“If I wanted you to know my plans in advance I’d tell ‘em to you. So let’s talk about something else. No offense, but for such a ferocious Irishman you don’t talk so Irish. How come?”
The Great Costello sighed and said, “My people brought me to the States as a kid. You must have heard about the great potato blight of the forties. The reason my daughters sound even more American is that their mother, God rest her, was raised on this side of the water as well.”
Longarm didn’t comment on the slip. Knowing Maureen had at least one sister among the clan could come in handy if she failed to heed his sincere advice about going straight, as well as east, before he had time to look for her again.
They’d ridden but a short way out of town when, somewhere in the darkness, Longarm heard a polite but sinister voice call out, “Hey, amigo, a ‘onde va?”
Longarm reined in, ordered his prisoner to do the same, and called back, “I wish you’d cut that out, El Gato. It’s spooky enough when a man ain’t on the prod. Why can’t you just meet folk natural on the trail like everyone else?”
A mounted black shadow detached itself from some mesquite trees just off the wagon trace and came to join them. El Gato even had his damn fool mount trained to move like a big old cat. Closer in, he turned into a nice- looking young gent with features more Spanish than Indian, even thought he was said to be meaner than a drunk Apache if one crossed him. As usual, the Mexican desperado was wearing a big black sombrero and black charro outfit to match his big black horse. Where some might have sported silver braid and conchos, El Gato preferred big ebony buttons and no braid at all. He said, “It is not my custom to be seen before I decide whether to speak or shoot. Since you have your gun out, and I still hope we are old friends, is it safe to assume you are riding with a prisoner tonight?”
Longarm said, “It is. El Gato, I want you to meet the Great Costello. You two have a lot in common— you’re both spooky as hell.”
El Gato nodded pleasantly at the older man, but told Longarm, “Shoot him. Can’t you see he is trying to escape?”
Longarm replied, “Not at the moment. I’m taking him out to the fort to see if we can’t break him of that habit.”
El Gato shook his head and said, “We don’t have time. We have to ride, amigo. Tonight los rurales came over the border and grabbed Don Julio Valdez, on Americano soil! The offspring of dead dogs and sex-mad toads have no shame about such matters!”
Longarm whistled softly and said, “I was wondering what all that fuss at the fiesta was about. If it’s any comfort, I got one of them rurales for your folk.”
El Gato chuckled and said, “Oh, was that you? We were wondering who might have gotten the third one. But that is neither here nor there. They have Don Julio, back in Ciudad Juarez, and now we must save him, amigo.”
Longarm owed El Gato. They’d long since lost track of who’d saved who the most often. So his voice was sincere as he told the worried young rebel, “I’d like to help but I can’t. Three reasons. No, forget the part about Billy Vail ordering me to stay the hell out of Mexico. That still leaves two. I got this prisoner on my hand, and by now Don Julio can’t hardly be just over the river in Juarez. Anyone El Presidente hates that much is surely on his way to Mexico City by now.”
El Gato shook his head again. He did that good with such a big sombrero. He said, “Your prisoner is no problem if you have any bullets in that gun. If you do not, allow me to nail him as he attempts to get away. No? Then allow me to point out there is no way for the triple-titted rurales to take Don Julio south, right now. That unusual weather we just had swept away a railroad trestle just south of Juarez, so they’ll have to hold him there until the trains can run again. And despite what you may have heard about my people, the track crews work fast, as only a peon with a rurale standing over him with a gun can work.”
Longarm hesitated. El Gato was not the sort of man who’d remind another man about a little thing like saving his life in the past. But he was upset enough to insist, “They’ll kill him, Longarm. That sadist in power will enjoy the show of giving Don Julio a fair trial. Diaz loves to kill his enemies with a display of stern fatherly remorse. As an officer, Diaz was in charge when they executed Maximillian; it was his idea to have the band play “La Paloma,” knowing it was the doomed man’s favorite Mexican song, and that he’d never hear the end of it.”
Longarm said, “Damn it, you know what I think of that oily bastard down in Mexico City. I’ll tell you what —help me get this other oily bastard out to Fort Bliss and I’ll ride with you for Juarez, even though we only figure to get your pal, Valdez, killed earlier, likely along with you and me.”
El Gato insisted, “The fort’s too far, and in the wrong direction. We don’t have enough time as it is. Why can’t you just shoot this cabren, like an old companero?”
Longarm said, “He ain’t my old companero. Even if he was, that ain’t my style. I said I’d help if I could, pard. But first I got to make sure of this rascal. Maybe better than I planned on, as I’m likely fixing to die in Mexico on another fool’s errand. You know damn well the two of us ain’t about to spring Don Julio out of no Mexican jail with him surrounded by at least a company of rurales on the prod.”
Before El Gato could answer, the Great Costello said, “You’re right, Longarm, the two of you couldn’t. But the three of us just might.”
El Gato asked Longarm, “Hey, why is this one talking so wild?”
Longarm explained, “He’s an escape artist. He knows more than he’s supposed to about busting folk out of jail. But you’re right. He’s talking wild.”
“Am I? Are you suggesting a bunch of Mexicans who’ve never heard of me would be better at guarding a prisoner than you American feds I made monkeys out of just a few weeks ago?”
El Gato said, “You see? He insults your country. Shoot him.”
But Longarm said, “That wouldn’t be fair. He did make us all look like monkeys. But I dunno. Aiding and abetting a Mexican uprising on my own, against orders, sounds bad enough. Enlisting the help of a convicted murderer sounds just plain silly.”
El Gato shot a thoughtful look at the Great Costello and asked, “Is he really that good? Do you think he could help Don Julio escape before the trains are running again?”
