Tabor Evans - Longarm on the Border

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.