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?”“Why not?”
“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?”
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.