Longarm raised his head again. He asked, “What the hell is your name? Who are you anyway?”
The man said, “Oh, why don’t you just call me Mr. Brown. That should do for the time being. You’ve already taken the name Jones so I’ll have to take something different. I’ll make it Bob Brown. How’s that suit you?”
Longarm said, “Well, I can’t see you so I can’t identify you, but your voice is somehow familiar. I can’t place it but I have an idea that I will, given enough time.”
“What makes you think that you’ll have that much time, Mr. Jones?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Brown. I reckon you could say that I’m hoping.”
Mr. Brown laughed. He said, “All right, Chulo. You and Miguel get the marshal to his feet and blindfold him. I reckon it’s about time we moved out.”
Mystified as to their intentions, Longarm allowed himself to be wrenched and lifted to his feet. He made no protest, though being hauled up by his arms while they were bound behind his back was a painful process. He stood stock-still as a cotton bandanna was passed across his eyes and then knotted at the back. He said, “Mr. Brown, you all seem to have gone through a considerable amount of trouble. I figure this whole play must have started with Mr. Jenkins or else you wouldn’t have known that I had called myself Mr. Jones to him. I guess you’ve had word from him?”
Laughing, Mr. Brown said, “Well, we’ve tried to dot all our i’s and cross all our t’s, Mr. Long.”
Longarm said, “The only thing I can’t figure out is what you want from me. I told you, I only have forty or fifty bucks in my pocket and the horse I’m riding doesn’t even belong to me. You’ve gone through a hell of a lot of trouble, for a reason I can’t divine.”
“Why don’t you leave the thinking to me, Marshal Long? We’ll get along much better that way.”
Longarm felt himself being turned and then forced forward. As he passed through the doorway, he could tell he had come back out through the front door. He heard Mr. Brown giving instructions to the two Mexicans to help him mount the roan. It was an awkward process for him and made possible only by the strong arms of the two Mexicans who, by now, he thought of as pistoleros.
Once in the saddle, Longarm sat quietly listening to the creaking of other saddles as the men in the party mounted. Then he felt the motion of the horse and he could tell that someone had taken his mount on lead. At first, they went in a shambling walk, and by the turn they took, he could tell they were headed back toward the Monterrey Road. He said, “I don’t guess anybody is going to tell me where the hell we are going, are they?”
“Marshal, I’ll give you a piece of advice and it won’t cost you anything. There is no use in your fretting your head about what is going to happen. If things go smoothly, you’ll be all right. If not … well, I can’t answer for the matter.”
“Well, if you’ve a mind to murder me, I don’t see why you don’t get on with it right here and now. Why the hell do we have to ride off to some godforsaken place where they might not find my body for a while?”
Mr. Brown laughed. “Maybe that’s the idea, Marshal Long.”
“Yes, I reckon I could see the sense in that. Drop me off in some canyon way back in this wild country. It would be a spell before word got back to Denver that the U.S. marshal service was short one deputy marshal.”
Mr. Brown said, “This may be no comfort to you, Marshal Long, but we actually have no plans to murder you, Not unless we have to, that is.”
Longarm said, “Then what the hell are you doing with me? You’ve gone through considerable trouble to trap me over here, and now that you’ve got me and there ain’t no chance of me getting loose, I don’t see where it matters a lick to you whether I know what’s to come or not.”
“All in due time, Marshal. All in due time.”
“Just tell me this: Are you some enemy of mine? Have you got a grudge against me? I’d like to at least know that much.”
Mr. Brown said, “To tell you the truth, I’ve only barely seen you on maybe one or two occasions, at least before this situation. I’ve heard of you, but you and I have never crossed swords.”
“Then are you working for somebody who does have a grudge ?”
Mr. Brown said, “Marshal, you are full of questions, aren’t you?”
Longarm said, “Well, if you were riding a horse that was being led and you were blindfolded and manacled by a bunch of strangers, don’t you reckon that you’d have some questions?”
Mr. Brown said, “Well, I guess there is merit in that, Marshal Long. I suppose you do have a point. Unfortunately, it’s a point that I’m not going to make clear for you. Not just yet.”
It was very difficult sitting the horse with his hands manacled behind him. To keep his balance, he had to lean forward as best he could. To make matters worse, the roan had none too smooth a gait. About then, he felt the horse turning to the right, and from the sound and the feel of the horses’ hooves in the dirt he could tell that he had turned onto the Monterrey Road. Since they had turned to the right, he knew they were headed south. Now the pace quickened as the horses were lifted into a fast walk, almost a trot. It was almost all Longarm could do to keep his balance in the saddle. Just as he was certain that he was about to pitch off to one side, he felt a steadying hand on his shoulder. He said, “Hell, can’t you at least tie my hands to the saddle horn? This is a hell of a way to ride. Besides that, my shoulders are fixing to start aching any second now-“
Mr. Brown said, “Not to fret now, Marshal. I reckon you’ve stood a little pain in your time. But right now, we’ve got to make some time. it’ll be dark in another three or four hours and I’d like to get to where we are going before then.”
Longarm said, “But why can’t you at least tie my hands to the saddle horn or something? It’s hell riding like this.”
Mr. Brown laughed shortly. He said, “Out of respect, Marshal Long, I think your hands ought to stay right where they are. I’ve heard stories about you that, if they were true, made you out to be some sort of magician. We’ll hold you in the saddle, but you’re going to have to stand the pace.”
With that, Longarm could feel his horse being pulled forward, first into a trot and then into a slow lope. Only by putting all of his weight on the balls of his feet in the stirrups could he maintain his balance. He was leaning so far forward that if the horse were to suddenly slow down or stumble, he knew he would pitch right over the animal’s head. He said, “Mr. Brown, I perceive that you are a cruel man. This is no way to treat a fellow human being.”
Mr. Brown said, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we’ve got no choice. I’m working on a pretty tight schedule.”
“You said something about three or four hours. Do you mean to tell me I’ve got to ride like this for that long?”
“Not to worry, Marshal, you’ll go numb pretty quick and you won’t feel a thing.”
Longarm said, “Well, hell, the least you could do is give me a drink.”
Mr. Brown said, “Be glad to give you a drink, we just don’t have time to stop for it.”
“Are we heading to catch a train?”
This time there was no answer, only the steady drumming of the hooves of the four horses. Now he knew that there was a rider on each side holding him by the shoulders to keep him in the saddle. He assumed the third member of the party, supposedly Mr. Brown, was up front leading his pony. Mr. Brown might have been right that his arms and shoulders would go numb, but such relief was not coming. They were aching and cramping and his wrists were being chafed by the steel manacles.