Longarm 244: Longarm and the Devil's Sister (11 page)

The lawman called two kids out of the crowd to say, “Pan-cho, I want you to go fetch Doc Waterford and tell him the county has a dead body for him to gather, here. Manuel, I want you to run over to my office and tell 'em I need some help, here.”

As they were sorting that out Longarm quietly asked the priest if he knew Devil Dave Deveruex.

The older man sighed and said, “He was one of our altar boys before he went astray. But, alas, he has not been to Mass or Confession since he seems to have gone
loco en la cabeza!”

The older lawman opined, “He likely doesn't care to confess what he's been up to.” Let's get going, Mister Crawford.”

Longarm asked, “Don't you reckon we ought to wait until them other gents you sent for get here?”

The old timer asked, “Are you trying to tell me how to do this job? Are you some sort of lawman your ownself?”

Longarm shrugged and said, “I reckon you know the folk in your own town better than I do. Makes no nevermind to me if they steal this dead bird's boots and guns.”

He turned as if to head back to the center of town. The old timer with the pewter badge said, “Hold on. We'd best wait 'til some of our junior deputies get here to watch that big hat, too.”

Then, as if to recover lost ground, he added, “It's still up to our deputy coroner, Doc Waterford, to go through the rascal's pockets and figure out who he might have been, hear?”

So they waited a spell and the town law accepted one of Longarm's cheroots as folk from all over town gathered a respectful distance to crane for a view through the trunks and inky shadows of the blackjacks.

Travis of the Texas Rangers arrived with a couple of other Anglo lawmen from the town marshal's office. He had the sense to address a man he knew to be a federal deputy as Mister Crawford.

The older town law holding Longarm and his gun asked, “You know this gent, Ranger Travis?”

The younger Texican said, “Talked to him earlier. Checked out his story by wire. New Mexico Territory has him down as a poor but honest rider who's not wanted for nothing, as far as they can recall. What's he done here in Sheffield-Crossing?”

The town law grudgingly told the ranger, “Just shot him a more mysterious Mex. It's commencing to look as if he was telling the truth about that, too.”

Travis moved closer, spied the sprawled body, and hunkered down for a closer look, striking a match to make sure before he said, “I could swear this was Hernando Nana, Mission Apache and known associate of Devil Dave Deveruex. He just escaped from the law up Colorado way with pals believed to be Nana and a breed of some kind called Hogan. Another pal called Ramon Kayitah got killed by that famous Longarm during the bustout.”

Longarm saw Chongo and some other D Bar L riders in the crowd as the older town law told Travis, “I've heard tell of that federal rider they call Longarm. Have you ever met up with him, Ranger Travis?”

The ranger looked as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth whilst he rose right next to Longarm to shake out his match and soberly say, “I have. Worked with him one time along the border. Sometimes he acts like his shit don't stink. But he ain't a bad tracker.”

The town's deputy coroner arrived with some of his own help to crowd around the town law above the remains. So Travis was able to edge Longarm into the shadows a mite and mutter, “What the fuck is going on, old pard?”

Longarm said, “I wish I knew. I never got a look at the pals shooting up Devil Dave's trial. If you're right about that being one of them I overestimated their brains a heap. They must have beelined for here whilst I was pussyfooting in, so smart. Nana, there, must have looked us all over some before they started shooting up that courtroom. It's the only way he could have recognized me at a glance, in this light, in a different outfit. That's one of the prices of being famous, I reckon.”

Travis asked how he wanted to play the next hand.

Longarm murmured, “Close to the vest. If the man I want made it here ahead of me it's still up for grabs where he's holed up and who might be aiding and abetting him. I just came from the Deveruex-Lopez town house. If his mother and sister have him hidden in their pantry, they're better actresses than most. I suspect the sister was feeling me out as a gun hand. What can you tell me about her errand boy, Chongo?”

The ranger said, “Anglo-Mex boss wrangler out at her spread. Has to know horses and gets along better with 'em than any of the other crew bosses. She seems to regard him as a sort of pet ape because he cared for her and her ponies when she was little. Courting her would be above old Chongo's station, but don't ever insult her if Chongo's within ear-shot. Why are we talking about such a tedious asshole?”

Longarm said, “I ain't sure, yet. I ain't figured out whether he's a pal of Devil Dave or worried Devil Dave will come pestering his boss-lady some more. I can't complain about the way he's been feeling me out, so far. Might you rangers have any Greek outlaws on your wanted fliers?”

Travis blinked and asked, “Should we?”

Longarm said, “I told Chongo you'd asked me about some Greek on the run, earlier in that saloon. I didn't want to tell him what we were really talking about.”

So the ranger chuckled and decided, “As I recall our conversation, I asked you who you were and whether you'd ever met up with a Greek outlaw called ... How about Plato? Wasn't Plato some sort of famous Greek outlaw?”

Longarm said, “Close enough. He made some shocking suggestions as to who might do what to whom with his old organ grinder. Might be safer to tell anyone who asks that what you ask other gents is none of their business as long as you don't make an outright liar out of me.”

The ranger said he'd try not to, but added, “You know it's only a question of time before somebody else recognizes you. So how lucky can you always hope to be?”

Longarm shrugged and said, “Neither one of us would ever wear any badge if we lost all hope our luck might hold out. I learned as a schoolboy that kids who weren't ready to play for keeps had no call to play marbles after school in the first place.”

Travis sighed and said, “I know. The kids who wouldn't play us for keeps grew up to be our bankers and they still want us to help them keep their marbles. Why do you reckon we try ... ah, Mister Crawford?”

Longarm smiled wolfishly and said, “The way we get to play is more fun. When the roll is called up yonder, do you want to say you played the few marbles you had, to win, or would you rather admit you never won nor lost because you were afraid to play for keeps?”

Travis laughed, said they'd likely both die with their boots on, and they rejoined the huddle over the still form of Hernando Nana.

The local authorities had been talking as well. The town law who'd been holding Longarm's sixgun handed it back, saying, “No sense in my arresting a man for gunning a wanted outlaw in self-defense. But you don't want to leave town for a spell. You may be in for some bounty money and Doc, here, says the county may want you to bear witness at a formal inquest once he wires all this bullshit in to Fort Stockton. That's our county seat these days.”

Longarm made himself sound more reluctant than he felt as he told them he'd stick around, seeing he had no choice. It would have been dumb to tell them they'd played right into his hands by giving a man with no visible means and excuse to hang around a small town where he couldn't seem to find any job.

He had to hang about making small talk until a stretcher crew came to tote the dead man and his belongings to the meat wagon, drawn up at the edge of the graveyard. As the gathering began to break up, Longarm headed back toward the plaza, to be cut from the herd by Chongo and a couple of his crew.

It was getting easier to see why they called him Chongo. A chongo bull had it's horns on upside down, and no Spanish bullfighter wanted to mess with a chongo because you just never knew which way it meant to hook with it's contrary head. The man called Chongo said, “We just heard you'd gunned a pal of Devil Dave Deveruex. Would you like a deal on a fast fresh pony?”

Longarm headed back to
El Paseo
with the three of them in tow as he sighed and said, “I would if I could. They just told me not to leave town until further notice. I don't know who that was I just had to shoot. They say he was some Mission Apache living Mex. I had to shoot him because he drew on me and said mean things about my dear old mother. I don't know why. I'd never seen him before and he surely never met my mother!”

Chongo said, “If he was the 'Pache I suspect he was he wouldn't have needed much reason. Young Dave Deveruex got Miss Connie to hire old Hernando on for a trail drive three or four summers back. She had to fire him directly for fighting with the trail cook. Don't ever fight with the cook if you want to ride for the D Bar L.”

“Or any other outfit,” Longarm agreed, adding, “He must have had me mixed up with somebody else he'd had trouble with in the past. I never got past
Buenoches
before he slapped leather on me.”

Chongo trudged in thoughtful silence for a few paces before saying, “You must draw pretty fast. Old Hernando had his faults, but a slow draw wasn't one of ‘em and you did say you rode with Dick Brewer and them Regulators back in '78, didn't you?”

Longarm shook his head and said, “I did not. Miss Connie just now asked me the same questions, and, like I told her, a mere handful of soreheads feuded for all of six months and it was over before most of 'em knew it was starting to get serious. With neither Uncle John Chisum, Major Murphy, nor stockman Jim Dolan wanting anything more to do with any hired guns, the surviving gun hands all went back to working cows or riding the owlhoot trail. The newspapers barely mentioned any Billy The Kid until he escaped from that showdown and burn-out at Lawyer McSween's place in Lincoln and gunned an Indian agent called Bernstein in the process of robbing the Mescaleros. Like I keep telling everybody, nobody knows where The Kid and his few remaining pals might be this spring. Some say he's taken to robbing the Chisum herd to make up for back wages. Others have him washing dishes in a saloon near the border on the far side of El Paso. You have my word I never rode for anybody as a hired gun!”

Chongo shrugged and said, “You must have practiced some on your own to beat Hernando Nana to the draw and nail him with one shot. Were you in that
real
war, back East?”

Longarm said, “I disremember. Are you writing a book about me?”

“Just curious. Don't get your bowels in an uproar,” Chongo replied in a too cheerful voice, adding, “Hernando was a heap bad Injun and no friend of me and mine if that's what you're worried about. I was only trying to figure the odds on your staying alive long enough to ride on out of here in one piece. I told you young Dave Deveruex tried to fix him up with that job and there's another bad man called Hogan you want to watch out for, too.”

Longarm said, “I'm watching. What does this Hogan look like and just where might you stand should push come to shove with Consuela Deveruex y Lopez and this younger brother I've been hearing so much about?”

Chongo soberly replied, “Me and my boys do as Miss Connie says. She don't like to be called Consuela. I don't know how she wants us to cope with her kid brother and his pals. She ain't told us yet. I only know the sidekick called Hogan by rep. They say he's mean and wild, too. Did that ranger say anything more about Greek Steve just now?”

Longarm laughed dryly and said, “I was wondering what this was all about. As a matter of fact he never mentioned any Greeks this time. He was the one who identified the man I'd shot and got me out of being arrested. They told me I was likely in the clear but ordered me to stick around.”

They were back on the lantern-lit plaza by now and a pair of ugly gals left over by
El Paseo
were eyeing them all desperately as Chongo soberly told Longarm, “That was piss poor advice. Nana was an outlaw with a bounty on his head. If I was you I'd ride on and put in for the blood money from, say, San Antone. You're only going to get your fool self killed if you linger here by the Pecos.”

Longarm quietly asked, “Who's more likely to kill me, Chongo? You or Miss Connie's kid brother and his pals?”

Chongo soberly replied, “Like I just told you, it's up to her.”

Having had his own
siesta
through the heat of day, that same Caddo kid was making up for it by sweeping in the tack room when Longarm got back to the town livery. He tipped the stable hand another nickel and explained he wanted the throw rope from the stock saddle he'd left in their keeping.

As he unbuckled the coil of oiled hemp from the swells, the young Indian leaned on his broom handle to observe, “There was another cow hand asking about that saddle and the buckskin we're boarding for you. He seemed to think you were a lawman, Mister Crawford.”

Longarm held the rope coiled with his left hand as he bought time by buckling the retaining strap with his right hand and some skill left over from his earlier days west of the Big Muddy. He tried not to sound too curious as he replied, “I reckon that's better than being taken for a hired gun. Nobody seems to believe I never rode for either side in that Lincoln County War. Do you reckon that was Billy The Kid asking about me and old Buck?”

The young Caddo laughed, sort of bitter, and answered without the least hesitation, “I sort of doubt it. This one was dressed like a Mex
vaquero
and trying to talk like one. But he was as Indian as me, for all his greaser ways!”

The Texas Caddo might not have noticed he was talking with his hands as well as his Texas-twang. A white rider less familiar with the Sign Lingo used by all the plains nations might not have noticed the way the boy seemed to brush two fingers across his own eyes as he called the other customer an Indian.