you,” Scott warned. “I don’t particularly want to-“
“Sure you don’t, you sneakin’, yella-bellied, goat-lovin’ excuse for a
human bein’!” said Coffin. “I’d like to get my hands around your throat
just for a minute! I’d-“
Scott prodded Coffin in the back with the long barrel of his right-hand gun. Reluctantly, Coffin shut up and lowered his Remington to the floor. He dropped it carefully on the hard-packed dirt.
Longarm did likewise with his Colt, and Scott said in satisfaction, “That’s better.”
“You mean Scott’s not one of the gang?” The surprised question came from Longarm.
Scott chuckled coldly. “Not yet. But I’m going to be.”
Understanding dawned in Longarm’s brain. “You’re going to turn us over to El Aguila. Buy your way into his bunch with a couple of gringo lawmen.”
“Now you’re thinking, Custis. I’m a man who likes to seize an opportunity when it presents itself. I don’t reckon I’ll ever get a better one.”
The Mexican bandit turned to his uninjured companion. “Bind up this wound, Grady,” he ordered, “and then get me a bottle of tequila. I am in great pain.”
“Sure,” Grady said with a nod. Now that the threat from Longarm and Coffin was over, he didn’t look nearly as frightened. “Listen, Manuel, you know I didn’t really mean to tell these law-dogs anything.”
Manuel gave a skeptical snort, but made no other reply. Instead he glared at Longarm and said, “It was your bullet that shattered my arm, bastard. It will never be right again. I shall not forget.”
Longarm didn’t say anything in response to the implied threat, but Coffin spat on the floor and said with a scowl, “I hope you die of blood poisonin’.”
Scott moved around so that he could cover Longarm and Coffin from the front. “Sit down at one of those tables, boys,” he ordered. “It’ll still be a while before we’re ready to leave, I imagine.” He glanced over at Manuel as the Mexican sat down at another table, moving somewhat awkwardly due to the way he clutched his wounded arm. “You will take me to see El Aguila, I assume.”
“I have little choice but to take you to our stronghold,” said Manuel. “Otherwise you might betray Grady and me just as you betrayed these men who thought you their friend.”
“The odds are pretty much even now,” Scott said with a grim smile playing across his wide mouth.
“That is why you did not declare yourself until the rest of my compadres were dead,” Manuel said accusingly.
Scott shrugged broad shoulders. “Sometimes a man has to wait a bit to see which way he wants to jump. Anyway, the ball got rolling before I could do anything about it. Personally, I don’t like to see a lot of killing.”
Longarm managed not to laugh scornfully at that statement. He doubted that killing bothered Scott a bit. The self-proclaimed drifter was a cold-blooded son of a bitch, that was for sure.
And Longarm was kicking himself for not realizing what Scott had had in mind. He hadn’t fully trusted Scott, not even after the man had pitched in to help fight off the Yaquis, but his concern for Sonia’s whereabouts and well-being, along with the excitement of the gunfight with the outlaws, had made him let down his guard. If he got out of this mess alive, that wasn’t going to happen again, he vowed.
Of course, it was looking mighty doubtful that he would have to worry about that. Once El Aguila got his hands on the two lawmen, they probably wouldn’t live very long.
While Scott kept his guns trained on Longarm and Coffin, the barrels rock-steady in his firm grip, Grady patched up Manuel’s arm as best he could. Manuel slugged down half a bottle of tequila to dull the pain from the injury, then got unsteadily to his feet. “Come,” he said. “We ride for the hills.”
Scott gestured with the twin Colts, motioning Longarm and Coffin onto their feet. Supported by Grady, Manuel stumbled out of the cantina, followed by Longarm and Coffin with Scott bringing up the rear. “What about the bodies of your friends?” Scott asked.
Manuel’s right arm was supported in a crude sling that Grady had rigged. He waved his left arm without looking around. “Leave them,” he said with the typical callousness of the outlaw breed. “They are no longer any use to us.”
The sun had set behind the hills to the west, leaving the shadows of dusk gathering in the little village. Nervous faces watched from the windows of the other buildings as Longarm and Coffin were forced at gunpoint to mount up. Grady helped Manuel onto his horse, then kept a pistol trained on Longarm and Coffin while Scott swung up into the saddle atop Phantom. Once Grady was mounted too, he gathered up the reins of the horses belonging to the dead men inside the cantina and led them as the little group started up the slope to the point in the ridge where the trail had split.
Longarm took a deep breath and suppressed the anger he felt inside. He had to think clearly and calmly now; his life, as well as those of Coffin and Sonia, might depend on it.
There was one good thing about this, he reminded himself. He and Coffin were being taken straight to the gang’s hideout. That was something they might not have been able to accomplish without being captured. Now all they would have to do was escape from their captors, free Sonia, and take her with them when they fled.
Yep, thought Longarm grimly, that was all.
Despite the pain of his wound and the fact that he was half drunk, Manuel was able to lead the group along a trail that wound like a maze through the hills. Longarm had figured out by now that Grady was a half-wit, at best, relying on the Mexican to tell him what to do.
Coffin was still muttering sulphurous curses under his breath as he rode alongside Longarm. Their hands were not tied, and Longarm hoped that fact wouldn’t give Coffin the false confidence to try some sort of escape. Scott rode right behind them, and Longarm had seen the man’s speed and accuracy with those black-handled Colts he
