
"Not them. What do you say we switch with Allan and Diehl? Let them take the lead for the next hundred miles?"
Butterfield took the map. He glanced at his watch then at the odometer to calculate the distance they had covered while he slept. Then he took the car's radio microphone. He faked an Old West voice.
"Well, partners, this is Deputy Butterfield. What say you all mosey on yonder. We'll meet up with ya at the Pecos."
A voice answered in somber tones. "This is a radio frequency reserved for the official communications of federal employees only. Persons engaged in unauthorized transmissions are subject to prosecution under sections..."
Laughing, Butterfield cut the other agent off. "Who is that talkin' back there? Sounds like one of them dudes from Washington, D.C."
The voice continued. "I will be brief. Will all the would-be cowboys get the hell off?"
"Cuttin' for the trailside," Butterfield continued. "Hasta la vista, cowpokes."
Recently transferred from the New York office, Lou Butterfield enjoyed taunting the Texan agents with AM radio cowboy jargon and pranks in the field. As Horton slowed the big Dodge, Butterfield joked about one of his cowboy pranks.
"Remember last month, maybe two months ago, we're following that low-life dope prince around town? And I show up for my shift in the sheriff suit?"
Horton laughed. Butterfield had arrived at the stakeout of the suspect's apartment wearing boots, faded jeans, leather chaps, a plaid shirt, leather vest, lawman's star and a ten-gallon hat. Diehl had threatened Butterfield with on-the-spot dismissal from the bureau if he did not change into a regulation three-piece suit immediately. But Butterfield, knowing from the previous night's monitoring of the phone that the suspect would meet friends at an "Old West" bar, refused to change clothes. At the bar, all the patrons wore phony Western gear. Of the four agents, only Butterfield could enter without inviting stares. He made the arrest, and received a commendation for his foresight in wearing the costume.
