“The tally is going to be whatever it is,” Caster bristled. “And you better not have no ideas of that Davis tagging along with us. I don’t like that feller’s looks.”
Longarm smiled. “I’ll tell him you said that. I’ll be ready in just a moment, Mister Caster. This ought not to take long.”
“You got the money?”
Longarm turned in the saddle and slapped his saddlebags. “Got it right in here.” Though the money, in fact, was still in his mattress. “You ain’t told me how you want me to get it to you. Or who? Raymond San Diego?”
“In a moment we will ride to the hotel. I’ll tell you then.”
Longarm glanced around at Caster. It was hard to tell, since the man was so unfriendly at his best, but this morning there seemed to be a special edge to him. Then again, Longarm reflected, maybe he was just imagining it, worried as he was about Dulcima making it back and telling the interested parties what had really happened to Raoul.
He could see Austin Davis watching them across the stream of cattle, and Longarm dipped his hat brim just a fraction to let his partner know that things were still going along all right. Actually they were better than that. He now knew what he was going to arrest Caster for, and in fact, could have arrested him at that second. But he had the feeling that another fish was going to swim into his net, so he planned on being patient.
Then the last of the cattle were out of the corral, and the drovers Austin Davis had hired, fell in on the sides and behind the herd and started moving them toward the east. They’d take them in that direction until they were around the town and then turn them north. Austin Davis went along with them, casting a glance back toward Longarm. He would accompany the herd only until he saw Longarm and Caster making a definite move in one direction. Then he would cut back and find a position in which to place himself for the final moment.
“You ready to go now?” Caster asked.
“Yeah. I reckon that’s about it.”
“Then head for the hotel. I’ll ride along beside you.”
Caster didn’t speak again until they were both in front of the hotel. He dismounted and stood by his horse. “Take yore saddlebags and go to yore room,” he instructed Longarm. “Leave the money laying on top of your bed. Then walk out, leaving the door unlocked.”
“What about my papers?”
“Damnit, keep your mouth shut. You come out of that room, wait fifteen minutes, and then go back in there. Yore papers will be laying on the bed. But don’t be hanging around in the hall. Go in the bar or stay back in the lobby.”
“Just like that? I’m supposed to lay some more money down without having seen a damn thing? Why should I trust you?”
“Don’t, then,” Caster said coldly. “I don’t give a damn. See how far you get with those cattle.”
Longarm grimaced. “I don’t seem to have much choice.”
“No, you don’t. And don’t be in no rush to come out of yore room once you’ve got yore papers. Give it another quarter of an hour. Have yourself a drink to celebrate.”
“And these are Brownsville papers? Mull is going to sign and seal them?”
Caster gave him a disgusted look. “Long, I will be damn glad to see you out of town. You ain’t worth the money. I told you about Mull and it is still the same. Now get in that hotel and do like I told you.”
Longarm untied his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder, thinking he would be glad to see Caster in jail. He couldn’t remember when he’d taken such a dislike to a quarry in all his career. Mostly he looked at it as business, but the mouth on Caster had began to personally irritate him.
He walked into the hotel and to the desk, picked up his key and went down the hall to his room and unlocked the door. Just before he went in he glanced down four doors to room 110. If things went the way he had them figured, Mister James Mull was sitting in there waiting to get a chunk of money in return for his signature.
Longarm stepped into his room and closed the door behind him. He pitched the saddlebags on the bed, then went to the window and made sure it was closed. Then he carefully drew the curtains so that some casual passerby couldn’t see what was going to be on the bed. He took a sack out of his saddlebags, an empty sack he’d gotten from the bank. Then he lifted up the mattress and held it in place with his shoulder while he removed the money and put it in the sack. When he was through he let the mattress down, smoothed the covers, and placed the sack squarely in the center of the bed. He was done. He took one last look around and then exited the room, carefully closing the door behind him but not locking it.
He walked down the hall and went into the lobby, going to the far side and shielding himself behind one of the big square support columns that rose to the ceiling. He could just see the front door. A moment passed and then another. He was starting to get jumpy. Was Caster not going to go for the cheese in the trap? Had he been forewarned by Dulcima?
Caster walked into the hotel. He looked left and right and seemed to study the faces in the lobby, but he did it quickly. Without any further hesitation he walked down the hall toward the rooms at that end, just as if he were going about official business. Longarm watched him until he disappeared. As quickly as he could, Longarm slipped over to the hall and peeked around it. He was just in time to see Caster open the door to his room and slip inside. He shut the door behind himself.
Longarm did not pause. He loosened the gun in his holster; he was now wearing his cutaway model. He walked quickly down the hall and stopped opposite his own door.
At first he stood across the hallway, his back against the wall. But after a moment had passed he decided he didn’t care what anyone might think of him standing in front of a room door. Stepping across the hallway, he stationed himself right in front of his room. He stood there, staring intently at the doorknob, waiting for it to turn. He had been waiting for this moment for what seemed like weeks, maybe months, days for certain. In his mind he ran through all the insults Caster had paid him, all the sneering remarks, all the condescension. Oh yes, he owed Mister Caster more than Mister Caster knew.
Caster had been dressed in his customary vested suit with a small tie. While they were watching the herd Longarm had taken some pains to note that he’d also been wearing a small revolver high up on his waist. The gun had appeared to be a short-barreled .38 caliber. It was strictly a belly gun, to be used at close quarters.
Longarm was gradually tensing up as he watched for the knob to turn. It seemed like half an hour had passed. Several people had come and gone down the hall. They had glanced curiously at Longarm, but hadn’t said anything.
And then he saw the knob start to turn. He raised his head to eye-level so he’d be looking directly into the customs inspector’s face when the door came open. The door opened slowly. Caster’s left shoulder came into view and then his chest and then his face. Longarm took only time enough to register the surprised look on Caster’s face before he pushed forward, knocking the door aside, and grabbing both lapels of his coat. With a heave of his shoulders he shoved the man a yard back into the room, then swung him around to the right and smashed him as hard as he could into the wall by the door. Caster let out a whoosh of air, but he tried feebly to strike at Longarm with the sack he was holding in his hand. Longarm let go of Caster’s right lapel, doubled his free hand into a fist, and then drove it hard into Caster’s stomach. The customs official went pale, his eyes opened wide, and a moan oozed out of his mouth. He would have doubled over, but Longarm was holding him upright. Without losing a moment, Longarm reached out with his right hand, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut. Then he put his forearm under Caster’s chin, pressing it against his neck, and straightened the man up on his tiptoes against the wall. Caster’s face went from white to beet-red as Longarm attempted to strangle him. His mouth worked like a fish’s but no sound came out. Longarm saw him drop the cash sack and try to bring his right hand in toward his belt. “I reckon not, Mister Caster,” he said, knocking his hand away. Reaching in under Caster’s coat with his left hand, Longarm found the little revolver, jerked it out of its holster, and threw it behind him on the bed. Then, because he felt like it, he made a fist with his left hand and slugged Caster in that side of the stomach. Caster’s face contorted with pain and he waved his arms uselessly trying to beat at Longarm’s back. He was making little gurgling sounds.