Little gray clouds rose around Coleman's legs as he kicked his way through the debris. One of his feet hit something solid, metallic. He pushed some ashes aside, bent and picked up whatever it was he had found, frowning as he tried to figure it out. After a moment he said aloud, "It's a wheel hub."
"What'd you say, boss?" Wiley called from outside.
Coleman ignored him. He kicked around some more and uncovered another wheel hub and some charred remnants of what looked like a chair. Then his foot thudded against something else that rolled.
Coleman recoiled as he realized he was looking down at a human skull that grinned up at him.
"Son of a..." Coleman started to drag in a deep breath, then stopped as he realized he would be breathing ashes and God knew what else. He poked around and found more bones, then straightened and sighed.
He knew he was looking at what remained of his friend Jeff Hawley.
A fire of anger as hot as the conflagration that had consumed Dutchman's Folly began to blaze inside Coleman. He and Hawley had ridden together for several years. Hawley had been the only one left from Coleman's original gang, and even though he couldn't ride with the rest of the boys anymore, Coleman still considered him one of the bunch. Hawley had proven his worth by acting as the go-between for the friends and relatives in the area who fed information to Coleman.
Now he had died, probably in agony as the flames writhed around him, and Coleman wanted to know whether his friend's death was an accident...or if it had been deliberate. Jeff had already suffered so much, being crippled by that damned Ranger's bullet. He hadn't deserved this, too.
Coleman searched through the rest of the devastation and found another charred skeleton lying several yards away from Hawley's. When he turned the skull over, he saw the gaping hole in the back of it. That was where a bullet had exploded out, Coleman decided. Whoever this was—the Dutchman, maybe?—he'd been shot.
As far as Coleman was concerned, that did away with any possibility of the fire being accidental. Someone had done this. Coleman was determined to find out who and wreak his vengeance on them.
"You all right in there, Tull?" Wiley called.
"No, I'm not all right," Coleman snapped. "Jeff's dead. What's left of him is in here."
"Son of a bitch," Wiley said. His hushed tone made the words sound more like a prayer than a curse. "I found somethin' out here you might oughta take a look at."
Coleman glanced at Hawley's remains. There was nothing else he could do for his friend, not here, anyway. He walked out of the burned building and stomped his feet on the hard ground to get as many ashes off his boots and trouser legs as he could.
"What is it?" he asked Wiley.
"Well, I decided to take a look around out here while you were lookin' in there," Wiley said. He was a tall, burly man with a beard and long, tangled dark hair that fell to his shoulders under a tightly curled Stetson. He pointed and went on, "I found some tracks over yonder."
Coleman's pulse sped up. Tracks might have been left by whoever was responsible for this.
"Show me," he said.
Wiley led him over to the hoofprints. They were several days old, just like the destruction in the road ranch, but it hadn't rained and there hadn't been much wind so the tracks were still fairly clear.
"Three horses, two of 'em carryin' riders and one that wasn't," Wiley said. "I backtracked 'em around to the corral. I'd say somebody tied a mount around there, then took down a couple of poles and got the other horses out. I looked for boot prints but couldn't really make heads or tails of what I found."
"That's all right," Coleman said. "You did good anyway. I'll bet that whoever killed Jeff and set the place on fire took those horses. And then they headed south." He gazed off in that direction, his eyes hooded against the sun glare, as he continued, "Go on back to the hide-out and get the rest of the boys. Then come back here and pick up the trail."
"What're you gonna do, Tull?"
"I'm starting after the bastards now," Coleman said. "I don't know who they are, but I'm going to make them pay for what they did to Jeff."
Chapter 12
"Does this place have a name?" Braddock asked as he and Rosaria rode toward the scattered gathering of adobe jacals. He saw a cantina, a blacksmith shop, and what appeared to be a small store. At the far end of the open area that passed for a street was the largest building in town, a church with a short, blocky bell tower. Next to the church was a well.
Fields with scrawny crops in them surrounded the settlement. Irrigation ditches led from the fields to the Rio Grande, which was a quarter of a mile to the north.
"It is called La Catedral de la Esperanza," Rosaria said in reply to Braddock's question. "The Cathedral of Hope, after the church. But everyone usually just calls it Esperanza."
"Looks more like No Hope to me," Braddock said with a wry smile.
"I told you that I was eager to get away from here when I left. What did you expect?"
Braddock didn't answer her question. He said, "Let's just get you back to your family so you can tell me what I need to know and I can be on my way."
The ride from Dutchman's Folly had taken them two full days, plus the remainder of the day they had started out. That meant two nights on the trail. Braddock hadn't slept much either night, just dozed some now and then, because he didn't fully trust Rosaria. She had tried to stab him and then fought on Hawley's side against him. He didn't believe she had miraculously become his friend.
On the other hand, he was the only one around to help her, and he had a hunch Rosaria was pretty damned practical. Like most people in the world, she would use anybody she had to in order to get what she wanted.
At least she had given up trying to coax her way into his blankets at night. She had made some comments in German that he had taken to be pretty derogatory toward his manhood, but things like that didn't bother him. He had more important matters to worry about.
Like finding Tull Cameron and bringing him to justice.
"My father's house is this way," Rosaria said as she led him toward one of the huts on the far side of the village. It wasn't long until nightfall. Men and women were trudging back in from the fields, their shoulders drooping with weariness.
Nearly a dozen small children came running, trailed by several barking dogs, as Braddock and Rosaria rode up to one of the jacals. The youngsters shouted Rosaria's name, leading Braddock to think they must be those younger brothers and sisters she had talked about. She dismounted and began embracing them as they hugged her eagerly in return.
Braddock surprised himself a little by realizing he was glad the homecoming was a happy one for her. Sure, she had tried to kill him, but he supposed that under the circumstances he could understand. She hadn't known who he was when she tried to stick a knife in his back. He was just a tough-looking stranger with a gun, evidently intent on disrupting her life.
And sure enough, things had played out that way.
But maybe she would be better off now in the long run. She hadn't had much of a future waiting for her at Dutchman's Folly.
A tired-looking woman walked up and exclaimed, "Rosaria!" A torrent of rapid Spanish passed between them. Like most folks in Texas, especially the southern half of the state, Braddock had some understanding of Spanish, but the two women were going 'way too fast for him to keep up.
The older woman didn't seem happy to see Rosaria. She waved her hands in the air and practically spat out her words. After a few minutes of agitated conversation, Rosaria sighed and turned back to Braddock.
"My father is dead," she said.
"I'm sorry," Braddock told her. "I lost my pa a few years ago."
"My father was not a particularly good man, but I'm sorry he worked himself to death. And now my mother doesn't want me here. She says I have brought shame to the family."
Braddock wanted her to go ahead and honor her part of the bargain, to tell him whatever she could about the visits Tull Coleman had paid to Hawley at Dutchman's Folly
so he could be on his way. However, it was really too late in the day for him to start north again, and since it looked like he'd be spending the night here in Esperanza he supposed it wouldn't hurt anything for him to be sympathetic. He said, "I guess you can stay somewhere else."
"There is nowhere else," Rosaria said with a bleak look on her face. "Maybe I could go to the cantina and do the same things there I did before. The same things I did for the Dutchman. But I had hoped—" She stopped short and laughed bitterly. "You are right, Braddock. This place should be called No Hope."
His jaw tightened. He felt sorry for her, and he didn't want that. Such an emotion would just interfere with his quest to bring Coleman to justice. He had already spent too much time helping out Rosaria.
"I will go with you," she announced.
"What?" Braddock frowned. "Go with me where? I brought you where you wanted to go."
"But there is nothing here for me. Take me with you, and I will help you find the man you're looking for. The outlaw called Tull Coleman. I can show you the trail he followed when he came to the Dutchman's place."
"You can tell me where that trail is," Braddock said. "That was our deal. Nothing was ever said about you coming with me after this."
She shrugged. "Things have changed."
Braddock was so exasperated he felt like turning his horse around and galloping away from here, taking the two extra mounts with him. Since he would have fresh horses he could switch to, he could maintain a fast pace as he rode north again through Texas. He could be back where he'd started in less than two days, he estimated.
But if he did that...he'd be back where he started. No closer to finding Coleman's hideout. Rosaria could at least point him in the right direction.
"I'll think about it," he said grudgingly. "For now...your ma won't even let you spend the night here?"
Rosaria turned back to her mother, and again the rapid Spanish flew back and forth, accompanied by stern shakes of the older woman's head. Braddock didn't need a translation to know what her answer was.
"All right," he said with a disgusted scowl on his face. "Is there a place in town where we can get a room for the night?"
"The cantina. Santo may think I want to come back to work for him, though."
"Well, we'll set him straight about that in a hurry," Braddock snapped.
Rosaria took hold of her horse's reins and swung up into the saddle again. She said, "Gracias, G.W."
"It's Braddock. Braddock the bastard, remember?"
"Ah, sí," she said softly. "Such a bastard you are."
* * *
Rosaria's prediction turned out to be correct. The man who owned the cantina welcomed her with open arms and said that his customers would be very happy to see that she had returned. Then he told her to go to his room in the back and wait for him.
That was when Braddock came in after tying the horses to the hitch rack outside, and Santo muttered something about "Diablo Tejano" and scurried back behind the bar. Braddock knew the man had seen the badge pinned to his shirt.
He took a silver dollar from his pocket and tossed it to Santo. To Rosario he said, "Tell him that'll pay for our room tonight and also for someone to take care of our horses. And all our gear had better be there in the morning, too."
She smiled and repeated his instructions in Spanish. Santo nodded eagerly. Braddock didn't know if his eagerness came from fear or greed or both and supposed it didn't really matter.
The room was small, with space only for a single narrow bed, a table with a basin of water and a candle on it, and a chair. Braddock thought maybe he could sleep on the floor.
For now he was more interested in the meal of tortillas, beans, chilies, and goat stew that Santo dished up. He'd had a lot of skimpy suppers on the trail in recent weeks, and the food here was good, at least.
It was too bad for Santo, though, that the cantina didn't have any other customers tonight. When Braddock asked Rosaria about that, she said, "It is because word has gotten around that a Texas Ranger is here. My people fear the Rangers because of all the violence in the past."
"The Rangers never hurt any Mexicans except bandits who had it coming," Braddock said.
"That is the way you see it. The friends and families of those so-called bandits may have different opinions."
Braddock grunted. "It's not a matter of opinion. You raid across the border into Texas, you've got to expect the Rangers to come after you."
Rosaria didn't argue with that, and they let the matter drop. Braddock didn't care for the feelings that went through him, though, when he thought about how these people hated and feared him. That just didn't seem right.
When they went back to their room, he lit the candle and then pulled the blanket off the bed and started to spread it on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Rosaria asked.
"I'll sleep down here. You can have the bed."
"Don't be a fool. We will share the bed."
Braddock started to shake his head, but she went on, "You cannot still be afraid of me, G.W. You know I no longer have any place here. The only thing I can do is go with you. Why would I hurt you?"
"You did try to put a knife in my back," Braddock pointed out.
"Once! And that was days ago!"
He laughed. He supposed she was right.
She moved closer to him and lifted a hand to rest it on his beard-stubbled jaw. "We are much alike, you and I," she said.
"How do you figure that?"
"Fate has us in its grip, and all we can do is let it carry us along."
"A man makes his own fate," Braddock growled.
"Do you honestly believe that? You said just the opposite before."
Braddock's head was whirling. He didn't know what he believed anymore, and that came as a shock. He had always been so certain that life had one thing and one thing only in store for him: being a Texas Ranger. He had held tight to that, even when everybody seemed determined to rip it away from him. Now he just didn't know anymore...
He put his hand under Rosaria's chin and tipped her head up. "I only believe one thing tonight," he told her. "I believe I'll get in that bed with you."
Chapter 13
Braddock woke and stretched on rough sheets without opening his eyes. As he lay there he thought about the night just past, and as he did he realized with a shock that for the first time in ages, dreams had not haunted his sleep. At least, not any that he remembered. That was a blessing.
He didn't know if that peaceful slumber was because of Rosaria, but he didn't know who else to credit for it. He wondered where she was. He felt around in the bed to be sure that she wasn't there next to him.
Warm light shone against his closed eyelids. The sun was up and spilling through the room's lone window. Maybe Rosaria had gone out to get something for him to eat, or some coffee. Not that he expected her to act like his servant. He didn't want that.
Gradually he became aware that something besides the morning sunlight was coming in through the window. He heard sounds as well: the tramp of many feet, the clinking of harness, the mutter of voices. All that taken together set off alarm bells in Braddock's brain, and his eyes popped open at last.
Braddock had placed his holstered Colt and coiled shell belt on the little table beside the bed so it would be handy. As he bolted upright he reached out and closed his hand around the revolver's grips. Footsteps sounded just outside the door. He jerked the gun from the holster and swung it in that direction.
His finger froze on the trigger as Rosaria flung the door open and hurried into the room. "Braddock!" she exclaimed as she stopped short and stared down the barrel of the gun.
"Damn it!" Braddock had already cocked the Colt. He pointed it at the plaster ceiling and lowered the hammer. "I almost shot you. What's going on out there?"
Rosaria was breathing hard. "Rurales," she said.
Braddock relaxed slightly. The Rurales were Mexico's frontier police force, and this was probably just a routine patrol on its
way through the village. He knew they had a reputation for corruption and brutality, but at the same time they were lawmen like he was and he hadn't done anything wrong by being here in Esperanza. True, he had ridden in wearing a Texas Ranger's badge, and as Rosaria had pointed out, the Rangers weren't well liked here, but he hadn't shot anyone or tried to make any arrests.
"Don't worry," he told her. "They won't have any interest in us. We'll just wait until they leave—"
"You fool!" Rosaria broke in. "I was at the well when I saw Santo running to talk to them. He's bound to be telling them that a Diablo Tejano is in his cantina. Presidente Diaz hates Texans, and Rangers in particular. The Rurale commandant can gain favor with him by arresting you for being across the border without permission!"
Maybe she had a point there, Braddock thought. More than likely it would be better if he didn't fall into the hands of the Rurales. He slid the Colt back in its holster and stood up to reach for his clothes.
"I'll try to get to the horses and make a run for the border," he said. "If I can get on the other side of the river—"
A shout from outside interrupted him. "Ranger!" a harsh voice bellowed. "Ranger, I know you are in there! Come out with your hands in the air!"
Rosaria clenched her hands and looked terrified. "Too late," she said in a half-whisper.
Braddock stepped to the window and glanced out. He was surprised to discover that evidently the cantina was surrounded already. He could see see several men in gray trousers and jackets and matching steeple-crowned sombreros. They wore holstered pistols and carried rifles and looked quite formidable.
If he tried to shoot his way out of here, Braddock thought, he wouldn't make it ten feet before they blew him to pieces.
He had a hollow feeling inside, but he had faced plenty of trouble before and was still here, so he wasn't going to panic. He told Rosaria, "Look, I'll talk to their captain. Maybe I can reason with him. Texas is only a quarter of a mile away, for God's sake!"
"It won't matter," she said as she shook her head. "This is Mexico. And you are a Texas Ranger."
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