Longarm on the Border

For a few moments they clung, kissing, while Lita moved her hips, rubbing him slowly. She began to gasp. Longarm picked her up by the waist and lifted her off the ground. Lita spread her legs and guided him into her hot throbbing depth, wrapped her legs around his waist and locked them behind his back, to pull him into her fully. She screamed then, a light, breathy cry of delight. Longarm braced his legs by spreading them and supported her buttocks with his hands, squeezing their soft, firm muscles. Her body twisted, her gasps became a sobbing laugh of pain and pleasure as with his hands he moved her back and forth. He felt the vibrations begin deep in her body. They spread, her muscles undulating, until she was trembling. Her head fell back, the laughing sobs rising from her taut throat as she let ecstasy take her and shake her until, still trembling, she gave a final gasp and went limp in his hands.

He supported her gently, still buried deeply in her, still rock-hard and unsatisfied. "Hold on around my neck," he told the girl as soon as he felt her muscles become firm again. Lita clasped her hands behind his head, and Longarm moved with short careful steps to where Tordo stood, only a few feet away. Whisking the saddle blanket off the gray's back, he managed to unfold it and after a fashion to spread it on the sand.

Longarm's britches had slipped down when he took the few steps needed to reach the blanket and place it on the ground. He sidled along its edge, Lita still locked close to him, her hot wetness urging him to hurry. He was holding himself back, not wanting to enjoy his orgasm alone, giving Lita as much time as he could manage to be ready to share it with him. He dropped to his knees on a corner of the blanket and in the same unbroken motion lunged forward, pinning her beneath him, stabbing even deeper into her than he'd been while they were standing up.

"Madre de Dios! Que verga!" she cried out. "Que cosa maravillosa! Es mas que chorizo, es un grifo de caballo! Dame todo, Coos-tees! Andale! Andale!"

Longarm obeyed her demands. Although he didn't understand the words, her tone told him that Lita needed no more time. He thrust fiercely and she splayed her legs wide to engulf him, her hips rocking. Her trembling began almost at once. Longarm was past being ready, but after the interruption of moving, it took him a few minutes to reach a peak again. He rocked faster and faster, racing Lita's beginning orgasm, until he caught up and pushed hard one last time, and held himself deep within her while her cries broke the cool night air, until his shaking ended and he fell aside, leaving the girl sprawled on the rough wool beside him, both of them limp and spent.

They lay, not moving or talking, watching the moon as it waned imperceptibly, then began playing the game of undressing one another. The night breeze was soft on their naked bodies. Lita lay with her head cradled on Longarm's shoulder. Now and then she'd rub her cheek on his skin, or he'd raise a hand to caress her breasts, his hard fingertips gentle as they traced the puckered tips of her dark rosettes. As their vigor returned the kissing began again, and their hands on each other grew more inquisitive. Longarm rubbed his palm down the smooth warm flesh of Lita's stomach and combed his fingers through her bush to feel the fresh moisture stealing out between her thighs. She spread them for him, and his fingers explored more deeply. Lita's hands were cradling and hefting him, curling around, weighing, feeling his erection begin to grow.

"Es muy hermoso, su grifo, Coos-tees. But I like it more inside me, not in mis manos. You wan' I show you how I like?"

"Sure. If you like it, I will, too."

Her hand went to his hip, lightly pulling, and he responded by turning on his side. Lita was lying on her back; she threw her legs across his body and used her heels to pull herself close, then to pull even closer when he was inside her. She moved with measured slowness, sighing now and then, a small healthy gust of breath, and Longarm lay quite still, contented to feel her inner pulsing wrapping him in soft sensation. She shuddered gently, relaxed, and lay motionless for several minutes. Then she began a slow rotation of her hips, digging her heels into his back, and moved this way until another shudder seized her, quicker this time than before. Once more she lay quiet. Longarm stretched a hand and grasped her breast, its firm smoothness resilient and alive under his palm. He cupped his hand gently, moving it to find the other breast and caress it.

Lita began to quiver. She pulled away and brought her legs up in the air. In the brush between them the waning moon caught glints like dewdrops. "Go in me, Coos-tees!" she gasped. "Al frente! Con su grifo de caballo! Chingame duro, presteza! Duro! Duro!"

Longarm didn't know all the words this time either, but no interpreter was needed. He lunged into her swiftly and fiercely, ignoring her cry of pleasure or pain, arched his back above her and pushed hard, driving deep, the flood building in him forcing him to speed, to thrust, until it crested and burst and Lita's cries of "Duro! Duro!" faded to a long, choking moan, and then to silence.

Longarm relaxed, lying heavily on top of her, too spent to move. Lita did not object, but bore his weight with little breaths of pleasure. The moon had gone by now, and the night lay dark and still around them. After a long while, he rolled off and lay by her.

"Tu es mucho hombre, Coos-tees," she murmured, nibbling at the lobe of his ear. "You still think I am nina, now?"

"If I ever mistook you for a little girl, I sure know better," he replied. "You're muy tnujer, Lita."

"I make you feel good, no?"

"You make me feel good, yes. How you feel?"

"You wait a little while, I show you."

Longarm's chuckle was cut short before it got out of his throat. Distantly, the quiet was broken by an irregular thudding of many hooves and the muted blats of cattle protesting being night-driven. He sat up quickly, there was no mistaking the sound.

Lita sat up, too. "What is it, Coos-tees? What you hear?"

"Hush a minute. I'm trying to figure which way they're coming from."

"They come from the nordeste, from los ranchos grandes de Tejas," she said casually, as though surprised that Longarm didn't know such a simple fact.

"How do you know?"

"Por supuesto, Coos-tees, everybody know this thing. Is happen muchos veces. Maybe three, four weeks was otro hato de ganados go sobre del rio."

"You mean everybody in Los Perros knows there's cattle being drove across to Mexico pretty regular?"

"De verdad. Porque? "

"Because them steers are rustled, Lita. They're stolen from ranches up along the Pecos and above there."

"Si. Esta conozco. Why you don't ask me, you wan' to know?"

"Because I didn't realize you knew about it." Longarm stood up, pulling Lita to her feet. "Come on, put your clothes on. We got to get out of here."

"Porque? You tired hace chinga? "

"No, I ain't tired. If I had my druthers, I'd stay here all night with you. But I got business to look after."

By now, the movement of the cattle herd was much louder. Longarm judged the first riders hazing the steers would be getting to the ford within fifteen or twenty minutes. Dark as it was, there'd be no chance of him and Lita being seen, but the rustlers might have guards, outriders, ahead of the herd, or flanking it, and there was no place on the sandspit for them to hide.

He told Lita, "I'll carry you back to town. I got to go pick up my gear anyhow, get the horse saddled proper." He was pulling on his clothes as he spoke.

"Coos-tees. You go away, now?"

"For a spell. I don't know how long."

"But you come back, no?"

"Sure. I'll be back, soon as I can. You ain't seen the last of me yet, Lita." Then, in sober afterthought, he added, "At least, I hope you ain't."

Longarm dropped Lita off at the spot she pointed out, a shanty a short distance from the plaza. He rode to the corral and in swift silence, working by feel, saddled Tordo. Then he made short work of collecting his bedroll, saddlebags, and rifle from his room. Within little more than half an hour he was back at the sandspit, in time to hear distantly the splashings of the last few steers being driven across the river.

There wasn't enough light for him to tell how many men were riding herd. By the same token, the rustlers wouldn't be able to see him, either, sitting at a safe distance from the crossing, getting his clues from sounds alone. He waited until the hoofbeats and splashings and blattings subsided, and the rustlings in the chamizal on the Mexican side of the border were barely audible. Then he nudged Tordo ahead and across the Rio Grande in pursuit of the stolen herd.

Chapter 10

Following the rustlers was easy, even in the dark. The cattle cut noisily through the belt of chamizal that extended only a mile or two beyond the river, then angled south and west. Longarm stopped in the brush to let the steers and their drivers get safely ahead of him, for after the chamizal ended there was no cover. Past the strip of brush, the land ran level for a score of miles before it rose at the beginning of the foothills of the Serranias de Burro, farther west. It was a harsh plain, as Longarm saw when daybreak came, a place of scanty vegetation, rolling gently between river and foothills, dotted by groves of mesquite scrub and cactus, cut by dry arroyos and an occasional shallow canyon in which there might run a thread-thin stream, more creek than river.

For once, Longarm was pleased with the glacial slowness shown by the army's procurement branch. The ordnance map he carried in his saddlebags dated from the U.S.-Mexican War of 1846, and had been prepared for troops being staged to invade Mexico from the Texas border. It covered the area he was traveling through in very good detail. Studying it, he could figure what he'd do if he was driving a stolen herd to Laredo, and was able to ride unworried at a distance from the rustlers.

There were no settlements within more than sixty miles of the Burro foothills, no people to see the moving cattle — or the lone rider following them. Somewhere to the south, probably along the Zarro or San Carlos River, he was pretty sure there'd be a ranch used by the ring that ran the new Laredo Loop. They'd need such a place, where brands could be altered and bills of sale forged to allow the cattle to be returned to Texas and sold at the Laredo railhead without questions being raised.

As he'd expected, the rustlers turned the herd almost due south after angling in from the border. Longarm's map had led him to the most likely place ahead of the slower-moving herd; he'd gotten to the shallow valley he'd guessed would be their path just before sunup. Finding a cut in which to hide the dapple, Longarm had waited an hour before the steers passed by, a good three-quarters of a mile distant, too far to see anything except the dust cloud they'd raised in passing. He'd leaned back, resting against a convenient rock, while he chewed jerky and hardtack and sipped from the canteen. He'd given up wishing for a cheroot. After having failed to find any at Fort Lancaster or Los Perros, he'd reminded himself philosophically that he'd intended to give up the damned things, anyhow.

Stomach filled, he'd dozed. There was no great hurry. The herd would leave an easy trail to follow, and he'd had a busy day and night. When he woke up, he was sweating; the sun was blazing clear in a bowl of cloudless blue. The trail ahead promised to be a hot one, and his map told him it led through a baked, water-scarce land. He was splashing water from his cupped hand into Tordo's mouth when the riders passed. Sunlight glinting from a bit or strap buckle, or perhaps from the silver conchos of a hat-band, alerted him to their approach. Their path was too close for comfort, he thought. He led the gray deeper into the narrow arroyo and clamped a hand over his muzzle. He wasn't sure whether Tordo had the habit of whinnying at the approach of strange horses; he'd never been with the gray in a situation like this before. The restraining hand eliminated a needless risk.

There were four riders. Longarm watched their backs as they loped their mounts in a direction that would take them straight to the ford, and wished he could've seen their faces. Old son, he told himself, those hombres backtracking has got to mean just one thing. They've left the steers with two or three men up along the frail, and there'll be another herd crew taking over to push the critters on to their headquarters. And that's the place I want to find.

Mounting, he set Tordo to a frail-burning lope, picking up the broad path of droppings and faint hoofprints that the steers had left. He kept a close watch for dust ahead of him, but saw none. Instead, after he'd covered four or five miles, he saw the thin line of smoke from a small fire rising from a canyon half a mile ahead. Neither riders nor steers were visible. Longarm risked riding almost to the rim of the canyon before dismounting. He looped Tordo's reins over a mesquite limb and took his rifle from the scabbard that hung slanted in front of the saddle. Dodging from one area of scant cover to the next, he worked his way slowly to the rim.

A small creek, little more than a series of bathtub-sized pools connected by a trickle that in places narrowed to a hand's width, ran through the canyon. Steers straggled along the creek. Some drank from the pools, some looked for graze on the barren soil, others just stood staring vacantly into nowhere. Longarm couldn't see all the brands, but he noted that at least five were represented in the herd. It was a typical rustler's herd, small enough to be moved quickly and quietly by just a handful of men.

At one of the pools upstream from where the herd milled, two men squatted beside a tiny campfire. A tin skillet sat canted on a boulder near them, beside the tiny blaze that had drawn Longarm to the spot. Their horses were unsaddled, tethered to a bush a few paces from the fire. The men were eating from tin plates.

Their backs were to him, so Longarm took his time studying the way the land lay. There were no boulders or rock outcrop-pings near the fire big enough to give the two any kind of cover. Their rifles were with their saddles, beside the tethered horses. He had the advantage of both position and surprise, and the need for information outweighed the easier alternative of dogging the rustled herd to the gang's headquarters. Longarm sighted quickly and sent a slug from the Winchester into the skillet.

Amid splinters of rock and with a metallic clanging that started the steers jumping and running aimlessly, the skillet bounced three feet into the air. The men dropped their plates and leaped to their feet, hands reaching for revolver butts.

"Get your hands up! First one that touches his gun's a dead man!" Longarm shouted. He was still hidden by the boulder behind which he'd crouched to survey the camp.

His call stopped the rustlers' hands in midair. Slowly their arms went up, and they turned carefully to face the direction from which the command had come. Longarm wasn't too greatly surprised to see that one of the pair was Lefty. He'd been very sure, after Lita's revelation of the night, that Sheriff Tucker was involved in the rustling ring, and Tucker had sent Lefty off with a reminder of a job that waited for him.

When he was sure that both men were frozen into position, Longarm stood up and stepped from behind the boulder. Keeping the men covered by his Winchester, he began to pick his way across the bare, rock-strewn ground down the sloping canyon sides.

Lefty's companion said something to the deputy when Longarm had closed half the distance between them, but Longarm was too far away to hear the remark or Lefty's answer. He called, "Keep your mouths shut! If I get the idea you're framing to jump me when I get close, my trigger finger might get sorta nervous!"

There was no more conversation between the two. Longarm was within thirty yards of them when the steer locoed. He hadn't noticed the animal in particular; all along the creek there were cattle running and snorting, disturbed by his shot. The one that panicked hadn't done anything to attract attention; it just reacted in the way half-wild range cattle do at the sight of a moving man on foot. The steer pawed the ground, bellowed, and charged Longarm from a distance of less than fifty feet.

Longarm swiveled and dropped the animal with a single quick shot, but the diversion gave the unknown rustier the chance for which he must've been watching. The instant Longarm swung his rifle to shoot the locoed steer, the rustier dropped his arms and drew.

Longarm caught the move in the corner of his eye and dove for the dirt. He rolled twice before snapshooting. The rustier's slug kicked up dust where Longarm had recently been, but the man dropped before he could get off a second shot. Longarm lay still, his rifle ready. The downed outlaw didn't move. Neither did Lefty. He'd seen Longarm shoot before, and kept his hands safely in the air.

Keeping the deputy covered, Longarm rose to his feet. He walked slowly toward the men, his eyes darting from one to the other. Ten feet from the campfire, he stopped.

"All right, Lefty. Seems like I sorta got in the habit of taking your gun away from you. Lift it out easy, and toss it over here."

Lefty obeyed. When the pistol lay on the ground at Longarm's feet, he said, "I told that damn fool not to try it. He got itchy, soon as he saw you was by yourself. Wanted both of us to throw down on you, but I told him I wanted to live awhile longer."

Longarm nodded. "You was smart, for a change. Who's your friend?"

"Name's Sanchez, and that's all I know. Never heard anybody call him anything else."

"Is he dead?"

Sanchez answered the question with an involuntary twitching. Longarm took two quick steps and kicked the fallen rustier's pistol out of reach. He took his eyes off Lefty long enough to glance at the downed outlaw. Blood was seeping through Sanchez's shirt. The rifle slug had taken him in the side, between his belt and bottom rib. Sanchez was beginning to groan.

"You better see what you can do to help him, Lefty," Longarm ordered. "Probably he ain't worth saving, but maybe he'll live long enough to hang."

Lefty bent over Sanchez, loosened the man's belt, and pulled his clothing aside to uncover the wound. "He's lucky," Lefty said, then added, somewhat doubtfully, "I guess."

Longarm's bullet had plowed through the flesh just above Sanchez's hipbone. It was too shallow to have hit a vital spot. The wound would hurt and perhaps disable the man for a while, but it was a long way from being fatal.

"Put some kind of bandage on him," Longarm told Lefty. "He'll live long enough to tell me a few things I'm curious to know.' "

While Lefty worked over the wounded man, Longarm collected the rifles and pistols belonging to the pair and carried them far enough from the fire so they'd be out of diving distance. There was a coffeepot propped on a stone behind the boulder off which he'd shot the frying pan. He set the pot on the dying fire and rinsed out one of the tin cups that lay by it while he waited for the coffee to heat.

Lefty stood up. "I guess I got him stopped bleeding. He's gonna be sore as hell for a while, though."

"It's his own fault," Longarm said unemotionally. "Only a damn fool tries to draw on a man who's got him covered with a rifle."

"You are wrong, gringo.'' Sanchez's voice was weak, but his tone was positive. "Is better a bullet under the sky with my hands free than a rope in a jailyard."

"Can't say I'd argue that," Longarm replied. "Except that a man's better off not setting hisself up for a rope to start with."

"Look here, Custis," Lefty broke in, "just who in hell are you? You damn sure ain't some drifter that just happened to wind up in Los Perros accidental-like. I'm guessing you're either an enforcer from the cattleman's association, or a lawman of some kind."

Longarm had decided the time had come to begin working on his primary assignment. To get Lefty started talking, he'd have to tell him who he was, and that revelation couldn't be delayed much longer. If he had to keep the word from being passed to Tucker, he'd hustle the deputy past Los Perros on the Mexican side of the river and put him in Roy Bean's jail up to the north, or even haul him to Fort Lancaster.

"That's a good guess," he told Lefty. "You just know the first part of my name, for openers. Custis Long is the full handle, and I'm a deputy U.S. marshal working out of Denver." He took out his wallet and showed his badge.

"You're a hell of a ways from home base."

"Not so's you'd notice, or that it'd make much of a nevermind. Los Perros is like a lot of places, it ain't organized by the state, so that leaves it under federal jurisdiction."

"You checking out the rustling? Or hot on Ed's trail?"

"What I'm really here for is to run down a cavalry captain named Hill, who took off from Fort Lancaster after a couple of his troopers who deserted. And there's a Texas Ranger missing, too, name's Nate Webster. That's what got me interested in your rustling ring; Webster was checking to see if the Laredo Loop was working again when he dropped outa sight."

"Jesus! Ed thought him and his partners over here in Mexico was too smart for anybody to catch up with so quick. They figured they'd be able to go five or six years before the law come noseying around, and here it ain't been quite two years."

"Tucker didn't fool anybody. I had him figured for one of the kingpins in the rustling after I'd talked to him for ten minutes."

Lefty sighed. "Yeah. Ed's got sorta careless of late. He ain't the man he was, six, eight years ago."

"That's why you and Spud began scheming to push him out, I'd imagine," Longarm said.

"It was mostly Spud's idea."

Longarm remembered Lefty's efforts to shift the blame for the attempted attack by Luis onto Spud. He recognized Lefty's value as the weak link in Tucker's outfit and pressed on. "This is as good a time as any for you to tell me about the whole setup," he told the deputy. "And I mean all of it, including the Mexican side."

"Sanchez can tell you more about that than I can. He knows it better."

"How about it?" Longarm asked the wounded Mexican. "You ready to talk?"

"Chinga su madre, federalista! You don' get nothin' out of me!" Sanchez spat.

Longarm tried reason. "I'll find out soon enough without you helping me, Sanchez. But if you talk, it might save you from hanging."

"No soy graznido, hombre! No dice nada, nada, nada!"

"You might as well spill what you know," Lefty advised Sanchez. "I seen this fellow work. He'll find out what he wants, one way or the other."

"Cago en su boca, Lefty. Ahorita, no hablo Ingles. " Sanchez turned his face away. Longarm knew he'd get nothing more out of the man until he'd had time to apply a lot more persuasion.

"I don't need you to tell me anything," he told the Mexican. "You and your friends left a trail a tenderfoot can follow." He turned back to Lefty. "You going to do like him, or you going to be smart?"

"What'll it get me if I tell you?"

"It might not get you much, except save you a stretched neck."

"Well, shit! I guess I might as well. Ask ahead."

"We can save the rustling part till later," Longarm said. "But you can start by telling me about those four men I'm looking for."

"Spud's the one that'll have to tell you about them nigger bluecoats," Lefty began.

"No. You better tell me, right now!"

"Hell, I don't know where they are!"

"Make a real good guess, then. But do it now. Don't waste my time, or I might run outa patience with you."

"Well." Lefty saw he was cornered. "You know how Spud and Ed is about niggers."

"No, I don't. I might guess, but I'd rather hear you say it."

"They're old Quantrill riders, and anybody who was with him ain't exactly what you'd call a nigger lover. Spud's worse'n most, though, I guess. Anyhow, them troopers made two or three real bad mistakes. They come into Los Perros, that's number one.

They strutted into Baskin's saloon, that's number two. Then they sassed Spud, and that's number three. You ain't goin' to find them troopers, not ever, Marshal."

"You still haven't told me what Spud did."

"When they give him hard lip in the saloon, he cut one of 'em down, right then and there. He made the other one tote the body out in the brush somewheres. Don't ask me whereabouts, because Spud never told me, and I had sense enough not to ask him. Anyhow, the live one never come back."

"You're pretty sure Spud killed him, too?"

"Sure as God made little apples. He just as good as told me he did. Spud was havin' one of his mean spells right then, so I didn't wanta rile him by askin' questions."

"All right." Mentally, Longarm wrote off the two deserters. That left two men still missing. "What about Captain Hill? And the Ranger, Nate Webster?"

"They both come through Los Perros all right. The Ranger was the first one to show up, about a month before the army man. Both of 'em visited with Ed, but I don't know what they talked about. He never did tell me. Only thing I'm sure of, the Ranger was in town one day and gone the next, and the captain was, too."

"You're not exactly a gold mine of information, Lefty," Longarm observed. "You'll have to do better than that."

"So help me, Marshal, I'm tellin' you all I know. I can't tell you things I don't know, now can I?"

"You were on the inside, Lefty. Put your mind to it. I'm right sure you'll remember a few things you've forgot."

"Well~" the deputy frowned. "I did hear Ed say he'd sent the Ranger kitin' off on a wild-goose chase over the river."

"That's better. Where, over the river?"

"He didn't say where. Just Mexico, something like that."

"What about Hill? Did Tucker give him the same treatment?"

"Just about. Ed knew Spud had killed them troopers, you see. He had to get the captain outa town fast, before he could ask too many questions. So Ed made out the men had hightailed it right on through town and across the river."

"Then the captain followed the trail Tucker gave him?"

"Well, you couldn't call it a trail. He didn't aim the bluecoat in any special direction, the way I got it. And that's all I know, Marshal. It's God's own truth, that's all I can tell you!"

"It all hangs together," Longarm nodded. "And I don't think you're a good enough liar to make up a yarn like that, Lefty."

"If you was to string me up right here and now, I couldn't tell you no more," Lefty said fervently.

"All right. Let's get to this rustling business. Looks to me like you and your friend Sanchez are waiting for a bunch of hands to come and drive this herd on south. Is that right?"

Sanchez spoke for the first time since he'd disclaimed any more knowledge of English. "Este hijo de puta, Esquivel! Es su tacha!"

Longarm asked Sanchez, "Who's Esquivel?" When the man didn't answer, he said to Lefty, "I don't need to be told that, I guess. I'd say Esquivel's the fellow that was supposed to be here to meet you, ain't he? To take the herd on south?"

Lefty nodded. "Yeah. Him and his bunch was supposed to be here by sunup. Spud and our boys had to start back by then."

"What about you, Lefty? Were you going to collect Tucker's payoff here, or were you going to the headquarters place for it?"

"Lefty!" Sanchez warned. "No mandate esto!"

"Hell, Sanch, it won't hurt to tell him," Lefty said. "I was goin' along with Esquivel. It's near enough so's I could be back in Los Perros early tomorrow."

Longarm didn't comment on the deputy's remark, though it pinpointed for him the location of the rustlers' headquarters. All he'd have to do was study his map and find a spot where there was plenty of water, within a four- or five-hour ride. Instead, he asked, "How many's coming with this Esquivel hombre?"

"I don't know. Four or five, I guess. Ed didn't say."

"Then, if you~" Longarm began.

A shout from the canyon rim interrupted him. He looked around, and saw four riflemen standing, shielded by boulders, their guns leveled.

"Damn!" he snapped. "Looks like I waited too long to start us heading back to the river! That'd be your pal Esquivel!"

Sanchez started to laugh, though the effort brought a grimace of pain to his face. "You a fool to waste time, gringo! Now it is you who will get el tiro, not me!"

Longarm looked at the opposite rim of the canyon. Two more men were posted there, rifles covering the camp. His own Winchester was leaning against the rock where he'd put it when he heated the coffee. He estimated his chance of surviving if he tried for it, and gave up the idea. Suicide wasn't in his plans.

A horseman appeared behind the men on the south rim of the canyon. Motioning them to follow him, he walked his horse down the slope. When he'd gotten close enough for Longarm and the others to see him clearly, Sanchez let out a despairing moan.

"Sangre de la Virgen! No es Esquivel! Ahora todos tomen el tiro! Ellos son rurales!"

Chapter 11

When he heard Sanchez's words, Longarm felt better about everything. The rurales, the Mexican Federal Rural Police, occupied a position similar to that of the federal marshals in the United States. They operated out of a number of strategically located field headquarters scattered throughout Mexico, and answered only to the national government. He watched the mounted rurales approach with the feeling that after he'd identified himself and explained everything, they'd give him what help was needed to capture the rustier force that was now on its way and long overdue.

Lefty said in a whisper, "God a-mighty, Marshal! If Sanchez is right, we're in trouble up to our assholes now!"

"You and Sanchez, maybe. There ain't no way that bunch your man Esquivel's bringing along can stand up to these fellows."

"Is that how you figure?" Lefty shook his head, and with a sincerity that Longarm knew couldn't be put on, said, "Don't fool yourself for a minute. They won't help you. Shit, they won't like you because you're a gringo and in Mexico. I tell you, the only thing the rurales gives a fuck about is the rurales."

"What're you driving at, Lefty? They're federal police; so am I, only from another country. If you're trying to spook me, get me to help you outa this jackpot by telling them you and me are working together, you're about to be disappointed."

"You ever run up against the rurales before?"

"Sure. About four years ago, when I come down here on another case. They were real helpful. I tagged 'em as a pretty good outfit."

"Four years ago, they was. That's before Diaz got to be boss of Mexico again. The rurales is his boys now, just like me and Spud and the rest of our bunch is Ed Tucker's men. And if you think he's a bad one, you don't know what bad is, yet."

Longarm wasn't convinced that the deputy could be believed, but told himself that he'd find out soon enough. The rider coming down the slope was almost within speaking distance. He carried a pistol in one hand, but a rifle was slung across his back. His men were still only halfway down from the rim; they were moving cautiously, keeping their weapons ready. The horseman reined in and looked at Longarm, Lefty, and Sanchez for a moment before speaking.

"Que tenemos aqui? " he finally asked. "Quien hace tiros oiagamos un momento pasado? "

"He wants to know who was doin' the shooting a while back," Lefty translated for Longarm. "What you want me to say, Marshal? "

"I'll do my own talking," Longarm replied curtly. He asked the rurale, "You speak English, mister? Habla Ingles?"

"Si, un poco. A little bit, I speak."

"It was me done that shooting." Longarm spoke slowly and distinctly; in a situation like this he didn't trust his slight knowledge of Spanish, even though a lot of it had come back to him since he'd arrived on the border. "I'm a deputy U.S. marshal. Same kinda job you got, understand?" The rurale gave no evidence that he was following the explanation, so Longarm went on, "If you won't get trigger-nerved, I'll reach in my pocket and show you my badge."

His brow knitted, the rurale said, "Un federalista de los Estados Unidos? You can prove this thing you say?"

Moving very slowly indeed, Longarm pulled his coat lapel aside and took out his wallet. He flipped it open to show the badge pinned in its fold. "Here. Look at it."

"Damelo," the man commanded. "Give me to it."

Longarm stepped up and handed over the wallet. The rurale took it, examined the badge carefully, opened the folded wallet, and looked at the money it contained.

"Muy interesante, " he grunted. A grin began to form on his face. "Anybody can carry a badge, hombre." He put the wallet in his pocket. "I keep this for now."

"Wait a minute!" Longarm protested. "That's my badge and my money you got there!"

'Wo apasarse, hombre. I weel take good care of it. And your gun, too." He turned, saw that his men were now just behind him, and ordered one of them, "Tome su pistola. " He indicated the rifles that were off to one side, the pistols lying on the ground near them. To another of his men, he said, "Los fusiles y pistolas aya, ponerles. "

Both men moved quickly to obey, one starting for Longarm, the other to collect the rest of the guns. When the rurale who was taking Longarm's Colt saw the gold watch chain snaked across his vest, the man reached for it greedily. The commander saw the move.

"Cuidado, Felipe! Este botin toca al Capitan Ramos! El no le gusta si tome el reloj del gringo!" he called.

His threat was enough to cause the rurale to pull his hand back as if the watch chain were red-hot. Longarm caught enough of what the commander said to deduce that he wasn't going to be searched thoroughly until he was in the presence of the captain himself. He reminded himself to try to find an opportunity to drop the watch into the pocket that held his derringer, so the chain wouldn't be so highly visible.

There was a moment of inaction while the men who'd taken the guns showed them to their leader. He hefted Longarm's Colt, but didn't find it to his liking, for he waved the weapons away with a disgusted grunt. Longarm used the pause to study the mounted rurale.

He didn't really like what he saw. The commander wore a gold-embroidered charro outfit, short jacket, tight pants, high-crowned felt sombrero, calf-high boots. This seemed to be the uniform of the rurales, though none of the men wore garments as elaborately decorated as that of their leader; what braiding their jackets and hats showed was predominantly silver with an occasional golden accent stitch. It wasn't the commander's clothing that stirred Longarm's concern, but the man's face. He had the cold, slitted eyes that Longarm had seen in the faces of killers who enjoyed their work; he'd looked into eyes like that too many times to misread their significance. The rurale's face was razor-thin, with a long nose and jutting jaw punctuated by an untrimmed mustache. Longarm bet himself that the man's lips were even thinner than his nose, though he couldn't see them.

"Bueno," the commander said, after his men had bundled the captured weapons for one of their number to carry. He turned his gaze on Longarm. "You say you are Tejano~"

"No," Longarm interrupted. "That ain't what I said. My office is in Denver, Colorado, it ain't in Texas at all."

"No significa, hombre. You tell me you are federalista de los Estados Unidos, you show me badge, verdad? So, now you tell me what you do in my country?"

"I was trailing them stolen steers you're looking at. Them two fellows there, along with some others who've already left, were driving the animals from the U.S. side of the Rio Grande to someplace south of here."

"De verdad? And you make the shootings my men and me we hear while we ride by on our patrol, yes?"

"Yes. That one on the ground cut down on me and I had to wing him. The hole I put in him ain't going to kill him, but if you aim to save him for hanging, you better get him to a doctor to fix it up."

Looking down at Sanchez, the rurale asked, "Es verdico, el gringo? O es mientrador?" Sanchez said nothing. The rurale frowned. "Cabren! Repuestame!"

Lefty spoke for the first time. "Sanchez wouldn't know if the marshal was lyin' or not. He's tellin' you the truth, though."

"Es posible. Es posible tu es mientirador tambien. Dime verdad, hombre, tu es otro ladron de ganados, no? "

"No, I ain't no rustier! And I ain't lyin' about the marshal. And I'm a law officer, too. Outa Los Perros!"

With a wolfish smile, the leader shook his head slowly. "Ay, Los Perros! El jefe Tucker, no?"

"Yeah, Sheriff Tucker. I guess you know who he is?" Lefty retorted.

"Si. Tan mas bueno."

"He's one of Tucker's men, all right," Longarm said. "But he was working with the rustlers."

"He is not with you?" the rurale asked.

"Hell, no! He was with the bunch I was trailing!"

"Pues, es ladron de ganados. " Over his shoulder, the commander called, "Ponese las manillas, esto y el herido."

Longarm watched Lefty being shackled. He half wished he'd felt able to trust the deputy, but he'd learned by bitter experience that it was a fool's game to depend on a born liar, and a weakling to boot. He felt a little better when the commander didn't order him to be handcuffed. There's a good chance the captain at his headquarters will understand things better, Longarm thought hopefully. Then, to try the leader's temper, he said, "Well, now you got things straight, suppose you give me back my badge and my guns. I'll ride to your headquarters with you, and tell your captain what this is all about."

"Is not so easy like that," the rurale replied. "If you are what you say, you have invade Mexico. This is serious crime, hombre. I take you to mi capitan, along with these two others."

Longarm snorted. "Like hell, I invaded Mexico! You act like I'm a whole damn army! I was chasing crooks that I guess broke Mexican laws, just like they did ours!"

"Mexico needs no help to enforce our laws from the gringos.'"

"Well, are you arresting me, or what?" Longarm demanded.

"Quien sabe? " The commander shrugged. "We see what Capitan Ramos want to do with you."

A cry from Sanchez drew the attention of both Longarm and the rurale. The man who was putting the handcuffs on the injured man was lifting Sanchez to his feet. When the rurale let go, Sanchez gave another cry and dropped to the ground.

"Madre de Dios!" he groaned. "No puedo andar, no puedo cabalagar!"

"Otra vez!" the leader ordered.

Again Sanchez was helped to his feet, and again he collapsed with a loud moan.

"Creo que es verdad, no puede andar," the rurale said.

"Pues, 'sta bien. Matale, " the commander ordered.

Without changing his expression, the rurale who'd been helping Sanchez picked up the rifle he'd laid aside while putting on the handcuffs and shot Sanchez through the head.

Longarm stared unbelieving. "You didn't have to do that," he told the commander. "Where I come from, we don't execute people until a court finds they're guilty."

"In Mexico, we are not so soft," the rurale replied calmly. "We don' waste the time of a judge on a pelado like that one." He turned back to the executioner, who was taking off Sanchez's cartridge belt, and called, "A ndale, hombre!" Then, to Longarm, "We go now."

"Ain't you even going to bury him?"

"Porque? Los zopilotes, they got to eat, too."

"What about them other rustlers? The ones that's supposed to come get the steers? Seems to me you'd wait and take them in, too."

"Hombre, you say they come. How I know you don' lie? So, we ride now. I take you to el capitan"

There was no chance for Longarm to talk to Lefty during the ride to the rurales' headquarters; the leader kept them separated. Nor did Longarm have a chance to talk further with the commander himself. The patrol leader rode ahead of his men, and Longarm was kept between two of the rurales who ignored or did not understand what he said when he made an effort to talk with them.

Longarm used his eyes instead of his mouth. He watched the route they took, which was not a road, but a narrow horse trail that led them southwest, across the low humps of the Burro Mountains foothills. He was pretty sure he could find his way back from the rurales' headquarters, a ride of almost two hours. The headquarters was not an imposing sight. The patrol pulled rein in front of a small cluster of buildings, low-walled adobe structures with vigas protruding little more than head-high. The vigas, beams made of free trunks, supported roofs that were built up from layers of brush covered with packed layers of dirt. There were three large buildings in the cluster. A corral stood a little distance away, and still farther off, apart from the larger structures, was a straggle of shanties much like those that made up Los Perros.

Neither Longarm nor Lefty were allowed to dismount at once. The patrol's commander disappeared into the building by which they'd stopped while his men stayed on their horses, silently watching the prisoners. After what seemed a long wait, the commander came out. He pointed at Lefty.

"Tomelo al carcel, " he ordered. "El capitan quiere hablar con el otro gringo. " To Longarm, he said, "You come talk to el capitan."

Longarm had to duck his head to get through the doorway as he followed the rurale inside. The interior of the building was no more imposing than the outside. Small, narrow windows were set high in the end walls of the big room that stretched across the entire width of the structure. In the wall opposite the entrance, doors led into other rooms, but they were closed, and Longarm could only guess that they might be a kitchen, a bedroom, a private office, perhaps. The inner walls, like the outer, were unpainted, covered with a thin coat of adobe plaster through which the outlines of the adobe bricks showed clearly. The place might have been a fort; indeed, Longarm guessed that it had been at one time, during one of Mexico's wars or revolutions, some kind of minor stronghold or outpost.

When he was shoved by the patrol commander into the front sala, Longarm's eyes were almost useless until they adjusted from the harsh outdoor sunlight to the room's dimness. The man sitting behind the wide, imposing table at one end of the room was a formless blob for a few moments. As Longarm's eyes adjusted, he saw the table first. It was an imposing piece of furniture, eight feet long and half as wide, with massive carved legs at ends and center. Its once glossy mahogany top still bore traces of a fine varnished finish, though now it was scratched and scarred to expose bare wood in places. He wondered how the table had found its way into such surroundings, and decided it must have been looted from some rich family's hacienda.

His voice a deep rumble in the quiet room, the man behind the table said, "Sergento Molina have tell me you say you are a federalista officer from the United States. Is true, what you tell him?"

"Sure it's true." Longarm blinked to speed the clearing of his vision. For the first time he could now see the captain clearly.

He saw a man who was grossly fat. Ramos's belly pushed out the cloth of the waist-length charro jacket he wore; his was even more ornately embroidered with gold than that of the patrol leader's. Tufts of black hair stuck through the gaps between his shirt buttons, and the shirt itself was grease-stained. His face was moon-round, his eyes encased in pouches of fat that squeezed them thin. Under a wide, scarred nose he sported the narrow, waxed mustache of a dandy. Above a round chin that was almost buried by two other chins beneath it, his mouth was like that of a frog.

Longarm's Colt and Winchester lay on the table in front of the captain. Longarm was tempted to grab for the Colt, but saw Molina watching him closely, and resisted the temptation. He realized that they were probably hoping for him to make just such a move. That, he thought, might be why they put the guns so handy — after they took all the shells out. He looked on the table for the wallet, but it was not there.

He told the captain, "My name's Custis Long, Deputy U.S. Marshal outa Denver, Colorado. Who in hell are you?"

"I am Capitan Ernando Ramos, of the Policia Federal Rural de Mexico. And you will speak respectfully to me, gringo!"

"No disrespect intended, Captain. I just like to know who's talking to me when I'm on official business."

"There is no such thing as a federalista of your country having official business in mine, unless he has the permit from my government. Do you have such permission?"

"Can't say I have. Didn't know I'd have to chase a bunch of cattle rustlers into your country, Captain. They started out in mine, and I just followed along. One of them thieves was Mexican, you see, and I don't expect he had official permission to be in my country."

"You can prove you are what you claim to be? You can prove what you say about the rustlers?"

"Well, I showed your sergeant the steers. They all had U.S. brands on 'em. They're still back in the canyon where your men jumped us."

Captain Ramos looked at the sergeant. "Es verdad, Vicente? "

Molina shrugged. "Quien sabe, mi Capitan? Eran ganados, si. No conozco que sera estolada. "

"You didn't let me finish," Longarm said. "This sergeant told one of your men to kill the rustier who could've told you where his gang hangs out. He was the Mexican I was telling you about, if you're interested."

"Un pelado," Molina said with another shrug. "Herido por este gringo. No puede andar o cabalagar. Tal vez, acerca de muerte."

"You have hear what Sergento Molina say," Ramos told Longarm.

"I heard him, but I didn't understand him. I don't talk your language, Captain, outside of a word or so."

"He say you shoot this man first, and he is about to die."

"Oh, I winged him, sure. He was trying to shoot me, is why."

"To kill a man in my country is murder. Is not so in yours?"

Suddenly, Longarm realized he might be fighting for his life. The shock of learning that the rurales, far from cooperating with a lawman from across the border, were treating him like a criminal, had clouded his thinking. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "I'd call it self-defense. A man's got a right to defend himself in any country I ever heard of."

"We will have to study this question, no? So. You say you are federalista from your country. You can prove this?"

"Your sergeant's got my wallet. It's got my badge in it." As he spoke, Longarm hoped the badge was indeed still in its usual place.

Again the captain turned to Molina. "Tienes el mochila? "

Stepping up to the table, the sergeant handed over Longarm's wallet. Ramos flipped it open to examine the badge, still in place. He studied the engraved legend carefully. Then he opened the currency compartment and found it empty. Longarm started to protest; he knew there'd been just over $200 in it when he'd surrendered it to Molina. Before he could object, he thought better of the idea. No use in muddying up the water over a little thing like money, when keeping his mouth shut might make Molina feel uneasy. It could work both ways, though, he reminded himself. If he gets nervous, he might want to get rid of you, instead of going easy because you didn't give him away for a thief.

"Does your government not provide you with money?" Ramos asked. He sounded disappointed.

"All I got to do is show my badge at a bank and sign for what cash I need," Longarm lied, gambling that Ramos wouldn't know.

"This badge you say is yours, it looks like it might be real," the captain said thoughtfully. "But how to prove it? Eh?"

"All you got to do is send a telegram to my boss in Denver. Or to Washington, if that's what it takes to satisfy you."

"Ay, qua malo!" Ramos sighed. "Our small outpost, it does not have the telegraph wire."

"Then send one of your men to the closest station. How far'd that be, anyhow?"

"Much too distant," Ramos frowned. Then he brightened. "Now. I will tell you what you must do. You must write the letter to your ambassador in our capital."

"Hell, he never heard of me," Longarm objected. "It'll save time to wire Denver or Washington. A letter'd take too long to get there. It'd be next summer before you'd get an answer."

"We will do it the way I say." Ramos's voice was firm. "I will tell you what to put down."

"I can write it myself," Longarm grumbled.

"Maybe it is that you do not understand. In this letter, the words must be chosen so your government will not make the mistake."

Longarm was suddenly suspicious. "Hold up. Just what kind of letter is it you want me to write?"

"You will see," the captain promised him. "Vicente! Bring a chair for this one." When Longarm was seated at the table across from Ramos, the rurale captain produced paper from a drawer, as well as an old-fashioned quill pen and inkwell. He slid the paper across to Longarm and placed the inkwell in front of him. "Now. You will write as I say you to."

Longarm dipped the quill in the ink and began writing. Ramos reached across the table, grabbed the pen from his hand, and crumpled the paper angrily. His face was livid.

"You will learn to obey my commands! Vicente! Un golpe en la cabeza por el gringo!"

Before Longarm could move, Molina rapped him sharply on the head with his pistol butt. Longarm started to rise, but the sergeant flipped the pistol by its trigger guard and Longarm found himself staring into the muzzle.

"Sientese!" Molina growled, motioning with the pistol. Longarm sat down.

Ramos gritted threateningly, "If you need more lessons, you will get them!" He returned the pen to Longarm and shoved over a fresh sheet of paper. "Now. Write this time as I tell you! Not a word more, not a word less!"

"All right. I got the idea. Your man won't need to whop me again," Longarm said. On the fresh sheet, he wrote to Ramos's careful dictation:

"His Excellency, Ambassador of the United States. I am an agent of the federal government. I have murdered~"

Longarm threw down the pen. "To hell with that, Ramos! I ain't murdered anybody! It was one of your men shot Sanchez! All I did was wing him a little bit!"

Ramos studied the vigas in the ceiling. "How you would like it if I write your ambassador, to tell him I regret you have been kill by los ladrones de ganados? Do not forget where you are, gringo! Think a moment. If I tell Vicente, or any of my men, to take you somewhere from here and to shoot you, do you think they disobey me?"

Longarm remembered the instant obedience of the rurale who'd been ordered to kill Sanchez. He was beginning to see that he'd underestimated both the power and malevolence of the captain. It gritted on him to knuckle under, but it was better to do that than to die without a chance to fight back.

Still, he decided he'd balk at murder. He said to Ramos, "I'll tell you what, Captain. I'll write down I shot Sanchez, but damned if I'll say I murdered him, because I didn't."

Ramos thought about this for a moment. Then he nodded. "Esta bien. But the rest, it must be as I say."

When Longarm finished the letter, brushing up Ramos's wording a bit, it read:

citeI have shot a citizen of Mexico. Because I am an official of our country, the officers of Mexico where I am in prison do not wish to cause sorrow to the United States government by executing me for my crime. They will free me if the United States pays the expenses to which Mexico has been put in conducting my arrest and trial. The expenses are in the amount of 15,000 dollars in gold. You will send this money at once to Capitan Ernando Ramos, at the rurale district headquarters in the state of Coahuila. The money must be paid within one month, or I will be executed. Mr. Ambassador, I appeal to you to save me from this death.

As he wrote, Longarm's amazement increased. It was clear to him that Ramos hadn't the slightest idea how diplomats worked. Longarm didn't have very much of an idea himself, but once when he'd arrested a Canadian citizen up in Montana the man had appealed to his country's ambassador and the result had been a ruckus that the President himself had had to step in and settle. Longarm kept his grin inward, but he was pretty sure Captain Ramos was in for one damned big shock when this ransom demand was delivered.

"I will read every word before you sign your name," Ramos said, holding out his hand.

Longarm handed him the letter. "It's just what you told me to say."

Ramos read carefully, and finally nodded his satisfaction. He returned the letter. "Now, you will sign your name and put under it your official title. I will send it by a messenger. In three weeks, a month, when the gold is delivered, you will be free."

In a pig's ass, I will, Longarm thought. Once this bastard gets that gold, or gets an answer saying there won't be none coming, I'll get shot accidentally while I'm trying to make a getaway.

Forcing a cheerful smile, he said, "Well, I done what you said, Captain. Now, I guess you'll have a place for me to stay while we're waiting. And a good square meal'd taste mighty good right now."

Ramos smiled without sympathy. "You must have see when you get here, we have little space. But you will have a place to stay." He snapped his fingers in the direction of the sergeant. "Vicente. Cerrase in el carcel!"

Chapter 12

If Captain Ramos's office had been dim, the jail was definitely dark. The squat, square adobe structure had only one window, which was at the end of a corridor onto which the two slat-steel barred cells on each side of the building opened. The cell into which Longarm was thrust stood at the end of the building near the door, so it was farthest from the tiny window. In the dim light that seeped reluctantly from the little opening fifteen feet away, Longarm couldn't see anything during the first moments after Molina clanged the metal door closed behind him and left through the main door.

From the darkness a voice said, "If we're going to be cellmates, I guess you better tell us who you are and what you're in here for."

"Damned if you don't sound like an American!" Longarm exclaimed, squinting through the gloom. He thought there were two others in the cell with him, but couldn't yet be sure.

"We're both Americans," a second voice spoke up. "I'm John Hill, Captain, 10th Cavalry, U.S. Army."

"And I'm Nate Webster, Texas Rangers," the first voice said. "Now, who're you?"

"Custis Long, Deputy U.S. Marshal, Denver office. And you two men don't know how much trouble you saved me!"

"Listen to him talk about trouble!" Hill said dryly. "Wait'll you've been in here awhile, Long. You'll find out what trouble really is!"

"I didn't mean it that way," Longarm explained. "You're the fellows I was sent down here to locate."

"Well, glory be!" Webster exclaimed. "It's about time somebody tumbled we were missing. Wait a minute, though. How come Bert Matthews went to the federals for help? Why didn't he send one of our own boys after me?"

"Same reason the army didn't send a cavalry troop after the captain, here. You Rangers and the army both fought the Mexicans in wars. I guess they figured if they sent one deputy marshal, it wasn't going to look like an invasion. On top of that, nobody on the other side of the Rio Grande knew where the hell you two had got off to."

"I'll tell you something," Webster said. "I wouldn't mind leading a Ranger company against this bunch Ramos runs here."

"Amen to that," Hill said. "I'd like to have a platoon under me with orders to clean house here."

"It needs a lot of cleaning," Longarm agreed. "I never seen such a mess in my life. Ain't nobody in charge of things in this country got any brains?"

"Old Porfirio Diaz has brains enough," Hill said. "The trouble is, they're the wrong kind." When neither Longarm nor Webster had any comment, the army captain asked, "If you were sent down here to look for me and Webster, Marshal, you must be looking for those two deserters from my outfit, too."

"I was, but I'm not any longer. You don't need to look either, Captain. They're both dead."

"Hell you say." Hill didn't sound too surprised. "The rurales get them?"

"No. They got crossways of an unreconstructed reb in Los Perros. Deputy sheriff named Spud something. He killed 'em and hid their bodies. It's a safe bet you'll never find 'em."

"Well." The captain was taking the news philosophically. "They were pretty good soldiers until they got horny and raped that rancher's wife. I won't say I'm glad they're dead, but if I'd caught them, I'd have had to give evidence against them at a court-martial and watch them executed by a firing squad. I don't think I'd've enjoyed it."

Longarm could now make out details of his surroundings and see his cellmates' faces clearly. Nate Webster was tall, almost as tall as Longarm himself, but a bit thinner and rangier. His face was fading from the deep bronze he'd acquired in his job. Above his eyebrows where his hat brim sat there was a band of white skin between the tan and his sandy hair. Hill was on the short side, with a baby-round face from which the fat was beginning to melt away. Both men were dressed in little more than rags, and neither wore shoes or boots. Their sockless feet were thrust into huaraches of braided leather such as Longarm had seen on the feet of Los Perros dwellers.

Webster saw Longarm eyeing their attire and said, "If you're wondering what happened to our clothes, we ate 'em."

"You did what?"

"I guess you've never been in a Mexican jail before," Hill said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Come to that, I ain't," Longarm replied.

Webster explained, "They don't feed prisoners in Mexico. If you've got food or something to trade, you eat. If not, you starve."

"So you traded your duds for grub," Longarm nodded. "I guess I'd've done the same thing. Guess I got off lucky, then. Don't know how it happened, but them bandits out there missed searching me. I got a little cash in my britches, even if that sergeant did lift $200 outa my wallet."

"I hope you're feeling charitable, Marshal," Hill said. "We've just about run out of anything to trade."

"You know you're both welcome to what I got. Only how do we go about getting grub? My belly's been pushing against my backbone for the last three, four hours."

"Sebastian will be around after a while to see what kind of dicker we can offer," Webster replied. "If you don't mind a bit of advice, don't let him know how much money you've got, and don't pull off your boots when you go to bed."

"Who's Sebastian?"

"He's the jailer," Webster answered. "He looks too old to be worth much, but the son of a bitch is cagey. He'll steal you blind with your eyes open, and trade you outa your socks."

"Thanks. I'll remember. But I might be outa here before too long." Seeing the questions in his cellmates' eyes, Longarm explained about the letter. "It was a straight-out holdup, a ransom note, but when it hits Mexico City, it ought to bring some kind of action."

"Ramos got you on that, too, did he?" Hill asked.

"You mean he had you write a letter like that?"

"He sure as hell did. He wants $25,000 in gold to let me go back across the river," Hill grinned.

"Well, I'm right took down," Longarm said. "He sure didn't put my price that high."

"You're both going cheap," Webster told them. "The price on me was $30,000. I guess the extra's a sort of revenge for whatever part the Rangers took in whipping them at San Jacinto."

For a moment the three men looked at one another, then burst out laughing. In spite of their serious situation, the idea of a Mexican rurale who'd risen no higher than the command of an isolated, unimportant police outpost demanding ransom from the United States struck them as comical. It wasn't until their laughing spell died down that Longarm remembered Lefty.

"Hold up a minute," he said. "That patrol brought in somebody besides me. A deputy sheriff from Los Perros. How come he's not in here, too?"

"I wouldn't know," Webster said. "They haven't brought anybody else in, though. All the other cells were full until yesterday, but there were Mexicans in the others. The two across from us had a bunch of vaqueros in 'em, and I guess they got turned free. That one back of us had a bandit in it, but they hauled him out and shot him this morning."

Longarm said thoughtfully, "These damn rurales sure don't waste much time. Don't they ever give anybody a real trial in a court?"

"None that I've noticed," Webster replied. "But remember, Long, the rurales today're not like they were in Benito Juarez's time. They used to be a real crack police force then. This bunch now's made up mostly of Diaz's hatchetmen and killers. They don't answer to anybody but him, and the only law they know is what comes out of a rifle or a sixgun."

Captain Hill added, "What they've got in Mexico today is what you saw in Los Perros, Marshal, only on a bigger scale. The army's got a few agents in Mexico, and the reports that trickle down to me in the situation bulletins from staff headquarters keep warning us field commanders to be careful as hell in our moves along the border. The army doesn't want to be responsible for starting another war."

"Too bad Mexico don't feel the same way," Longarm observed.

Their conversation stopped abruptly when the heavy door of the jail building creaked open. An old Mexican with a bent back and a pronounced limp came in. He stopped in front of the cell door and peered at the three prisoners.

"Quien quiere comida hoy? " he asked.

"Todos, los tres de nosotros, " Webster answered. He turned to Longarm. "This is Sebastian. Wants to know if we want supper, which is his way of telling us we better have cash or something to swap. You said~"

"I remember," Longarm broke in. "You go ahead and dicker for all of us, you handle his lingo better'n I can. Best I can do is catch a word now and again."

"I'll get us off as light as I can," Webster promised.

He began bargaining in Spanish with the jailer. Longarm caught an occasional word, but most of the haggling went over his head. After about five minutes, Webster turned away from the door and winked at the others as Sebastian watched, trying to hide his eagerness.

"He'll give us meat and frijoles for a dime a head," Webster said. "That's about right, I think, Marshal."

"Sounds cheap enough, considering he's got a tighter mono-poly than John D. Rockefeller. Tell you what. See if he'll throw in a cup of coffee apiece at that price."

Webster haggled again briefly, and reported, "He'll add the coffee for a nickel, that's for all three of us. I don't know what it'll taste like, but anything's better'n this horse piss he gives us for water."

"It's not that bad, after you get used to it," Hill explained to Longarm. "It gives you the trots for the first week."

"Them I can do without," Longarm said. "Tell him it's a deal, Nate. At that price, I got enough to feed us for a spell."

Before Sebastian came back with the food, the jailhouse door opened again and two rurales dragged Lefty in. The Los Perros deputy was unconscious, his face covered with blood, his clothes torn and stained. Longarm opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Webster clamped a restraining hand on his arm.

"Don't!" he whispered. "Just keep quiet. You get them mad, they might come in here and give us the same kind of treatment!"

Longarm subsided. They watched the rurales haul Lefty into the cell across from theirs. The rurales didn't bother to deposit the unconscious man on the low cot that stood in the cell. They dumped him on the floor, clanged the slat-iron door shut, and locked it. Then they left, without a word or glance at Longarm and the others.

"Looks like they gave him a real working over," Longarm said.

"That the deputy from Los Perros you were wondering about?" Webster asked.

"That's Lefty. Or what's left of him."

"What'd he know that was important to them?" Webster wondered aloud.

"Beats me," Longarm answered. "Unless Ramos is figuring to go after that rustier ring Lefty was mixed up with."

"Yes, that could be it," the Ranger frowned. "Or it could be he was trying to get the deputy to give him something more on you."

"That'd be my guess," Hill said. "A deputy sheriff's not quite as big a fish as a U.S. marshal."

"Or an army captain or a Texas Ranger," Longarm added. He got as close to the cell door as he could and called, "Lefty! Can you hear me?" There was no response from the cell across the corridor.

"Wait until Sebastian comes in with our supper," Hill suggested. "Maybe we can get him to swab the man off with some cold water and bring him around."

"Not much else we can do," Longarm pointed out. "I ain't got much use for the worthless son of a bitch, but right now I'd give a hand to anybody Ramos hurts. Besides, I'm curious to know what they were trying to get out of him."

They didn't have to wait for the old jailer to revive Lefty. Before Sebastian returned with their supper, they heard moans coming from the cell across the way and when they crowded up to the door, Lefty was sitting up, holding his head between his hands.

Longarm called, "You all right?"

"No, damn it, I ain't! I hurt like hell, where them greaser bastards kicked me in the balls and poked me in the belly with their rifle butts. But I ain't dead yet."

Longarm asked, "Why'd they whip you? You get crossways of Ramos? Or Molina?"

"Shit, I didn't do nothing. I guess all you need's to be from Texas for them greasers to start walloping you."

"Damn it, they must've asked you something," Webster said.

Lefty squinted through eyes that were swollen closed. "Who in hell are you?"

"Nate Webster. Texas Rangers."

"Now how in God's name did the rurales get hold of you?"

"That ain't important," Longarm told him curtly. "Even if it was any of your business, which it ain't."

"We're all in the same jail," the deputy reminded him. "I can make out somebody else in there with you, too."

"Name's Hill," the captain told him. "Captain, 10th Cavalry."

"Oh, sure. You're the one that come looking for a couple of your troopers that went over the hill. I recall the sheriff sayin' something about you."

"No thanks to him — or you, either — I found out what happened to them," Hill said brusquely.

"Damn it, you two quit butting in!" Longarm was irritated. "I need to find out things from this fellow." He faced the deputy again. Lefty had dragged himself up to the cot now. Longarm went on, "You better tell me what-all Ramos wanted to know."

"He was mainly interested in what you knew, and that's what I couldn't tell him, because I don't know myself. Then he got to askin' me questions about you."

"What kind of questions?"

"Why you come over the border. How long since you got to Los Perros. Who you was really after. If you was honest to God a federal marshal — federalista, he called it."

"What else?" Longarm was sure that Ramos's questioning hadn't stopped there.

"He tried to find out how much I know about what you've turned up so far." Lefty moaned, clutching his groin. "Then he wanted to make sure you set out from Los Perros. He had some idea you come from Mexico City, that you was a spy Diaz sent out to check up on him, or try to get somethin' on him."

"What'd you tell him?" Longarm demanded.

"Shit, Custis — Long, whatever your damn name is — what could I tell him? I spilled all I knew after they begun to beat on me, but how in hell do I know who you really are for sure?"

"That ain't what I asked you." Longarm's voice was hard. He'd seen Lefty crawfish more than once, trying to save his own skin at the expense of somebody else. "In my book, you're down as a damned liar and a crook. I don't put it past you to lie to Ramos, just to make it easy on yourself. Now, what'd you really tell him?"

"So help me God, Marshal, I didn't make nothin' up! I can't help whether you believe me or not. I told him what I knew certain-sure, and that was all!"

Longarm saw he'd gotten all there was to get out of Lefty for the moment. He still didn't know what to believe of what the deputy had told him. He said, "All right. If you remember anything else, you pass it along to me. If you do that, I just might help you."

"Help, my ass!" Lefty snorted. "You're in the same fix I am!"

"Maybe. Did the rurales shake you down good? Take all your money and everything else?"

"What'd you think they'd do? They stripped me clean."

"You know about Mexican jails, I guess?"

"Sure." Lefty stopped short, then sighed. "Oh, sweet Jesus! I ain't got a dime to buy a meal with! Not a lousy fuckin' penny!"

"I'm better off than you are," Longarm told him. "They forgot to clean me out. I already promised to help these fellows in here with me; they traded off all their duds for grub."

"Listen, Marshal Long," Lefty pleaded, "I didn't know anything to tell that rurale, and I didn't make nothin' up. You got to give me a hand!"

"I don't figure I owe you one damn thing, Lefty. Now, I might feel different, if you remember anything you forgot so far."

A rattling of the jailhouse lock put an end to their conversation. All four men fell silent when Sebastian appeared. He had a small pot in each hand. The jailer set the pots on the dirt floor outside the cell where Longarm, Webster, and Hill were confined, then went outside and brought in a cloth-wrapped bundle and a steaming coffeepot.

"Su comida, gringos, " the jailer announced. "Dame treintecinco centavos, si quieren comer. "

Being careful not to let Sebastian see that he had other coins in his pocket, Longarm dug out the thirty-five cents and passed the money through the bars. Sebastian unlocked the cell door, opened it just wide enough to slide the food inside, and locked it again. He'd already started to leave when Lefty called to him.

"Hey, amigo! Donde es mi comida?"

"Tienes dinero?" Sebastian asked.

"No. Esta cosa tu conoces. "

"Pues, no dinero, no comida. "

"Try trading your boots," Longarm suggested. He felt a small twinge of conscience, but smothered it. If Lefty knew anything more, there was only one way to get it out of him. He went on, "My friends in here swapped their clothes to get fed. You're no better'n they are. Your clothes ain't much more'n rags, but maybe you can get him to swap you a meal or two for your boots."

Pressed up to the bars, the cellmates watched while Lefty dickered with the jailer. Where cash wasn't offered, Sebastian proved to be a very tough bargainer. He and Lefty argued for a good quarter-hour before they came to terms. The deputy passed one of his boots through the bars. Sebastian went out and brought back a battered tin plate on which red beans swam in a redder sea of chili con carne. A small stack of tortillas lay on top of the mixture. Lefty grabbed the plate and started eating. Longarm and his companions ate their own meal, taking turns scooping food from the pots with strips of tortilla.

They all finished at about the same time. Longarm called across the corridor, "Well, you got fed tonight, Lefty."

"Yeah." The deputy's voice was surly. "No thanks to you."

"I said I'd make you a deal. You better think about how long you're going to eat on that one boot you got left. All you got to do is tell me everything you know about the deals your boss is into, and I'll see you keep eating, such as it is."

"What good would it do me? Ain't neither one of us likely to walk outa this trap we're in."

"Maybe. While I'm still alive and kicking, I got a job I'm paid to do, and I aim to go on doing it. The way I see it, a man's good as long as he's alive, but he can't stay that way if he don't eat. What're you going to do when you've ate up your other boot?"

"Damn you! You really know how to squeeze a man when he's down!"

"You just don't know how hard I can squeeze, when I got a mind to. Well, I offered you the deal. If you don't see fit to take it, that's your loss."

"Now, don't be in such a hurry~" Lefty started.

Longarm cut him short. "I got to be in a hurry. I don't aim to stay here, Lefty. Right now, I don't owe you nothing. If that was to change, I might see a way to help you go along when me and my friends go outa here."

"You're bluffing me. You got no more chance of walking outa this place than I do."

"You go on and think that, if you've a mind to. And you think how quick I changed a few things in Los Perros. And you think about that when your belly gets empty again."

There was a long silence from the other cell. Finally, Lefty said grudgingly, "All right. You win. I'll talk."

Chapter 13

Lefty talked for more than an hour. The beating he'd gotten from Ramos's rurales had battered his body and spirit and weakened his will enough for Longarm to break it, but his instinct for survival was still strong. Parts of his rambling confession only repeated what he'd told Longarm earlier, though he did reveal a few new details about the murders of the 10th Cavalry troopers and the operations of the rustling ring that ran the Laredo Loop.

There was a small amount of new information concerning the activities of Sheriff Tucker: frame-ups of enemies, beatings, and other intimidations of Los Perros inhabitants perpetrated for money or for extorting free labor or participation in criminal activities of minor sorts. Little of this was much of a surprise to Longarm, who'd seen towns or counties taken over by crooks of Tucker's stripe in other areas. One of Lefty's admissions was news, though.

"You think you're so damn smart," he said to Longarm. "You got Ed Tucker tagged as the boss of Los Perros. Shit, you ain't even come close to guessin' who the real boss is."

"Well, then, suppose you tell me," Longarm suggested.

"It's Miles Baskin, that's who. He's the real brains behind just about everything that goes on there."

"Baskin? The saloonkeeper?" Longarm was genuinely surprised. Baskin, the one time he'd talked with the man, had left an impression of being a mild, inoffensive type of man, one who'd walk around trouble instead of into it. At the same time, the revelation settled a nagging question that had been in the back of Longarm's mind. From the very beginning of his prodding in Los Perros, he'd been wondering how Tucker could appear so smart at times and so stupid at others. He asked, "You and the other deputies ever get your orders direct from Baskin?"

"No. Not unless it was some little thing, like we was doin' him a favor. He liked to work through Ed."

"Did Baskin lean more toward one of you than the others? Did he like you or Spud or Ralston best?"

"Well~" Lefty hesitated. "Spud, maybe. But just a little bit. He was pretty careful not to set one of us up above the others."

"Lefty," Longarm said solemnly, "you better not be lying to me, or trying to save your skin, or Tucker's. Because if you are, I'll sure as hell find it out."

"Honest to God, Marshal, it's the truth," Lefty insisted. "It was Baskin that give Ed most of his ideas about how to make money outa Los Perros after Ed begun to take over the town. And this new Laredo Loop business, it was mostly his idea, too."

"All right. If it's the truth, I'll dig up evidence to back up what you've said."

"I reckon you can at that. Only one hell of a lot of evidence has got buried in them quicksand sinkholes along the river shallows. "

"There'll be more," Longarm promised. "And it'll come out. I'd say you've earned your grub, Lefty. You'll eat along with the rest of us. Hell, I might even buy your boot back from Sebastian, if I can get Nate to do the jawbone work for me."

"Be glad to," the Ranger said. "Aside from one thing that's kept bothering me, I've been right interested in hearing what that hombre across the way's been telling you."

"That's bothering you?"

"Well, it appears to me like Lefty was right a minute ago. He said he didn't see it'd do any good if he did tell you everything he knew, long as we're all in this place together."

"Nate's got a point," Captain Hill agreed. "He and I have done a lot of talking about how to break out of here, but it's always looked to us like a case of out of the frying pan, into the fire.

There're twenty-five or thirty rurales outside, with pistols and rifles. All we have is our fists. That's not good odds."

"Let's jaw about that later on," Longarm suggested. "I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, and I rode pretty hard most of today, until the rurales shanghaied me here. I don't know about the rest of you, but I aim to curl up and get some shut-eye. Tomorrow, we'll see what we can work out."

* * *

It was still dark in the jail when the sleeping prisoners were awakened by the clinking of the lock on the outside door. It swung open and the flickering light of torches blinded them briefly. Two un-shaved rurales came in, their boot soles scraping on the packed dirt floor. Marching to Lefty's cell, the rurales dragged the sleepy deputy into the corridor and through the outer door.

When they left the building, the men did not close the outside door. From their cell, by straining hard against the front bars, Longarm and his companions could see a slice of the torch-lit area outside. Captain Ramos came into view; he carried a pistol in his right hand. The rurales who'd hauled Lefty out of his cell swung the deputy around to face the captain. The distance was too great for those inside to hear what was said, they could only watch and imagine what passed between Lefty and Ramos.

Whatever the rurale captain said or asked brought only vehement headshakes from Lefty. Each time they could see Ramos's lips move, and each time the deputy's head shook in the negative. Even when Ramos slapped Lefty's face, there was no difference in the response he gave. Ramos was obviously growing angry. He brought up the pistol and shoved it hard against Lefty's forehead. Lefty tried to drop to his knees, but the men holding his arms kept him erect.

After a moment, Ramos brought the pistol down. He talked for perhaps a minute. Watching the dumb show, Longarm guessed that Ramos was trying to force Lefty into confessing to something — he couldn't figure out quite what — that would suit the rurale's private purposes, while Lefty kept pleading that it was impossible for him to do what Ramos wanted.

None of those in the cell were prepared for the finale of the pantomime. Ramos pushed the muzzle of his pistol into Lefty's neck, just under the deputy's jaw, and pulled the trigger. The shot sounded thin inside the jail, but Longarm and his cellmates could see Lefty's head shatter in a spray of blood and brains bursting from the top of his head. The deputy slumped and this time the rurales holding him let his lifeless body fall to the ground.

Even men as accustomed to violence as Longarm, Webster, and Hill, they were shaken by the brutality of the killing. They looked at one another in stunned silence, half aware that outside the two rurales who'd held Lefty were dragging away his body, leaving a wide blood trail on the hard-packed ground. The slamming of the outer door and the metal rasping of its lock brought them back to the reality of the moment.

"Jesus!" Longarm muttered. "Them rurales sure don't believe in things like courts and trials, do they?"

"Not this breed, no," Webster said soberly. "That's the Diaz way, though. Like I told you, the rurales aren't a police force anymore. They're Diaz's revenge squad, his executioners. It's one of the ways he keeps Mexico under his thumb."

"You realize that what we saw could happen to any of us," Hill reminded them in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice. "Marshal Long, you said just before we turned in that we'd see what we could work out, and I suppose by that you meant getting out of here. Well" — Hill motioned toward the single window at the end of the corridor, which was gray with the dawn light — "it's today, and I'd say it's time we started working."

"You said just what I was thinking," Longarm agreed. "Let's just squat down and have us a powwow. We'll hear soon enough when that jailer comes to see about breakfast."

"He won't be here for a while," Webster said. "Usually, just a little before noon. This jail doesn't serve but two meals a day."

They sat on the floor, ignoring the hard cot, so they could lean together with their heads close and talk in low voices.

Longarm said, "It didn't occur to me we had to hurry until I watched what they did to Lefty. That changed my mind fast. Now, you men have been here longer'n I have. What've you found out about the way they run things outside?"

"Damned little," Hill replied. Webster nodded agreement, and the army man went on, "You see, Nate and I thought just like you did, Marshal. We talked things over, and decided we had plenty of time before we started to worry."

"How'd you figure that out?" Longarm asked.

"Oh, you know what's happened to those ransom demands Ramos has sent to our ambassador. They're going through channels. Probably our man sent them to Washington for instructions before he said anything to the Mexican government. Those things take time."

"I know my chief's always bellyaching about how long it takes for his bosses in Washington to answer a simple question like what's two and two,"

Longarm smiled. "But I never was in a situation just like this one before."

"Neither was I," Hill said. "But I did a tour with our embassy in Haiti, right after the war. I was brevetted a colonel during the fighting, but the minute Lee surrendered, I went back to my regular rank, and there were so damned many lieutenants that they shipped a lot of us out as military attaches to get us out from underfoot. "

"John tells me that ambassadors don't know their tails from a hot rock most of the time, and the regulars who run our embassies are afraid to pee without asking Washington first," Webster put in.

"Most of those nervous Nellies in the State Department squat to pee, anyhow," Hill said sourly. "But that's beside the point I'm trying to make. I don't think the Mexican government's heard yet about what Ramos is trying to do. Ramos seems to think all he has to do is send a letter to the U.S. ambassador, and wait for the gold to flow. It's not that simple."

"I guess I'm following you," Longarm said. "But go on, spell it out for me."

"Sooner or later, either in Washington or Mexico City, there's going to be a protest made to the Mexican government. When that happens, Ramos is going to find himself up shit creek. And he's likely to panic."

"He sure don't seem bothered now," Longarm pointed out.

"No. I tried to get across to him that he'd have to be patient," Hill explained.

"John and I figured we were safe until the Mexican government got the word we're being held illegally, and that one of their police officers is trying to hold up the U.S.," Webster added.

Hill said, "That's when the real squeeze will come. Diaz isn't stupid. Crooked, mean as hell, unscrupulous, but not stupid. From what I know about him, which isn't much, he'd be likely to send one of his execution squads up here to get rid of us and Ramos both. Then he'd play innocent; he'd say, 'No, we haven't got any American prisoners, and Captain Ramos was killed in a fight with bandits.' "

Longarm took his time analyzing the captain's conclusions. He nodded slowly. "I'd say you've done a pretty good job of figuring things out. And if you're right, then we don't have a hell of a lot of time left for getting outa here."

"Getting out's not going to be a big job," Webster said. "We know how that can be done. It's what we'd do once we were out of this jail, facing that bunch outside without any kind of weapons to give us a chance."

"We don't even know whether they post regular guards, or whether the whole outfit turns in at night," Hill told Longarm. "And until they killed that deputy today, we haven't felt like we needed to tip our plans by showing too much interest in their operational procedures. But as Nate says, the main thing that's held us back is lack of weapons."

Longarm started to tell them about his derringer, but decided that holding the news until just before they finished their plans would give the morale of his cellmates a bigger boost at a time when it'd be needed more.

Hill had been thinking, too. He said, "Weapons or not, I'd say the time's come to do something. And I mean immediately."

"I'm with you there," Longarm assured him. "I guess you've had the same idea I got, looking at the roof up there?"

"We decided it's the weakest point," Webster said. "Breaking through shouldn't be a big job. But then what? Do all of us go, and if we do, where do we go? To the corral and grab horses? Or prowl around looking for some guns?"

"I'd say the first thing we got to decide is whether we all go out at the same time, or if one of us gives it a try by himself."

"One man has a better chance than three of moving around without stirring up an alarm," Hill observed.

"Sure does," Webster agreed. "Well, I'll volunteer. I've done enough scouting so's I can get around quiet in the dark. And I talk the lingo enough so if a guard challenges me I can throw him off long enough to get close to him and shut him up."

"I was about to offer," Hill said. "I'm not what you'd call the world's best scout, but I've done my share of night fighting."

"Now, look," Longarm said, "I don't mean to put myself up to be a hero, or feel like I'm a bit better'n either one of you, but I figure it's my job to get out there and bust us all free."

"I'd like to know how you figure it," Webster said dryly.

"Yes, so would I," Hill chimed in.

"It's real simple," Longarm told them. "First off, you fellows have been in this damn place a lot longer'n I have. Nate, you been here how long? Close to three months?"

"Give or take a week or so," the Ranger agreed.

"And you been here a month or more, John." Hill nodded. Longarm went on, "All the time, you been getting more starved out, cooped up in this little cell without a chance to stretch your muscles or loosen up your joints. I'd say you're both a mite rusty; it stands to reason. My muscles are in better shape than yours are, which'd give me a little bit of an edge."

"There's nothing wrong with my muscles," Webster protested.

"Nor mine," said Hill. "Both of us have tried to keep in shape, you know. Give us credit for that, Marshal."

"Oh, sure. But there's one little thing I been thinking about that might make more difference than anything else."

"What's that?" Hill and Webster spoke almost in unison.

"Your feet. Look at them things you got on. How're you going to run in 'em? Or sneak in 'em? They go shush-shush every step you take. But I still got my boots."

"We could draw straws to see who'd wear them," Webster suggested.

"We could," Longarm nodded. "What size you wear, Nate?"

"Elevens."

"John? How about you?"

"I take size nine,"

"And I wear tens. Now, nobody can move right, whether he's sneaking or running, in boots that don't fit. Am I right?" Reluctantly, both the others nodded. "Well, then, I guess I win the job by a toe. Or maybe a heel. Anybody object?"

"As far as I'm concerned, it's settled," Webster said. "We'll be ready to back you up, Marshal."

"We damned sure will!" Hill nodded. "Now, then, how can we help you form a battle plan?"

"Well, you're getting over my head, John," Longarm replied. "I was just aiming to bull ahead by guess and by God, and hope I do the right thing."

"In the service, we'd call that setting out to look for targets of opportunity," Hill smiled. "In this case, I'd say it's about the only battle plan we can make."

"I got one ace I've been keeping in the hole," Longarm announced. He fished his watch and derringer out of his vest pocket. "Ramos got so interested in the letter he made me write that he didn't get his men to clean out my pockets. So there's two shots here that might make the difference between us getting out, or going the way Lefty did."

Webster chuckled. "You're like old Captain McNally, who used to run my outfit, Marshal. He always says some men are born lucky, some are born unlucky, but good men make their luck as they go. I don't suppose you made that piece of luck, but it's sure going to help all of us."

"Gentlemen," said Hill, "I'll make a suggestion. If I'm taking troops into an engagement, I try to give them a good rest before the battle starts. We might as well follow the same tactics."

Relaxation came hard during the day's long hours, but they somehow managed to rest and to doze a bit. When Sebastian came in to bargain over their meals, Webster went through the usual routine of dickering. He complained of the price they paid as well as of the quantity and quality of the food they'd had the evening before. The haggling didn't improve their luncheon, but for supper they got a big helping of roast cabrito. It was a bit strong, really more goat than kid, but it was a lot more substantial than the soupy chili con carne and frijoles they'd had the previous evening and at noon.

After the jailer had gone out, while they were eating, Longarm told his companions, "I been thinking about this deal off and on all day, whenever I couldn't sleep. Appears to me like I got a choice of two times to make a try. One's right now, while them bastards is eating, maybe swigging a little mescal or pulque. The other's late tonight, after they bed down."

"If you're asking for an opinion," Hill said, "I'd imagine they won't be as alert while they're eating. And we still don't know whether they keep sentries on duty at night."

"Strikes me John's right," Webster said quickly. "I'd bet they do have some kind of night patrol, but when the grub's served, all the pigs rush to the trough."

"I sorta favor now, myself," Longarm agreed. "If we move quick, I can get through that roof and be on the ground outside before they finish their supper."

To keep Longarm as fresh as possible, Hill and Webster took on the job of breaking through the jailhouse roof. The ceiling was low, but still high enough to make it necessary for one man to stand on the other's shoulders while they took turns pulling aside the saplings that had been laid across the vigas to support the layers of brush and dirt that formed the foot-thick roof. The bottom layers gave way easily, but the topmost layer had baked hard, and formed a crust four inches thick. They used the tin plates from their supper as scrapers and prods, bending them into triangles that provided pointed ends for gouging at the crust and wide sides for scraping the dislodged pieces away.

Both roof breakers were grimy from head to foot before the job was completed. Longarm estimated they'd taken less than an hour to finish the job, and the sight through the hole they'd opened, of the clear sky deepened into after-sunset blue, gave encouragement to all three of them.

"Well, let's don't lollygag," Longarm said. "Boost me up as far as you can. Once I get armpit-high through that top layer of 'dobe, I'm home free."

Webster and Hill each took hold of one of his feet and Longarm held his body stiff while they lifted him straight up. The hole wasn't as big as it looked; they'd worked fast and kept their digging to a minimum in cracking through the hard top crust. His shoulders almost stuck, but Longarm managed to raise his arms up straight above his head and scrape through the opening. For a moment, he rested on his elbows, forearms on the roof, head and shoulders protruding through the escape hatch. The adobe wall of the building was only eight or ten inches above the rooftop. Longarm pulled himself out slowly, bending forward, hauling his body ahead with his forearms and elbows, until his booted feet cleared the hole and he lay flat in the scant concealment of the wall.

For a few seconds he lay motionless and listened, trying to locate the rurales who might be on the ground by the sound of their voices. Most of the noises came from a distance. He risked raising his head above the parapet of the wall to check the evidence of his ears and saw that the men were about where he'd placed them mentally. Apparently, the rurales weren't provided with a mess hall. They were clustered around a spit suspended over a bed of coals beside what he guessed was their barracks. The almost-stripped skeleton of a young goat was suspended on the spit.

Several rurales were by the cooking fire, carving strips of meat off the cabrito and eating it where they stood. A few had taken plates to sit on the ground, leaning against the wall of the barracks. Most of the rurales had jugs or bottles; Longarm was reasonably sure these contained either pulque or mescal. He didn't think the average rurale could afford even the lowest grade of tequila or aguardiente. There were no rifles to be seen, but all the men he could see clearly still had on their pistols.

Give 'em a little time, old son, he told himself, long enough for it to get full dark. By then, they'll be full of meat and pulque and won't be able to hit the side of a barn if they shoot, let alone a spry man running.

At one side of the barracks building, thirty or forty paces distant, stood the headquarters. Lights glowing through the high-up horizontal slit-windows told him that Captain Ramos must be sitting down to enjoy his own supper inside. Through the deepening dusk he could see other structures, a cluster of jacales beyond the barracks and some distance away from the larger buildings. The huts were even more primitive than the jacales of Los Perros. Fires twinkled in front of most of them, and women as well as men moved around the shanties. Longarm realized that these must be the quarters of married rurales, or the dwellings of the lavanderas, the camp followers who were to be found with every Mexican military force, and who were given with Latin courtesy their title of "washerwomen."

Whatever men are back at those shanties, or around 'em, won't be paying much mind to what goes on around the barracks or jail, Longarm thought. They'll have their women to keep 'em occupied.

On the opposite side of the barracks from the headquarters, he saw the corral. Even in the dimness of the rapidly fading light, Longarm could make out Tordo's gray shape; it stood out among the roans and chestnuts that plodded aimlessly around inside the pole enclosure. On the corral rail, saddles were lined up; Longarm tried to count them, but the light was too bad. He guessed there were about thirty, which was the figure he and Hill and Webster had estimated as the number of men stationed at the outpost. He didn't really like the location of the corral. To get to the horses, they'd have to pass by the barracks.

Don't worry about that now, he commanded himself, wait and see how this damn stunt comes off before you start saddling up to ride.

By the time Longarm had finished his cautious survey of the area, darkness was almost complete. From the jacales, a guitar plinked; if it accompanied a singer, his voice was lost in the distance. Another sound drew his attention to the barracks. There, a group had gathered around a man playing the concertina. Singly and in twos and threes, voices began rising in the melancholy strains of "La Borrachita."

"Marshal!"

Nate Webster's whisper behind him almost sent Longarm jumping out of his skin. He turned to see the Ranger's head sticking out of the escape hole.

"Damn it, Nate! You like to scared the shit outa me!"

"We didn't hear any ruckus, so we figured you must've made it," Webster whispered.

"Had to get the layout of this place in my head, first." Longarm wiggled backward so they could talk more easily. "Looks like it's all clear. I'm going to see if I can get us some guns and a bunch of shells. These two shots I got won't help much if they take after us."

"You sure it's safe?"

"If I wanted to live safe, I'd be selling calico back of a store counter. I did think of one thing — Sebastian."

"John and I did, too. We're going to grab him through the bars and hold him till you come let us out." He breathed deeply. "God, this fresh air smells good!"

"We'll all enjoy it more, ten miles from here."

"Sure. Well, good luck." Webster's head disappeared.

Longarm belly-crawled to the side of the jail opposite the barracks and lowered himself over the wall. Hanging by his hands, he dropped the few feet between his feet and the ground. He landed running, crouching low, heading for Ramos's office.

Chapter 14

Darkness, sweeping in rapidly, was his friend. Longarm slowed his run almost as soon as he'd started it when he saw there was no sentry posted at the door of the headquarters building. He ambled lazily across the bare area, keeping himself from hurrying, now. Any of the rurales who saw him would, he hoped, think he was just another of their group reporting to the captain.

He reached the deep shade of the building walls. Standing on tiptoe, he could just see inside the big sala. A vigil light flickered in its glass container in a niche near the door. Its flame was so tiny that the circle of light it cast reached barely to the edge of the huge table Ramos used as a desk. There was no one in the room, but another blade of light gleaming along the floor gave him the location of a door; Ramos must be in the room behind that door, he thought.

Hugging the building wall, he made for the door. It was latched with a simple lift-lever. Longarm tested it cautiously. The lever lifted easily; the door was neither locked nor barred. Across the narrow room the knife edge of light became his goal. He lightfooted toward it. As he went, he snaked the derringer from his pocket and freed his watch from it by feel. He'd operated the snap on the chain in the dark so many times that the job was automatic. Dropping the watch back in his pocket, he cocked the derringer before knocking on the door. He tried to make the light tapping sound apologetic.

"Que pasa? " asked Ramos's voice from the adjoining room.

"Solamente mi, Capitan. " Longarm had rehearsed the phrase in his mind so often that he had no fear of stumbling over it, in spite of his rusty Spanish. "Es necessario que habla con usted."

"Manana, hombre. Volves temprano, y hablamos."

Longarm had expected to be told to come back tomorrow, and had the next phrase ready. "Anoche, por favor, mi Capitan!" He tried to make his voice humble and pleading.

A muffled grunt of disgust came through the thick door, then a rustle of movement. Longarm stood aside, hugging the wall, turning his head away so he wouldn't be blinded by the sudden glare of light when the door opened. He counted on Ramos's eyes being used to the bright room beyond; the rurale would be almost blind for the first few seconds when he looked into the dark sala. The door opened and Ramos's bulk filled the lighted opening. He wore only a pair of trousers and was barefoot. Stepping across the threshold, he peered ahead into the darkness.

"Quien es? " he grumbled. "Quien estorbame in mi recamera? "

In one swift move, Longarm jammed the cold barrel of the derringer into Ramos's temple and with his other hand clamped the man's mouth closed.

Coldly, he hissed, "You make a noise, and you're dead. I'll spatter your brains the way you spattered Lefty's this morning."

He kept his hand over Ramos's mouth until the look in the rurale's eyes told him it was safe to let him talk.

"El gringo federalista!" Ramos gasped. "Como entre por aqui?"

"Talk English," Longarm commanded.

"How do you get in here?" Ramos asked. "You are in jail!"

"Maybe I'm twins," Longarm suggested, his voice without mirth. "I got tired of your jail. Me and my friends are ready to say good-bye to your place here, but we're taking you along for the ride."

"You think you can take me from my brave men?" Ramos blustered. "Only I call once, and they will come!"

"And they'll find your corpse, if you yell. But maybe you are stupid enough to make some noise, even if it kills you. Back up, into your bedroom." He emphasized the command with a push on the derringer's barrel. Ramos obeyed.

Longarm gave a quick glance around the room. He was so surprised when he saw the woman in the bed that took up most of one wall that he almost pulled the derringer's trigger.

"Who in hell are you?" he asked.

Ramos said, "She is~"

"I didn't ask you!" Longarm snapped. He looked at the woman. "Well? You going to tell me?"

"My name's Flo Firestone. Oh, not really, that's my stage name, but I'm more used to it than my real one. I know who you are, and am I ever glad to see you!"

Longarm shook his head, unbelieving. "You talk like you're an American."

"You're damned right, I am. And it's a real treat to see you standing there with a gun at that bastard's head!"

"Well, whoever you are, we'll save the palaver until later. I guess you're on my side, from what you just said, so why don't you find me some rope or something to tie this hombre up with. Then we'll try to get things straightened out."

She got out of bed, giving Longarm a glimpse of smooth pink thighs as her long legs kicked the covers aside. She stood up; he was surprised that she was almost as tall as he was. She was a blonde, full-lipped, round-chinned, and her sheer nightdress revealed that she was a true blonde. The almost transparent material of the nightgown hid nothing of her figure, which was statuesque, though the erect pink-tipped nipples of her generous breasts pushed the sheer fabric out so that it fell straight to her bare feet. When she moved, the gown clung to her, emphasizing her smoothly rounded stomach, wide hips, and tapered legs. In spite of her size, she was large rather than fat. Longarm had to work at keeping his mind on Ramos while the woman scurried around looking for rope or cord. Finally, she settled for ripping a bedsheet into wide strips.

She handed these to Longarm. "These'll have to do, I guess. If you twist them when you tie him up, they'll hold tight enough."

"Give me a hand," he said. "Put a gag on him first, in case he gets a fool idea about yelling for help." Ramos glowered while she obeyed, pulling the twisted cloth tight through his mouth. Longarm told the rurale, "Now then. You just march over and sit down in that chair. Don't forget, this gun's cocked, and I got a nervous trigger finger."

Ramos could see the derringer at fall-cock in the mirror of an ornate dressing table that stood opposite the bed. He obeyed without hesitation. Longarm sat him down in the armless boudoir chair and after the woman had bound his hands, helped her to tie the rurale's feet to the chair legs. He checked the lashing that held Ramos's wrists around the back of the chair, and found them as tight and secure as they'd have been if he'd put them on the man himself. Longarm tucked the little gun back into his vest pocket.

"Now," he said to the woman, "you wanta tell me how you got here, and why?"

"I got here because this two-bit cholo— I don't know what that means, except that it's some kind of Mexican insult — decided he wanted to keep me around after his men wiped out the bandits that had kidnapped me off the train that I was taking back to the states."

"How long ago'd this happen?"

"Let's see. I've just about lost track of time, but I guess it was about three weeks ago that Charley" — she pointed to Ramos — "I call him Charley because it makes him mad — ambushed the train robbers. And I don't know where it was, because I rode a day and part of a night with the bandits, and two days with Charley and his crew."

"And how'd you know who I am?" Longarm asked suspiciously.

"Marshal, when you're shut up all the time in a bedroom you don't much care for, you listen at the keyhole and you work out the things you can't see happening. I just about gave up when Charley told them to toss you in the pokey, and you'll never know how glad I am you got out. How did you, anyhow?"

"That'll wait," Longarm replied curtly. He wanted to satisfy himself that the woman was what she seemed to be. "This train you were on, how'd you happen to be riding it?"

"I was trying to get back home. Look, Marshal, I'm an actress. Well, I guess burlesque's acting, in a way. Our troupe got stranded, but we scraped up enough money between us to take the train from Monterrey to Laredo, wherever that is. We thought once we got back across the border, we could work our way back to New York. You know, hitting the tank towns, performing wherever we could pick up a booking."

"What happened to the rest of the people in your outfit?"

"God might know, but I don't. You ever been on a train that ran off the rails because a bunch of robbers dynamited the track? It was a mess — shooting, dark, people all mixed up. I don't know what happened, because I had a sack over my head. I could tell daylight from dark, but that was about all. I could tell you a lot more, but don't you think we'd better save it until later?"

"You're right, Flo. You did say Flo, didn't you?" She nodded, and Longarm went on, "Sounds like a real interesting story, but there's two more fellows waiting for me to get 'em out of jail, and I got to work up some kind of scheme to do it."

"You're going to include me in the getaway party, I hope?" Flo asked.

"Sure, now that I know about you, which I didn't before. But there's something like thirty of Ramos's rurales between us and a clean break. There ain't a way I can see to bull through that many. They'd cut us down fast, we'd be so outgunned if we tried to just bust through."

"If you're looking for guns, there's a whole closetful in a little room off the one Charley uses for his office."

"Ammunition for 'em, too?"

"I wouldn't know what bullets fit which gun. Let's go look. I'll show you where they are."

"Just a minute. Is there anybody in this place except you and him?"

"No. Charley didn't want any interruptions, if you know what I mean. Some woman comes in to cook and clean up, but she won't be here until time to fix breakfast."

"All right. Let's have a look-see. And I'll bolt that front door, so in case anybody does come around they won't just walk in on us."

Flo seemed unconscious of her body gleaming through the filmy nightdress as she led Longarm through the sala to a little storeroom lined with cabinets.

She pointed out the one that held the weapons. Longarm opened it and found it crammed with rifles, shotguns, pistols, and boxes and bags of ammunition. There was enough firepower in the cabinet to fit out an army, he thought, and for a moment wished he had one behind him.

Apparently, Ramos kept for himself the best weapons captured by his men from the bandit gangs that were supposed to be the chief targets of the rurales. The guns were all in good condition, most of them relatively late models. Among them, Longarm found his own Colt and Winchester; he checked to be sure they were loaded before putting the Winchester aside and strapping on the Colt. For the first time since it had been taken from him, he felt fully dressed.

"These'll fix us up real good," he told Flo. Then the relief drained out of his voice as he added, "But they won't be a damn bit of use until I pass 'em on to Nate and John."

"They're your friends who're in jail?"

"An army captain and a Texas Ranger. They was both here before Ramos brought you back, I expect."

"I knew there were prisoners out there, I didn't know who."

Longarm was frowning, concentrating on completing their escape. He thought aloud, "About all I can see to do is wait until all those rurales turn in and get sound asleep. Flo, you know whether they set guards out around this place at night?"

"No. Charley's kept me busy at night, or tried to." She sighed. "Too bad there's not some kind of medicine, like laudanum, in one of these cabinets, something that'd put the men out there to sleep real fast."

"You can say that again," Longarm told her.

"I said~"

"Never mind, I was just talking. Listen, Flo, is Ramos a big drinker?"

"He does pretty well. I guess he grabs liquor whenever he gets a chance to; that cabinet right there's loaded with it. French brandy, Scotch whisky, bourbon, rye, and a lot of Mexican stuff like habanero and tequila. There's enough in there to stock Rector's bar. Look." She crossed the room and opened another of the cabinets, showing shelves crammed with bottles.

"Liquor's as good as laudanum for putting a man to sleep," Longarm said. "It just don't work as fast. I'm beginning to get me an idea. See if you can dig a bottle of Maryland rye outa there, Flo. I need something to stir up my brains while I scheme."

Flo rummaged and came up with the bottle Longarm had requested. A corkscrew hung on a nail inside the cabinet door. She used it expertly and passed him the bottle. He lilted it and let the warm, nippy whiskey slide down his throat. Immediately, he wished for a cheroot to follow, but reminded himself he'd better be grateful just for the bottle.

"Don't you offer ladies a drink in the crowd you travel with?" she asked. He extended the bottle to her and she took a swallow. Her eyes watered. "God! That's a man's drink!" she exclaimed. "I guess I'd better stick to something mild, brandy or Scotch."

"We better leave it alone for now," he cautioned. "I got the start of a scheme worked out. I'm going to have to ask you to help me some, if you don't object."

"Object! Listen, you tell me what you want me to do. There's not much I'd balk at, if it'll get me out of this place and on a train back to Broadway again."

"Well, what you'd do ain't much. Pay attention now, and I'll tell you what I got figured."

Longarm outlined his plan. Flo listened attentively, nodding now and then, as he explained what she'd have to do. When he'd finished she chuckled throatily.

"My God, you've missed your calling, Marshal! Belasco'd pay you a fortune to write plays for the Lyceum. That's a real fine scene you've worked up, and I'll do my best to ad lib it. Don't worry, I won't blow my lines. Most of the shows I play in are half off the cuff. I'll play it to the hilt!"

"It's both our necks if you mess it up," he warned her. "All right. You go get on a wrap. I'll see if I can rummage out some bags or bottles from the kitchen."

Longarm searched until he found a big, sturdy basket and two burlap bags. He filled them with bottles from the liquor cabinet, choosing the strongest spirits: tequila, habanero, rum, hundred-proof bourbon. Flo came from the bedroom in time to help him. Together they carried the basket and bags to the door of the sala, and put them down just inside the room. Longarm looked at Flo. She'd put on a negligee over her nightdress. The effect, he thought, was just right.

"Glad you like it," she said when he told her this. "I was lucky enough to hold on to my dressing case when I jumped off the train. This night stuff and a suit is all I've got to wear."

"Remember, now, don't overdo things," he cautioned her. "Let Sergeant Molina look, but don't let him get near enough to grab you. Just be sure he'll come back, is all."

"Don't worry. I've had more experience dodging stage-door Johnnies than you know about. They only catch me when I want 'em to. Well, if we're ready, let's ring up the curtain on act one."

"Might as well. Get going."

Flo went out the front door. Longarm followed a step behind her, and when she continued toward the barracks he stopped in the deep darkness at the corner of the building. He'd brought his Winchester to cover her, if trouble developed. If there's a ruckus, he thought, the damn scheme's ruined before it gets started good.

A dozen paces from the barracks, Flo stopped. She called, "Sergeant Molina! Captain Ramos wants you! Right away!"

Longarm had chosen Molina as his target not only because he was Ramos's second in command, but because the sergeant was the only rurale he was sure understood enough English to make the plan work. He waited while the men still seated around the fire scurried to look for Molina. Just before Longarm was beginning to think he'd come up with a bad idea, the sergeant came around the corner of the barracks building. He peered at Flo, who was still standing where she'd stopped.

"What does mi capitan want?" Molina called.

"He has a reward for you and his brave men," Flo called back. "He wants you to come and get it."

She turned at once, without waiting to see whether Molina would follow her. The sergeant hesitated only a moment before doing so. Longarm slipped through the darkness along the wall to the headquarters door and slid inside before Molina got close enough to see him. He crossed the sala and went into the closet, leaving the door ajar and swapping his Winchester for his Colt. Straining his ears, he could hear Flo open the door and come into the sala. There was a moment of silence before Molina spoke.

"Where he is, mi capitan?"

"In the bedroom," Flo replied. "He doesn't want to be disturbed. He told me what he wants you to do."

"Que es? " Molina sounded suspicious. "Why is the capitan not here himself?"

"He's resting," Flo replied. She dropped her voice to a low, confidential tone that to the listening Longarm seemed dripping with honey. "I'll tell you the truth, Sergeant. The captain's a little bit, well — a little bit drunk."

"Ah. Un poco borracho." Now, Molina's voice held the verbal equivalent to a shrug. "So. What he is want me to do?"

"Look here." Another silence; this time, Longarm visualized Flo showing Molina the liquor. "Captain Ramos says you and the men have earned a reward, a treat. He wants you to share the bottles with the men."

"Sangre de mi vida! Que admirable!" Molina chuckled. "I should go thank mi capitan for his gift, no?"

"No. I — he's asleep." She sighed. "And I'm all by myself."

After a long pause, Molina took the bait. "You are lonely, senorita?"

"I had expected Captain Ramos~" She sighed again, more deeply. "You know what is said about men who drink too much, Sergeant."

"Ay, si!" Then, philosophically, "It can happen to any man, senorita. Tomorrow, the capitan will be himself again."

"But that doesn't help me tonight," Flo said seductively. "Now, if there was only some big, fine man~"

Longarm thought she was overdoing her act a bit. He risked peering around the closet door, saw that Flo had let her negligee fall open and that Molina's eyes were fixed on her body.

"You would like me to return, no?" Molina whispered. "After I take the bottles to the men? But what would mi capitan say?"

"He's sleeping so deeply, he'd never know."

"Ay, las rubias!" Molina chuckled. "Todavia buscanda un hombre!" He chuckled again. "What mi capitan don' know won't hurt us, you and me? No? Pues, I take the bottles quick, and come right back."

"Hurry, then!" Flo urged. "I'll be waiting for you!"

Not only was Flo waiting for Molina when he came back. Longarm was, too. The sergeant rushed eagerly through the door into the sala. Flo had stationed herself a few feet inside, and Molina saw only her. Longarm stepped from behind the door and shoved his Colt hard against Molina's bare neck.

"Stop right where you are, hombre, and keep quiet, or you're dead."

Molina was as startled as Ramos had been. "El gringo federalista! Why you not in jail?"

"I reckon because I busted out," Longarm said. "Take his gunbelt off, Flo. Then we'll put him in with Ramos."

While Flo was relieving Molina of his pistol belt, he asked, "Mi capitan, he is not borracho?"

"No, but I'll just bet he wishes he was," she told him.

"Rubia perfidia!" Molina snorted. "You and the gringo cabron have plan this!"

"You finally figured that out, did you?" Longarm grinned. To Flo, he said, "Come on, we'll put him in where him and his boss can look at each other."

There was plenty of material left in the bedsheet Flo had torn up when Ramos was being bound to provide strips with which to tie Molina to another chair. Longarm kept his gun trained on the sergeant while Flo gagged and tied him. Ramos and Molina sat facing one another, glaring angrily across the few feet that separated them. It was obvious that each would try to blame the other for their plight.

Longarm guffawed. "I'd sure like to be around when they start jawing. I bet a man could pick up a bunch of brand-new Mexican cusswords about that time."

"What I hope is that we'll be a long way from here when they get loose," Flo said. "I've seen all I want to of rurales and Mexican bandits, both."

"It's going to be a while before we can take off," Longarm reminded her. "It sure won't be safe to show our heads outside this place until the whole bunch down by that barracks is blind drunk."

"How long do you think we'd better wait?"

"An hour. Maybe two. I'll look out now and again, to keep an eye on how their party's going. We can tell when the time's right."

"I suppose I can wait that long. But let's go somewhere else, in the big room, where we can have a drink and relax."

"Sounds fine to me. Might as well make the best we can of waiting, since there's no way we can cut it shorter."

"I'll get the only other clothes I've got," Flo said. "This nightgown's comfortable, but if I'm going for a horseback ride, I'll want something more than it between me and the wind."

She groped behind the dressing table, brought up a small portmanteau, and busied herself throwing into it the cosmetics that were on the dresser and the dark dress that hung beside it.

"There. I guess that'll fix me up," she told Longarm. "Now let's get out of this damned room. I don't like the things it makes me remember."

Chapter 15

Longarm stayed in the bedroom long enough to blow out the kerosene lamp on the dressing table. He told the gagged rurales, "It just wouldn't do if one of you was to work your chair over and manage to knock that lamp off. Setting fire to this place'd be a sure way to bring your gang kiting up here, now wouldn't it? So, you'll just have to put up with being in the dark, I guess."

He followed Flo into the sala. She'd dropped her portmanteau and was making a beeline for the liquor cabinet. "I need something to wash the taste of that rye whiskey you favor out of my mouth." She found a bottle of Otard and looked at the label. "This is the best liquor I've seen since a rich stage-door Johnny took me to supper after the show at the Astor House, a week before I left to come down here."

"I'll stick to my own," Longarm told her, lilting the bottle of rye. Flo was using the corkscrew on the brandy bottle; Longarm idly began looking into the other cabinets that lined the room's walls. He found one packed with small valuables of various kinds: rings, watches, bracelets, table silver; his idea that the rurales under Diaz behaved very much like the bandit gangs they were supposed to control was confirmed by the sight of the loot. The next cabinet he opened was packed with clothing, and the garment that lay on top of the heap was the frock coat that had been taken from him the day before. He slid his hand into its pockets. Except for his wallet, their contents were untouched.

Flo said, "Unless you just want to keep on looking around, we might as well go in and sit down at that fancy table in there. It's going to be a long wait, isn't it?"

"Times when a couple of hours seems like a week," Longarm said. "But you're right, we might as well be comfortable."

They moved back into the sala. Flo set the bottle of brandy on the big table and pulled a chair up in front of it. "I'm not a lady drunk," she told Longarm. "But this is a time when a girl needs a little comforting. Don't worry, I won't overdo."

"I ain't worrying." Longarm sipped from the rye. "Talking about drunks gives me an idea, though. I'll just step outside and see how that bunch is doing with the liquor we sent 'em."

He tossed his coat on the table and, more as a precaution than because he thought he'd need it, picked up his Winchester. As he stepped out the door, Longarm heard music coming from the direction of the barracks, and saw the bare ground between the headquarters and jail flooded with firelight. He slid along the headquarters wall until he could get a clear look. The fire at the barracks had been rekindled. Its dancing flames spread over the entire outpost area. Around the fire, an impromptu fiesta was being held. The lavanderas had joined the rurales at the barracks; men and women were dancing around the fire to the music of guitar and concertina. The flames glinted on bottles being passed, lifted, waved.

Longarm watched for several minutes. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see that the liquor had already taken a number of the rurales out of action. A half-dozen sprawled forms lay beside the barracks wall, or were propped against it. While he was watching, another man who'd overestimated his capacity, or underestimated the potency of liquor strange to him, staggered and went down. His dancing partner helped another rurale to drag the drunk man to the wall, then she and the man who'd helped her rejoined the dancers around the fire.

Things ought to quiet down soon, Longarm told himself, when there's just enough men left sober to pair off with the women.

He slid back along the wall and into the sala. Flo had given up her chair and was sitting on the edge of the big table. She was sipping from the brandy bottle again. Longarm could see from the smile she turned to him when she took the bottle from her lips that she was feeling good, not from the lift of the liquor, but the euphoria of having her freedom again. It occurred to him that he felt pretty much the same way she did.

"How's the orgy going?" she asked him.

"Oh, they're whooping it up, if that's what an orgy is. Makes me sorta wish I could join 'em, they're having such a good time."

"How long before things will be quiet enough for us to sneak your friends out of the pokey and get away?"

"About another hour, I'd guess. Maybe a little longer. I'd go get Nate and John right now, except that they've built up their fire, and the damn place is just about as bright as noontime outside. Can't risk moving around, they might notice us."

"You might as well have another drink, then," Flo invited.

"I was just going to." Longarm stepped to the table, picked up his bottle of rye and sipped. Flo raised the brandy bottle in salute and sipped, too.

"I don't remember even saying thank you for getting me out of this mess," she said.

"You better save your thanks. We ain't out yet. Most anything could happen after we leave here, and it's still a long ride to Los Perros after we get started."

"Where in hell's Los Perros?"

"About a two-day ride. You never heard of it, Flo. It's a little shantytown on the border. I still got unfinished business there, so has Nate Webster. And John's cavalry post's not too far from it."

"Is there a train I can take out of it for New York?"

"Flo, there's no train tracks inside of two hundred miles of Los Perros. There's a stagecoach that passes by Fort Lancaster, though. I'll see you on a stage that'll get you to San Antonio. You can take a train back East from there."

"How far's San Antonio?"

"About a week on the stage."

Her eyes widened. "You know, God must've had one hell of a lot of spare space on His hands when He created Texas."

Longarm grinned. "There's been some questions asked whether it was God or the devil that's responsible for Texas. Me, I don't take either side. I get along wherever I might happen to be."

Flo looked at him narrowly. "You know, I believe you do. You're quite some man, Marshal."

"Thanks. But I'd feel better if you'd call me by my name, which I guess we been too busy for me to tell you. It's Custis Long."

"Sure, Custis. Look, before we get off the subject, I was starting out to thank you for getting me away from Ramos and all the rest of this."

"I didn't do it for thanks."

"You've got mine, whether you want them or not. And just to show you I mean it~" She broke off, threw her arms around Longarm's neck, and pulled him to her. Before he knew what was happening, she was pressing her lips on his. He thought it was going to be a friendly thank-you kiss until he felt her tongue pressing his lips apart.

Longarm responded predictably. Flo hadn't yet changed clothes, and the gauze-thin nightgown she wore could hardly be felt when he brought his hands up to cup her generous breasts. His fingertips were hard on her budding nipples as he caressed them. The scent of her body, all aroma of woman not lately soaped or perfumed, filled his nostrils. He broke the kiss and bent to take her nipples in his lips, nipping them gently, pulling them into his mouth and feeling them roughen, swell and grow firm as his tongue's tip flicked them through the thin nightgown.

Flo leaned back, bracing herself with her arms, hands flat on the tabletop, her body upthrust to give Longarm free access to it. His face still buried in the soft flesh of her bosom, he rubbed a hand slowly down over her voluptuously rounded stomach and caressed her blond pubic hair. She gave a dancer's kick to send the skirt of her gown flying upward, baring her legs and thighs. Longarm let his fingers stray deeper; she opened to them and he felt her beginning moisture on the soft lips between her thighs.

Flo was leaning back on only one arm, now. Her free hand was rubbing Longarm's crotch, feeling his erection grow. She worked at the buttons of his fly and tried to slip her hand in, but his britches fitted too closely. With a muttered "Damn it!" she unbuckled his belt and tugged at the waistband until she'd pulled the britches down over his hips and freed him.

"I'm as ready as you are," she said softly when she felt his hard springiness under her fingers.

"No use us waiting, then."

He moved between her legs and went in full and deep. Flo was on the table, Longarm standing in front of it. She lay back and brought her legs up, locked her ankles around the back of his neck.

"Ride me, now!" she commanded. "I want to feel you hit bottom! "

Longarm obliged. He pulled away from her, not leaving her totally empty, but nearly so. Then he thrust deliberately, deeper than he'd been able to go before.

Flo shrieked, a cry in which pain and pleasure mingled. "Oh, God, you did hit bottom! Do it again, faster!"

After a dozen deep, shattering thrusts, Longarm felt Flo's juices begin to ooze. Her cries of excitement, the heat of her body, the dangerous surroundings, were having their effect on Longarm. He was moving fast to orgasm. He pounded harder, bringing animal yelps from deep in Flo's throat. She became rigid for an instant. Her inner muscles tightened around him and he pressed hard for the instant before both of them were seized with a shuddering that ended in a blissful outpouring and a total relaxation. Longarm fell forward, pushing Flo's knees down nearly to the tabletop and penetrating her even more deeply than ever for a shattering instant before he relaxed.

Neither of them moved for several moments. Flo found breath enough to whisper, "I didn't know, a minute ago, just how much man you really are."

"You're a right smart bundle of woman, Flo. But we're a couple of damn fools, you know that?"

"After the past few weeks, it feels so good to be able to let go completely that I don't mind being a damn fool. It didn't last nearly long enough, though."

"We'll have more time, later. After we get away from this damn place."

"I think you're telling me something. We'd better get ready to run the gauntlet, is that it?"

"Something like that."

He pulled away from her reluctantly. Flo sat up and Longarm began to button his britches. His sense of timing told him they'd better be thinking of the men in jail instead of one another.

"Get into your traveling clothes as quick as you can," he told her. "I'll go see what things look like outside."

Longarm looked back across the sala before he went out the door. In the dim light of the vigil candle, he saw Flo in half-silhouette. She was standing beside the table, naked, the light dancing on her tall body, outlining its features. Her upraised arms, stretching luxuriously, pulled her breasts high and taut. Her rounded stomach flowed into flared hips, her pubic fringe matching the hair that fell in glowing gold, long, down her back. Her long legs seemed even longer as she rose on tiptoes in her stretching. For an instant he wanted to turn back, but common sense said no. He went through the door and out into the darkness.

This time, it was true darkness. The fire that had flared a half hour ago was dying down. Only a handful of dancers now moved their feet in time to the thin melody of guitar strings. The concertina was silent. There were more figures lying on the ground and leaning against the barracks wall. A wide belt of deep shadow lay between barracks and jailhouse. Longarm felt a twinge of guilt because he'd made his cellmates wait such a long time. It was, he decided, safe now to risk making an effort to leave.

Flo was wearing a flared skirt of dark material, a man-styled blue silk blouse, and a short jacket. She'd twisted her hair into a bun low on her neck. She saw in Longarm's face that it was time for them to go.

"I'm ready," she told him. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

"Stick close by me. We'll mosey slow across the open space. Most of the rurales and their women are sleeping-drunk, and the ones that're still on their feet are about ready to fall over."

"What if they see us?"

"Don't pay any attention until one of 'em starts to holler, and then let me handle things. Can you use a gun?"

"God, no, Custis! The only gun I ever shot was a toy popgun I used in one of my dance routines."

"Then you'd better carry the ones we're taking for Nate and John. Think you can tote 'em?"

"Dancers have to keep in trim. I'm pretty strong, you ought to know that."

He remembered her arms pulling him down to her, her legs clasping his body. "You are, at that." He picked up the rifles he'd taken from Ramos's collection and helped her balance them in her hands before draping a gunbelt with a holstered revolver over each of her shoulders. He'd looked until he'd found guns of the same caliber as his own Winchester and Colt, and had gathered up all the .44-40 ammunition he could find. This he'd put into bags, which he slung over his own shoulder.

"Just move slow and steady," he cautioned her. "And don't fret. We'll make it, all right."

Their passage through the belt of darkness between the headquarters building and the jail drew no attention from the dancers still twirling by the waning fire. Longarm hadn't expected it to. The minutes of danger lay ahead, when they'd be working with the horses at the corral. They got to the jail and found the door swinging wide. Longarm slipped inside. It was pitch-black.

"Nate? John?" He kept his voice low.

"We're all right." It was Webster's voice.

"What in hell's name happened that took you so long?" Hill asked.

"Had to wait until the liquor I fed them rurales put most of 'em under. All but a few's passed out now. But we'll still have to tiptoe when we go outa here." His eyes could penetrate the gloom of the jail's interior now. He saw a white form spread-eagled across the door of the cell in which Webster and Hill waited. "What happened in here?"

"We had to throttle old Sebastian." Hill spoke without emotion. "Hated to do it, but he started yelling when he noticed you were gone. Before we could stop him, he threw the keys down the corridor. We couldn't reach them to let ourselves out."

Longarm reached into his coat pocket for a match, thought better of showing a light in the jail, and said, "I'll scrabble for 'em."

While he was groping around on the floor, Webster said, "We heard all the music and laughing, and I shinnied up to look outa that hole in the roof. By then, it was too light from their fire for us to try a sneak."

"We didn't know you'd arranged their party," Hill said. "If we had, we wouldn't have been so nervous, waiting."

Longarm finally located Sebastian's key ring. He said, while he unlocked the cell door, "It was the only way I could figure to put most of 'em to sleep. If we're lucky, we can get away without raising a ruckus."

He led the way outside. When Webster saw Flo standing by the door with the guns, he made a leap for her and would've wrestled her down if Longarm hadn't grabbed him.

"She's with us," he said. "Flo's been a real help. I might not've been able to swing it without her."

"Where the hell did you find her?" Hill asked.

"Ramos grabbed her away from some bandits who'd kidnapped her off a train. She can tell you about it later. She's American, just like us."

"And ready to go home," Flo said.

"She's American, all right," Hill agreed. "Easterner, I'd say."

"New York, New York," Flo told him. "And if I ever get back there, nobody's going to get me west again, not even across the river to Jersey."

"We better be thinking about another river," Webster reminded them. He gestured toward the two or three couples still dancing around the embers of the fire. "If that's all of Ramos's crew that's still able to stand up, we won't have much trouble."

"Let's try to do it without no trouble at all," Longarm suggested. "Here's what I'd like to do: we go down to the corral real quiet, so's not to spook the horses. That gray of mine's the easiest to spot, so I'll pussyfoot in and lead him out while you fellows get us some saddles. We'll load the saddles on the dapple, just any which way, and I'll lead him off. Then you sneak your animals out the same way, one at a time. We'll get far enough so nobody can hear us, then we'll saddle up and be off free."

"Wait a minute," Webster said. "Miss Flo, you know how to sit a horse?"

"I guess Mexican horses are pretty much the same as the ones I ride in Central Park. I had a friend who was~" She broke off. "That's neither here nor there. Yes, I can ride enough to get away from here. I'd ride an elephant, if I had to."

Circling to stay within the increasingly wide zone of darkness, they walked slowly and steadily until they were within a few yards of the corral.

Longarm said, "All right. Everybody knows what we'll do. I'll leave Flo to hold my gray after we're far enough off, and come back to get a nag for her."

Groping along the corral's top pole, Longarm located his saddle by feel. He knew it was taking time, but he hated to part with the old McClellan and have to break in a new one. He tossed three other saddles to the ground and followed them with a heap of saddle blankets, then bridles. He whistled low, and Webster and Hill moved up to untangle the gear. Longarm located the gate pole and ducked under it. One or two of the horses shied and whinnied, but none of them cut up too badly or made a lot of noise. He found Tordo and rubbed the dapple's nose.

"Easy, boy. Come along."

Tordo followed him readily through the gate. With nose pats and low-voiced words, Longarm kept the gray standing while Webster and Hill piled the saddles loosely on his back.

"I'll head straight north," Longarm told them. That was all he needed to say. He knew both men were trail-wise and would sight on the North Star and stay on a straight course until they reached wherever he'd decided to stop. "Come on, Flo." She joined him and they moved off.

When they were out of earshot of the corral, she said with open amazement, "Those men acted like it was the most normal thing in the world for me to be here, a million miles from nowhere. Why, Custis, they didn't ask more than two or three questions."

"They're both good men. They know when it's time to talk and when it's time to do. Back at the jail, we had to do, not stand palavering all night."

"How far will we have to ride now?"

"Tonight we'll just push far enough on to get a good lead on the rurales. When we come to a good place, we'll stop and rest awhile, and move on at dawn."

"You think Ramos will come after us, then?"

"Damn right he will. He can't afford to let even one of us get away. He likely won't start, though, till it's light enough for his trackers to read trail. We got a little time. Not much, but a little bit."

They walked on in silence for a while. Finally, Longarm said, "I guess this is far enough. I'll saddle Tordo while we're waiting; as soon as I hear John or Nate coming, I'll start back."

"I'm not afraid to wait in the dark, if that's keeping you here." Flo put her arms around Longarm's waist. It wasn't a sexual gesture, but more as though she needed comforting. "But I'll admit, it's a lot nicer to have you to wait with."

"Maybe it's just this wild country bothering you." Longarm was holding her gently. "People that live in places like New York get spooked when they're out away from everything."

"It's not that. I'll tell you, Custis, New York's just a different kind of wild from this place here. And I'm used to looking out for myself."

Longarm had known theatrical women before; he had enjoyed their breeziness and the uninhibited approach to living that characterized those with stage backgrounds. He'd seen them tear through danger, as Flo had earlier, without turning a hair, and then be caught up, just as she was now, in a reaction. Her need for reassurance didn't really surprise him.

"We're going to be fine, Flo. You think about how much better off we are now than we were a few hours ago."

"Like hell we are. A few hours ago, you and I were having one of the best damned fucks I've ever enjoyed. Now, we're out here in the middle of some big black nowhere, don't know where we are, whether those murdering rurales are after us, or what."

"But there's twice as many of us now," he pointed out. "We got guns, and don't you think for a minute we're lost. You settle down, now, keep on kicking for a day or two, and before you know it, you'll be on your way back home."

She leaned back in his arms, and in the starlight he could see that she'd cried a little bit, but was smiling now. "Sorry, Custis. I don't usually act like a baby. I keep telling myself I'm a big girl and don't need anybody to pat my ass and tell me I'm going to be all right. But I guess all of us do, sometimes."

"You'll be fine now, though."

"Sure I will. As long as I can hold on to you for a minute or so, once in a while."

"Whenever you want to. I'll see you're safe."

Hoofbeats told them that either Hill or Webster was approaching. Longarm whistled softly, to help whoever it was in finding them. In a few minutes, Hill came up.

"Nate'll be right along," he said. "Everything was quiet when I left, so it looks like we've pulled it off."

"Now you're here, I'll go cut out a horse for Flo," Longarm said. "It oughtn't to take me long."

He had no trouble at the corral. In front of the barracks building, the fire had died to a few stray red coals and all the dancers had gone. Longarm thought he could see some forms still sprawled against the building's walls, but couldn't be sure. The headquarters was dark; so was the jail. He made quick work of cutting out a horse, wasting a few minutes patting necks and noses, hoping to find one that seemed gentler than most of the Mexican horses he'd seen so far. He wasn't sure whether Flo could really ride, or was just claiming she could for fear of being left behind.

Hill and Webster had the other horses saddled by the time Longarm got back. The fourth was quickly fitted, and Longarm was satisfied when he saw Flo mount easily and with confidence that she'd be able to stay on. He swung onto Tordo's back.

Hill said, "Well, gentlemen — and lady, too, of course — I don't see any reason to stay here. Since we don't have a bugler to sound commands, I'll give them myself. Route pace, ma-arch — ho!"

Chapter 16

A raw September breeze from the low peaks of the Burro Mountains was in their faces as the little group skirted the foothills, riding through the darkness. Without discussion, the men fanned out ahead, calling out when a barrier such as a steep canyon cut across their path, or when the way ahead of one or the other seemed easier. They followed no frail because there was none to follow, but set their way by the stars, bearing consistently northeast. The going was slow and rough on the horses. They circled the deeper canyons, slid down the slopes of shallow arroyos, and pushed through brushy patches that tore at their legs. It was country that called for both chaps and tapaderos, but they had neither.

After four hours of steady but slow progress, Longarm called a halt. "We better let these animals rest," he said. "Far's that goes, I guess we need a breather ourselves. It's still a while before daybreak, and I don't figure the rurales are going to start after us until they can see our sign."

"They'll be moving faster, though," Webster warned. "And some of those cholos are part Indian. They'll know the land better, too."

"We haven't left that much of a frail," Hill protested. "But I'll agree, we do need to rest. I just hate to lose our lead."

"After daybreak, we'll make better time," Longarm pointed out. "I'd say to stop at the first good place we come to, and start out fresh with first light."

"If you're worrying about me," Flo said, "I'm tired, but I'll sure keep on going as long as you men want to. Don't do me any favors just because I'm a woman."

"We ain't," Webster assured her. "It wouldn't be any different if you weren't along, Miss Flo."

They pushed on, moving more slowly now, until they came to a brush-covered slope over which a handful of tall ocote pines towered, their night-black limbs breaking the deep blue sky. Longarm called for the others to stop and urged Tordo into the fringe of the brush that surrounded the frees. The dapple pushed through the shrubs without hesitating. Longarm leaned down to feel the vegetation and found that the stalks of the bushes and their leaves were smooth and free of thorns. He reined Tordo lightly, to turn him, but the animal resisted, wanting to go ahead. Longarm let him. The gray broke into a clearing, and moved faster. Then he stopped. Longarm heard the splash of running water, and then saw the little pool made by a spring reflecting the stars. He let Tordo drink sparingly and went back to tell the others.

"Damn horse had more sense than me, for once. I ought to've known when I felt them huisache leaves that there'd be water, they're thirsty plants. If everybody agrees, this is as good a place to rest as we're likely to find."

There was no dissent. They pushed into the clearing and dismounted. After all of them had drunk and wiped the cool, faintly salt-tasting water over their dusty faces, they let the horses drink, and tethered them with slacked girths at the edge of the clearing.

Hill's military training showed. He asked, "Don't you think we ought to take turns at sentry duty? We don't really know that the rurales aren't on our trail right now."

"Makes sense to me," Webster nodded.

"Me, too," Longarm agreed.

"Since it was my idea, I'll take the first watch," Hill offered. "If we stand an hour each, that ought to take up what's left of the night."

Webster spoke up. "I'll relieve you, then, and the Marshal can stand the wake-up watch."

"What about me?" Flo asked. "I'll do my share, too."

"No need, Miss Flo," the Ranger said. "You've had a real hard day. You get what sleep you can."

"But~" Flo began.

Longarm interrupted her. "Listen to what Nate says. He's got a reason maybe you don't understand. It's not because you're a woman, but because you're a tenderfoot. All three of us'd know if we heard a horse or maybe a deer or goat in the dark. You wouldn't."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," she nodded. "All right, if that's your reason."

There was a brief time of settling down. Hill took his rifle and pushed through the brush, following the trail they'd broken on their way in. Webster, an old hand at impromptu bivouacs, found himself a patch of green weeds far enough from the spring to be on dry ground. He curled up and was snoring in two minutes. Without exchanging a word, Flo and Longarm threaded their way through a patch of brush to the base of one of the ocote pines. They sat down together.

"I wanted to~" she began.

Longarm put a finger across her lips. "No need to talk about it, Flo, honey. I wanted to, too. There's better things in life than just sleeping, ain't there?"

She turned her lips to him. They sank back on the short, curly growth that carpeted the ground where it was shaded by the ocote. Flo shrugged out of her jacket and Longarm began to rub her breasts.

"It was fine, back at the rurales' place, but it was over too quickly," she murmured into his ear.

Instead of answering, Longarm began kissing her. His hands wandered over her body and hers were exploring his. She broke their embrace long enough to slide her short silk knickers off, and he ran his hand along her smooth, tapered thighs. Flo began working at freeing Longarm's erection; feeling it grow in quick pulses set her to breathing faster. She stirred, rolled on her side, and pulled him to her. She took him between her thighs, squeezing him tightly, pushing against him, until the moist heat spreading upward from his groin and the incessant movement of Flo's tongue in his mouth brought Longarm up full and swollen.

"Let me in you now," he told her, and Flo obeyed.

"But slow," she whispered in his ear. "I love the feeling of you going in. I want to enjoy it as long as I can."

Longarm penetrated her as she'd asked him to, slowly and deliberately, and for what seemed a very long time they lay simply enjoying the sensation of their intermingled bodies. Flo began to contract her inner muscles in a gentle rhythm that brought Longarm to an orgasm that was as quick as it was unexpected. There'd been few women he'd known before who'd mastered use of the muscles Flo was employing. She didn't stop her inner contractions while Longarm rested, still hard inside her, and she teased him with gentle nips of her sharp teeth on his neck and ears and lips.

Longarm recovered quickly and rolled on top of Flo. She was as eager now as he was, and opened her thighs to let his slim hips drop between them to sink into her more deeply. He began rocking slowly, feeling her hips roll beneath him. Soft birdlike cries escaped Flo's lips. Longarm read the signal she was giving him and began thrusting faster to meet her growing frenzy. Time stopped for both of them for a while; they were aware of nothing but sensation.

"Faster, now!" she urged him. Her head began rolling, loosening the bun in which she'd caught her hair, and her long blond locks spread over the dark ground.

Longarm began driving, his arms encircling Flo's neck, holding her mouth hard to his while they exchanged tongue caresses. Her hips were bouncing frantically now, but she still controlled her motions, just as Longarm did his. They didn't need to exchange words. Instinct joined experience to guide their movements, hips drawing apart and coming together in unison, in perfect mutual rhythm, to send each of his strokes fully into her depths.

Then the moment came when Longarm felt his control slipping away. He speeded his thrusts, and Flo matched his downward plunges, as they rushed together toward those few final seconds when their desire could no longer be denied and the climactic shuddering began that brought them both pressing together, passing through the little death that left them sprawled inert, helpless and almost senseless.

Panting, they rolled apart. Longarm said, "Damn! You really got it, Flo. If I wasn't a broad-minded man, I'd be jealous of anybody that ever got in you before me."

"Don't be, Custis. The first few didn't get much. Neither did I, for that matter. But I can't remember any man who had more than you've got, or knew how to use it better."

"I guess we've both had about the same amount of practice. I'll give you this, Flo: You know what you want, and don't let anything stop you from taking it."

"I needed somebody like you, after Ramos. He was so little and so damned fat that all he could do was make me want a real man. Besides, I enjoy giving, but I don't like being taken." Flo turned her head suddenly and spat, somehow making the unladylike action a maidenly gesture of utter contempt. "Ramos! Paugh!"

"Talking about Ramos, if we don't do more sleeping and less fucking, we're not going to be much good later on."

"I feel like sleeping, now. I didn't before." She stretched like an animal. Longarm could almost see the muscles under her silken skin rippling in the starlight. What he couldn't see, he imagined.

"You move like that another time, I'm going to be all over you again," he warned her.

"Come on. Any time." When he didn't move, she asked, "Sleepy?"

"Some. A mite tuckered, too. And beginning to think about what might happen tomorrow. If I'm feeling drawn-out, you must be, too."

"I'll sleep, if you'll hold me."

"You got a deal. But pull on your drawers, and I'll button up. If we don't, we'll be starting in again."

Cuddled together, they were asleep in a few minutes.

* * *

Captain Hill woke them. It was still dark. Hill said, "It's about time for you to relieve Nate, Marshal." He hesitated, and added, "But if the lady feels safer with you here to look after her, I'm still fresh. I'll take another watch."

"No you won't. It's my job, and I aim to do it. You'll be fine as long as you know the captain's here, won't you, Flo?"

Sleepily, Flo replied, "Sure. I'm not a baby anymore." She closed her eyes again at once and was asleep again.

Longarm and Hill walked quietly away from her until they were far enough to be sure their voices wouldn't disturb her. "Looks like she's fallen for you," Hill commented. "Not that it's any affair of mine what you and the lady do, but if it comes to a fight, and she keeps clinging to you, it might get all of us killed."

"I don't think you got anything to fret over. Flo's sensible. I seen that when she was helping me tie up Ramos and Molina. She'll carry her own weight, if it comes to a scrap."

"Good. Well, I'll go back to sleep, then." Hill lay down, using his arm for a pillow, in the manner of a man used to sleeping on the ground. He grinned up at Longarm. "Tell the bugler not to bother to blow reveille. I always wake up before he does, anyhow. "

Chuckling, Longarm backtracked through the bent-down huisache growth until he found Webster. The Ranger was sitting Indian style on a boulder, his rifle across his knees.

"Nothing so far," he greeted Longarm. "We didn't really expect there'd be, I guess."

"No. Still too soon. If we're lucky, we'll pick up another half-day's lead on 'em before they get to where we are now."

"We better be lucky, then. We're outgunned about eight to one, when they do catch up," Webster said thoughtfully. "Which wouldn't spook me much, if it wasn't for Miss Flo."

"That's occurred to me too, Nate. I got a hunch we can handle Ramos's bunch, though, if we don't make a bunch of tomfool moves."

"Sounds like you been doing some thinking."

"Some. Haven't you?"

"Oh, sure. Trouble is, this deal's a little out of my line. In the old days, you know, us Rangers moved in companies, during the Indian fighting and Mexican wars. The work we do nowadays is mostly single-handed."

Longarm carefully avoided suggesting that the Ranger was old enough to've fought in the War Between the States. If Webster'd been in it, then there'd be the risk of stirring up bad memories. And Longarm knew just how bad those memories could be. He'd never rid his mind of the image of the dead rotting under summer rains at Shiloh. Then again, if Webster'd skulked out of the war, he wouldn't be proud of it. Longarm decided it wasn't a good idea to talk in military terms.

"I've got the glimmer of a scheme that might get us across the river without a stand-up fight, Nate," he said. "Tell you what, you go get your shut-eye, and give me a little more time to think. I'll come in at first light and the three of us'll powwow."

Longarm's watch wore itself along uneventfully. He spent his hour sitting on the boulder that Webster had occupied, keeping his ears tuned for sounds that might give warning of pursuit and thinking of ways to keep the rurales at bay when they caught up. He had no doubt that they would catch up, sooner or later.

When the first faint threads of gray showed across the high mesas in the east, Longarm uncoiled, stretched the kinks out of his leg muscles, and walked back to the thicket. He found Webster and Flo still asleep, but Hill, true to his promise, was stirring around.

"I've tightened the girths and put the bridles back on the mounts," the cavalryman announced. "As soon as we mount up, we can move out."

"Let's stay here a minute or two, John," Longarm suggested. "Give Nate and Flo time to duck back of a bush and pee, and wash their faces. Then we'll have a little council of war, if everybody's agreeable."

When they'd assembled, he outlined the plan he'd worked out during his hour of sentry duty.

"We got to figure the rurales will come after us," he began. "We shoved their faces in a hot cow pie when we slipped away from 'em, and Ramos can't let us go free and make trouble for his bosses in Mexico City. Now we know we can't outgun 'em in a showdown fight. Them rurales look sloppy, and sometimes they don't seem right bright, but from what I've heard, they're damn tough fighters."

"They're that," Webster affirmed. "Our only chance would be to hole up in a place where they could only come at us a few at a time. But even if we found a place like that, all they'd have to do is starve us out. Our best chance is to keep ahead of 'em."

"It's our only chance," Hill said. "Not just the best one."

"Sure, all of us know that," Longarm agreed. "We've got to take out of here running and keep running till we get to the border."

"But we can't afford to blow our horses," the cavalry officer cautioned. "They've got remounts, we haven't. Even if it loses time for us, we'll have to breathe them before they drop."

"I figured on that," Longarm said. "My scheme is for us to go like hell when we take off. When the horses need a rest, we'll stop. From there, we'll split up." He saw that Webster was about to object and held up a hand to stop him. "Just a minute, Nate. I'm not done. Far's I know, there's only one place you could call a town on the other side of the river that we'd have a chance to get to. That's Los Perros. Am I right about that, John?"

"Yes. There're a few other shanty settlements along the river, but Los Perros is the biggest one, the only place we'd have a chance to find enough men to help us. The others only have a dozen or so people living in them."

"That's what I'd guessed," Longarm said. "Now, then. When we split up, we'll do it someplace where two men can hold back Ramos's bunch for a while. It don't have to be for too long, just enough cover to stop the rurales for an hour or two. If the ones that leave ride hell for leather, they oughta get to Los Perros in time to pull some kind of crew together to beat the rurales back."

"What about the two who've fought rear guard?" Hill asked. "Do you think they can outrun the rurales all the way to the river?"

"If they make a sneak and get a start before Ramos's men know they've gone, I figure they can," Longarm replied.

Webster and Hill thought about the idea for a moment, then the Ranger said, "It's about the best we can do, I'd say. We're sorta between a rock and a hard place."

"I'd give a lot to have just one squad of my men at the river," Hill said grimly. He smiled and added, "But I'd give a lot to have a Gatling gun along with us right now. All right, Marshal, it looks like we agree that your plan's our only chance. Nate and I will take the rear guard job, you and the lady ride ahead."

"I didn't figure it that way," Longarm said. "It looks to me like you're the man to get Sheriff Tucker into line and organize whatever kind of bunch he can help you put together in Los Perros."

"I'm not sure you're right about that, Marshal." Hill shook his head. "Tucker and I have had our differences. He propositioned me to be his silent partner a couple of years ago in a plan he'd come up with to turn Los Perros into a honkytonk town. Wanted me to give my troopers extra payday liberty to come in and spend their money at the whorehouses — excuse me, Miss Flo — and the gambling joints he proposed to put in. I read him off and told him I'd do my damnedest to keep my men out of his town in the future. And I have. I don't think he'd forget that."

"No. He ain't that kind," Longarm said. "Damn it! I was sorta counting on you to take care of that part of the scheme."

"I won't say I can't, but I won't say I can. You know army policy. We're not supposed to interfere with civilian government affairs unless we're asked by the authorities for help."

"I don't know you'd call Tucker an authority," Webster put in.

"He never was elected to be, except by himself. But John's got a reason to be doubtful, just like I have. I had a run-in with Tucker when I first started looking into the Laredo Loop business. He just the same as told me to go to hell. I've got a hunch that it was Tucker who tipped off his partners in Mexico to get the rurales looking for me after he found out I'd crossed the border."

"That leaves you, Marshal," Hill said. "I think Nate and I both feel you're the man to do it. From what you told us while we were in that cell together, you've handled Tucker before, and you've got the lever on him to handle him again."

"John's right," Webster agreed. "Your scheme might just save all our butts — excuse me, Miss Flo — save our hides, if you can get Tucker to round up a couple of dozen men to cover the two of us when we get close to the river."

"I didn't plan to be the one to split off when I dreamed up this scheme," Longarm said. "But I can see you might be right in figuring the best way to work it out."

"There's only one weak spot I can see," Hill frowned. "Ma'am, can you handle a horse at a gallop over rough country?"

"I never had to, until now," Flo said. "But if I'm betting my life on whether I can or not, I'll do it one way or another."

"Flo's kept up so far," Longarm reminded them. "I ain't too worried about her staying right alongside of me."

"It's settled, then," Hill nodded. "We'll push on, and when the time comes, all of us will know what to do."

"And all we need to make things work," Longarm said, "is some nerve and good shooting and one hell of a lot of luck!"

Chapter 17

"How much farther is it?" Flo asked Longarm. They'd pulled up to give the horses a breather.

"Two hours. Maybe three." He squinted at the sun dipping now to the west, but still well above the humped tops of the Burro range. "You getting tired, Flo?"

"Some. But don't look for me to quit, Custis. I won't do that."

"Didn't figure you would, or you wouldn't be here."

They'd parted from Webster and Hill shortly after noon, at a rock outcrop that all of them agreed was the best defensive position they'd seen so far. The spot was on that single long spur of the Burros that pushes out far past the other rises of the foothills, and runs at an angle to the rest of the range. The spur, instead of lying generally north-south, slants off to the east, in the direction of the Rio Grande.

A fault in the rock had created a fortress in miniature that might have been planned by an engineer. Through the centuries, the crevasse had become filled with broken rock, then topped with rain-washed sand to create a firm, fairly level floor. The rock fissure was triangular, big enough to hold two horses and their riders and still leave room for them to move about. To the south and along the hump of the spur, the rock was unbroken, solid but slick. A horse could not keep its footing on it, and a man would be able to do so only with difficulty. The triangle that constituted the fort was deep enough to protect a horse or a standing man. Behind it, sheer, raw rock rose two hundred feet straight up. Except for the extension of the fissure that gave access to the triangle, there was no way for an attacker to approach it.

Captain Hill had been delighted from the instant they'd seen the place. "That's our spot, Nate! From behind that shelf, we can cover any approach the rurales might want to use."

"Except from behind us," the Ranger pointed out. "If they get a man or two up above us, shooting down, we're wide open."

Hill squinted along the face of the cliff. "I think there's enough of an overhang to shield us. I'll take the chance, if you will."

"Oh, I didn't say I'd back away from it," Webster said quickly. "Time's running out, and this is about the only place we've come to where we'd have a better than even chance."

"You might not have to make a fight at all," Longarm reminded them. "We've kept ahead, so far. You stay here about two or three hours. If they don't show up, ride for the river."

"I wouldn't bet we're going to get off that light," Webster said. "And I wouldn't want Ramos's outfit to get off, either. After what happened to John and me, we're both ready to sting 'em."

"Win, lose, or draw, then," Hill said, "this is where we stay. Three hours, Marshal. We'll guarantee you that much time."

"No," Longarm shook his head. "Don't set a limit, John. Just do your best if they catch up, but don't let 'em get you. If it gets too hot, you and Nate pull leather for Los Perros. We'll try to be ready. Just remember, Ramos ain't Santa Ana, and this place ain't the Alamo."

He and Flo had started off, and had ridden as fast as they dared push their horses without crippling them. Longarm kept a close lookout for familiar country. The trailless foothills were strange to him. The path taken by the rustled herd he'd followed south had avoided the higher country and moved along the narrow strip of flat land between the Burros and the Rio Grande. He'd set a course on a long slant that he'd confidently expected would intersect the rustlers' route. Once on that frail, he'd planned to follow it to the ford above Los Perros. He didn't want to risk a strange crossing; the Rio Grande's reputation for horse-swallowing quicksand beds in its shallows and tumbling, unpredictable currents in its deeper stretches was something he remembered from his earlier trip there. So far, though, there'd been no sign of the rustlers' route.

Now, looking as far ahead as possible from the slight elevation of the ridgeline they'd been following, he still saw nothing that resembled the terrain he'd noted on his way south. He pressed his knees to Tordo's ribs, and found that the gray was breathing easily, no longer panting. Flo's Mexican mount seemed to have eased, too.

"We've given 'em all the time we can spare," he told her. "We better be moving again." He picked up the reins from his saddle horn and was just about to nudge Tordo ahead when he saw the thin column of dust below and behind them. He called to Flo, "Hold up!"

"What's wrong? Did you see something?"

"Dust devil, maybe. It's hard to tell what the wind's doing in country like this." He kept his eyes on the smudge that rose low into the harsh blue sky. The thin cloud wasn't acting the way a dust devil ought to. Those miniature whirlwinds rose fast, moved erratically, and died quickly. This one was moving slowly and kept hanging in the sky. There wasn't enough dust to mark a lot of riders, though, he thought.

Anxiously, Flo asked, "Is that the dust devil, right there?" She pointed.

"That's what I'm looking at. Only I'm damn sure now it ain't a dust devil. It's riders."

"How many?" she asked. Then, as soon as she realized how impossible her question was to answer, she added, "I'm sorry. That was a silly thing to ask."

"For all you know, my eyes might be sharper than yours. But whoever it is or however many, they're still too far off to see."

"You think they're Ramos's men, Custis?"

"Likely as not. Nate and John wouldn't be down on the flat there. They'd be trailing us." Then, as an afterthought, Longarm added, "Unless they're being chased. But if they were, there'd be two dusts instead of just one."

"It's sort of like a Chinese puzzle, isn't it?" Flo asked. "You've got to fit all the pieces together just right, to work it."

"I'm pretty sure I've worked this one. It's just about bound to be some rurales. Not many, only maybe three or four. My guess is that Ramos took up our tracks, figured where we was headed, and sent a few riders to cut us off."

"You think there are more on the trail we left?"

"That's about the only way to figure. Now we got something else to work out."

"What?"

"Whether we want to let them hombres down there go on past us, or try to stop 'em." Longarm saw that Flo didn't understand. He explained, "We let 'em get by, we don't have a fight right here and now, but we'll have one later on. They'll go on to the ford and set up an ambush."

"Which would be the easiest? Now, or later?"

"It's six of one, half a dozen of the other. We've got a little better position now. Later we won't know where they might jump us." Flo didn't reply. She was, Longarm knew, waiting for him to decide. He made up his mind quickly. "Let's keep moving. Maybe we can find a place up ahead before they catch up that'll be better'n where we are now."

They started on down the slope. Longarm kept watching the dust cloud, which grew larger bit by bit as it came closer. He was also scanning the ground ahead, looking for a place that would offer them cover. The land across which they were passing was in the zone where the foothills merged into the narrow plain that almost at once became the river valley. There were no rock outcrops here, only a few shallow barrancas cut by rains cascading downslope during the wet season. The ground was baked hard, too hard for the hooves of their mounts to raise any dust, and while Longarm had no hope of finding a natural fortress like the one Nate and Hill had to shield them, he thought their presence might not be noticed while the approaching riders were still distant. Given time, he and Flo might find concealment.

He checked the dust cloud again. It hadn't changed direction. Their course and the one the unknown riders held to were still converging. He estimated that they'd come together within the next two or three miles. Then, the hump of the ridge down which they rode would no longer hide them from the other group. Somewhere before that distance was closed, he and Flo would have to find cover or risk odds he couldn't yet guess at in a stand-up fight. If he'd been alone, he thought, he'd have taken the odds, sight unseen. Having Flo with him changed things.

Down the slope just ahead, a little below the shoulder of the ridge, Longarm saw a strange angular patch. It was the only feature of an otherwise barren stretch of baked, arid earth. He glanced at the dust cloud again. As nearly as he could tell, their path and that of the unseen riders would intersect only a short distance beyond the strange formation ahead. He still wasn't sure what the patch was, but it was the only unusual feature in an otherwise featureless landscape. It might be an unusual rock formation, or even the foundation of a long-abandoned building. Whatever it was, it was the only thing he could see that promised cover.

Over the drumming of their horses' hooves, he shouted to Flo, pointing, "We'll make for that place there!"

She looked, saw what he was indicating, and nodded. Longarm turned Tordo and tried to get a bit more speed out of the dapple. Flo followed him as he led the way to the strange formation.

As they drew closer, Longarm could see that what had caught his attention wasn't a rock outcrop, but a heap of fallen trees. The water that had once nourished a grove had failed and the trees had died and toppled, crisscrossing one another. It wasn't much protection, only a half-dozen sun-bleached trunks, but it was better than nothing at all. With luck, the windfall would hide them from the oncoming riders. At worst, they'd provide a breastworks he'd have a chance of defending.

They reached the trees only seconds before the other horsemen rounded the foot of the ridge and came into sight. The tree trunks lay too low on the ground to hide the backs of their horses, but Longarm hoped the rurales — he was sure now that the strange riders had been sent by Ramos to cut them off from the river — would pass by without looking too closely in their direction.

He and Flo dismounted with no margin to spare. As they led their horses into the fallen trees, they saw the horsemen galloping across the plain at the bottom of the slope. There were only three of them. Longarm breathed an inward sigh of relief. Three to one were odds he might handle. For a moment, it looked as though the trio of riders would pass on without seeing them, but apparently they'd been pushing their mounts as hard as Longarm and Flo had been driving their own. The three reined in about two or three hundred yards distant from the fallen trees.

Longarm had taken his Winchester out of its saddle scabbard when they dismounted. He studied the three men, in clear sight now that a dust cloud no longer surrounded them. The look removed any doubt as to their identity. All three wore the charro suits that the rurales had adopted as a sort of unofficial uniform.

"Are you going to shoot them?" Flo asked, looking at Longarm's rifle.

"Not now. It might be smart if I did, though. It's either now or later, when we get closer to the river."

"It seems so — well, so cold-blooded. I mean, to shoot them when they're not shooting at us."

"If they see us, they'll be banging away soon enough. And three to one ain't odds exactly in our favor."

At that moment, the question of who'd start shooting first was settled without delay or debate. The rurales, getting ready to move ahead, were scanning the area all around them. Longarm could tell when one of the men spotted him. He gesticulated to his companions. The others swung in their saddles and gazed at the trees. They may have seen the horses' heads and rumps sticking up above the windfall. The three whipped their rifles around to free them from their shoulder slings and lead slugs began to slam into the free trunks that sheltered Flo and Longarm.

"Guess we were bound to come down to it," Longarm muttered.

He centered the sights of the Winchester on the midsection of the nearest rurale and squeezed off a shot. The slug went high. He saw it kick up dust beyond the riders.

"Damn it!" he swore.

"What's the matter?" Flo was suddenly alarmed.

"Ramos or somebody must've monkeyed with my sights." He spoke while he was aiming again, making allowance for the change. This time his bullet went home. The rurale dropped from his saddle and lay still.

A fresh volley from the other two splatted into the frees, and a stray slug or two whistled overhead. The rurales were firing as fast as they could lever shells into the chambers of their guns. Flo was trembling. Longarm grabbed her and pulled her to the ground. After another shot or two, the firing from below stopped abruptly.

"Do you think they've gone?" Flo asked. The sudden ending of the gunfire had its effect on her voice. Even though their attackers were too far away to hear her, she whispered.

"Not a chance. I stopped shooting. They figure they've put me down. Soon as they can see us, they'll start up again."

Longarm raised his head above the tree trunks for a quick look. The riders below had thrown the body of their companion over his saddle and were disappearing around the shoulder of the ridge.

"Smart sons of bitches!" Longarm growled.

"What're they doing?"

"Just what I'd do, if it was me down below there. Pulling back around the shoulder, where I can't see 'em."

"But they can't see us either, can they?"

"No. But they can cut up the other side of the hump and get above us. Or split up, one come at us from the shoulder, the other one from below. That'd catch us in a cross fire."

Longarm wasted no time making up his mind. While he shoved fresh shells into the Winchester's magazine, he told Flo, "Now you do exactly what I tell you to." She nodded, her eyes wide. "I'm going to take a sneak up that shoulder. Here." He handed her his Colt. "You keep watch down below, there where they were before. If you see one of 'em coming around the shoulder, let go one shot at him. Just one, you understand?"

"Custis, I've never shot a pistol in my life."

"That don't matter. The rurale won't know that. And I don't expect you to hit anything. I couldn't myself, with a pistol at that kind of range. All I want to do is keep him down there."

"What if he doesn't stay there, though?"

"Shoot again. But watch your shots, mind? Only one at a time; you only got five. If he keeps coming, you wait till he's close enough for you to count his whiskers. Then just point the gun at his belly, like you would your finger, and pull the trigger."

"Is that this little lever here? And don't I have to do something called cocking it?"

"No. Just pull." He placed the gun in her hands and showed her how to hold it. "Now. Think you can do it?"

"I can sure as hell try." She shook her head determindly. "No. I'll do better than try. I'll hit him!"

"Good girl! Now duck down and stay down except when you raise up for a quick look."

Longarm started up the ridge. He was pretty sure the two remaining rurales would waste a little time discussing what to do, and he figured he had an edge of two or three minutes on them. He didn't slow himself down by crawling, but ran up the slope and toward the hump, his boot soles slipping now and then on the baked earth.

When he neared the crest of the shoulder, Longarm slowed down. He dropped flat and began snaking forward. At the top of the rising ground he moved even more cautiously, holding his rifle as ready as he could and edging ahead by inches. The ridge wasn't sharply defined. Its top was rounded, not angular, and when he reached the end of the rise, inches from the slope on the other side, Longarm took time to adjust his rifle in his hands so that he could fire instantly. Then he raised himself to his knees and looked.

He and the rurale saw each other at the same time. The Mexican was crawling up the opposite slope, just as Longarm had climbed up his side. The difference was that the rurale had chosen to sling his rifle across his shoulders and crawl up on hands and knees. The difference cost him his life. Longarm's Winchester was ready. His slug shattered the rurale's face while he was still trying to get his rifle free. The man lurched forward and lay still.

A shot from below kicked up dust inches from Longarm's side. He dropped flat and peered cautiously over the hump. The rurale trio had stopped in the shelter of the shoulder as soon as they'd gotten out of sight of the free trunks where Flo and Longarm had holed up. Then the man Longarm had just killed had started up the ridge to get above the free trunk bastion. Longarm's shot had wounded the man he'd hit, but hadn't killed him. The injured man lay on the ground, the third of the rurales bending over him, bandaging him. When they'd heard the shot that finished their companion, the unwounded rurale had started shooting, using his pistol. Now, Longarm saw, he was going after his rifle.

Before Longarm could get off a shot, the wounded rurale clawed his pistol out and began shooting. The range was too great for his slugs to carry, and they fell short. By now, the unwounded rurale had his rifle in his hands. Longarm snapshotted without aiming, and though he missed, both men rolled behind the protection of their horses.

Longarm held his fire when his targets disappeared. The slope rose too abruptly for the rurales to fire from below the bellies of their mounts, but as long as they stayed behind the horses, Longarm couldn't put a slug into them. It was a standoff, but Longarm had been in standoffs before, situations where the first man who moved or exposed himself became an automatic target for his enemy's shot. Keeping his Winchester ready, Longarm studied the layout.

There wasn't much time for decision, he knew that. In just a few seconds the rurales would take advantage of their numbers.

On count, both of them would step around the ends of the horses and present Longarm with two targets, giving him a choice of one, leaving him a target for the other man. The thought of retreating behind the ridge didn't enter Longarm's mind. He saw his only chance, and took it without hesitation.

Allowing for the change somebody'd made in the Winchester's sights, Longarm aimed at the rump of one of the horses and fired. Before the wounded animal had stopped bucking and started running, he'd levered a fresh round into the chamber and pumped lead into the hindquarters of another of the beasts. The third horse saved him the trouble of wounding it. When its companions began rearing and whinnying, it bolted, with the wounded ones close behind.

Longarm used the shell he'd pumped in the chamber to knock down the rurale who was raising his rifle. The wounded man had just bent down to pick his rifle up from the ground when Longarm's next slug knocked him the rest of the way. Neither of the men gave any sign of movement, but Longarm waited with his rifle ready until he was sure they wouldn't. Then he reloaded.

His face grim, Longarm took careful aim at one of the prone men and squeezed off the shot. The body twitched when the slug hit. He stooped carefully, slowly, keeping his eyes on the other rurale, and picked up a cartridge case from the ground. Using it as a screwdriver, he adjusted the Winchester's rear sight. He lined up the buck-horn and the front sight on the form of the rurale who'd been wounded and saw the lead hit true. It wasn't a job he enjoyed doing, but he couldn't risk one of the men playing possum until he'd picked his way down the slope and surprising him with a belly-shot at point-blank range. He watched the two figures for a long moment. When neither of them moved, he started back to the windfall and Flo.

She was waiting, trying to look calm and hide her apprehension. "What happened?" she asked. "I heard the shooting, and then it stopped, and after a while there were some more shots, and I imagined all sorts of terrible things. I was afraid you might be~" She couldn't get the last word out.

"Dead?" Longarm asked her gently. She began trembling in delayed reaction to the strain she'd been under. He took her in his arms and held her for a moment until her shaking stopped. He kissed her before pulling out his soiled and wadded bandanna and wiping away the tears that were welling from her eyes.

"Come on. Let's sit down a minute. Everything's all finished.

Don't fret yourself about it anymore." He led her to one of the free trunks and they sat side by side, Flo leaning on Longarm, his arms holding her. After a while she sighed and pulled a little away from him. But when she turned her face to him, she'd started to smile.

"I thought I was a pretty hard-boiled dame," she said. "I guess you've figured by now that my life hasn't been a lot of cream puffs and talcum powder. Most of the time I can take a man or leave him alone. If I want something bad enough, I can even put up with a man I don't much like. And even if I like him, I can kiss him good-bye without it bothering me. But damn you, Custis Long! You're different!"

"Now, you're just all upset, in a place that's pretty rough and strange to you. From what you've let on, you must've had a real rough time lately, too. After you get used to me, you'll find I'm just as ornery as any other man that wears britches."

"Like hell you are." Flo kissed him hard. "You're not like any man I've ever met before."

"Look out, now. You're going to make me proud, and if there's one thing I can't put up with it's a man that's vain." Before she could continue the conversation, he went on, "We can't take time to visit, Flo. We've got to get on with what we set out to do. Now, I got one more chore to do down there at the bottom of this hill. You take your time about coming down there to meet me. What I've got to do's something you don't want to see."

He rode Tordo up the hump and down the other side to where the dead rurales lay, stopping at the midpoint of the downslope to pick up the rifle and pistol of the man he'd shot first. The unwounded horse that had bolted wasn't too far away; Longarm hazed him easily back to where the two dead men lay. He loaded their weapons and ammunition belts on the spare horse, tying them with its saddle strings. For all he knew, Ramos's main force might have wiped out Nate and John and be riding fast for the river.

With the captured horse on a lead, Longarm and Flo set off again at a gallop toward the Rio Grande and Los Perros. The clanking of the weapons that had belonged to the dead rurales rang in their ears, a constant reminder that the shooting wasn't over yet.

Chapter 18

"Well," Longarm told Flo, pointing across the slick, green, rolling surface of the Rio Grande, "there it is. That's Los Perros."

She grimaced. "It doesn't look like much."

"No. And when you come right down to it, it ain't much. But it's all we've got to lean on." Longarm nudged Tordo and the tired dapple moved slowly through the chamizal toward the ford that was still a short distance upstream. Flo followed after. Longarm said, "It's better'n nothing at all, I'd say. But we might still have to do a lot of leaning to get Sheriff Tucker to do what we got to make him do."

They'd hit the river at midafternoon, and with the stream as a landmark, Longarm had quickly located the rustlers' trail that led them to the ford. Nothing had happened after the brush with the rurales. They'd ridden across the plain that sloped gently down to the river, and though they'd looked back often, they'd seen no sign of Nate Webster and John Hill. They could only assume that before nightfall the two men would arrive, and that Ramos and his rurales would be there a little later.

Longarm led the way across the ford and turned south on the sandspit. When they reached the shanties and entered the town, the little procession they made drew stares from everyone who saw it. Longarm led on the gray, his chin stubbled with a week's beard, his frock coat ripped in several places and stained with the grime of the trail. The rurale horse was next, festooned with rifles and pistol belts and bandoliers. Flo brought up the rear, her blond hair streaming down her back, her flared skirt draped over her horse, as badly stained as Longarm's coat.

As much as he felt like stopping at Miles Baskin's saloon for a comforting drop of Maryland rye, Longarm rode around the building and reined in at the hitching rail in front of the sheriff's office. Wahonta, the Apache girl, was standing beside the door. She looked at the riders with her opaque obsidian eyes, her face expressionless.

"Is Tucker inside?" Longarm asked.

"Yes. Him there," Wahonta said. She stood aside to let Longarm and Flo enter.

When he saw Longarm and Flo, Sheriff Tucker's eyes goggled. "Custis? Where the billy-blue-hell you been? I've had Spud and Ralston out looking for you the past three-four days, now."

"Had to make a little sashay over the river," Longarm said shortly. "To save you asking, this lady's Miss Florence Firestone. From New York. Flo, this is Sheriff Tucker."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss. You're a friend of Mr. Custis's, I take it?"

Longarm had briefed Flo on the situation they'd be stepping into at Los Perros. She didn't blink an eyelid when she replied, "I am now, Sheriff. He rescued me from a very unpleasant situation."

"Welcome to Los Perros, then, Miss Firestone. Any way I can he'p you, just call on me." Tucker laid the Southern gallantry on a bit thicker than Longarm remembered having seen him show it before. The sheriff returned his attention to Longarm. "You ain't the only one missing, either. You wouldn't happen to know anything about my deputy, Lefty? He dropped outa sight about the same time you did."

"Wish I could say I'd brought him back with me, Sheriff, but I can't. You'll have to find him yourself, I'm afraid."

Tucker's eyes narrowed. "If he don't come back soon, I'm goin' to be a man short. Remember what we talked about the other day? You was goin' to think on it."

"I've been too busy with my regular job to do much thinking."

"That railroad figurin' on building into Mexico, too, is it? You didn't mention that, Custis."

"Let's say I had my reasons." Longarm winked. He didn't know what reasons the sheriff's crooked mind would dream up, but that didn't matter much. He went on, "Right now, we've got a spot of trouble that I'm going to ask you to help out with."

"I don't go back on my word. I told you that since we're going to do business together, I'd he'p you any way I can. What kind of trouble you talkin' about?"

"Well, in about two or three hours, maybe less, there's going to be a bunch of Porfirio Diaz's rurales come galloping up, and they'll be after my hide. Miss Firestone's, too."

Flo said sweetly, "And you said you'd help me, too, Sheriff. Just a minute ago, remember?"

Tucker whistled. "Rurales? You mean you got crossways of 'em while you was over there?"

"Afraid I did. Now, my guess is that the rurales won't pay much attention to that river. They'll be mad and mean, and if you let them get into Los Perros, you're not going to have much of a town left when they get through."

"What d'you expect me to do? I got two men, with Lefty gone."

"You'll have to muster up a bunch of special deputies. If I was in your place, I'd deputize every man I could, and stop 'em cold on their side of the river."

"Hold on, Custis! Damn it, you're askin' me to start a war with Mexico!"

"No, I wouldn't put it that way. If you line enough men up on our side of the river, the rurales won't cross. I don't imagine they'd want it said that Mexico started a war, either. The thing is, you're the duly constituted authority here. It's your duty not to let those rampaging hombres come into your town."

Longarm could see that his cool, matter-of-fact way was baffling Tucker. That was what he'd set out to do. Getting the sheriff off balance, convincing him that his help was in his own interest and not a life-or-death matter to Longarm had been his objective from the beginning.

Tucker said, "Look here, Custis, I better find out what you been doin' over in Mexico before I start a fight with them rurales. For all I know, you might've broke some of their laws, maybe be a fugitive from justice. If that's so, the rurales might have some kind of right to come over here after you."

"Sheriff, your rights stop at the river, don't they?"

"Well, sure, I guess that's so."

"Then, damn it, theirs stop on the Mexican side. And, like I mentioned, if a bunch like that comes storming into town, you're not going to have a town left here. Now, if you don't~"

Longarm's argument was interrupted when the jail door swung open. Spud, Tucker's chief deputy, came swaggering out. He started talking before he saw Longarm.

"Ed, that little greaser bitch don't know a thing about Custis. I had to knock her around a little bit~" He saw Longarm and his words faded out. His eyes stuck out even farther than had Tucker's. "Damn you, Custis! Where you been? And what'd you do with Lefty? I know damn well~"

Tucker cut Spud short. "Shut up! I already asked him about Lefty. He don't know any more'n you and me does."

"I want to know something about who you've been knocking around back in that jail, though," Longarm told Spud coldly. "Far as I know, there's just one woman in Los Perros you might think'd know something about me." Spud didn't answer. Longarm raised his voice and called, "Lita! That you back there?"

"Coos-tees?" It was Lita's voice coming from the cells. "Ay, que milagro! I know you come when you find out I am here!"

Longarm turned to face Spud. "If I find you've hurt that girl~"

"You'll do what?" Spud challenged. He'd stepped into the office now, and stood facing Longarm across the room. "You know, Custis, I think it's time you found out I'm a better man than you are!"

"Wait a minute!" Tucker shouted. He let the air cool for a few seconds before saying, "You two banty roosters quit shaking your combs. Spud, Custis tells me there's a bunch of rurales on their way here to haul him back to Mexico."

"Let 'em!" the deputy snapped. "We'll be well rid of him!"

"Shut up, Spud!" Tucker ordered for the second time. "Bad feelin's between you and him is one thing. But if them rurales wants Custis bad enough to cross the river to git him, they're goin' to be in a mood to tear this town apart."

Spud obviously hadn't thought of this. He scratched his head. "Well, Ed, what d'you think we better do?"

"We better be ready to stand 'em off. Them rurales don't much listen to reason, unless there's guns backin' it up."

"For this worthless chawbacon? I tell you one thing, I don't aim to stick my neck out to save his!" Spud blustered.

"It ain't Custis worryin' me," Tucker said. "We put a lot of time into settin' ourselves up here. I don't aim to see it busted up. It ain't Custis we'd be helpin', man! It's us!"

"No, by God!" Spud shot back. "We don't have to fight them greasers! All we got to do is grab Custis and hand him over!"

"You figure to do the grabbing, Spud?" Longarm's voice was mild, almost casual. He might have been asking the deputy about the weather.

Lita's voice called again from the jail, "Coos-tees? Why you don' come help me? I don' feel so good."

Longarm took a half-step toward the jail door.

"Custis!" Spud yelled, "I warned you!"

As he spoke, the deputy's hand swooped for his revolver. He almost reached it before Longarm's Colt barked once. Spud crumpled. As he folded to the floor, Flo screamed and Tucker half rose from his chair.

"I'd sit right back down, Tucker, if I was you." Longarm's voice was suddenly as steely as his eyes.