Sheriff Sanderson strolled into the dining room, spotted his fellow lawmen, and came across the room to join them. He was wearing a battered old hat and a stained vest this morning. “Hidy,” he greeted Longarm and Coffin. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Help yourself,” said Longarm with a gesture at one of the two remaining empty chairs. Sanderson sat down and dropped his hat on the floor beside him. His thinning brown hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks.
Sanderson and Coffin made quite a pair, Longarm thought as he looked at them. They were about as disreputable-looking as any badge-toters he had ever run across. But how they looked wasn’t nearly as important as how well they did their jobs, and so far Longarm didn’t have any real evidence either way on that score.
The sheriff motioned for the waitress to bring him a coffee cup. When she had done that, Sanderson picked up the pot and looked over at Coffin. “You been behavin’ yourself since you went up to Austin and joined the Rangers, Lazarus?”
“Sure I have,” said Coffin. “I been a model citizen, Sheriff.”
Sanderson grunted. “You best stay that way, or you’ll wind up in my jail again. Couldn’t hardly believe it last night when somebody told me you was the Ranger sent down here to give Marshal Long a hand.”
Coffin’s bearded jaw tightened. “No offense to Long here, but they didn’t need to send no federal lawman. I coulda taken care o’ things just fine by my ownself.”
“It never hurts to have two good men on a job,” Longarm said mildly.
“It might if they keep trippin’ over one another,” said Coffin.
“That won’t happen.” Longarm’s voice was flat, but it left no room for argument.
The three men kept the waitress busy for the next half hour as she hurried back and forth between the table and the kitchen, carrying platters of food that seemed to be consumed almost before she could make it back to the kitchen. As Longarm would have expected, Coffin was a prodigious eater, and the sheriff put away quite a bit of food for a medium-sized fella. Longarm’s own appetite was keen this morning, and he wasn’t satisfied until he had cleaned four plates of his own.
Finally, Coffin leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “Reckon I’ve exercised the ol’ table muscle enough.” He let out a loud belch and undid the top button of his denim pants.
“You’re still a crude son of a bitch, ain’t you, Lazarus?” said Sanderson. Coffin just grinned at him. Sanderson put a little more coffee in his cup and turned to Longarm. “Anything special you want me to do whilst you’re in town, Marshal?”
“Nope,” said Longarm. “Until we see how things are going to go, we won’t know exactly what we’ll need to be doing.” He checked his watch. “It’ll still be a while before the parties from both sides get here.”
Sanderson’s chair scraped as he pushed it back and stood up. “Well, I reckon I’d better mosey on then. I’ll make my mornin’ rounds, make sure nothin’ happened durin’ the night.”
The sheriff fished some coins out of his pocket and left them on the table to pay for his breakfast, then started slowly toward the door. Longarm had the feeling that the local lawman didn’t get in any hurry unless he had to. A glance out the front window of the dining room showed Longarm that the sun was up now, the reddish-gold slanting rays lighting the street outside.
Illuminating, as well, were the armed men who suddenly raced by on horseback, yelling and shooting.
Chapter 4
For an instant, Longarm sat there, too stunned by the sudden outbreak of violence to move. Then instincts honed by long years in a very dangerous profession took hold, and he surged up out of his chair, overturning it behind him. His hand flashed to his gun and jerked the Colt from its holster.
“What the hell!” shouted Sheriff Sanderson. Hard on the heels of his startled exclamation, the front window of the dining room shattered in a million pieces, sending a spray of glass across the room. Longarm threw up his left arm to protect his eyes from the flying slivers. He knew that one of the bullets being tossed around so recklessly by the men outside had struck the window.
A glance told Longarm that Lazarus Coffin was on his feet too. The pearl-handled Remington was in the big Ranger’s hand. Sanderson had drawn his gun as well. All three men lunged for the entrance to the lobby, leaving the screams and shouts and chaos of the dining room behind them. Sanderson was closer, but Longarm and Coffin had longer legs. They reached the lobby at about the same time and raced across it, bursting out onto the boardwalk in front of the hotel.
The terrified shout came from down the street somewhere.
At least a dozen masked men were galloping through Del Rio, strung out in a long line. Some of them were still passing the hotel. The sound of gunfire and the stench of burned powder filled the air as the raiders emptied their weapons in a careless orgy of death. Longarm saw several luckless victims already sprawled on the planks further along the boardwalk.
He went to one knee and lifted the Colt, triggering it as one of the riders flashed past him. The weapon bucked against his palm, and Longarm had the satisfaction of seeing the masked owlhoot jerk sideways in the saddle. The man didn’t fall, but he clutched desperately at his saddlehorn and sagged forward, clearly hit hard by Longarm’s bullet.
Close beside him he heard the roar of Coffin’s Remington and the whiplash of Sanderson’s smaller-caliber revolver. Another of the outlaws was hit, and this one tumbled off his mount to slam into the ground in a tangle of arms and legs like a child’s carelessly discarded rag doll. “Got him!” Sheriff Sanderson crowed, and immediately Coffin protested, “The hell you did! That was my bullet took the bastard down!”
Longarm came to his feet. The last of the raiders had galloped past, but they were turning around at the far end of the street. “No need to argue, boys,” said Longarm dryly. “Looks like there’ll be plenty of those desperadoes to go around—‘cause here they come again!”
Sure enough, the marauders were launching a second attack on the town. This time Longarm got a look at the man in the lead. Not much of his face was visible between a pulled-up bandanna and a tugged-down Stetson, but Longarm could tell he was a big, broad-shouldered man, built along lines similar to Lazarus Coffin, but not as massive. Longarm snapped a shot at the leader, but figured it missed, since the man showed no sign of being hit
