They agreed nobody ought to sample any such beef before somebody who knew more about such matters took a good close look at it. Flynn told Devereaux to make sure Longarm got plenty of help in wrapping the late Mr. Doyle in a tarp and loading him aboard a buckboard for his return to town.
The J.G. naturally ordered Chief Tobin to see to it. The burly C.P.O. hadn't been out there with the others when Flynn had ordered his fatal fusillade. But as they were wrapping the shot-up Irishman in waterproof canvas, Tobin observed he'd heard the poor bastard had tried to give up at the last.
When Longarm asked how the chief knew this, Tobin looked around as if to make sure no officers were listening as he confided, "Yeoman Cohen would be a Sligo man, as odd as some Yankees might be finding that. He tells us Doyle shouted something like, 'Oh, me eyebrow, hold your fire for it's finished I am!' Cohen tried to tell the others, but they were already firing. So he fired too."
Longarm said he'd noticed that. Then, rank having its privileges, the chief dragooned some guardsmen firsts to load the cadaver on the buckboard and hitch Doyle's rested roan to the wagon.
Longarm allowed he'd ride the same steady bay, seeing it was as ready to go. When Tobin asked whether he was expecting any more cross-country riding, Longarm said you just never knew.
Mounting up and taking the roan's ribbons to lead instead of drive, Longarm told his enlisted pals he'd try to get back by suppertime so they could put his borrowed pony away.
As he headed across the parade for the gate, he was headed off by young Devereaux, afoot, who called out, "The lieutenant's compliments, and if you can't manage steamer passage in town for you and your party, he said to tell you we'll be running our own night patrol aboard our own cutter, if the three of you would like a free ride to a more important port!"
Longarm told Devereaux he and his own boys might take the Coast Guard up on such a kind offer, adding, "Depends on what else I find out in town. When are you all putting out to sea this evening?"
Devereaux said, "With the evening ebb tide. About three hours after sundown tonight."
Longarm saw that gave him plenty of time to study on it. So he said he would, and headed on back to Escondrijo, having no trouble with either pony in the soggy heat of a lazy day in South Texas.
From the way folks carried on in town, you'd think they'd never had two dead men propped up on a cellar door to admire before. More than one local historian had a box camera to record the slack-jawed features of Pryce & Doyle for posterity although Constable Purvis didn't think much of Longarm's suggestion that they have the two sons of bitches stuffed. Purvis said he meant to store them in their own cold-storage plant once a few pissed-off citizens got through spitting on 'em. So while some of that went on, Longarm and the older lawman had some cold beer across the way and Longarm brought Purvis up to date on the case, such as it was.
Purvis opined the boys had likely been in with that notorious Mexican gang led by the mysterious La Bruja up the coast a ways, until Longarm pointed out, "I've personal reasons for leaving those Mex smugglers out of it. To begin with, they warned me about these other crooks in time to save my ass. They'd have never done so if they'd been in tight with a bunch of Anglo smugglers."
He sipped more beer. "After that, Pryce or Doyle going to a Bruja for help against me tells us something else. Had they had a really big bunch working with 'em, they'd have never recruited half-ass killers who got killed themselves, or had to start gunning for me so personally. With four faces photographed fairly fresh, the Rangers ought to be able to tie the ones we got so far with any associates still at large."
Purvis looked dubious. "I dunno, old son. Nobody in town's been able to identify that one you sent ashore here after you shot him on board that steamer the other night."
Longarm nodded. "That only means he wasn't from Escondrijo. I just said the operation has to be spread mighty thin along a heap of thinly populated coastline. Someone is sure to recognize one or more photographs betwixt Matamoros and, say, Galveston. Right now, I'm more worried about how in blue blazes they got all that forbidden beef this far north of Matamoros."
Purvis suggested, "It's a mighty big lagoon, with many a cove and shallow-draft grass flat, Longarm. Anyone can see why they picked our particular port. We do ship honest beef out of here, albeit mostly alive, aboard cattle boats. So once the smugglers got past the revenue cutters guarding the mouth of the Rio Grande, or Corpus Christi Pass, which is even closer, they just had to unload by the dark of night when all us honest folks were in bed and then ship it right on, in broad-ass working hours, as honest Texas beef. Ain't that a bitch?"
Longarm finished his schooner. "A heap of trouble for a marginal profit too. Say the gang was small and they had plenty of cheap beef to move. They still must have had a less risky way to bring it in from Old Mexico than you just suggested. We're talking perishable produce, not diamonds or even gold bullion. They thought they had a good thing worth protecting here. I just can't see midnight runs with black-sailed luggers playing tag with steam cutters for the amount of financial reward that would go with such penny-ante bullshit. Crooks stealing shit worth less'n a dollar a pound on the retail market back East need to move it by the ton, with little or no fear of getting caught!"
Purvis pointed out, "They sure were afraid of getting caught by you, weren't they?"
Longarm grimaced. "They were, in a desperate penny-ante way. They acted more like mean pimps trying to protect a street corner. That means they didn't have local protection, which is why I feel so free to talk about 'em with you."
Purvis cocked a brow. "Why, thank you, I reckon. What if they just had that cold-storage meat brung up from Matamoros in the cold-storage holds of that coastal steamer line? They'd only need a few key henchmen with an otherwise honest outfit. Who else would be peeking inside a sealed-up section of the steamer like so?"
Longarm rose back to his feet, saying, "I did, the other night. I didn't pay much attention at the time. They'd have been better off leaving me the hell alone. But dumb as I might have been, your notion falls apart as soon as you put out from, say, Matamoros with a load of quarantined beef. Getting out is no big boo. But getting into the innocent stream of coastal traffic would be. Whenever the Coast Guard stops a vessel coming in from parts unknown, they send a search party aboard."
Purvis asked, "Is there any law saying Coast Guard officers can't be paid off?"
Longarm said, "No natural law. Federal statutes take a mighty dim view of it. So do I. So I've naturally considered that already. It keeps boiling down to the root of all evil, the love of your average cuss for money! How much do you reckon it would take to bribe a whole Coast Guard, or even one cutter crew out of one station?"
Purvis considered and decided, "You'd sure have to sell a hell of a lot of ground round back East at those prices!"
Longarm agreed that was about the size of it, and left to see how good old Norma and her plague might be making out.
Up by the converted icehouse, he found that for a soft flutterly gal who liked to be on the bottom best, the motherly but somewhat bossy Norma Richards had been making out just fine.