"Un pelado," Molina said with another shrug. "Herido por este gringo. No puede andar o cabalagar. Tal vez, acerca de muerte."
"You have hear what Sergento Molina say," Ramos told Longarm.
"I heard him, but I didn't understand him. I don't talk your language, Captain, outside of a word or so."
"He say you shoot this man first, and he is about to die."
"Oh, I winged him, sure. He was trying to shoot me, is why."
"To kill a man in my country is murder. Is not so in yours?"
Suddenly, Longarm realized he might be fighting for his life. The shock of learning that the rurales, far from cooperating with a lawman from across the border, were treating him like a criminal, had clouded his thinking. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "I'd call it self-defense. A man's got a right to defend himself in any country I ever heard of."
"We will have to study this question, no? So. You say you are federalista from your country. You can prove this?"
"Your sergeant's got my wallet. It's got my badge in it." As he spoke, Longarm hoped the badge was indeed still in its usual place.
Again the captain turned to Molina. "Tienes el mochila? "
Stepping up to the table, the sergeant handed over Longarm's wallet. Ramos flipped it open to examine the badge, still in place. He studied the engraved legend carefully. Then he opened the currency compartment and found it empty. Longarm started to protest; he knew there'd been just over $200 in it when he'd surrendered it to Molina. Before he could object, he thought better of the idea. No use in muddying up the water over a little thing like money, when keeping his mouth shut might make Molina feel uneasy. It could work both ways, though, he reminded himself. If he gets nervous, he might want to get rid of you, instead of going easy because you didn't give him away for a thief.
"Does your government not provide you with money?" Ramos asked. He sounded disappointed.
"All I got to do is show my badge at a bank and sign for what cash I need," Longarm lied, gambling that Ramos wouldn't know.
"This badge you say is yours, it looks like it might be real," the captain said thoughtfully. "But how to prove it? Eh?"
"All you got to do is send a telegram to my boss in Denver. Or to Washington, if that's what it takes to satisfy you."
"Ay, qua malo!" Ramos sighed. "Our small outpost, it does not have the telegraph wire."
"Then send one of your men to the closest station. How far'd that be, anyhow?"
"Much too distant," Ramos frowned. Then he brightened. "Now. I will tell you what you must do. You must write the letter to your ambassador in our capital."
"Hell, he never heard of me," Longarm objected. "It'll save time to wire Denver or Washington. A letter'd take too long to get there. It'd be next summer before you'd get an answer."
"We will do it the way I say." Ramos's voice was firm. "I will tell you what to put down."
"I can write it myself," Longarm grumbled.
"Maybe it is that you do not understand. In this letter, the words must be chosen so your government will not make the mistake."
Longarm was suddenly suspicious. "Hold up. Just what kind of letter is it you want me to write?"
"You will see," the captain promised him. "Vicente! Bring a chair for this one." When Longarm was seated at the table across from Ramos, the rurale captain produced paper from a drawer, as well as an old-fashioned quill pen and inkwell. He slid the paper across to Longarm and placed the inkwell in front of him. "Now. You will write as I say you to."
Longarm dipped the quill in the ink and began writing. Ramos reached across the table, grabbed the pen from his hand, and crumpled the paper angrily. His face was livid.
"You will learn to obey my commands! Vicente! Un golpe en la cabeza por el gringo!"
Before Longarm could move, Molina rapped him sharply on the head with his pistol butt. Longarm started to rise, but the sergeant flipped the pistol by its trigger guard and Longarm found himself staring into the muzzle.
"Sientese!" Molina growled, motioning with the pistol. Longarm sat down.
Ramos gritted threateningly, "If you need more lessons, you will get them!" He returned the pen to Longarm and shoved over a fresh sheet of paper. "Now. Write this time as I tell you! Not a word more, not a word less!"
"All right. I got the idea. Your man won't need to whop me again," Longarm said. On the fresh sheet, he wrote to Ramos's careful dictation:
"His Excellency, Ambassador of the United States. I am an agent of the federal government. I have murdered~"
Longarm threw down the pen. "To hell with that, Ramos! I ain't murdered anybody! It was one of your men shot Sanchez! All I did was wing him a little bit!"
Ramos studied the vigas in the ceiling. "How you would like it if I write your ambassador, to tell him I regret you have been kill by los ladrones de ganados? Do not forget where you are, gringo! Think a moment. If I tell Vicente, or any of my men, to take you somewhere from here and to shoot you, do you think they disobey me?"
Longarm remembered the instant obedience of the rurale who'd been ordered to kill Sanchez. He was beginning to see that he'd underestimated both the power and malevolence of the captain. It gritted on him to knuckle under, but it was better to do that than to die without a chance to fight back.
Still, he decided he'd balk at murder. He said to Ramos, "I'll tell you what, Captain. I'll write down I shot Sanchez, but damned if I'll say I murdered him, because I didn't."
Ramos thought about this for a moment. Then he nodded. "Esta bien. But the rest, it must be as I say."
When Longarm finished the letter, brushing up Ramos's wording a bit, it read:
citeI have shot a citizen of Mexico. Because I am an official of our country, the officers of Mexico where I am in prison do not wish to cause sorrow to the United States government by executing me for my crime. They will free me if the United States pays the expenses to which Mexico has been put in conducting my arrest and trial. The expenses are in the amount of 15,000 dollars in gold. You will send this money at once to Capitan Ernando Ramos, at the rurale district headquarters in the state of Coahuila. The money must be paid within one month, or I will be executed. Mr. Ambassador, I appeal to you to save me from this death.
As he wrote, Longarm's amazement increased. It was clear to him that Ramos hadn't the slightest idea how diplomats worked. Longarm didn't have very much of an idea himself, but once when he'd arrested a Canadian citizen up in Montana the man had appealed to his country's ambassador and the result had been a ruckus that the President himself had had to step in and settle. Longarm kept his grin inward, but he was pretty sure Captain Ramos was in for one damned big shock when this ransom demand was delivered.
"I will read every word before you sign your name," Ramos said, holding out his hand.
Longarm handed him the letter. "It's just what you told me to say."
Ramos read carefully, and finally nodded his satisfaction. He returned the letter. "Now, you will sign your name and put under it your official title. I will send it by a messenger. In three weeks, a month, when the gold is delivered, you will be free."
In a pig's ass, I will, Longarm thought. Once this bastard gets that gold, or gets an answer saying there won't be none coming, I'll get shot accidentally while I'm trying to make a getaway.
Forcing a cheerful smile, he said, "Well, I done what you said, Captain. Now, I guess you'll have a place for me to stay while we're waiting. And a good square meal'd taste mighty good right now."