Longarm on the Border

"Jesus God!" Tucker breathed. He sagged back into his chair. "I thought Spud had a fast gun hand!"

Flo hadn't screamed after her first involuntary cry. Her eyes were fixed on the deputy's body. She said, disbelief in her voice, "You — you killed him!"

"He needed it," Longarm told her. To get Flo busy and keep her mind off the shooting, he said, "Do me a favor, Flo. Go back to the jail and see if that girl needs help. Tucker, where's the keys kept?"

"On — on a peg just inside the door."

Longarm continued, "If she's been beat up, get hold of that Apache girl we passed on the way in. Wahonta's her name. She'll get hot water and cloths and whatever else you need."

"You mean that man you shot was beating a helpless girl?" Flo asked.

"You heard him admit it."

"Well! If that's the kind he was, I'm glad you shot him!" Flo bounced across the room with long indignant steps and disappeared into the jail.

Longarm said to Tucker, "Well, make up your mind, man! Damn it, time's getting short!"

While Tucker was still grappling with his indecision, Ralston burst through the door. Miles Baskin was right behind him.

"Fellow run in the saloon," Ralston panted. "Said there was shooting here when he passed by!" He saw Spud's body. "Who done it, Ed?"

"Custis. But it was a square facedown. Spud wasn't fast enough."

Ralston looked at Longarm, who presented a face from which all expression had been carefully removed. After a moment, the deputy said, "Can't say I'm surprised. Spud didn't bother to keep it a secret that he was after you."

"A man's a fool to carry grudges," Longarm said by the way of a reply. "Sometimes they get in the way of his good sense."

Tucker said to Baskin, "Miles, I'm real glad you're here. Custis tells me we're due for some trouble."

Without appearing to be interested, Longarm took careful note of the interchange between Tucker and Baskin. It wasn't yet time to let the saloonkeeper know that Lefty had involved him in the rustling ring as well as tagging him as Tucker's secret boss. Getting the ground cleared for Webster and Hill to get safely across the river and setting up a defense against Ramos's men was the first order of business.

"What kind of trouble?" Baskin asked. "And how do I come into it? You're the sheriff, Ed. You're supposed to handle trouble."

"This is a sorta special kind," Tucker explained. "Custis got crossways of the rurales while he was across the river. There's a bunch of 'em ridin' here to take him back, he says."

"Well? Why tell me?" Baskin asked impatiently. He seemed to be bothered by the sight of Spud's body; he kept looking at it and then glancing away quickly.

"You don't understand, Miles!" Tucker's voice now carried a note of pleading. "If the rurales bust in here, they won't stop till they find Custis, and if they don't find him right off, they'll rip Los Perros from asshole to appetite. And then the army'll be in, and maybe the Rangers, and maybe federal marshals. It'll be one big stinkin' mess!"

"Um. I see what you're driving at," Baskin nodded with a frown. "Well, the answer's pretty damn plain, Ed. Arrest Custis and hand him over to the greasers. Then they'll go home and leave us alone."

"That's what Spud said," Longarm remarked quietly.

Baskin gulped. He looked again at the dead deputy, then at Longarm. He made no reply to Longarm's comment.

As though the saloonkeeper hadn't spoken, the sheriff told him, "Custis wants us to get some men together and keep the rurales on their side of the river."

"What men?" Baskin demanded.

Without giving Tucker a chance to reply, Longarm said, "You, for one, Baskin. I expect you can handle a gun well enough for a job like this. And we'll want everybody you've got working for you in the saloon: barkeeps, card dealers, swampies, everybody."

"Why should I put my people in danger?" Baskin challenged him.

"Maybe to save their own skins, Baskin. And yours, of course. You see, the sheriff's only got one deputy now, with Lefty gone and Spud dead. He's going to have to deputize a lot of men for this."

"Well, let him," Baskin bridled.

"You understand that if the sheriff deputizes a man who refuses to take on the job, that fellow goes to jail." Longarm was drawling his words out slowly now, and Baskin was beginning to get angry.

"Fine. That's where they belong."

"Glad you think so." Longarm turned to Tucker. "Sheriff, you can start by deputizing me and Baskin, here. Then, if he balks at being sworn in, I'll arrest him for you."

Tucker had already started to rise from his chair when Baskin's angry bellow froze him. "Ed! Why in hell are you letting this man take things over? You know, I've got a good mind~"

Tucker interrupted. "Now, Miles, don't say anything you might be sorry for. Custis ain't running things. I am."

"See that you do, then!" Baskin snorted.

Longarm suggested, "The sheriff might make you a deal, Baskin. If I was in his place, I would. Maybe if you let him have the men that work for you, he'll let you off from being deputized."

"Now that's fair enough, Miles," Tucker said. "How about it?"

Grudgingly, Baskin nodded. "If it'll get this fellow off my back, I'll send my crew over."

"With guns," Longarm stipulated. "I expect you got enough that your bouncer's took off drunks or that you've took in trade for drinks, to fit 'em out."

"All right, damn it! I'll see they've got weapons," Baskin growled. Then he said to Tucker, "Ed, I'll talk to you about all this later on!" He stamped out of the office.

"Well, there's the start of your posse," Longarm said to the sheriff. "Now if you and Ralston can round up a few more~"

Tucker was still too stunned to reply. Ralston answered, "Oh, we can find enough men, Custis. Guns, that's another thing."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, you see, to cut down on gunplay and general meanness, we grabbed all the guns from the people a few years ago."

"And left your damn town wide open to any crew of gunmen who might ride by? Well, I've got three rifles and pistols and shells for 'em on that horse outside. You can start with those. And I'd guess the sheriff can dig up a few more, somewhere."

"I — I guess I can. We saved a few of the best ones," Tucker volunteered. "You go round up some men, Ralston. I better stay and swear in Miles's people, when they come over."

"Sure," Ralston agreed. But he looked to Longarm instead of to the sheriff when he asked, "How many you think we'll need, Custis?"

"How many will Baskin send over?"

"Well," Ralston said, then frowned. "He's got four barkeeps and three cardsharks and two swampies. Of course, the swampies is Mexicans~"

"That won't matter. That's nine. I'd say another dozen."

Ralston asked Tucker, "That sound right to you, Ed?"

"Yes. And get started, damn it! If Custis is right, we ain't got too much time!" When Ralston had left, the sheriff said to Longarm, "You damned near got us all in trouble, Custis. But I got to say, I admired the way you made Miles tucker down to you. Now, listen, you and me have got to work out a deal. I want you to take Spud's place, be my good right arm, so to speak."

"We'll talk after the rurales leave," Longarm told him. "But I don't mind telling you, what I say's going to depend on what happens when they get here."

"Now don't you worry. I'm goin' to put you in charge of the posse. How's that sound?"

"Good enough. When Baskin's men get here, you send 'em to the sandspit north of town."

"Where the ford is?"

"That's the place. I'm going there just as soon as I check up on Flo and Lita."

He went into the jail. Lita and Flo were sitting side by side on the low bunk in the last cell. There was a bruise on Lita's cheek, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. She jumped up and wrapped her arms around Longarm's neck.

"Coos-tees! I think you maybe don' come back! I am worry," she said, kissing him soundly.

"You take a look, you'll see I'm all here." Longarm smiled over Lita's shoulder at Flo, who was looking amused. "How is she?"

Flo replied, "She's fine, except for that place on her cheek. You know, Custis, I've really got to hand it to you. You beat any damned sailor who ever walked a deck."

"You mad at me?" he asked her.

"Oh, hell, no! Matter of fact, I think you're a pretty good picker. Lita saw you first; you might say I just came along accidentally. " She cocked her head thoughtfully and added, "And it's one accident I don't regret. I think we're pretty much alike, you and me. No, I don't mind one bit."

"Good. I was hoping you'd see it that way." Now Longarm grew serious. He took the derringer out of his vest pocket and removed the watch from the chain. "Them rurales ought to be here soon, the way I figure it. I've got to be down at the river to meet 'em. This is about the safest place I know of for the two of you, so you stay right here." He handed the derringer to Flo. "Don't be afraid to use this, if you have to, in case there's trouble." He showed Flo how to use the weapon, kissed her and Lita soundly, and said, "I'll be back to get you after a while."

After he'd mounted Tordo and started for the sandspit, Longarm dropped the insolently calm attitude he'd been careful to maintain with Sheriff Tucker. His jaw was set; a furrow formed between his eyebrows. Somehow, there had to be a way to keep a shooting match from breaking out between Ramos's rurales and the posse that he hoped would be on hand to meet them. Longarm had seen enough of the ponderous mechanism of federal bureaucracy to know what would happen to a deputy U.S. marshal who'd created a serious border clash with a country that was technically friendly.

Old son, he told himself, they say that new federal pen at Leavenworth's a pretty fancy place, but I got no hankering to put in the next twenty years enjoying whatever view I'd get from a cell in it.

Except for a few long-billed herons looking for frogs in the lagoon on the U.S. side of the Rio Grande, the sandspit was deserted when he reined Tordo to a halt at the water's margin. He was getting edgy. The two-hour lead he and Flo had gained when Webster and Hill remained behind was all but gone. He began worrying about the Ranger and the captain now, and out of habit reached into his pocket for a cheroot before remembering he'd been without for a week. It was, he thought, the only time he'd ever succeeded in quitting the damn weeds.

Even the arrival of Ralston with the score of volunteers he'd assembled didn't ease Longarm's worry about Webster and Hill. He carried it with him while he helped the deputy space out the men in the semblance of a skirmish line, putting those with the best rifles in the center, those with shotguns nearest the river, those with ancient single-shot Martini and Remington rolling-block rifles at the ends. He'd begun to think about crossing into Mexico himself and trying to backtrack in an effort to turn up Hill and Webster when a shout sounded from the men closest to the channel.

"Here they come! Get ready to give 'em hell, boys!"

Weapons were lifted to shoulders along the line. Longarm kept his eyes on the chamizal, which still hid the men on the horses whose hoofbeats were growing louder above the soft murmur of the Rio Grande's opalescent water. The riders burst through the brush and started down the bank. Longarm let go the deep breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"Don't anybody shoot!" he called. "These fellows are on our side!"

Webster and Hill urged their stumbling horses across the shallow ford. They saw Longarm and managed to persuade their mounts to make the few final yards necessary to reach him.

Hill surveyed the ragged line of men and said dryly, "You'd never make drillmaster in my outfit, Marshal. But I will say, I'm damned glad to see you've got a greeting squad."

"How far behind are Ramos and his bunch?" Longarm asked.

"Maybe a mile or two," Webster answered. "We been trying every trick in the book to shake 'em, but they've stuck like patent glue."

"How many men's he got?" Longarm tried to keep his voice as casual as Hill's had been, but his anxiety seeped through.

"He's down to about sixteen, now," Hill said. "That's four less than he had when he caught up with us."

"Flo and me took out three that he'd sent to cut off the river crossing," Longarm told him. "I'd say Ramos ain't too happy right about now."

A bit impatiently, the cavalryman asked, "Well, what's your battle plan? Do we shoot on sight, or wait for the rurales to get in the first volley?"

"I been telling these boys not to touch a trigger till I say so," Longarm replied. "I guess that's about the best I've come up with. What's your idea, John?"

"Improve our position," Hill said promptly. "We're too exposed. The rurales can take cover in the chamizal and cut us to pieces. At least we can dig some rifle pits."

Hoofbeats sounding from across the river wrote an end to the captain's suggestion. Longarm said, "Sounds like we're too late for that. I guess it comes down now to who shoots first. What I'm hoping is that Ramos won't have any more of a mind to set off a war than we will."

"Calculated risk," Hill observed. "Worth taking, most times."

"I'd appreciate it if you and Nate would sorta separate and each one of you take charge of part of the men. I got the sheriff's only deputy holding down the middle, but you two've got more savvy about things like this than he has."

Hill and Webster started moving before he'd quite finished speaking. Longarm threw a leg over Tordo and settled into the saddle. The attention of the defenders was concentrated on the chamizal. The hoofbeats from the Mexican side of the river were loud and distinct now. Longarm nudged the dapple's sides and guided him into the ford. In midstream, he pulled up and waited.

His wait was short. Seconds after he'd gotten into position, the chamizal erupted rurales. The strip of shingle at the water's edge was filled with them, it seemed. Longarm saw Molina near the center of the rurale line, but there was no sign of Ramos. He was about to hail the sergeant when Ramos burst through the brush and rode down to the river. He didn't pull rein until his horse's front hooves were in the water.

"Que pasa? " he demanded of Molina. "Porque no~" He stopped when the sergeant pointed to the line of rifles and shotguns aimed at them from the sandspit. Then Ramos saw Longarm.

"Maldito gringo cabron! Hijo de puta!" he shouted. He turned to his men. "Adelante! Conmigo!"

Along the rurale line, the men brought up their rifles.

"Ramos!" Longarm shouted. "Hold on! If you don't want to start another war, you better tell your men not to shoot!"

Ramos didn't reply, but he did not give his men orders to fire.

Though the rurales' faces were in the afternoon shadow, Longarm could see the struggle that was going on in Ramos's mind. He waited, not sure what the decision was going to be.

Ramos finally decided. "Quedarse!" he ordered his men. "No tiran!"

Along the line, the rurales slowly brought their gun muzzles down. On the sandspit, the motley band commanded by Longarm did the same thing. For the moment, at least, Longarm relaxed.

Chapter 19

"Now you're being smart, Ramos," Longarm said. He watched the rurales as, one by one, the men rested their weapons across their saddles. "Sorta surprises me. It's the first thing I seen you do that's halfway bright."

"Cuidado, gringo!" Ramos warned. "You keep make to me the insults with your dirty tongue, I come with my knife and cut it out of your head!"

"Now, that ain't your style. You're soft as a pig's turd without a bunch of your men to back you up."

"I don't tell you again, hombre! You go on, I tell my brave rurales to shoot!"

"You do that, Ramos! Mexico's never won a war yet. Texas beat you once, the U.S. beat you once; it'll be easy to do it again. So if you want to start the next war, just tell your men to let off one shot!"

"Now you insult my country and my men, too! I do not warn you again, cabron!"

"Oh, you got a right to be proud of them chickens you call men! Shit! They couldn't all of 'em hold on to three of us, even when they had us locked up! How the hell you think they could stand up to my men over there?"

"You play a gringo trick on us!" Ramos retorted. He was beginning to tremble with repressed anger. "Why you don't fight like men, not like old wrinkle-up viejas?"

"It wouldn't take more'n three old women to send your bunch off yelping," Longarm said. He was beginning to wonder how much longer the rurale captain would hold on to himself. "You had just one woman, but you couldn't keep her from walking away!"

"Bastardo! You are steal mi rubia! I make you pay for this!"

"I didn't steal her, Ramos. She couldn't wait to get shed of you. She told me you got no cojones."

"That is all!" Ramos shouted. He turned to his men, who'd been growing increasingly restless as their captain talked endlessly and angrily with the Norteamericano on the dappled horse. Ramos ordered, "Tome sus fusiles!"

Eagerly, the rurales brought up their guns again.

Longarm lifted his rifle and let off a shot in the air. Ramos swiveled quickly in his saddle. His men awaited the order to shoot.

Longarm used the phrase he'd been working on in case he needed to use it. "Parase! No tiran, o empeza una guerra!" The rurales hesitated, and some of them began to lower their weapons. In a low voice Longarm said to Ramos, "You better listen to me, hombre. We got a platoon from Captain Hill's cavalry halfway here by now. If just one of your men pulls a trigger, them soldiers will chase your outfit clear to Mexico City. How'd Porfirio Diaz like that, Ramos?"

Ramos's face showed that he had no taste for a fight with the cavalry regulars. At the same time, he couldn't afford to let this gringo shame him in front of the rurales.

Longarm sensed that the time had come to press him. "Act like you have some brains, Ramos! Get them billygoats of yours outa here before we knock the shit outa them!"

"No! My men do not retreat!"

"That's all they know how to do! All you know, too! Like the blonde said, you got no balls!"

"This is too much insult! Now you pay!" Ramos's hand started for his pistol, but stopped when Longarm twitched the Winchester's barrel. Staring into the muzzle, Ramos froze. He said, "You talk big, gringo federalista. What kind of cojones you got? Enough to fight me, mano a memo?"

"Well, now," Longarm tried to put uncertainty in his voice and hoped he was succeeding, "I ain't so sure that'd prove much."

"It will prove I am better man than you! You are afraid, no?"

"No." Longarm drawled out the word. "But there's not much of anything for either one of us in it." He added thoughtfully, "Unless we make a deal that'll settle this thing."

"You want a bargain, no? I will make you one, then. Listen to me, gringo! We fight. If I kill you, I get the other two gringos and la rubia, they come back with me. If I am lose, my rurales don't start the war. They go home. Es agradable?"

Hesitantly, Longarm said, "I guess I let you talk me into it. All right. What kind of fight you want? Fists? Knives? Pistols?"

"Fists are for gringo pigs! Knives are for peones! We fight, you and me, like caballeros, como soldados! With pistols, hombre! "

"Suits me." Having gotten what he wanted, Longarm decided to try for some frills. "You tell your men to pile up their guns on the bank and stay away from 'em. I'll tell mine to do the same thing. If you and me're going to settle this by ourselves, there ain't no use in taking a chance some hothead'll turn it into a free-for-all."

Ramos thought for a moment, then nodded. "De acuerdo. "

"Now, then. Where're we going to do it? On the sand, over there? It's a good clear space." He pointed to the wide expanse of river sand on the spit below the ford.

"Is as good as any place," the rurale agreed.

"Let's get on with it then!"

"No!" Ramos jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the setting sun. "It will be too dark by the time we are ready. Otra cosa, if we fight now, you have the advantage over me. I have ride hard today, you are fresh and rested. No, hombre. Tomorrow, when the sky is bright, before la salida del sol, the light will favor us equally. De verdad?"

"If that's how you want it," Longarm shrugged. "It don't matter to me whether I kill you today or wait till tomorrow."

"Ay! Que fanfarron! We will see, manana!"

Ramos turned his horse in the shallows at the edge of the bank. His men clustered around him, and Longarm could hear them excitedly questioning the captain. He stayed in the middle of the ford until the rurales drew away, into the chamizal, to camp for the night. Then he turned Tordo and walked the gray to the sandspit. Hill and Webster reached him first.

"That was some hell of a long talk you had with Ramos," Webster said. "What was it all about?"

"Couldn't you hear?" Longarm asked.

Hill said, "I was down at the far end on one side. All I could get was a word now and then, when you two were shouting."

"About the same with me," Webster nodded. "I figured you must've had some pretty strong things to say, to get him to pull his men back. They gone for good?"

"Oh, I imagine they'll be around awhile, yet."

"Well, tell us the whole story," Hill said impatiently. "I'm as curious as Nate to find out how you made him withdraw."

"I lied a little bit. Told him a platoon of your troopers was on the way here, to take on him and his bunch. He didn't like that idea very much." Then as as afterthought Longarm added, "Oh, and I agreed him and me'd shoot it out, man to man, just before sunup tomorrow."

"You did what?" Hill exploded.

"Now, we're right close together here, John. You couldn't've missed hearing me."

"You sure you can take him?" Webster asked soberly. "Some of the rurales are pretty good with a sixgun."

"Now, Nate, a man never does really know about a thing like that, does he?" Longarm asked. "But I'll take whatever chance there is."

"I'm not sure I approve of this," Hill frowned. "I'd rather get my troopers here, even if it means a night march. Let them handle things the army way."

"And maybe set off a war?" Longarm asked. "That's what we been trying not to do, John, remember? But I'd take it as a favor if you will back up my bluff, find somebody to ride to the fort with an order for 'em to come on. Then we'd know for sure there wouldn't be any trouble tomorrow."

"You're right. A show of force can stop most trouble before it gets under way," Hill replied. "I'll get that fellow Ralston to pick me out a messenger."

"We'd best set up a guard here at the ford tonight," Nate Webster suggested. "I don't trust rurales. Night raids are their style, you know."

"You do whatever you figure's best, Nate. Right now I'm mainly interested in a square meal and a good night's sleep in a real bed."

When Longarm got back to the sheriff's office, Tucker was nowhere to be seen. Longarm supposed he was back in the ell with Wahonta and decided not to disturb him. He went into the jail to tell the women it was now safe for them to go out. Lita was gone, but Flo was stretched out on the bunk, dozing.

"I thought I'd hear shooting if there was trouble," she said, "and I needed a nap. Lita left right after you did; she said something about having to help her mother serve supper. I tried to keep her, but she just wouldn't stay."

"No harm done, Flo. You must be about as starved as I am. Tell you what. Let's go out to where her mama cooks, and get supper."

"Before I eat, I want to clean up," Flo replied. "I'll enjoy supper a lot more if I get rid of a dozen layers of Mexican dirt first."

"That's easy. Lots of rooms vacant over at the saloon, and the porter'll get you a tub of hot water to bathe in. Rooms there ain't fancy like the hotel you got in New York, but the beds are better'n sleeping on the ground like we did last night."

Flo grinned at him. "I enjoyed it. Not so much the sleeping, but the lullabyes were wonderful."

"We'll have some more of them, for sure," he promised her. "I figure we better get to bed early. I got a busy day tomorrow."

Flo smiled again. "If that's an invitation for me to tuck you in, you already know I'm planning to do just that. I'll enjoy going to bed early, too, under the circumstances."

She didn't ask him why his day was going to be busy, and Longarm didn't elaborate.

While Flo bathed in the room next to his, Longarm asked for a pitcher of boiling water and a bottle of fine on to be sent up to his room while he waited for the tub. It was a common enough request in any frontier saloon that rented rooms. While he waited for Flo to finish her bath, Longarm stripped his Colt, poured boiling water through barrel and cylinder, swabbed the metal dry, and applied the lightest possible film of on to the hammer and trigger mechanism. When he reloaded, he chose each cartridge with meticulous care, inspecting it carefully before sliding it into a chamber. He sipped from his bottle of Maryland rye while he worked, and wished again for a cheroot.

He made quick work of bathing. Apologetically, the mozo who served the rooms told Longarm that he'd taken the liberty of taking the dirty shirt and longjohns that Longarm had left in the room "to la lavandera, senor, si no obedece" and was surprised at the size of the tip he received for the unsolicited service. When Flo tapped at the door, Longarm was ready. He'd shaved in the tub, donned fresh underwear, and though he hadn't been able to do anything about the rips his coat had gotten during the past few days, he'd shaken the dust out of it. Flo had brushed off her coat and jacket. As she remarked, "We'd be taken for bums on Fifth Avenue, but we don't look out of place in Los Perros."

Longarm escorted her to the stall where Lita's mother was cooking. Lita served them, her dark eyes flashing with suppressed anger every time she looked at Flo. The food was as tasty as Longarm remembered but the atmosphere was distinctly cool. Lita didn't talk with them beyond the most necessary remarks, and none of Longarm's mild jokes brought laughter to her lips. They hurried through the meal and started back to the hotel.

As they crossed the plaza, Flo said, "I guess I'm not the most popular person in the world with your little friend. Isn't she a bit young for you, Custis?"

"I was a little bit leery of her at first, but when push comes to shove, Lita don't act as young as she looks. Not that she's the woman you are." He looked at Flo curiously. "You ain't a bit jealous, are you?"

"No. I suppose it's not in my nature to be. Maybe because I've learned not to fall in love, I can see jealousy as a waste of energy. Don't worry about your little Mexican girl, Custis. I won't mind her one bit, as long as you give me all I want of you while we're together."

"You know I'm going to do that, honey. Fact is, I'm ready to start just as soon as we get by ourselves again."

"I can't wait, but I will. It'd attract too big a crowd if we let ourselves go right here in the middle of town."

As soon as Longarm locked the door of his room, Flo reached for him. "Now show me you meant what you said."

"We both got too many clothes on for me to prove it real good."

"You help me, I'll help you."

Longarm delayed following her suggestion only long enough to hang his gunbelt in its regular place at the head of the bed on the left-hand side.

They made a frolic of the undressing game, but it became something else when Longarm stood naked. It was the first time Flo had seen him undressed in a lighted room, and the scars he'd earned in scores of brushes with those on the wrong side of the law drew a gasp of dismay from her.

"My God! How can a man take so much punishment and still be healthy?"

"Oh, some of 'em slowed me down awhile. Didn't put me down for good though."

"I can see that." Her hand crept to his groin. "At least, I can see you're not down. Just the opposite." She stroked him gently. "And no scars where they might really have damaged you."

"And you haven't got a scar on you, have you?" Longarm ran his hands down Flo's lush body. He lingered over her breasts awhile, then stroked his hard palms down her waist to the satin skin of her hips and pulled her tightly to him, his erection between them, hard against her belly.

She wrapped her arms around him and began pulling him toward the bed. Just before they reached it she swung around so that Longarm toppled backward, with Flo on top of him. She raised her hips high to get him inside her and fell forward heavily, gasping with unconcealed delight as she felt him going deeper and deeper until their bodies were locked together and there was no more depth that he could seek. Squeezing tightly with the muscles in her buttocks, she began rotating her hips very slowly.

Longarm lay back and let Flo take her pleasure. She prolonged it as much as possible, stopping her hip rotations more and more often for shorter and shorter periods as she fell into the urging of her mounting ecstasy. Then, her blond hair streaming down to enclose Longarm's head and shoulders in a golden tent, she rocked herself up and down until the flood of joy poured hot and wet. Longarm did not let her rest. While she was still limp and trembling, he pulled her higher on the bed and rolled on top of her.

"Not right away!" Flo protested. "I just came more than I ever did in my life before!"

"It ain't too soon. You'll like it better, now your edge is off."

He was already moving, thrusting with full, slow strokes, not hurrying, using only part of his weight and strength. For the first few minutes Flo could only lie quiet and receive him, panting from her own exertions of moments earlier. A little at a time she came to life. Longarm felt her inner muscles responding to his measured churning and began to move faster and drive harder. Flo's eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were opening and closing as little birdlike cries escaped them in rhythm with the movements of his rising and falling hips.

Longarm built to the final moments as fast as Flo did. The time came for him to let his body set its own rhythm, and he did. He pounded with fast, repeated drives until he could hear Flo's clear, small ululations only dimly as they became a single treble note. He could feel her body's pulsing as it drew him into her with force added to greater force until the gushing he could no longer hold back drained him and he dropped spent upon her.

When their breathing had quieted, Flo said with a sigh, "I didn't think anything could be better than last night. My God, was it only last night that we fucked under the frees?"

"That's when it was."

"Well, last night was good, but tonight's better."

"We didn't feel like taking our time then. Too many worries on our mind."

"Yes." Flo lay quietly for a moment. "You know, Custis," she confessed, "I like to think about fucking almost as much as I like to fuck. Especially when I'm around somebody like you."

"Most folks do, I guess. Only damned few of 'em are honest enough to admit it."

"People are such damned fools. Sometimes I think~"

Whatever it was Flo thought was lost in an insistent rapping on the door. Longarm glanced at his Colt to be sure it was in place before calling, "Who is it?"

"Is me, Coos-tees! Let me in! I got to find out is true, what I am hear!"

"What'd you hear, Lita?"

"I will tell you when you let me in!"

"Damn it, I can't. I'm busy."

"If is la rubia in there, I don' care, Coos-tees. Is you I wan' to talk to!" Lita said insistently.

"Oh, let her in," Flo told him. "I don't care if she sees what I've got; I've shown damn near as much on the stage. Might do her good to have something to compare herself to. And unless I'm a bad guesser, she's seen what you've got more than once."

Reluctantly and somewhat suspiciously, Longarm got off the bed, slipped his Colt from the holster, and opened the door just wide enough to let Lita enter. Her eyes widened when she saw Flo's pink and gold nakedness lying relaxed on the rumpled bed, but she ran to Longarm and grabbed him in a tight embrace.

"Is true, Coos-tees? Is true, this thing I hear?"

"You tell me what you heard and I'll tell you if it's true."

For the first time, Lita saw that he was holding his pistol. She cried out, "Is true, or else you don' got to be so careful not to let me in until you get la pistola! You think I bring somebody to shoot you, yes? Ay, Coos-tees! You don' trust me!"

"Sure I trust you, Lita. Now settle down. I let you in, didn't I? What did you hear that's got you so wrought up?"

"Down in the plaza, they talk about how you make the fight with el capitan rurale tomorrow, the fight with pistolas. Is true? You do this, Coos-tees?"

"Sure it's true. But that's not much to get worked up over."

"Maybe she's worked up because I'm here," Flo suggested.

"Is not so!" Lita objected. "I don' care if Coos-tees make chinga with you, rubia. But I rather he do it with me!"

"Come on to bed with us, then," Flo laughed. "He's man enough to handle both of us. And I want to find out more about this gunfight you've got set for tomorrow, Custis. You didn't say anything to me about it, any more than you did to Lita. Honey," she said to the girl, "it looks to me like we're in about the same boat. You might as well get off your clothes and enjoy the voyage."

"You mean this thing?" Lita asked. A corner of her mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile.

"Sure I do. We both want the same thing from the same man. No reason for us to fight, is there, when we can share?"

"Coos-tees?" Lita appealed to Longarm. "Is all right if I stay?"

"If you feel like you want to," he told her. He was thinking of the last time he'd shared a bed with two passionate women. That was in Cripple Creek, with the Stowers sisters. "If Flo says you're welcome, I sure do, too."

"Good! Then I stay!"

Lita's fingers flashed nimbly at the waistband of her skirt and it dropped to the floor at her feet. Longarm remembered that, like tonight, she'd worn nothing under it the night on the sandspit. She pulled at the neck-string of her low-cut blouse, shrugged it off her shoulders, and let it slip down her body to fall atop the skirt. She went to the bed and lay down beside Flo. Longarm felt himself getting hard just looking at them: Flo's soft white skin, pink breast rosettes and blond hair and bush; Lita's perfect contrast of smooth brown skin, her dark nipples budding in anticipation, her groin a mystery of midnight.

Flo looked at Longarm and started chuckling. "You see, Lita? I told you it'd be all right. He's thinking about you right now."

Lita was smiling, too. "Then come here, Coos-tees. Dame su grifo magnifico! Dame todo! Maybe I show you las triguenas tienen mas deluce como las rubias!"

Longarm didn't wait for her to ask a second time.

* * *

Darkness still filled the room when Longarm snapped awake. At once, his mind jumped ahead to the appointment that was waiting for him at daybreak. Then memories of the night came back, a confusion of warm, seeking mouths and hard-tipped breasts, of legs and thighs brown and white upraised and clamped around him, of clutching hands and wet inner recesses flowing hot while he strained to fill them. At some time, quite early, Lita had shed her anger and jealousy. She and Flo had become friends of a sort, joining together to please Longarm, lying side by side while he moved from one to the other, from brown to pink to brown and back to pink, sustaining their frenzy while increasing his, and never knowing who'd be partners during the instants of the final spasm.

While all three had lain exhausted for brief interludes of recovery, he'd told them of the duel that was to take place at dawn, and both had kissed him tenderly, their eyes shaded with a fear that all his calm assurances couldn't drive away. It had been Flo who'd ended the night, persuading Lita to leave when she did, so that Longarm could sleep. And when they'd left, he'd slept the deep, sound sleep of exhaustion after pleasure.

A light gray tinge was marking the window of Longarm's room. He held his hands up and studied them in silhouette against the faint light, watching for a twitch or tremor. They were both rock-steady. He stretched. He didn't feel tired, just pleasantly relaxed. He rolled out of bed and dressed quickly, wishing he had a fresh Prince Albert coat to put on. He took one wake-up sip out of the rye bottle, and savored its warmth and bite. Then he collected his possibles, distributing them in their accustomed pockets, and gave his Colt a final quick inspection after he'd adjusted his holster to the exact position where he wanted it to rest.

There was already a crowd waiting at the sandspit when Longarm pulled Tordo to a halt. Apparently, all of Los Perros had come to watch. Across the river, he saw the glow of dying fires where the rurales had made camp. He tilted his head to look at the sky. It was cloudless and brightening rapidly to pink in the east. The chamizal on the Mexican side of the river stirred and Ramos and his men pushed through.

As though their appearance was a signal, hooves thudded from the direction of Los Perros and a detachment of the 10th Cavalry rode up in squad column. Captain Hill rode at the column's flank. The troopers' faces, ebony black to mulatto, were set and serious, their eyes trained straight ahead. Longarm knew they'd been in the saddle all night, but anyone who didn't know it would have thought the group was fresh from the parade ground. The crowd parted to let the troopers through. At the edge of the sandspit the riders turned alternately right and left, to form a fence of horseflesh across the sand and keep the spectators back.

Hill rode up to Longarm. "You feel all right?"

"Fine. Be indecent if I felt any better."

"We'll be keeping an eye on Ramos's men." Longarm nodded, his eyes on the rurales, who were beginning to string across the ford. A bit diffidently, the cavalryman said, "Well, good luck, Marshal."

"Thanks." Longarm nudged Tordo through the line of troopers and stopped just beyond them. A hand touched his knee. He looked down and saw Nate Webster.

"That sergeant from the rurales, Molina, was over here a while ago," Webster said. "Maybe I butted in, but I took it on myself to work out some rules with him."

"Like what?"

"Everybody'll stay back outa your way. I'll walk up with you, and Molina'll come out with Ramos. Molina swore they wasn't fixing up any monkeyshines, but I still don't trust 'em."

"All right, so far. What then?"

"Me and Molina will draw a middle line. Then we'll step off fifteen paces in both directions from it, and draw deadlines. You and Ramos start out back to back from the middle. You can walk or run or belly-crawl, however you want to do it, long as you don't draw before you get to the deadline. Then you turn around and face it out."

"Sounds fair enough to me," Longarm told the Ranger. "Captain Hill says his froopers'll be watching the rurales to see they don't cut no didoes."

"I'd say everything's covered." Webster studied the sky. The pink was fading in the east, a harbinger of sunrise. Above them, the air was bright and the sky clear. "Guess me and Molina better get on with it. I'll wave you out, when it's time."

Longarm lounged in the saddle and watched the Ranger and the rurale pace off the deadlines and mark them with furrows scraped by boot heels. Behind him, the babble of the crowd grew louder as the onlookers observed the preliminaries. Webster and Molina walked back to the center line after marking the deadlines. Webster waved to Longarm, who dismounted and walked leisurely to the furrow from which the duellers would start. From the cluster of rurales at the river end of the spit, Ramos was walking toward them.

An argument developed between Webster and Molina. It was brief, and not especially heated. When they left the line and went over to the crowd together, Ramos and Longarm both stopped to watch what they did. The Ranger and the sergeant were searching the faces that stared from behind the line of cavalrymen. Finally, both nodded and simultaneously signaled one of the spectators forward. There was a brief three-sided discussion and the trio returned to the center line. Longarm and Ramos resumed their approach.

"This hombre's going to start you off." Webster put his hand on the shoulder of the man he and Molina had picked from the spectators. "He'll count, then he'll run like hell to get outa the line of fire. You can see he's Mexican. He lives in Los Perros and he swears he don't hold sides for either one of you. That all right?"

"How many numbers will he count?" Ramos asked.

"Three," Webster replied.

"Uno, dos, tres, " Molina supplemented.

Ramos nodded. So did Longarm.

"Might as well go ahead then," Webster said.

Longarm and Ramos did not shake hands as they walked to opposite sides of the center line and turned to stand back to back. Webster and Molina moved away. The tension that had slowly been building now began to make itself felt; the air was charged with unseen currents. The only sound was the bubbling of the Rio Grande's opaque water.

His voice high-pitched and strained, the man chosen from the crowd began to count, "Uno— dos— tres!" His heels scuffed softly in the sand as he ran from the line.

Behind him, as he started walking, Longarm heard the muffled crunching of Ramos's footsteps. He tuned his ears to the rhythm of the sound and tried to match his own pace to that of the rurale. Ahead of him, the deadline grew more sharply defined with each step.

Longarm divided his mind. Half of it counted the paces he must take to reach the furrow, the other half concentrated on translating the almost inaudible scratching of sand on boot soles into the length and speed of Ramos's steps.

A jarring note in the rhythm of Ramos's paces warned Longarm. The rurale had begun to run. Longarm leaped forward over the furrow of the deadline. In midair, he curled his body. He landed prone and rolled, drawing as he landed. He saw Ramos over his sights and fired. Ramos dropped before he could trigger the revolver he was raising.

While the echo of Longarm's shot was dying, two more reports that sounded almost as one broke the disturbed morning air. Longarm, still lying on the ground, saw the spurt of sand raised by a pistol slug rise like a tiny geyser, a foot from his shoulder. He looked around. Molina was crumpling. Webster was standing with his revolver still extended.

"Bastard drew when he seen Ramos drop," the Ranger called to Longarm.

There was a murmur of agreement from those in the crowd who'd seen Molina's move, of surprise and doubt from others. The rurales started forward as if on order. The cavalrymen advanced, closing into platoon front, their carbines resting on their thighs. The rurales stopped, clustered around the bodies of Ramos and Molina. When the Mexican force stopped, the troopers halted as well. In sullen silence the rurales picked up the dead men and draped them across horses. They turned and rode off the sandspit into the water, splashed across the ford, and disappeared into the chamizal.

Only after the conical tops of the rurales' sombreros could no longer be seen above the brush did the crowd let go its breath in a great collective sigh. The onlookers began to trickle back toward town. The cavalrymen held their position, watching for movement on the Mexican side of the river.

Longarm walked over to Webster. Both men were still holding their pistols, so brief had the interval been after the first shot.

"Thanks, Nate," Longarm said. He fished a cartridge out of his pocket and looked it over carefully before putting it into the Colt's cylinder. Then he told Webster, "I got to go back to the sheriff's office now and finish up the job I came here to do. I'd be proud to have your company, if you want to come along."

Webster nodded. Both men mounted and rode side by side back toward the shanties of Los Perros.

Chapter 20

As he and Webster rode into the plaza, Longarm said, "We'll need to stop by the saloon before we go to the sheriff's office. Both of us could stand a drink about now."

"Looking for Baskin?" Webster asked casually.

"Yep. You heard what Lefty said there in the jail before they killed him."

"It's not something I'd be likely to forget. But it's been your play, mostly. I'll let you call it."

Longarm lilted his glass of rye quickly and left Webster at the bar while he went upstairs and tapped at the door of Flo's room.

"Who is it?" she called. Her voice wasn't cheerful.

"Who'd you think it'd be?"

He heard her footsteps running to the door. It swung open. Flo said, "I didn't stay after the gunfight. I didn't know whether you'd feel like talking."

Longarm kissed her. "Don't fret over what's past. I just got a minute, but I'll be back when I'm done."

"You mean you're almost ready to leave here?"

"Pretty quick now. If you got any getting ready to do~"

"I'm ready any time." She sighed with relief. "I wasn't sure you were going to ask me to go with you."

"I'm asking, but only if that's what you feel like doing."

"You know I do. Where?"

"We'll talk about that later, after I get back."

He rejoined Webster at the bar. The Ranger asked, "Want to tell me what you've got in mind?"

Longarm poured another glass of rye and sipped it before he answered. "Well, we got what my boss would call overlapping jurisdiction. Only I figure you got a better claim than I have, not that I want any at all, Nate."

Webster frowned. "Trouble is, I don't know how much of a case I could make against the sheriff. Now Baskin, he's sure to go up a long time for rustling. But even if he turns evidence against Tucker, I don't know that a jury'd go hard on him, since Baskin's been his boss."

"Tell you what. You take Baskin. Let me worry about Tucker."

"Fair enough," the Ranger agreed. "But it's still you who'll call the turns."

"If that suits you, it's good enough for me. Come on." Longarm led the way back to Baskin's office. They entered without knocking. Baskin was kneeling in front of the big office safe, pulling out papers, ledgers, and money bags and stuffing them in a disorderly jumble into saddlebags that were already bulging. He leaped up when Webster and Longarm entered.

"Sorta thought you might've waited till you seen whether me or Ramos come out winner before you got ready to hightail," Longarm said mildly.

"Now, don't shoot me, Custis! If it's money you're after~"

"What the hell's he talking about?" Webster asked.

"Baskin's clock's running a little late," Longarm explained. "He's still got me tagged as a hard case on the dodge." He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to show his marshal's badge. The saloonkeeper's jaw dropped. Longarm said, "I guess your friend the sheriff didn't introduce you to this gent here, when he passed through town before. He's Texas Ranger Nate Webster. I don't know how many federal laws you broke, Baskin, but Nate can damn sure make a good state case against you, so I'm letting him have you."

"Let's see now," Webster began. "There's rustling, which is about all I need. It'll get you a good long sentence when your part in the new Laredo Loop comes out. You don't look like you got guts enough for murder; I'd say you had your killing done by the sheriff and his boys, but you'll wind up as an accessory. And there'll be more before it's over, when Tucker starts talking."

"You don't have to wait for him to talk," Baskin said eagerly. "Just tell me what you want to know. Maybe you'll take it light on me if I~"

Webster interrupted. "I don't need you to make my case. No deal, Baskin. You'll take your chances with the rest of your bunch."

"As a favor, Nate, you might haul him with us when we go see the sheriff. Tucker still ain't caught on that this crook's kingdom he's set up has been busted to hell."

"Sure. If you're ready, we'll get on with the rat catching," Webster grinned.

With Baskin in tow, they went out the back door of the saloon and walked the few steps to the sheriff's office. Ralston was sitting behind the desk. He leaped up and ran forward when he saw Longarm, stretching out his hand.

"That was the neatest piece of gun handling I ever saw, this morning~" Something in Longarm's eyes stopped him and his grin faded away. "What's the matter?"

"That's what we come to find out," Longarm told him. "Where's the sheriff?"

"He's still back in his rooms, him and Wahonta."

"Guess you better get him out here. We got a little business that needs to be settled."

Ralston hurried through the door into the ell. Tucker hadn't been in bed, for he returned with the deputy almost immediately, fully dressed even to his ivory-handled revolver in its tooled holster.

"What the hell's so important that I get roused out before I finish my breakfast?" he demanded. He saw Baskin then, and Webster standing beside the saloonkeeper. His florid face paled, but he tried to bluff things through. "Glad to see you got back from that trip to Mexico, Ranger. I hope them tips I give you panned out."

"You might say they panned out better than I thought they would." Webster's tone was carefully neutral.

Baskin's anger had been growing faster than his fear and caution. He blurted, "Damn it, Ed! Where'd you hide out last night and this morning?"

"I felt sick, Miles," Tucker answered. "Real sick, all night. Still don't feel too spry."

"You're a fool!" Baskin snorted. "You were blind drunk last night, if I know you, which I sure as hell ought to by now! Drunk, and wallowing in bed with your Apache whore! Do you know what happened in Los Perros last night and today at daybreak?"

"Well, I guess if it'd been somethin' important, I'd've heard about it," the sheriff said defensively.

"You've got shit where your brains used to be," Baskin said contemptuously. "I guess it's partly my fault. I knew you were getting past your time, but I didn't realize you'd gone so far."

"Now, you got no right~"

"I'd say he's got every right," Longarm broke in, "seeing as he's been your boss all these years. What Baskin's trying to tell you is that you're finished, Tucker."

His pig-eyes narrowed and Tucker said, "What're you doing, Custis? Trying to take Los Perros away from me?"

"You still ain't thinking straight. First off, Custis is only the first half of my name. The rest of it's Long. I'm a deputy U.S. marshal."

"He's dealing it to you straight," Webster said, when Tucker looked to him for confirmation. "Marshal Long was sent down here to find me and Captain Hill, after you hared us off into Mexico, and for all I know, tipped off the rurales to be on the lookout for us. And I don't think the marshal would want Los Perros, even if you could hand it over to him."

"Damn you, Custis, or Long, or whatever your name is! You been trickin' me all along! You sneaky son of a bitch~"

Longarm's voice was steely as he cut Tucker short. "Mind what you say! Up to now I ain't held no personal grudge, so don't give me a reason to!"

Ralston volunteered, "The marshal outdrawed that rurale captain up on the sandspit at dawn today, Sheriff. Best gunplay I ever seen. If it was me, I'd apologize right quick."

"Well," Tucker grunted, "I guess I oughtn't've said that."

"No. You oughtn't," Longarm agreed. "I was aiming to turn you over to the Rangers with your boss~"

This time it was Tucker who interrupted. He looked at Baskin. "Is he tellin' me the truth, Miles? You standing so close by that Ranger because you're his prisoner?"

"If you hadn't been such a constipated jackass, you'd've seen that first thing!" Baskin shot back. "And it's mostly your fault. I'm going to see that you spend just as many years in jail as I do!"

"You didn't let me finish what I started to say," Longarm went on, his voice almost casual. "Now, the Rangers could stand you up alongside of Baskin in a Texas court, but you might just get off too light. When you flapjawed at me, I decided you need a good, long sentence, so I'm taking you in on federal charges."

"You got no federal charges against me!" Tucker blustered. "I was real careful not to get crossways of that damn Reconstruction gov'mint we got now!

Once it come out I rode with Quantrill~"

"They'd put you away for life, wouldn't they?" Longarm asked.

"They damn sure would, and you know it! That's why I was so careful~"

Again Longarm interrupted. "You wasn't careful enough. That Apache girl, now. She's a federal ward, like any other reservation Indian. She can't consent to lay up with no man, white or Indian, till she's legally married to him."

"You can't~"

Longarm went on as though he hadn't been interrupted. "But that's not the worst I'll charge you with, Tucker. You confessed to me that you bought that girl. Now, there's an amendment to the U.S. Constitution that makes buying a human being a federal crime. That's the big charge they'll keep you in jail for." He turned to Webster. "Sorry to take him away from you, Nate, but~"

Something in the Ranger's eyes alerted Longarm. He whirled as he drew and faced Tucker just as the sheriff's hand closed over the ivory grips of his pistol. Longarm's slug went to Tucker's heart.

In the silence that followed the shot and the thud when Tucker hit the floor, Webster said, low, in Longarm's ear, "You really think he'd've gotten life for monkeying with that Indian girl, Marshal?"

"No. He'd have been tried in Texas, and I ain't betting a jury here'd stick him a long term on both them charges."

"If you didn't have that badge in your pocket, I might be taking you in for inciting to murder," Webster said, unsmiling. Then he added, "But I can't say I blame you. I get mad when a man calls me a son of a bitch."

"Who don't?" Longarm asked as he slid his Colt back into its holster.

* * *

Late the next morning, Longarm helped Flo aboard the Butterfield stage that he'd flagged down at the river crossing just outside Fort Lancaster.

"Wish I could ride with you," he told her. "I got a few loose ends that still have to be tied up in Los Perros, and then I got to take my horse back to the remount depot in San Antonio."

"I've got a feeling one of those loose ends is named Lita," Flo smiled. "I halfway wish I'd decided to ride with you instead of taking the stage to San Antonio."

"You'll be more comfortable on the stage," he assured her. "And I'll beat the stage there. You take a hack to the Menger Hotel. It ain't grand like New York, but it beats Baskin's saloon. We'll have a few days there before you go on East."

"I've changed my mind about taking the train from San Antonio, " Flo said. "Captain Hill told me I can get an express train from Denver that'll get me to New York quicker than the one I'd take from San Antonio. We'll have a few days, and then a few more."

Longarm watched the dust of the stage settle as it lurched down the rutted road. He'd have a day or two in San Antonio before the stage pulled in. He wondered if Cynthia Stanley — whose best friends called her Cyn — would get along with Flo as well as Lita had.

That's going to be something interesting to find out, old son, he told himself as he nudged Tordo with his knee. The dapple moved off.