the war. She figured whichever one came home first was the keeper. Course, she packed up and left for Texas the day after the first one arrived just in case the other two didn’t see it that way.”
“He didn’t mind that she’d been two-timing him with two other men?”
Wyatt laughed. “I never heard him say. He did tell me once that he was lucky he didn’t have to pay for the lessons her third husband taught her about how to act under the covers. They’re living down by Galveston and last I heard they had so many kids they stopped naming them and just started numbering. So, I’m guessing what she learned they’re still practicing.”
Duncan smiled with his friend. Wyatt was five years older and tough as thick jerky, but he never believed in giving up. He’d die fighting.
Wyatt’s shadow moved on, vanishing in the night. Duncan wouldn’t count him among his closest friends, but they’d cover each other in any fight. Because they both followed Captain McNelly, they were alike in the way they felt about protecting Texas.
When the rangers had been reorganized after the war, a second group called the Special Force was formed under a thirty-year-old captain named Leander McNelly. McNelly might be thin as a fence post and look half sick most of the time, but he had thirty rangers riding to his call tonight. The captain had learned by messenger that Juan Flores had stolen a herd of cattle and crossed the Rio Grande, thinking he wouldn’t be pursued. The captain was determined to capture Flores even if he had to cross the Rio to do it.
Duncan wanted to be there, to fight and to be part of history in the making. He’d help the girls get married off and add lots of kids to the family tree, but Duncan had a wild streak he knew would never allow him to settle down.
They rode until the sun was high, then turned their horses out to graze while they slept a few hours. By dusk they were near the border. Thirty rangers met three companies of U.S. Cavalry camped along the river’s edge.
Captain McNelly talked to the soldiers while Duncan and the others rested. They knew what was coming and they knew they needed to be ready. Duncan checked his weapons while Wyatt checked his saddle. None of the rangers talked. The time for talking was over; soon it would be time to fight.
A little after midnight McNelly gave the command. Thirty rangers swung onto their horses and stormed the Rio, heading straight across to Juan Flores’s ranch, called Las Cuevas (“The Caves”).
Duncan McMurray rode in the middle of the group. The river was tricky and the far side looked steep, but that didn’t bother him near as much as the fact that not one cavalryman followed.
His mare took the water well. McMurray horses were raised on a ranch surrounded on two sides by water. By the time he was twelve, his uncles had taught him how to handle a horse in currents.
Before dawn the rangers would be facing down two hundred raiders. The thought made him laugh suddenly. Every ranger he knew would say the odds were about even. The only thing that really bothered Duncan was the fact that they would be fighting on Mexican soil.
Duncan kicked his horse and moved past some of the others. If he was riding into hell, he might as well have a good view.
CHAPTER 4
November 20, 1875
LEWTON PATERSON SETTLED INTO THE PRIVATE CAR Duncan had reserved for the three men traveling north. His friend had paid for the entire car, probably planning to get to know the men before they reached Whispering Mountain. Though the train car wasn’t plush, it was comfortable with a stocked bar. There was a seating area for six and a game table for four as well as a few chairs by the windows for those who wanted to watch the country moving by in solitude. The car cost Duncan ten times what three seats up front in standard would have cost, but McMurray obviously wanted to impress the men.
Remembering Walter Freepost the Fourth from the saloon last night, Lewt doubted the man would have been impressed, but Lewt was. He’d spent more time riding with the horses than in seats on trains, and even a simple car like this seemed pure luxury.
I could get used to this, he thought. Who knows, they might like me at the ranch. Maybe I could just pick