"Sooner or later," he said.
"I guess you know you only got two choices."
"Which are what?"
"Move on, or throw in with my boys and me."
"You saying you'd pin a deputy's badge on me, after what I done out there a while ago?"
"Shucks, Custis, I'm a big enough man to overlook that. I was about to tell Spud to hold up, anyhow. It wasn't in my mind to let him kill Morton. Except he had to be give a good lesson to."
"Fellow I was talking to, the one told me about Morton's trouble, he didn't say it wasn't a fair fight that got your deputy hurt."
"That don't signify." Tucker's voice hardened. "Thing is, my man got cut so bad I had t' send him clear down to Laredo for him t' be doctored. Most people in Los Perros, they know they can't hurt one of my boys without they pay for it. Them as don't got t' be reminded. That goes for you, too, Custis."
"Join up or move on? Is that the way of it?"
"Clear as I can say it. You do one, I take good care of you, money and all the rest. You do anything else, then you better keep on travelin'. For your own good."
"Suppose I tell you I'd like to sorta nose around a little bit and see what Los Perros is like before I make up my mind?"
Tucker thought about this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "All right, that's fair enough. You stay around a few days, see what you see. Only don't go pullin' no more stunts like the one I'm lettin' you git away with."
"Now, I didn't come here to get crossways with you, Sheriff. Or with anybody else, far's that goes. I got mighty tender toes, though. I'd imagine you're smart enough to tell them deputies of yours not to step on 'em."
"Don't worry about that. They're my boys, they do what I tell 'em to. Nothing else." Tucker frowned, then added, "Except maybe for Spud. He's been actin' a little bit uppity, now and again. Not enough so I got to whip him into line, but he'd be the only one that might give you a bad time."
"That's my problem, though, ain't it?"
"I'd say so. Don't look for me to take sides, though, Custis. Even if he is my boy, when I tell him to leave you be and he don't, that's his lookout."
Longarm marked down the possible ill feeling between Tucker and Spud as a hole card that might fill a thin hand for him if it was needed. He said, "Looks like we understand how it stands between us, Sheriff. Now let's go see what's happening to that poor devil your man Spud just about beat to death. And I guess all of 'em oughta be glad to get let out of that cell. They'll be getting a mite restless by now."
Longarm's guess was a good one. The Apache girl, Wahonta, was still tending to Jed Morton's back; Morton lay facedown on the cot, groaning now and then. The three deputies were crowding up to the bars, impatient to be released.
"Took you two long enough to settle whatever it was you went to talk private about," Spud grumbled as the sheriff unlocked the cell door.
"Cool off, Spud," Tucker advised. "You wasn't hurt a bit, no more'n Ralston or Lefty." The others grunted, but said nothing. Tucker led them to the office area, where he sat down behind the battered desk and motioned for the others to find seats, too. "Now," he said, "this gentleman here's Mr. Custis. He's made a right handsome apology to us for gittin' hisself crossways of our law, and him and me have settled any differences there might've been."
"Now just a minute~" Spud began.
Tucker cut him short. "You shut up, Spud. If you hadn't been so damn heavy-handed with that whip, this dustup never would've happened."
Spud glowered, but kept quiet.
"Mr. Custis figures to stay in Los Perros for a little while," the sheriff continued. He shifted his eyes from Longarm to Spud as he spoke. "He ain't lookin' for trouble with nobody, and I told him we wasn't goin' to hold no grudges for him buttin' in on us. You all understand what I'm tellin' you?"
All three of the deputies had their gazes fixed on Longarm. He kept his face impassive, meeting their stares without flicking an eyelid.
Tucker concluded, "Now. That's all I got t' say."
When it was clear that none of the deputies was inclined to argue with their boss, Longarm spoke up. "I aim to get along with everybody. Now, if you gentlemen feel like you want to join the sheriff and me, I'm standing the drinks."
* * *
It didn't appear that the general population of Los Perros could afford saloon prices, Longarm thought. Except for Tucker, the deputies, and himself, the cavernous, shabby place was echoingly empty. The scarred floor gave indications that booted feet did walk on it in numbers at times, however, and the array of bottled goods available, as shown by the display in front of the mirror behind the bar, seemed adequate. From inside the building, the exterior outlines of the structure made sense. The bar area covered about two-thirds of the available space. A small enclosed area — offices, maybe storerooms, Longarm thought — filled the rear portion. Above this was a balcony, and though the stairs to it ended in a blind turn, Longarm was sure there were rooms opening onto a corridor over the offices or storage area. He absorbed the layout in one quick, sweeping glance as the group crossed to the bar. An aproned barkeeper appeared from nowhere. Longarm tossed a gold eagle on the scarred pine that in Los Perros substituted for the mahogany or walnut of more civilized places.
"Name your pleasure, gentlemen," he said.
For himself, Longarm ordered his standard Maryland rye, and realized as he sipped it with relish that this was his first drink since he'd gotten off the train in San Antonio just a week ago. He felt for a cheroot to go with the drink, and remembered that the sutler at Fort Lancaster hadn't been able to replenish his dwindling supply. There were only three left in his pocket. It seemed to him the occasion called for celebrating, so he fished out one of them and lighted it. The heavy smoke and sharp tang of the whiskey did a lot to make him feel more at home in the alien surroundings.
Ralston, the deputy standing at Longarm's right, asked, "You going to be around Los Perros for a while, Custis?"
"Awhile. And I aim to stay out of trouble while I'm here."
"Hell, I don't blame you much for butting in today. I was just about sick, listening to that poor son of a bitch groan, and them whacks Spud was dealing with the whip."
"It didn't seem to bother Spud any," Longarm commented, carefully keeping his voice neutral.
"Nothin' like that bothers Spud." Ralston looked down the bar. He was standing on Longarm's right. Lefty, the other deputy, stood on his left, and beyond Lefty was Tucker. Spud, the last man in the line, was engaged in a whispered conversation with the sheriff. Dropping his voice, Ralston said to Longarm, "I'd look behind me when I was out at night, if I was you, Custis. Spud took that deal today right personal. He was saying some pretty ugly things he'd like to do to you while we was all locked up together."
"Thanks, Ralston. I'll remember that. Maybe I can return the favor someday."
"Ah, forget it. I didn't say nothing, anyhow."
Raising his voice, Longarm called, "There's another round or two of drinks to come out of that eagle on the bar. Sing out for refills. "
He thought about Marshal Billy Vail, back in Denver, and could imagine his chief's face changing color if he was to see government expense money being spent on whiskey for a bunch of toughs in Los Perros. His thoughts were interrupted by Sheriff Tucker calling his name.
"Custis! Come on back to the office with me. I just saw Miles Baskin stick his head outa his door. He's a man you'll want to know, if you're goin' to be in town awhile."
Baskin turned out to be a somewhat colorless individual. His lean face was adorned with the walrus mustache that was the trademark of a saloonkeeper, but this was the only outstanding feature of an otherwise nondescript face. His eyes were colorless, his nose unremarkably straight, and what his lips looked like was a secret guarded by the overhanging mustache. As he hadn't been involved in the dispute that had flared in the plaza, Baskin greeted Longarm pleasantly enough.