"You ever run up against the rurales before?"
"Sure. About four years ago, when I come down here on another case. They were real helpful. I tagged 'em as a pretty good outfit."
"Four years ago, they was. That's before Diaz got to be boss of Mexico again. The rurales is his boys now, just like me and Spud and the rest of our bunch is Ed Tucker's men. And if you think he's a bad one, you don't know what bad is, yet."
Longarm wasn't convinced that the deputy could be believed, but told himself that he'd find out soon enough. The rider coming down the slope was almost within speaking distance. He carried a pistol in one hand, but a rifle was slung across his back. His men were still only halfway down from the rim; they were moving cautiously, keeping their weapons ready. The horseman reined in and looked at Longarm, Lefty, and Sanchez for a moment before speaking.
"Que tenemos aqui? " he finally asked. "Quien hace tiros oiagamos un momento pasado? "
"He wants to know who was doin' the shooting a while back," Lefty translated for Longarm. "What you want me to say, Marshal? "
"I'll do my own talking," Longarm replied curtly. He asked the rurale, "You speak English, mister? Habla Ingles?"
"Si, un poco. A little bit, I speak."
"It was me done that shooting." Longarm spoke slowly and distinctly; in a situation like this he didn't trust his slight knowledge of Spanish, even though a lot of it had come back to him since he'd arrived on the border. "I'm a deputy U.S. marshal. Same kinda job you got, understand?" The rurale gave no evidence that he was following the explanation, so Longarm went on, "If you won't get trigger-nerved, I'll reach in my pocket and show you my badge."
His brow knitted, the rurale said, "Un federalista de los Estados Unidos? You can prove this thing you say?"
Moving very slowly indeed, Longarm pulled his coat lapel aside and took out his wallet. He flipped it open to show the badge pinned in its fold. "Here. Look at it."
"Damelo," the man commanded. "Give me to it."
Longarm stepped up and handed over the wallet. The rurale took it, examined the badge carefully, opened the folded wallet, and looked at the money it contained.
"Muy interesante, " he grunted. A grin began to form on his face. "Anybody can carry a badge, hombre." He put the wallet in his pocket. "I keep this for now."
"Wait a minute!" Longarm protested. "That's my badge and my money you got there!"
'Wo apasarse, hombre. I weel take good care of it. And your gun, too." He turned, saw that his men were now just behind him, and ordered one of them, "Tome su pistola. " He indicated the rifles that were off to one side, the pistols lying on the ground near them. To another of his men, he said, "Los fusiles y pistolas aya, ponerles. "
Both men moved quickly to obey, one starting for Longarm, the other to collect the rest of the guns. When the rurale who was taking Longarm's Colt saw the gold watch chain snaked across his vest, the man reached for it greedily. The commander saw the move.
"Cuidado, Felipe! Este botin toca al Capitan Ramos! El no le gusta si tome el reloj del gringo!" he called.
His threat was enough to cause the rurale to pull his hand back as if the watch chain were red-hot. Longarm caught enough of what the commander said to deduce that he wasn't going to be searched thoroughly until he was in the presence of the captain himself. He reminded himself to try to find an opportunity to drop the watch into the pocket that held his derringer, so the chain wouldn't be so highly visible.
There was a moment of inaction while the men who'd taken the guns showed them to their leader. He hefted Longarm's Colt, but didn't find it to his liking, for he waved the weapons away with a disgusted grunt. Longarm used the pause to study the mounted rurale.
He didn't really like what he saw. The commander wore a gold-embroidered charro outfit, short jacket, tight pants, high-crowned felt sombrero, calf-high boots. This seemed to be the uniform of the rurales, though none of the men wore garments as elaborately decorated as that of their leader; what braiding their jackets and hats showed was predominantly silver with an occasional golden accent stitch. It wasn't the commander's clothing that stirred Longarm's concern, but the man's face. He had the cold, slitted eyes that Longarm had seen in the faces of killers who enjoyed their work; he'd looked into eyes like that too many times to misread their significance. The rurale's face was razor-thin, with a long nose and jutting jaw punctuated by an untrimmed mustache. Longarm bet himself that the man's lips were even thinner than his nose, though he couldn't see them.
"Bueno," the commander said, after his men had bundled the captured weapons for one of their number to carry. He turned his gaze on Longarm. "You say you are Tejano~"
"No," Longarm interrupted. "That ain't what I said. My office is in Denver, Colorado, it ain't in Texas at all."
"No significa, hombre. You tell me you are federalista de los Estados Unidos, you show me badge, verdad? So, now you tell me what you do in my country?"
"I was trailing them stolen steers you're looking at. Them two fellows there, along with some others who've already left, were driving the animals from the U.S. side of the Rio Grande to someplace south of here."
"De verdad? And you make the shootings my men and me we hear while we ride by on our patrol, yes?"
"Yes. That one on the ground cut down on me and I had to wing him. The hole I put in him ain't going to kill him, but if you aim to save him for hanging, you better get him to a doctor to fix it up."
Looking down at Sanchez, the rurale asked, "Es verdico, el gringo? O es mientrador?" Sanchez said nothing. The rurale frowned. "Cabren! Repuestame!"
Lefty spoke for the first time. "Sanchez wouldn't know if the marshal was lyin' or not. He's tellin' you the truth, though."
"Es posible. Es posible tu es mientirador tambien. Dime verdad, hombre, tu es otro ladron de ganados, no? "
"No, I ain't no rustier! And I ain't lyin' about the marshal. And I'm a law officer, too. Outa Los Perros!"
With a wolfish smile, the leader shook his head slowly. "Ay, Los Perros! El jefe Tucker, no?"
"Yeah, Sheriff Tucker. I guess you know who he is?" Lefty retorted.
"Si. Tan mas bueno."
"He's one of Tucker's men, all right," Longarm said. "But he was working with the rustlers."
"He is not with you?" the rurale asked.
"Hell, no! He was with the bunch I was trailing!"
"Pues, es ladron de ganados. " Over his shoulder, the commander called, "Ponese las manillas, esto y el herido."
Longarm watched Lefty being shackled. He half wished he'd felt able to trust the deputy, but he'd learned by bitter experience that it was a fool's game to depend on a born liar, and a weakling to boot. He felt a little better when the commander didn't order him to be handcuffed. There's a good chance the captain at his headquarters will understand things better, Longarm thought hopefully. Then, to try the leader's temper, he said, "Well, now you got things straight, suppose you give me back my badge and my guns. I'll ride to your headquarters with you, and tell your captain what this is all about."
"Is not so easy like that," the rurale replied. "If you are what you say, you have invade Mexico. This is serious crime, hombre. I take you to mi capitan, along with these two others."