Coffin fell, and the floor shivered under Longarm’s feet from the weight of the big man landing so hard on it. Longarm stepped back and dragged a deep breath into his lungs. Practically every muscle in his body was beginning to ache already, and there was a fluttering of exhaustion deep inside him. He had come close, too damn close, to losing this fight.
A groan came from Coffin’s bloodied lips. He tried to push himself up from the floor, failed, and slumped back onto the sawdust-covered planks. All the fight was out of him now.
Movement from the end of the bar caught Longarm’s eye. He looked in that direction and saw Anna Marie peering out through the door, which she had opened a few inches. Longarm raised a hand and crooked a finger, summoning her back out into the main room of the saloon. He leaned over and caught hold of Coffin’s shirt collar with one hand and the man’s belt with the other. With a groan, Longarm hauled Coffin back onto his feet.
Coffin blinked bleary eyes and shook his head, obviously trying to clear away some of the cobwebs that the pounding had left clogging his brain. Longarm gave him a shove that sent him stumbling toward Anna Marie, who drew back in fright.
“Apologize to the lady,” rasped Longarm as he grabbed Coffin’s arm.
“Tell her you’re sorry you said those things to her.”
Ponderously, Coffin shook his head again. “Ain’t goin’ to do it,” he rumbled.
Longarm drew his gun and pressed the barrel into Coffin’s ribs. “The hell you ain’t. I said apologize, and that’s what you’re going to do.”
Coffin glared at him, murder shining in his dark eyes, but finally the man turned his shaggy head toward Anna Marie and mumbled, “Reckon I’m sorry.”
“Ma’am,” Longarm prodded.
“Reckon I’m sorry ... ma’am,” said Coffin. He snarled at Longarm.
“There! You satisfied, you bastard?”
“You push your luck a mite for a man who’s got a gun barrel tickling his ribs,” Longarm said. “But I reckon if the lady’s satisfied, I am too.” He looked to Anna Marie for confirmation, and she nodded shakily. Longarm let go of Coffin’s arm, but not before pushing him against the bar again. Longarm stepped back and holstered his gun.
Coffin reached behind him and pulled his sombrero around where he could see it. He had fallen on top of the hat, and its high-peaked crown was crushed beyond repair. “Aw, hell,” he said. “Look what you did.”
“You brought it on yourself,” Longarm told him. “I said all along I didn’t come in here looking for trouble.” His own hat had been knocked off in the ruckus, and he looked around for it on the floor. He spotted it and bent over to pick it up.
“Well, you got trouble, all right,” said Coffin, his voice a little stronger now. “You got more trouble than you ever dreamed of, mister.”
Longarm heard the metallic click of a gun being cocked and tensed, ready to spin around and fling the hat in his hand toward Coffin in the hope that it would distract the man long enough for Longarm to draw his own gun. Coffin’s next words stopped him before he could make a move, however.
“You’re under arrest,” said the big man.
Longarm blinked in surprise and looked back over his shoulder. “Under arrest?” he repeated.
Coffin had the Remington lined on Longarm’s back. “That’s right,” he said. “The charge is disturbin’ the peace and assaultin’ an officer o’ the law. You’re goin’ to be mighty familiar with the inside of the local hoosegow ‘fore you get out, mister ... what is your name anyway?”
Longarm had to hold back a laugh. “It’s Long,” he told Coffin, “Custis Long. You trying to tell me you’re a lawman, Coffin?”
The gun in Coffin’s right hand didn’t budge as he moved aside the cowhide vest with his left. Pinned to the pocket of the butternut shirt was a badge, all right. In fact, Longarm recognized it.
It was the famous silver star set in a silver circle. The emblem of the Texas Rangers.
This time Longarm couldn’t restrain his laughter. He threw back his head and hooted, and Coffin, along with everybody else in the saloon, stared at him as if he had just lost his mind. Maybe he had, he thought wryly.
“What the hell’s so funny?” Coffin demanded after a moment of listening to Longarm laugh.
“If you arrest me, old son, I reckon I’m going to have to arrest you.
It’s a federal crime to attack one of Uncle Sam’s boys.”
“You’re a lawman too?” asked Coffin with a furious glare. “A federal man?”
“U.S. deputy marshal,” Longarm confirmed. “And I’m here in Del Rio on official business too, so I reckon I could charge you with interfering with my duties.”
“A U.S. marshal,” repeated Coffin, his voice thick with both astonishment and anger. “In Del Rio on official business.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re the fella they sent down from Denver.”
“Right again,” Longarm told him.
Coffin groaned. “My major’s got me assigned to the same job that
brought you here, Long. That means-“
Longarm nodded and said, “Now you know why I was laughing. Looks like you and me are going to be working together, Coffin.”
