"Too bad Mexico don't feel the same way," Longarm observed.
Their conversation stopped abruptly when the heavy door of the jail building creaked open. An old Mexican with a bent back and a pronounced limp came in. He stopped in front of the cell door and peered at the three prisoners.
"Quien quiere comida hoy? " he asked.
"Todos, los tres de nosotros, " Webster answered. He turned to Longarm. "This is Sebastian. Wants to know if we want supper, which is his way of telling us we better have cash or something to swap. You said~"
"I remember," Longarm broke in. "You go ahead and dicker for all of us, you handle his lingo better'n I can. Best I can do is catch a word now and again."
"I'll get us off as light as I can," Webster promised.
He began bargaining in Spanish with the jailer. Longarm caught an occasional word, but most of the haggling went over his head. After about five minutes, Webster turned away from the door and winked at the others as Sebastian watched, trying to hide his eagerness.
"He'll give us meat and frijoles for a dime a head," Webster said. "That's about right, I think, Marshal."
"Sounds cheap enough, considering he's got a tighter mono-poly than John D. Rockefeller. Tell you what. See if he'll throw in a cup of coffee apiece at that price."
Webster haggled again briefly, and reported, "He'll add the coffee for a nickel, that's for all three of us. I don't know what it'll taste like, but anything's better'n this horse piss he gives us for water."
"It's not that bad, after you get used to it," Hill explained to Longarm. "It gives you the trots for the first week."
"Them I can do without," Longarm said. "Tell him it's a deal, Nate. At that price, I got enough to feed us for a spell."
Before Sebastian came back with the food, the jailhouse door opened again and two rurales dragged Lefty in. The Los Perros deputy was unconscious, his face covered with blood, his clothes torn and stained. Longarm opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Webster clamped a restraining hand on his arm.
"Don't!" he whispered. "Just keep quiet. You get them mad, they might come in here and give us the same kind of treatment!"
Longarm subsided. They watched the rurales haul Lefty into the cell across from theirs. The rurales didn't bother to deposit the unconscious man on the low cot that stood in the cell. They dumped him on the floor, clanged the slat-iron door shut, and locked it. Then they left, without a word or glance at Longarm and the others.
"Looks like they gave him a real working over," Longarm said.
"That the deputy from Los Perros you were wondering about?" Webster asked.
"That's Lefty. Or what's left of him."
"What'd he know that was important to them?" Webster wondered aloud.
"Beats me," Longarm answered. "Unless Ramos is figuring to go after that rustier ring Lefty was mixed up with."
"Yes, that could be it," the Ranger frowned. "Or it could be he was trying to get the deputy to give him something more on you."
"That'd be my guess," Hill said. "A deputy sheriff's not quite as big a fish as a U.S. marshal."
"Or an army captain or a Texas Ranger," Longarm added. He got as close to the cell door as he could and called, "Lefty! Can you hear me?" There was no response from the cell across the corridor.
"Wait until Sebastian comes in with our supper," Hill suggested. "Maybe we can get him to swab the man off with some cold water and bring him around."
"Not much else we can do," Longarm pointed out. "I ain't got much use for the worthless son of a bitch, but right now I'd give a hand to anybody Ramos hurts. Besides, I'm curious to know what they were trying to get out of him."
They didn't have to wait for the old jailer to revive Lefty. Before Sebastian returned with their supper, they heard moans coming from the cell across the way and when they crowded up to the door, Lefty was sitting up, holding his head between his hands.
Longarm called, "You all right?"
"No, damn it, I ain't! I hurt like hell, where them greaser bastards kicked me in the balls and poked me in the belly with their rifle butts. But I ain't dead yet."
Longarm asked, "Why'd they whip you? You get crossways of Ramos? Or Molina?"
"Shit, I didn't do nothing. I guess all you need's to be from Texas for them greasers to start walloping you."
"Damn it, they must've asked you something," Webster said.
Lefty squinted through eyes that were swollen closed. "Who in hell are you?"
"Nate Webster. Texas Rangers."
"Now how in God's name did the rurales get hold of you?"
"That ain't important," Longarm told him curtly. "Even if it was any of your business, which it ain't."
"We're all in the same jail," the deputy reminded him. "I can make out somebody else in there with you, too."
"Name's Hill," the captain told him. "Captain, 10th Cavalry."
"Oh, sure. You're the one that come looking for a couple of your troopers that went over the hill. I recall the sheriff sayin' something about you."
"No thanks to him — or you, either — I found out what happened to them," Hill said brusquely.
"Damn it, you two quit butting in!" Longarm was irritated. "I need to find out things from this fellow." He faced the deputy again. Lefty had dragged himself up to the cot now. Longarm went on, "You better tell me what-all Ramos wanted to know."
"He was mainly interested in what you knew, and that's what I couldn't tell him, because I don't know myself. Then he got to askin' me questions about you."
"What kind of questions?"
"Why you come over the border. How long since you got to Los Perros. Who you was really after. If you was honest to God a federal marshal — federalista, he called it."
"What else?" Longarm was sure that Ramos's questioning hadn't stopped there.
"He tried to find out how much I know about what you've turned up so far." Lefty moaned, clutching his groin. "Then he wanted to make sure you set out from Los Perros. He had some idea you come from Mexico City, that you was a spy Diaz sent out to check up on him, or try to get somethin' on him."
"What'd you tell him?" Longarm demanded.
"Shit, Custis — Long, whatever your damn name is — what could I tell him? I spilled all I knew after they begun to beat on me, but how in hell do I know who you really are for sure?"
"That ain't what I asked you." Longarm's voice was hard. He'd seen Lefty crawfish more than once, trying to save his own skin at the expense of somebody else. "In my book, you're down as a damned liar and a crook. I don't put it past you to lie to Ramos, just to make it easy on yourself. Now, what'd you really tell him?"
"So help me God, Marshal, I didn't make nothin' up! I can't help whether you believe me or not. I told him what I knew certain-sure, and that was all!"
Longarm saw he'd gotten all there was to get out of Lefty for the moment. He still didn't know what to believe of what the deputy had told him. He said, "All right. If you remember anything else, you pass it along to me. If you do that, I just might help you."
"Help, my ass!" Lefty snorted. "You're in the same fix I am!"
"Maybe. Did the rurales shake you down good? Take all your money and everything else?"
"What'd you think they'd do? They stripped me clean."
"You know about Mexican jails, I guess?"
"Sure." Lefty stopped short, then sighed. "Oh, sweet Jesus! I ain't got a dime to buy a meal with! Not a lousy fuckin' penny!"
"I'm better off than you are," Longarm told him. "They forgot to clean me out. I already promised to help these fellows in here with me; they traded off all their duds for grub."