“We’re here at the express invitation of a representative of the Mexican government,” Longarm said. “El Aguila and his men raided Del Rio last night, and they kidnapped a Mexican citizen. A young woman.”
Scott nodded. “So that’s who left those tracks I spotted earlier.
The outlaws are headed south, I reckon?”
Coffin said, “They must have a hideout down here. But Long and me figure on rootin’ ‘em out and gettin’ that gal back. How ‘bout joinin’ up with us?”
Scott sipped his coffee from a tin cup. “You believe in plain talk, don’t you, Lazarus?”
“Every day that passes is a step closer to the grave,” replied the big Ranger. “Man who don’t say what he means and don’t ask for what he wants is a damn fool.”
“Could be you’re right,” allowed Scott. He didn’t answer Coffin’s question, though.
“Well, what’s it goin’ to be?” demanded Coffin after a moment. “Are you with us or not?”
“Maybe Scott’s got something else he has to do, or someplace else he has to be,” Longarm said, watching Scott’s reaction—or lack of one.
Scott shook his head. “Nope, I’m just drifting. I’d just as soon be one place as another, and hunting down some outlaws with you boys sounds like it might be plumb entertaining.” He tossed the dregs of his coffee into the fire. “Sure, I’ll throw in with you. Thanks for the invitation.”
Coffin finished his own coffee and stood up. “We better get movin’, then. I figure El Aguila ain’t hurryin’ too much, since he don’t know we’re back here followin’ him, but we don’t want him gettin’ too far ahead of us.”
“The outlaws could have heard those shots,” Scott pointed out as the three men got ready to ride again. “Sound travels a long way out here.”
“But they won’t know who was doing the shooting,” said Longarm.
“You’re right, though. We’d better not waste any more time.”
Within a matter of minutes, they were mounted up and had found the tracks of El Aguila’s gang. The outlaws had continued south, riding up into the hills. The ground was harder and dotted with stretches of rock, which made following the tracks more difficult, but all three of the pursuers had keen eyesight. If one of them lost the trail momentarily, another soon picked it up.
Longarm expected Scott to ask more questions about the captive they were trying to rescue, but the tall drifter didn’t seem particularly curious about Sonia. It was possible, thought Longarm, that everything Scott had told them was true. Some men were just too fiddle-footed to stay in one place for very long, and such types generally didn’t pay too much attention to things like borders. Riding across Mexico was just as good as riding across Texas to men like that. And the excitement of a good fight with an owlhoot gang, despite its dangers, could be a powerful lure to such an individual.
But every instinct Longarm possessed told him there was more to Scott than met the eye. He resolved to keep a close watch on the man. If Scott was telling the truth, he would likely be a valuable ally. If not, he might turn out to be more dangerous than El Aguila himself.
Midday came and went, and the sun blazed down on the three men, forcing them to stop fairly often and rest the horses. They tried to find some shade whenever they paused, and were usually able to do so. As they climbed higher into the hills, there was more vegetation, including mesquite and cedar trees.
At one such halt, Scott poured water into his hat for his horse and said, “Here you go, Phantom.” Coffin frowned. “You gave your horse a name?”
“I never heard of nobody namin’ their horse. Hell, you might as well give your gun a name.”
“What about Old Betsy, Davy Crockett’s long rifle?” Scott asked. “Davy was fond of that flintlock, and I’m fond of Phantom here. We’ve ridden many a trail together, and he’s saved my life more than once.”
Longarm was lounging in the shade of a cedar tree. He spoke up, saying, “I’ve ridden some good horses, but I don’t recall ever naming one. Of course, they’ve usually been rented or borrowed mounts, so I didn’t have them for very long.”
“Just strikes me as foolishness, that’s all,” said Coffin.
“Seems like it’d be harder to ride an animal into the ground if you had to if it had a name you’d given to it.” Scott shrugged. “You’re something of a philosopher, Lazarus, but on matters of philosophy, men often have to agree to disagree.”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah, I reckon you’re right. But I still wouldn’t give a hoss a name.”
Longarm just chuckled and shook his head. He would remember in the future to leave the arguing with Coffin to Walt Scott. If there was a future after they caught up with El Aguila’s gang ...
By late afternoon, they hadn’t caught up with the outlaws, but Longarm was convinced the tracks they were following were fresher. He estimated they were only a couple of hours behind now. But even with the frequent rests, the horses were getting tired, and so were Longarm and Coffin. Neither man had gotten any sleep the night before, and dozing for a minute or two in the saddle every now and then didn’t do much to refresh a man. Longarm’s eyeballs were beginning to feel like they had been plucked out, rolled around in sand for a while, then stuck back in their sockets. He was rubbing them when Coffin said, “Well, looky there.”
Longarm looked, and saw that the Ranger was pointing at the tracks they had been following. The trail split, one group of tracks vanishing through a narrow gap between some hills, the other winding down a ridge toward a broad, shallow valley.
“There’s a village down there,” said Scott, nodding toward the valley.
Longarm saw the settlement too. It was a small cluster of adobe buildings, the largest of them crowned by a square bell tower. That would be the local mission. The other structures were probably a cantina or two, maybe a store, and the homes of the farmers who worked the land alongside a narrow creek that ran through the valley.
Coffin looked at him. “That bunch we’ve been followin’ split up, Long. What do we do now?”
