bridled. He gave the night boy five pesos to thank him for his trouble, and then swung into the wooden saddle. The thing was as uncomfortable as it looked. It had been made for someone about half his size and weight. The mule turned out to be a tough, cold-jawed little brute who did not want to do night work.
Longarm had to battle him around the town a couple of circuits before the mule finally got it into his head that only one of them was going to decide which direction they went and when.
When he finally had the mule lined out, Longarm started them south for the edge of town and the fork in the road that ran west and would take him by Shaw’s place. It was a very dark night, one that Longarm thought that Shaw would have appreciated. He reckoned it to be not much more than an hour before dawn. He calculated he wouldn’t have too long a wait.
They reached the fork in the road, and Longarm turned the mule west. He was riding with his legs hanging down, not using the stirrups. He had his straw sombrero on, tilted forward as he had seen the Mexicans wear theirs. He was wearing his poncho, and he was riding slumped in the saddle to minimize his size. Of course a close observer would have seen his high-heeled boots and figured him not to be a Mexican, but he didn’t think there were any close observers out that night. All he wanted to do was blend in as best he could with the country, not cause any notice to anyone who might have been up at that hour.
In the darkness ahead he could see the grove of pines. It was about forty or fifty yards off the road, on the left. Longarm aimed the mule slightly off the road, heading toward the edge of the copse. As he came near it, as it slowly grew in size and began to block out the hacienda, Longarm slowly pulled the mule up. The pine grove was about ten yards to his left. He was hidden from view by the trees. He raised his right leg over the mule’s neck and vaulted out of the saddle and to the ground. The mule paused, but Longarm gave him a slap on the rump and the animal started and went off, switching his tail, making it plain he was irritated. He was a stable mule, spoiled like stable horses. Longarm watched while the mule went on down the road a few hundred yards. Then, as if he’d suddenly realized he wasn’t being ridden any longer, the mule stopped. He looked over his shoulder. He didn’t know what had happened, but he knew it was to his advantage.
Longarm saw the mule turn and then head back down the road at a trot. He was heading back to his stable, the warm place where they kept the hay and the feed. Longarm watched until the mule disappeared into the darkness, and then carefully entered the grove.
He squatted at the south side of the copse, carefully watching the ranch house and waiting for signs of light. He had not wanted to keep the mule with him in the trees for fear the animal might start calling to horses at Shaw’s place. Mules were a good deal smarter than horses, and demons for causing trouble when none was called for. He’d been pretty certain that the mule would head back to the stable, but it hadn’t much mattered to him if it did or not. So far as getting back to town was concerned, Longarm figured that Jack Shaw would lend him a horse. Either that or he wasn’t going to need one. Longarm had no illusions that Shaw would be an easy target. But he was determined that the man was going to be his prisoner or a corpse in a short while.
He did not intend to give Shaw any sort of a chance. Ideally, he would like to catch Shaw as Shaw had him, in bed and asleep. But he doubted that would be the case. Longarm didn’t want to work in the dark in strange country, and he expected that once the sun was up, Shaw would be too.
He could see that there were three windows on the side of the house facing his way. He intended to head for a space between the second and third window. More than likely, if Shaw slept on that side of the house, his bedroom would be in the back.
it was cold. Longarm had his arms huddled inside the poncho, hugging himself. He had his revolver stuck down in his waistband, not wanting to wear his gunbelt. You didn’t often see a campesino wearing a gunbelt, much less boots, and that was what Longarm was trying to pass as, at least in a bad light.
And then he saw a little flush of pink begin in the eastern sky. He didn’t hesitate. In one motion he was on his feet and moving toward the house. He kept his arms inside the poncho, his right hand on the butt of his revolver. He walked unsteadily, which was not difficult in high-heeled boots over the rough ground, trying to give the impression of a drunk just staggering home.
From under the brim of the big sombrero he saw the base of the house loom up. He lifted his head just enough to make sure of his direction, and staggered on. Within a few steps he was at the side of Shaw’s ranch house. He dropped down, closer to the third window than the second. He hoped they would light candles or kerosene lamps inside. It would be a sign to him that people were up and moving around. He doubted he’d be able to hear through the thick walls if they just started talking to each other.
As the sun began to get up and light slowly drove off the last gray of dawn, he looked down the line at the outbuildings. What he’d taken for a stable was obviously a bunkhouse of some kind because it had a chimney sticking up and, even as Longarm watched, a thin wisp of smoke began to rise. There was no one moving around, at least not yet, but he knew it was only a matter of moments and he knew how exposed he was.
He was taking a terrible gamble that the men on Shaw’s place were just peones and not pistoleros. But then, he couldn’t see what Shaw would want with Mexican gunmen. Mexico was his refuge, his hideout. He wouldn’t need men on the place to protect it and him.
To his right he saw a glow from the second window. He was on the point of crawling that way when he heard a voice to his right, from the third window. He turned back. Almost as he did, a light began casting shadows through the window on the ground. He turned back and inched his way up to the window, taking off his hat as he did. He edged an eye over the window sill and looked in. The room was alight with rays from a kerosene lantern. As he got a view of the room he saw that it was a bedroom, and then he saw the bed, and then he saw Shaw sitting up in the bed. Shaw had his legs under the covers, but Longarm could see that he was wearing the bottoms of a set of long underwear. He was bare-chested. Longarm could see that the outlaw was talking to someone across the room out of view of the window. Then, as Longarm looked, a beautiful naked Mexican girl came into his line of sight. She walked to the edge of Shaw’s bed, put her hand on the foot-post of the bed, and listened to something Shaw was saying. Longarm judged her to be about twenty or twenty-one, and he could see that Shaw hadn’t lied about her looks if she was one of the two he’d been talking about.
But he had no time to look at the girl. He suddenly realized he couldn’t let her get any closer to Shaw. If she got in bed with him or sat down beside him, she’d interfere with his field of fire. He knew he was going to have to act immediately. There were no curtains on the window, and for that Longarm was thankful. The window was split into four panes, separated by pieces of wood. Longarm didn’t hesitate. He drew back his arm and smashed out the bottom two panes with his pistol.
As quick as he could he shoved his hand and arm into the room, cocking the hammer of his revolver. He yelled, “Shaw! Freeze! Don’t move, dammit!”
He saw Shaw react instantly, sliding sideways off the bed and disappearing out of sight. The girl had looked Longarm’s way, and was staring at him with big, dark, luminous eyes. He yelled again. “Shaw! Give up!”
Just beyond the girl he could see another window on the other side of the room. At the instant he was expecting Shaw to come up from beside the bed with a gun in his hand, the outlaw came up behind the girl.
