The door swung back. Braddock lunged forward through the opening, and as he did he spotted Captain Mata standing there with pistol in hand, pointing the weapon at him. Braddock's face twisted in a snarl as he braced himself for a bullet's impact.
Instead something slammed into his back and knocked him down. Fresh bursts of pain exploded inside his head as he crashed to the floor. His muscles refused to work. Hate and rage could accomplish only so much.
Strong hands closed around his arms as two of the Rurales grabbed him and jerked him to his feet. Mata smirked at him and waved a finger back and forth.
"You don't get off that easy, Señor Ranger," he said. "Take him out and put him in the wagon."
This was the first Braddock had heard about a wagon. He wasn't surprised, though. They would have had a harder time keeping him from escaping if he'd been on horseback. That was why he had commandeered a wagon to transport Tull Coleman and Jeff Hawley when he'd captured them. And of course Hawley had been in no shape to ride, what with Braddock's bullet in his back...
The men holding Braddock marched him out through the store and into the street. The Rurale troop was gathered there, most of them already mounted. A couple of men were seated on the driver's box of a wagon with its tailgate down. Another man waited in the back of that wagon with a length of chain in his hands. The chain had a shackle at each end.
Braddock saw the steel ring mounted in the middle of the wagon bed and knew they were going to chain him to it. This was his last chance, he thought desperately. Once he was shackled like that, he'd never get a chance to fight back. They would be able to take him wherever they wanted and do anything they pleased to him.
His captors lifted him, flung him into the wagon. He lay there with his brains screaming commands at his muscles. Fight! Fight, damn you!
The Rurale with the chain grinned down at him and said something in Spanish. Braddock was too stunned to follow the words very well, but he understood just enough to know that the man was taunting him, daring him to fight, making fun of him for being a Texan...
Braddock was trying to summon the strength to get up off the wagon bed and throw a punch, just one punch, when a shot blasted and the head of the Rurale looming over him exploded like an overripe pumpkin.
Chapter 15
The Rurales weren't expecting any trouble. That was obvious from the way they stood around gaping for several seconds while more shots rang out and half a dozen of them fell to the onslaught of lead.
The man who'd been about to shackle Braddock to the wagon dropped the chain as he died. Braddock grabbed the chain out of mid-air, and it was as if the links served as a conduit for strength to pour into him from somewhere. He surged up in the wagon bed and lunged at the two men on the seat as they tried to turn around toward him. One of them clawed at the revolver on his hip.
Braddock slashed the heavy chain across the man's head. The sombrero absorbed some of the blow's force, but it was still enough to knock the man sprawling onto the horses hitched the wagon. Spooked, the animals let out shrill whinnies and charged forward.
Braddock almost went over backward as the wagon lurched into motion, but he caught his balance and backhanded the other Rurale with the chain. This time he caught the man on the jaw, which crunched and shattered under the impact. The Rurale slumped to the floorboard, groaning thickly as blood welled from his mouth.
The wagon swayed back and forth as it raced along the street toward the church. Braddock held the chain in his right hand and used the left to grab the back of the seat and brace himself. As he passed the jacals, he caught glimpses of men using the huts for cover as they continued their attack on the Rurales. Rifles spat fire and lead, and more of the Mexican lawmen fell.
For a second Braddock thought that the peasants who lived here had risen against the brutal authorities, but he saw that wasn't the case. His rescuers were gringos like himself, and his heart leaped as he wondered if the Texas Rangers had discovered somehow that he was a prisoner and had come to rescue him.
Then he spotted Captain Emiliano Mata and forgot all about such speculation for the moment. The officer was running toward the church, the same direction the runaway wagon was going. Maybe he intended to seek shelter there. Braddock didn't care. The wagon was about to overtake Mata, and as it did Braddock put a booted foot on the sideboards, levered himself up, and launched himself in a diving tackle.
He crashed into Mata from behind and drove him to the ground. The shock sent jolts of pain through Braddock's head, and he felt fresh blood running down his face from the sword wound. He ignored that and scrambled after the chain he had dropped as Mata rolled over and tried to get his pistol out. The gun cleared leather just as Braddock grabbed the chain and swung it.
The chain slashed across the wrist of Mata's gun hand. He screamed as the revolver flew from his fingers. Braddock swung the chain back, aiming at Mata's face, but the captain got his left arm up in time and the chain wrapped around it instead. He used that to jerk Braddock toward him and met the Texan with a vicious kick to the belly. Braddock gasped and doubled over, but he didn't lose his grip on the chain. He shook it loose and struggled to his feet.
Mata came up, too, dragging his sword from its scabbard. He hacked frantically at Braddock, who flung the chain up and blocked the blade with it. For a long moment the desperate battle surged back and forth, Mata slashing and thrusting with the sword while Braddock used the chain to parry it.
Then the blade went through one of the links of the chain, and Braddock was able to twist it out of Mata's hand. He tossed both chain and sword aside as Mata came at him, punching and kicking. It was a near-miracle that Braddock had been able to put up as much of a fight as he had, injured as he was, and now the fuel of hatred and desperation was running out. He had to give ground before Mata's ferocious attack. He tripped on something, lost his balance, and fell backward.
What he had tripped on was Mata's sword, and as the Rurale captain rushed in to try to capitalize on what he saw as a momentary advantage, Braddock scooped up the sword and thrust up and out with it. Mata couldn't stop in time. The blade went into his belly and sliced through his guts before scraping off his spine and then ripping out from his back. He shrieked and pawed at the sword, but he couldn't pull it free. All he succeeded in doing was slicing open his fingers on its keen edge.
Braddock gave Mata a shove to the side. The captain collapsed, curling around the agony in his belly and dying in that position. His death wouldn't bring Rosaria back, so Braddock took no real satisfaction in it, but Mata had gotten what he deserved, anyway.
And this slaughter of Rurales would cause an unpleasant incident between the governments of the United States and Mexico, especially if Braddock's rescuers really were Texas Rangers. Politics was the least of Braddock's worries just now, however. He felt like he might pass out at any moment.
The shooting in Esperanza had just about died away. He turned slowly to gaze along the street. The men who had saved him from spending the rest of his life in a Mexican prison had emerged from cover now and were stalking among the bodies of the fallen Rurales, casually finishing off any of the Mexicans who were still alive. Braddock didn't recognize any of them, but blood was dripping into his eyes, causing a red haze that made it difficult to see clearly. He tried to wipe some of the blood away as he stumbled toward the men.
"Thank you," he croaked as he approached several of them. "You...you saved my life."
The men turned toward him, and Braddock stopped like he had run into a wall.
Tull Coleman grinned at him and said, "Why, you're mighty welcome, Ranger Braddock. Couldn't have no dirty Mexicans killing you when I want to do it myself."
* * *
Braddock was in hell. At least, it would do until the real thing came along.
His arms were stretched out to the sides and tied to the posts that held up the roof over the well. He had hung there all day as he watched Coleman and the other outlaws brutalize the villagers and loot th
e place of its meager valuables. Men who had tried to fight back against them had been gunned down ruthlessly. Braddock didn't want to think about what had happened—and was still happening—to the women and girls of the village.
And all of it because of some politicians and lawyers who had seen to it that a mad dog like Tull Coleman was turned loose on the world once again. Braddock wished they could see the results of their crusade to bring down the Rangers.
But there was more blame to go around. After having him strung up like this, Coleman had gloated about tracking him here from Dutchman's Folly and sneaking into the village with the rest of the gang. If Braddock hadn't been so determined to bring Coleman to justice, he wouldn't have found Jeff Hawley. If he hadn't gone to the road ranch, he woudn't have met Rosaria. He never would have brought her here, and Coleman and the rest of those crazed killers couldn't have followed them.
So in a way, Braddock's feverish brain concluded, he was partially responsible for opening the gates of hell on Esperanza.
Now night was falling, and the flames leaping up from several of the buildings that were on fire cast a red glow over the entire village. In that glare, Tull Coleman swaggered toward Braddock, rifle in one hand and bottle of tequila in the other.
Coleman was a little drunk, Braddock saw as the outlaw came to a stop in front of him and swayed slightly. With a big grin on his face, Coleman waved the bottle toward the rest of the town and said, "What do you think, Ranger? How do you like what we've done here? I had to let my boys blow off a little steam after they came all this way to give me a hand. The place'll never forget our visit, that's for damned sure!"
Braddock didn't say anything. He didn't want to give Coleman the satisfaction.
Coleman lifted his Winchester and used the muzzle to prod the badge still pinned to Braddock's shirt. "I don't understand. I know damned well they booted you out of the Rangers. You got no right to wear that badge."
"I'll always have the right to wear that badge," Braddock growled.
Coleman shook his head. "Not according to the law. And you know what that means?" He cackled and poked Braddock with the rifle barrel again. "It means you're an outlaw just like me, Braddock! You're on the wrong side of the law now, too!"
Braddock knew he couldn't go on if he allowed himself to believe that. He couldn't accept it. He knew he had done the right thing by continuing to try to enforce the law, no matter what the damned lawyers and politicians said.
Of course it didn't really matter now, he thought. He was already half-dead, and Coleman would take care of the other half sooner or later...when he got tired of terrorizing the village and tormenting his prisoner.
"What happened to your head, anyway?" Coleman asked abruptly. "You look like some sort of damned pirate from a storybook with that bloody rag around your head."
"That Rurale captain hit me with his sword when they captured me."
"The one you gutted like a fish with his own sword? I liked that, Braddock. It was almost enough to make me like you. I got no use for these damned greasers."
"Raul Gomez rode with you," Braddock pointed out.
"That was different. He was one of us...until you killed him." Coleman grew more serious. "Yeah, you killed Gomez and the rest of my men, even Jeff. It just took you longer to catch up to him."
Braddock shook his head and said, "I didn't kill Hawley."
Coleman snorted. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"
"It's the truth. All I wanted from him was information about where I could find you."
"Jeff never would've betrayed me!"
"He didn't," Braddock admitted. "He set himself on fire. I reckon he was tired of living in that chair."
"Where you put him." Coleman's face twisted in a snarl, and for a second Braddock thought the outlaw was going to lift the Winchester and blow his brains out. After everything he had witnessed today, all the death and tragedy and horror, Braddock would have almost welcomed that.
"You're a damned coward."
Braddock shook his head. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
"Nobody has to kill you. You're already dead inside."
"No!" The word tore Braddock's throat painfully as it came out.
Coleman took it the wrong way. He sneered again and said, "Don't worry, Braddock. I'm not going to kill you yet. It's gonna take you a long time to die..."
"You've given up. That's something a real Ranger would never do."
Braddock jerked against the bonds holding him to the well as he tried to get away from the words lashing at him. "Get the hell away from me, old man!" he screamed.
"Old man, is it?" Coleman said. "I'm not that much older than you. And you never did tell me how come you're still wearing that badge."
"How about it, boy? Why do you deserve to wear the badge?"
Braddock's head had sagged forward in exhaustion. Now he found the strength to lift it and gaze into Coleman's eyes as he said, "I wear it because I'm a Ranger. I'll always be a Ranger, no matter what anybody else says. Anybody!"
"You know what you are, Braddock?" Coleman laughed. "You're loco! Plumb out of your mind. That's what you are. I reckon when I do finally kill you, I'll be doing you a favor."
Braddock spit at the outlaw's feet.
Coleman stepped closer, swung the rifle up, smashed the stock across Braddock's face. Braddock hung there, blood dripping from his mouth now as it continued to ooze from his head injury as well. Coleman put his face close to Braddock's, and his lips drew back from his teeth as he said, "Come sun-up, everybody who's still alive in this rathole is gonna die, Braddock. You're going to watch it, and you'll know that it's on your head, you crazy fool. You think about that tonight."
He turned and stalked away, and behind him, barely conscious, Braddock muttered, "I'm a Ranger...a Ranger..."
It seemed like he heard someone say, "Maybe you are, at that," but he couldn't be sure.
Chapter 16
Braddock was in and out of consciousness as the long, hellish night dragged on. He was sure that he hallucinated some due to loss of blood, the punishment he had endured, and sheer exhaustion. That was why he had thought he heard his father talking to him, he told himself. Those words had been figments of his fevered imagination.
Because of that, when he felt something tugging at the bonds around his right wrist, he thought that wasn't real, either.
Finally, when the feeling persisted, he raised his head wearily and turned it to look in that direction. He was shocked to see a shadowy figure crouched behind the well, reaching up to saw at the rope around his wrist with a knife.
Most of the fires had died down by now, so the red glare didn't spread across the entire village anymore. Shadows cloaked this end of the street. Coleman had posted one of the outlaws to keep an eye on him, but the man was leaning against a hitch rack, half asleep after hours of debauchery earlier. He didn't seem to notice whoever it was cutting Braddock loose.
The rope fell away, but Braddock kept his arm raised in the same position. That wasn't easy—after so many hours like this his muscles wanted to just go limp—but he knew that too much movement would attract the guard's attention.
Just as the fires had died down, so had the shooting and shouting and screaming. A harsh laugh sounded here and there, but for the most part the village was quiet now. Quiet enough for Braddock to hear the soft whisper of bare feet against the dirt as the shadowy figure moved around the well to the other side. A moment later he felt his rescuer start to cut the rope on his left wrist.
Braddock was at a loss as to who would risk their life to help him. He had no friends in Esperanza. In fact, the villagers who were still alive had good reason to hate him for his part in what had happened here.
But whoever it was, he was grateful to them. He was going to have one more chance—his last chance, certainly—to go out fighting instead of submitting meekly to his fate.
The rope around his left wrist came loose. He was free. Outnumbered,
unarmed, and half dead...but free.
"Señor."
The whispered voice belonged to a woman, but other than that Braddock didn't recognize anything about it.
"A gun there is...behind the well. Four bullets only...all I could find."
"Gracias," Braddock whispered in return, then indulged his curiosity. "Who...are you?"
"Rosaria...mi hija."
My daughter...It was Rosaria's mother who had freed him. The woman who had turned Rosaria away...but also the one person in Esperanza who probably had the most reason to hate him, for the part he had played in Rosaria's death.
"These hombres...malo. Muy malo."
Nobody could argue with that. Tull Coleman and his gang were very bad, all right. The baddest of the bad, Braddock thought.
"You kill them?" the woman said.
"As many as I can," he promised.
"Bueno. And you will die, too, I think."
Braddock understood now. She hated all of them, all the gringos who had brought their private feud to this village and caused its ruin. She was unleashing Braddock on them so he could kill as many of the outlaws as possible before he died himself. From her standpoint, that was about all the revenge she could hope for.
He would do his best to deliver it for her. For the woman's sake...and for Rosaria's.
"Distract the guard for a second," he told her, not knowing if she understood that much English. "Give me a chance to get my hands on that gun."
She made no reply, but he heard her feet shuffling as she retreated from the well. He waited, and a moment later she came into view at the corner of his eye, walking toward the guard.
The man straightened from his casual pose when he saw her coming. She stopped when she was between him and Braddock and started haranguing him, waving her arms in the air as she ranted at him in Spanish.
"What the hell," the guard said. "I don't understand what you're goin' on about, you Mex bitch. Why don't you just skedaddle?"
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