Longarm frowned in thought. Which group of outlaws would have been the most likely to take Sonia with them, the ones that had headed for the village or the bunch riding on further into the hills? He couldn’t answer that question, because there was no way of knowing what the men intended to do with their captive. Longarm had figured they would all head for El Aguila’s hideout, but it was possible they had taken Sonia down to the settlement, planning to sell her to the owner of the cantina as a whore. Or maybe they had something else entirely in mind.
“We could split up,” Scott suggested.
Longarm shook his head. “There’s not enough of us. One man would have to ride alone.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that,” Scott said quietly.
“No, we’ll stay together.” Longarm was emphatic about that. He reached another decision and went on. “We’ll ride on down to that village. It won’t take long, and if the girl’s not there, we can always pick up the trail again here.”
“What if we find some of those outlaws but not the gal?” asked Coffin.
“Then they can tell us where the others are taking her, can’t they?”
Longarm said with a tired grin.
“I’m sure they’ll be glad to cooperate,” Scott added dryly.
Coffin reined his horse around. “All right, all right, let’s just get on with it.”
The three of them rode openly down the trail that led to the Mexican village. It was past siesta time, and as they approached, Longarm saw several peones in sombreros, white shirts and trousers, and rope-soled sandals moving around the adobe buildings. One of the buildings had half-a-dozen horses tied up at a hitch rail in front of it, marking it as the cantina, even though there was no sign painted on it. The door was open, and the arched entranceway reminded Longarm of the mouth of a cave. With the glare of the lowering sun flooding the dusty street, it was impossible to see anything in the shadowy interior of the cantina. The skin on the back of Longarm’s neck prickled as he rode closer to the building.
“Careful, boys, careful,” breathed Coffin, who was evidently feeling some of the same sensations. Even the easygoing Scott seemed more tense than usual.
But no shots came from inside the cantina, and the men Longarm, Coffin, and Scott passed on the street looked at them with only the casual interest they would direct toward any strangers.
There was room at the hitch rack for the three horses, but that just about filled it up. Longarm looped the bay’s reins around the rail, tying them loosely so that they could be jerked free in a hurry if need be. Coffin and Scott followed suit.
“I’ll go in first,” Longarm said quietly. “You two hang back a little, in case there’s trouble right away.”
Coffin looked as if he wanted to argue, but Scott nodded and said, “All right.” Coffin shrugged and waited with Scott as Longarm walked over to the door of the cantina.
The inside of the place was lit by several candles, Longarm saw as he stepped through the doorway. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness. Over the years, he had been in probably a hundred cantinas similar to this one. A crude bar ran across the back of the room, built of rough-hewn planks laid across the tops of several barrels. The floor was hard-packed dirt, and scattered around it were a handful of tables and chairs, all of them as crudely made as the bar. Another arched doorway, this one covered by a beaded curtain, led into a room in the back. A few Mexican farmers stood at the bar, being served by a grossly fat woman in a peasant blouse that revealed far too much of her pendulous breasts. A quick glance around told Longarm that the woman behind the bar was the only female in the place.
All the tables were unoccupied except for one in the corner. Six men were crowded around it, passing a bottle of tequila from hand to hand as they played cards and smoked small black cigars that looked like burning pieces of rope. Smelled like it too, thought Longarm as he moved unhurriedly toward the bar. As he reached it and turned slightly, he saw Coffin and Scott step through the door of the cantina.
In the brief moments since he had entered the building, several pieces of information had burned themselves into Longarm’s brain. For one thing, he was convinced the men at the table were members of El Aguila’s gang. Four of them were Mexicans, the other two gringos, but they were all cut from the same cloth—hard-cases, each and every one. For another, they were drunk and not paying attention to anything except their celebrating. That meant the loot from the latest raid on Del Rio had probably been split up already.
Their inattention to the newcomers also meant that no one had warned them about the three men riding into the village. Evidently none of the townspeople felt any great liking for these members of El Aguila’s gang. Still, Longarm was a little surprised that fear hadn’t prompted someone to try to curry favor with the desperadoes by telling them about the strangers.
These folks really didn’t like El Aguila, Longarm realized. That was all right with him.
The only real disappointment was the fact that Sonia wasn’t there.
Or maybe she was. As Longarm rested his left hand on the bar, he heard an unmistakable sound—the moans and sighs of a woman caught up in the throes of passion. The noises were coming from the back room. Whoever was back there sounded as if she liked what was happening to her. Longarm’s jaw tightened. He hated to think that maybe Sonia was enjoying her captivity.
The woman behind the bar edged over to him, a nervous expression on her face. “You want something?” she asked in heavily accented English.
“Tequila,” said Longarm. He glanced over his shoulder. Coffin and Scott were staying close to the door, lounging with their shoulders against the adobe wall. The outlaws in the corner hadn’t glanced toward them, as far as Longarm could tell.
The sounds of lovemaking had ended in the back room. With a clatter, the curtain of beads was shoved aside. Longarm turned his head and saw a young woman step out into the main room. The neckline of her blouse was pulled down so that half of one brown nipple was visible. She had a satisfied smile on her face.
But she wasn’t Sonia Guiterrez.
The woman behind the bar thumped down a glass in front of Longarm and splashed some tequila in it from a bottle. As Longarm reached for it, a man followed the younger woman out of the back room. He was smirking,
