Tabor Evans - Longarm on the Border

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?"