they were this close.

They crossed the river without any trouble. No outlaws showed up at the last second to throw lead at them or block their path. As they rode up the sandy bank into Texas, Longarm breathed a sigh of relief and sleeved sweat from his forehead. A few more minutes and they would be in Del Rio.

A few more minutes in which everything could go wrong, he thought grimly.

But nothing did, and as curious and startled shouts went up from the people on the boardwalks of the town, the three of them soon rode down Del Rio’s main street toward the hotel and the sheriff’s office.

Word of their coming must have passed quickly from building to building, because by the time the three riders reached the hotel, a sizable group was waiting for them. Don Alfredo was in the forefront, an expression of anxiety etched on his face. He brightened a little when he saw that Sonia appeared to be all right. His assistants were with him, as was Capitan Hernandez of the federales. Jeffery Spooner, the military officer assigned to the American delegation, was also waiting on the front porch of the hotel, along with Barton’s assistants, Quine and Markson. All of them looked nervous and troubled, instead of relieved, and that puzzled Longarm. He was glad, though, to see Sheriff Sanderson hurrying along the boardwalk toward the hotel, his left arm in a sling, but otherwise apparently recovered from the injuries he’d suffered when his office was blown up.

“Sonia!” cried Don Alfredo as he stepped down from the porch and ran forward to meet them.

“Papa!” Tears ran from Sonia’s eyes as Longarm brought her horse to a stop and Don Alfredo reached up for her. “Oh, Papa, it was so awful!”

She would put on a good show, thought Longarm. He and Coffin would just have to hope that the truth could counter the lies she was sure to tell.

Guiterrez helped her down from the horse, then swung a furious glare toward Longarm and Coffin. Longarm expected him to say something about the way her hands were tied, but instead he said coldly, “I am surprised you two would come back here, Senor Long. I suppose I should be grateful for the return of my daughter, but I cannot bring myself to feel gratitude to men such as you and Senor Coffin.”

Longarm rested his hands on the saddlehorn and leaned forward, easing weary muscles. “Sounds to me like you don’t know the whole story, Don Alfredo,” he began.“I know enough,” Guiterrez snapped. “Major!”

Spooner had his hand inside his coat. He brought it out holding a gun and pointed the weapon at Longarm and Coffin. “You men are under arrest,” he said. “Drop your guns.”

“Under arrest for what?” Coffin burst out. “Hell, we brought that gal

back just like we said we would—even though it turned out she didn’t need

savin’ at all. Hell, she was practically runnin’ that bunch of owlhoots,

and-“

“Save your breath,” Don Alfredo cut in. “We know all about it, Senor Coffin. We know how you and Senor Long were in league with El Aguila all along.”

“But that’s crazy!” said Longarm hotly. “We killed a bunch of those outlaws when they raided the town. Would we have done that if we’d been working with them?”

“Perhaps they did not know who their real leaders were at the time.” Don Alfredo fumbled with the bonds around Sonia’s wrists and finally got them untied. He put an arm around her shoulders and turned to lead her into the hotel. “Come along, my dear. You need food and water and much rest after your ordeal.”

Longarm and Coffin gazed bleakly after them. Longarm had expected to have some trouble convincing Don Alfredo of the truth, but obviously the Mexican diplomat had already made up his mind completely. But how could Guiterrez know anything about what had happened below the border?

“I said you’re under arrest,” repeated Spooner. “The charges are kidnapping and treason. Now, are you going to drop your guns or not?”

“Treason!” shouted Coffin. “What in blue blazes makes you think me and Long committed treason?”

Franklin Barton stepped out of the door of the hotel and said, “I told them all about it, Coffin.”

Longarm tensed in the saddle, his heart thudding in shock at the unexpected sight of the American diplomat, as Barton went on. “We know how you and Long conspired with El Aguila to kidnap Senorita Guiterrez and hold her for ransom. Then you did your best to kill me after I delivered the money to you. But as you can see, I’m alive!”

Barton’s face was pale and his features haggard, but he was definitely alive, all right, thought Longarm. The bulge of a bandage was visible under Barton’s shirt and coat. Obviously, that bullet wound hadn’t been fatal after all, only messy. Barton had gotten himself patched up and then somehow reached Del Rio ahead of Longarm and Coffin. The only way that was possible, Longarm knew, was if the renegade diplomat had been able to avoid the worst of the sandstorm and push on through the night.

How Barton had gotten there didn’t really matter. What was important was that he had arrived in Del Rio first and filled the heads of everyone involved with lies about how Longarm and Coffin had been working with the outlaws. And as Longarm frowned, thinking furiously, he couldn’t come up with any way to disprove what Barton was saying.

Lack of proof didn’t bother Coffin. The big Ranger said contemptuously, “I never heard such a load of shit in my life. If you were tellin’ the truth, Barton, then why in Hades would Long and me have come back to Del Rio?”

“Because you thought I was dead,” Barton replied smoothly. “You thought you could spin any cock-and-bull story you wanted to about what happened down there in Mexico, and there wouldn’t be anyone to dispute you.”

Longarm thought he saw a narrow opening. “What about Senorita Guiterrez?” he asked. “Wouldn’t we know that she would tell the so-called truth?”

Barton sighed theatrically. “Poor Sonia. You know, of course, that she has her own reasons for concealing the full truth.”

Don Alfredo stopped short on the threshold of the hotel lobby. His head turned slowly, and he regarded Barton with hostile eyes. “What did you say, Senor Barton?” he asked. “Are you implying that my daughter would lie about what happened to her?”

“I’m afraid so, Don Alfredo,” Barton said solemnly. His attitude conveyed clearly his reluctance to reveal the truth to his Mexican counterpart. It was all an act, of course, Longarm thought, but Barton was good at it. Barton went on. “You see—and I truly hate to tell you this—Sonia wasn’t really kidnapped. She was part of the scheme with El Aguila too.”

Sonia’s eyes widened in amazement. “Dios mio!” she exclaimed. “Why do you say such things? Have you gone mad?”

“The truth has to come out sooner or later, senorita,” Barton said, still acting reluctant. He turned to Don Alfredo and continued. “You see, your daughter has fallen in with a group of revolutionaries who plan to overthrow President Diaz. The ransom money that I took to the outlaw stronghold went to them, to help fund their revolution.”

That was another bald-faced lie, but Longarm understood now what Barton was trying to do. When the ransom demand had come to Don Alfredo—a demand that Barton might well have written himself and passed off as coming from the outlaws—Barton had volunteered to deliver the money. That had given him an excuse to leave Del Rio. The note he had concocted might have even specified that he was supposed to carry the ransom across the border. Then he had gone directly to the stronghold, where, thanks to Longarm, Coffin, and Walt Scott, things hadn’t gone exactly as planned.

Longarm knew that the ransom money hadn’t gone to the revolutionaries.

Scott’s rain of dynamite had prevented that. So what had happened to it?

Longarm was willing to bet that Barton still had the money and was planning to hang on to it in an attempt to recoup his losses as much as possible under the circumstances. But his admission that Sonia had been involved with the revolutionary group—which was true as far as it went—was a bold step no doubt calculated to cover Barton’s trail that much more. Barton was a cunning gent. He had mixed lies, truths, and half-truths to make himself look like a hero and damn everyone else involved.

He might just get away with it too. Anything to the contrary that Longarm, Coffin, or Sonia might say would be discounted as attempts to protect themselves by lying.

Those thoughts flashed through Longarm’s head as Sonia gaped in anger and astonishment at Barton. The renegade diplomat shook his head solemnly at her, as if in pity, and turned away. His eyes met Longarm’s for an instant, and the marshal saw a flicker of triumph glittering there.

“Come, Sonia,” Don Alfredo said coldly to his daughter as he tugged her into the lobby of the hotel. “We have much to talk about, you and I. Some things can be forgiven, but others ...”

“But, Papa-“ Sonia protested. Don Alfredo tugged on her arm, silencing her.

A few feet away on the boardwalk, Major Spooner had drawn back the hammer of his revolver, and his finger was taut on the trigger. “I won’t tell you again to drop your weapons and surrender,” he said to Longarm and Coffin.

“Well, then, soldier boy,” grated Coffin, “I reckon you’d better go ahead and shoot me, ‘cause a Ranger don’t surrender.”

Spooner looked at Longarm, who shook his head slowly. Billy Vail might give him hell for it later on—if there was a later on—but Longarm just wasn’t in a surrendering mood either.

Suddenly, there was a flash of motion from the door of the hotel.

Sonia leaped toward Major Spooner, her father lunging futilely after her. She reached out and plucked the gun from the hand of the young officer, whom she had taken completely by surprise. Longarm yelled, “No!” as Sonia spun toward Barton, who was as startled as Spooner had been.

“Liar!” shouted Sonia, the bitter accusation blending in with the sound of the shot as she jerked the trigger.

Barton’s eyes widened in shock, but that was all he had time for before the bullet smacked into the side of his head, bored through his brain, and exploded out the other side of his skull in a grisly shower of blood, gray matter, and splintered bone. He swayed for a second, already dead on his feet, before he pitched to the side and thudded onto the planks of the boardwalk. Glowering at his body, Sonia lowered the still-smoking gun.

“S-Sonia ...” her father said tentatively, reaching out to her. Other than that, a shocked silence ruled the street.

Sonia let the gun slip from her hand and fall to the boardwalk. “He was a thief,” she said in a voice that was half moan. “He must have wanted to steal the money all along. He never believed in the cause!”

“Then what he said ... what he said about you ... it was true?” Don Alfredo’s voice was as bleak as the grave, and so was the expression on his face. Sonia just looked at him in stony silence.

Sheriff Sanderson stepped forward and knelt beside Barton’s body. With his uninjured arm, he searched the dead man’s clothes and brought out a paper-wrapped packet from an inside pocket of Barton’s coat. “Reckon he figured to take off with this as soon as he could,” said the sheriff. He tossed the package to Major Spooner, who caught it instinctively. “Open that up and see what’s inside it, young fella.”

With trembling fingers, Spooner tore away the paper and revealed a thick stack of Mexican currency. “It’s ... the ransom money,” he said in amazement. “I saw Don Alfredo hand it to Mr. Barton with my own eyes.”

Don Alfredo nodded in confirmation. “Si. I wired my bank in Mexico City for it and had it brought to me from the bank downriver in Cuidad Acuna.” His voice shook a little. “That is nearly all the money I have in the world.” He looked at Sonia, who stared back defiantly at him. “But it would have been worth it ...”

Another silence fell, but it lasted only a few seconds before Coffin said, “I reckon we ain’t under arrest no more.”

“I reckon not,” Longarm agreed.

They watched as Sheriff Sanderson took hold of Sonia’s arm and led her away toward the jail, which Longarm saw had had some hasty repairs made to it. Don Alfredo watched them go, standing on the boardwalk with his shoulders slumped in an air of utter defeat.

Longarm was relieved that the truth had come out and that justice had caught up with Franklin Barton when it had looked as if the man was going to get away with his treachery.

But he couldn’t be completely happy with the way everything had turned out. No, sir, not by a long shot.

Chapter 18

The strains of guitar music floated through the warm night. Del Rio was quiet and peaceful once more. Maybe with any luck it would stay that way for a while, Longarm thought as he and Lazarus Coffin ambled along the boardwalk in company with Sheriff Sanderson.

“Well, after everything you’ve told me, Lazarus,” mused Sanderson, “I don’t reckon we’ve got to go hunt down El Aguila after all.”

“Nope, he didn’t have anything to do with those raids,” Coffin agreed. “It was just that bunch of owlhoots usin’ his name so they could set up that phony kidnappin’.”

“Truth to tell, I didn’t much plan on goin’ after him anyway,” Sanderson said as he paused and leaned on the railing along the edge of the boardwalk.

A deep voice came from the shadow-cloaked mouth of a nearby alley.

“I’m glad to hear that, Sheriff.”

Longarm and Coffin both turned sharply toward the alley. “Scott!” exclaimed Coffin. “Hellfire, mister, is that you?”

Longarm wasn’t surprised to see the tall figure of Walt Scott move out of the darkness and step up onto the boardwalk. Scott moved easily and seemed none the worse for wear, considering the destruction he had wreaked on the way out of the stronghold in Mexico.

“Howdy, Scott,” said Longarm. “I didn’t figure we’d ever see you again. You must’ve scooted pretty fast to get away from that avalanche.”

“I had to light a shuck, all right,” Scott agreed dryly. “But I got off the rim in time and worked my way back down to where I’d left Phantom. I thought maybe I could catch up to you boys before you got to the border, but I ran into this sandstorm that had other ideas.”

“Yeah, it slowed us down too,” said Coffin. “How come you changed the plan we had and headed for the gap with that dynamite, instead of the other end of the valley?”

Longarm had wondered about that himself. He wasn’t surprised when Scott said, “I overheard a couple of those owlhoots talking about how the guards at the gap had signaled down that those revolutionaries were about to enter the valley. I knew that would block your path for sure, so I went that direction instead of the other way and found a place where I could climb up above the opening.”

Coffin snorted in disbelief. “I looked at them cliffs. They looked mighty sheer to me.”

“I didn’t say it was an easy climb,” Scott said with a chuckle as he took the makin’s from his shirt pocket and began to roll a quirly.

Longarm took advantage of the opportunity to light up a cheroot, then blew out a lungful of smoke and said, “I guess considering everything, Coffin and I can forgive you for lying to us and acting like you were double-crossing us in that cantina.”

“I appreciate that,” said Scott. “But I’ve got to admit, Marshal, I probably lied to you more than once.”

Sanderson grinned at the tall drifter. “Goin’ to tell ‘em the truth, Walt?” he asked.Longarm frowned. “You two know each other?”

“Most of the star-packers in the border country know El Aguila,” said Sanderson. “We’ve all heard tell that he’s an outlaw—but we know not to believe everything we hear.”

Scott’s long fingers went to the broad leather belt around his waist and plucked something from a hidden pocket behind it. As he held out his hand, the light from a nearby window gleamed for a second on the thing that lay in his palm.

It was a silver star in a silver circle—the emblem of the Texas Rangers.

“Son of a bitch!” Coffin said. “You mean you’re really a Ranger, instead of an owlhoot?”

Scott stowed the badge away with a deft motion. “It comes in mighty handy sometimes for folks to believe that I’m crooked,” he said. “But Captain McNetty and Major Jones know the truth, and now so do you.”

Coffin shook his head. “I won’t say nothin’, Scott. You got my word on that.”

Longarm grinned around the cheroot in his mouth. “My memory’s getting plumb bad, Scott. I’ve already forgotten anything I just saw.”

“Thanks,” Scott said. He let out a low whistle, and the big black stallion emerged from the alley and came over beside the boardwalk. Scott swung up into the saddle and continued. “I’d better be riding. I’ve got word that there’s another little dustup brewing over in the Big Bend. Thought I’d go take a look, see if maybe I ought to play a hand or two.” He sketched a quick salute to the brim of his hat, then turned the stallion and rode away, vanishing into the night.

“Well, hell,” said Coffin with a sigh, “if that don’t beat all.” His attitude brightened. “I think I’m goin’ to hunt up Anna Marie. I ain’t seen her since we got back.” He glanced over ominously at Longarm. “Unless you want to fight me again over her.”

Longarm shook his head. “No, you go right ahead, Coffin. I’ve got a word of advice for you, though.”

“What?” Coffin asked suspiciously.

“Try being nice to her for a change, instead of acting like a big ol’ bull. You might be surprised how she responds.”

“You reckon?” Coffin frowned skeptically. “I ‘spose I can try it, but it ain’t really my style.” He ambled off down the boardwalk toward Kilroy’s.

When Coffin was gone, Sanderson looked curiously at Longarm and said, “That surprises me a mite. I didn’t figure you for the type to give up a gal to another fella like that and even tell him how he ought to court her.”

“Well,” said Longarm with a grin, “a gent don’t always have to wind up with the girl, now does he?”