lamp in the window to welcome. So we'd best just tether you and Norma's Saratoga out here amid the swaying palmettos a ways. I just hate to chase after mules spooked by gunplay.'
He led them another furlong, then paused by a stout clump of beach plum to tether his borrowed team a rifle shot out from what he now recognized as a pressure lamp burning inside the wet canvas cover of another wagon, this one a third bigger than the Studebaker La Bruja had lent him. So what in thunder might a fellow traveler need a full-blown freight wagon for way off the beaten path like this?
As he waded closer through the tall wet grass a chili-flavored voice called out, 'Quien es? Is that you, Mathews?'
To which Longarm could only reply, 'Not hardly. I answer to Custis Long and I've run out of better places to go in this storm.'
There was no answer. Longarm moved closer anyway, and finally heard a cautious 'Habla usted espanol, extranjero mio?'
Longarm spoke Spanish better than he wanted to let on to any Mexican who called him a stranger so sarcastically. So he called back, 'If you're talking to me, speak American, boy. For I'm sorry to say this here is America, not Mexico, no offense.'
There was another thoughtful silence as Longarm moved closer, a tad thoughtful himself. Then another voice called out, 'We have been expecting for to meet another Anglo here. A short red-bearded hombre driving an ox- drawn carreta?'
Longarm answered easily as well as honestly, 'Ain't seen nobody but my own fool self out in this damned storm since I left Corpus Christi against the advice of more sensible folk. The wagon trace I thought I was following to Escondrijo wound up underwater. Might you boys know another route by way of higher ground?'
His unseen challenger called back, 'No. We are on what your kind calls the Southern Cattle Trail. It runs from Corpus Christo to El Paso and beyond, by way of San Antonio and Del Rio. It does not lead south to Escondrijo. If the regular trail to the south is flooded, we suggest you turn back. But tell us, are you alone out here, Tejano?'
Longarm allowed he was. He had no call to inform them he wasn't exactly a Texan. He didn't speak Spanish well enough to tell folks of one part of Mexico from those of another either.
Knowing how some Mexicans felt about some Texicans, he was taken aback when he was suddenly invited on in for coffee and grub before he headed back to town. But it would have been impolite to move in on such an invite with his six-gun out. So he left it holstered, and contented himself with his double derringer concealed in one big fist as he strode on over.
As he got close enough to make out three Mexicans lined up between him and their big covered wagon, he decided the young kid to his right would have to be the first target. The two older ones were more likely to act sensible once they saw he had the drop on them. But you just never knew what a kid was likely to do, as the late Joe Grant should have known when he tried to bully Billy the Kid that time in Fort Sumner. Kids just had no respect for their elders, and considered a rep like Joe Grant's a challenge.
All three were grinning at him like shit-eating dogs, and he saw no evidence of a chuck fire on the soggy soil beside their lamp-lit wagon. Then one called out, 'Come on, Tejano. We'll give you plenty of coffee before we send you on your way!'
Longarm was glad he'd elected to play dumb when the other older one asked conversationally in Spanish, 'Don't you think he's close enough now?'
The friendly-acting leader replied as casually, 'Why put more holes than we need to in such a nice shirt?'
Then the kid smirked and purred, 'I have a better idea. Why not take him alive, make him take all his clothes off, and have some fun with him first?'
By now Longarm was within easy pistol range, so he took a steady stand in the rain with the wind at his back as he raised the over-and-under muzzles of his derringer into their lamplight and announced in no-nonsense Spanish, 'I have a better idea. All three of you are going to politely unbuckle your gunbelts, let your guns fall where they may, and step clear of them right now.'
It was the kid, of course, who pointed out, 'He's right about there being three of us, and I only see two barrels for that whore pistol!'
The sly talker of the bunch sighed and muttered, 'Feel free to be the first one he shoots, Juanito! I assure you I'll get him after he gets you and Robles.'
Longarm growled, 'I told you what I wanted you to do. I am not going to tell you again. So do it or die, right now!'
None of them wanted to die. So once he'd disarmed them with his derringer, Longarm switched to his six-gun and reached for the handcuffs riding the back of his gun rig with his left hand, telling them in the English he was more comfortable with, 'First things first, we'd best make sure nobody's led into more temptation.'
He tossed the unlocked cuffs to the kid, who caught them without thinking as Longarm commanded, 'I want you to snap one of those steel rings around the right hand of Robles there. What are you waiting for, a boot in the ass?'
The kid did as he was told. Once he had one of his elders cuffed, Longarm herded all three of them to a rear wheel of the big freight wagon and explained what came next. The still-uncuffed leader, whose name was something like Lamas, protested, 'This is most cruel! Why not inside the wagon, or at least on the other side, out of the wind?'
Longarm smiled mirthlessly and replied, 'What are you crying about? Has anyone offered to corn-hole you, or even steal your shirt? Both you bigger boys hunker down by that wheel, face to face on opposite sides of the spokes. Once Juanito cuffs your right wrists together, with the links through the spokes, even dumb bastards like you ought to see the reason in my madness.'
They did, bitching like hell, well before the kid had them cuffed together, squatting on either side of the wheel in the wet wind-whipped grass. Once Longarm saw he'd secured them, he turned to the kid and pistol-whipped the mean little shit to the ground a few paces off. He kicked the downed punk in the ribs, saying, 'You can get back up now. I won't smack you no more unless you offer me a whisper of your smart-ass sass!'
As Juanito got back to his feet, both hands to his busted lips, Longarm asked if he had anything sassy to say.
