covered Longarm and Coffin, he brought out a key and unlocked the heavy lock on the smokehouse door. When it was open, he stepped back so that the other outlaws could prod the two lawmen inside.
“Get a good night’s sleep,” Deke told them as he shut the door. “it might be your last.”
The thick wooden door slammed shut with finality. A moment later, Longarm heard the lock click into place.
“Well, ain’t this a fine howdy-do,” Coffin said bitterly into the darkness. The inside of the smokehouse was stygian in its lack of light. “I reckon I owe you an apology, Long.”
“How do you figure that?” asked Longarm.
“I was the one who invited Scott to join up with us. If it hadn’t been for that low-down rabid skunk, we wouldn’t be in this damn mess.”
Longarm shrugged, even though he knew Coffin couldn’t see him. “I might have done the same thing, especially after the way Scott took a hand in that fight with the Yaquis. He saved our lives.”
“Only so that he could double-cross us later.”
“Maybe. Maybe, like he said, he just saw an opportunity and took it.”
Longarm wasn’t sure whether he believed that or not. From his first glimpse of Scott, days earlier in Del Rio, he had sensed that there was something odd about the man, something dangerous. Scott had certainly proven Longarm’s instincts correct.
In the brief glimpse Longarm had had inside the smokehouse while the lantern light illuminated it, he had seen that the little building was empty. It had looked as if a long time had passed since it had been used for smoking meat. Now Longarm extended a hand and moved carefully to the side until his fingertips brushed the rough wood of the wall. He sat down on the hard ground and leaned his back against the hard logs.
“Might as well get as comfortable as we can,” he said to Coffin. “I reckon it’s going to be a long night.”
“Yeah,” rumbled the big Ranger. Longarm heard faint noises as Coffin sat down. “Somethin’ else is botherin’ me,” Coffin went on. “Deke and that gal both said something about the real boss of this outfit. What do you reckon they meant by that? Once we found out the real El Aguila wasn’t mixed up with ‘em, I figured Deke was runnin’ things, or if not him, then the girl.”
“I noticed that too,” replied Longarm. “And I thought the same thing you did before they said that. There’s something mighty strange going on here, Coffin. I don’t think we’ve got the whole story yet.”
“Me neither.” Coffin chuckled. “Reckon we’ll live long enough to figure it all out?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, old son,” Longarm told him. “But we ain’t dead yet.”
Even though the circumstances weren’t very conducive to sleep, both of the lawmen were exhausted and were unable to fight off slumber. Longarm heard loud, rattling snores coming from Coffin, and not even that could keep him awake. He dozed off moments later.
When he awoke, the tiny shafts of light slanting in through small chinks in the walls told him it was morning, and his neck was painfully stiff from leaning against the log wall all night. There was enough light in the smokehouse now for Longarm to see Coffin sprawled on the ground on the other side of the makeshift prison. The Ranger was stirring around and making snorting noises. Longarm climbed stiffly to his feet and stretched the best he could, considering the fact that his head brushed the low ceiling of the building. Then he said, “Coffin. Wake up, Coffin.”
Grunting and grumbling, Coffin rolled over and blinked blearily up at Longarm. “Hey, we’re still alive,” he said, sounding surprised by that fact.
“For a while anyway.” Longarm wondered if the outlaws were going to bring them any breakfast or just let them go hungry. His belly was rumbling from emptiness, and he could have used a few cups of coffee and a leisurely smoked cheroot too. He doubted if he was going to get any of those things.
Which meant he was surprised a few minutes later when the lock rattled and a voice called, “Step back away from the door in there. If you’re anywhere close when I open up, there’s a pair of shotguns out here that’ll blast both of you to hell.”
Longarm didn’t recognize the rough voice. When he and Coffin moved over to the far side of the smokehouse and the door swung open, he didn’t know the bearded face that peered in at them either. It had to belong to one of the outlaws, though. The man was flanked by two more of the gang who held greeners pointed at Longarm and Coffin. They followed the bearded man inside, keeping the double barrels of the weapons pointed at the prisoners.
The big man was carrying a tray with a couple of tin cups, some chunks of bread, and a few slices of bacon on it. Longarm’s mouth watered at the sight of the food.
“The senorita says that no matter what happens to you boys, we ain’t goin’ to starve you to death,” said the bearded outlaw. He set the tray down on the ground and backed away from it. Reaching outside the door, he picked up a wooden bucket and set it on the floor inside as well. “You got food and coffee, and you got a slops bucket.” An evil grin split his weathered face. “All the comforts of home, ain’t it?”
“You goin’ to shut up and let us eat,” asked Coffin, “or do you figure on jawin’ at us all day?”
The bearded man waved a hand at the food. “Go ahead, eat.” He gave a cackle of laughter. “Might be your last meal.”
Longarm sighed. He was getting mighty tired of folks saying things like that to him.
The outlaws backed out of the smokehouse, slammed the door behind them, and locked it. Longarm and Coffin dug in. The bread was stale and the bacon was cold, but neither man cared much about that. The coffee, at least, was hot, and strong too. Longarm drank it gratefully.
After they had polished off the crude breakfast and relieved themselves in the bucket, Longarm and Coffin retreated to the rear corners of the smokehouse and sat down again. “Goin’ to get mighty hot in here ‘fore the day’s over,” commented Coffin.
Longarm nodded in agreement. “Maybe we won’t be in here that long.”
