"You understand," Señora Dominguez said. "You will do this thing."
It wasn't a question. There was no doubt in her voice.
"I'll leave first thing in the morning," he promised her.
The priest sighed and said, "I know there is small chance of talking you out of doing this, my friend, despite the danger."
"Not even a little bit," Braddock agreed.
"Where will you begin? Across the border?"
"That's where it happened. Seems like the place to start is with this fella Rainey. He lives in Cemetery Butte?"
"He owns the whole town," the priest replied. "It is said his house there is the biggest between San Antonio and El Paso."
"Maybe he figures that's as close as he'll get to the kingdom of Heaven," Braddock said.
Chapter 3
Martin Rainey stared into the glass of brandy for a second before he tossed the drink down his throat. He hadn't seen any answers in the liquor...but he hadn't really expected to find them there.
"Where's my son?" he asked.
The only other person in the room was Rainey's secretary, a slender, bespectacled man originally from Massachusetts named Charles Horner. He said, "The last time I saw Jason, he was headed down the trail toward town." Horner had lost most of his eastern accent. His words now held the soft drawl of the southwest.
"On his way to get drunk, no doubt."
"I wouldn't know about that."
"The hell you wouldn't, Charles," Rainey said. "You know more about what goes on up here on the butte and down in town than anybody else."
Horner cocked his head to the side and shrugged.
The house they were in was located on top of the butte that overlooked the settlement below. Rainey's ranch, which was also the headquarters of his mining company, was the only thing on the butte other than the small, fence-enclosed graveyard about a mile away that gave the place its name. The settlement, established in the first place because it was on a freight wagon route, had been called Wooten starting out, after one of the men who'd founded it, but after the citizens had started burying folks up on the butte, they decided they liked the new name better. Old Wooten was one of those laid to rest in the rocky ground, so he didn't object.
Rainey went over to the sideboard, poured another drink. Horner said, "It's not noon yet, you know."
"I know what time it is. I don't care."
Horner shrugged again. If his boss wanted to get drunk before the sun reached its zenith, that was Rainey's business.
"If you see Jason later, tell him I want to talk to him."
Horner nodded and said, "Of course."
Rainey downed the drink.
It didn't do a damned thing to banish the image seared into his brain.
Dead men lying everywhere, covered with blood.
And his mules—along with his gold—gone.
* * *
Jason Rainey was drinking at the same time as his father, but instead of expensive brandy, he was tossing back cheap tonsil varnish in the Palomino Saloon.
Mounted on the front of the building, a wooden statue of a horse painted a golden color reared above the awning over the boardwalk. It was by far the fanciest thing about the Palomino.
It had been three days since the murderous ambush on the mule train, but the settlement was still buzzing about the violence. Some of the guards who'd been killed had had friends here in town. When they gathered in the Palomino and the other saloons, they liked to talk about getting a posse together, crossing the border, and hunting down the bandidos who had committed this atrocity. Of course, so far that was all it amounted to: talk.
A young woman with long red hair pulled back in a ponytail sidled up next to Jason. The paint on her face and the short, spangled dress made it plain what her profession was. She put a hand on Jason's arm, smiled at him, and said, "Sort of early for that, isn't it? If you want some comfort, I've got something better."
"You ain't my mother, Bess," Jason snapped. "My mother's dead a long time now."
"I know that," Bess said. "She died before you and your daddy ever came here, didn't she? That's what I've heard, anyway."
"Yeah. Before we came here. That's right."
Jason glared at the bartender and pointed at his empty glass. The man sighed and reached for the bottle.
"Come on upstairs with me," Bess urged as she rubbed a hand up and down Jason's arm. "I'll make you feel good."
"I reckon that's beyond your capabilities, darlin'..." Jason lifted the glass and swallowed the whiskey. "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to try."
"Oh, I'll try real good," she promised as the two of them turned away from the bar.
The man who pushed through the batwings and stepped into the Palomino at that moment made Jason stop in his tracks.
The newcomer was tall, lean, and had the brim of his hat pulled low. A brown mustache framed lips that formed a taut line. He wore a holstered revolver, which was becoming a more unusual sight in this modern, turn-of-the-century era, but it certainly wasn't unheard of.
The badge, though...They didn't show up much in this part of the country. Cemetery Butte had a marshal whose main duty was locking up the occasional drunk and letting him sleep it off. Since the county was bigger than a lot of eastern states, deputies from the sheriff's office didn't get down here to the border country very often. The main peacekeepers were the handful of hired guns who worked for Jason's father.
Jason had never seen a Texas Ranger in Cemetery Butte...until now.
When the man came closer, Jason saw there was something odd about the badge. It had a small hole in the center, and as Jason frowned, he thought that it looked for all the world like a bullet had punched through the metal. If that had been the case, though, the man who'd been wearing the badge ought to be dead. This hombre was very much alive, although it appeared he'd taken some punishment in his time.
Bess tugged at Jason's arm and said, "Come on, hon. We got things to do."
"Hold on," Jason said. He was thinking rapidly. There was only one explanation for the Ranger's presence that made sense. Only one crime had been committed recently that would draw the attention of the law.
The man was here because of the attack on the mule train.
Jason shrugged off Bess's hand and said, "Go on now. I'll see you later, maybe."
She clutched at him again and said, "Damn it, Jason—"
She broke off with a little gasp as his hand closed tightly around her bare arm. His fingers dug into the soft flesh.
"I said go on," he told her between clenched teeth.
Quite a few pale freckles dusted her cheeks and nose. They seemed to darken, but it was really the color washing out of her face. She swallowed, jerked her head in a nod, and said, "Sure, Jason. Sure."
He let go of her. She stepped back. Her other hand went to her arm to rub lightly where he had grabbed it.
Jason had already forgotten about her completely as he moved away from the bar and planted himself in the Ranger's path.
* * *
Braddock nodded to the husky young man who stood in front of him. Thick blond curls were visible under the man's thumbed-back hat. His clothes were good, although they looked like the man didn't really take care of them very well.
The youngster said, "You're a Texas Ranger."
Braddock smiled thinly and said, "That's why I'm wearing the badge."
That was why he would always wear it, whether his name was on the official rolls or not. What a man was didn't depend on somebody else agreeing with it.
"You're here about that ambush in Buzzard's Canyon."
It wasn't a question, so Braddock didn't bother answering it. Instead he said, "I'm here because I've been on the trail for a while and I could use something to cut the dust."
Actually, Braddock had stopped at the Palomino because it was the biggest saloon in town, and he figured people would be talking about the ambush and robbery. Nothing else like that had happened in these parts lately, or
maybe ever. It wouldn't hurt anything to pick up some gossip before he went to see Martin Rainey.
He had already taken note of the big, three-story, whitewashed house perched atop the butte just north of town and knew that was where he would find Rainey, unless the man had an office down here in town. He could find that out by asking in the saloon, too.
"I'll buy you a beer," the young man said. He turned and gestured to the bartender. "Draw a beer and put it on my tab, Hank."
The drink juggler bobbed his balding head and said, "Sure, Mr. Rainey."
Braddock kept his face impassive, but inside he was a little surprised to hear the name. This big, handsome youngster didn't look like the sort of man to own a successful ranch north of the line and a lucrative gold mine in the mountains south of the border.
"You're Martin Rainey?" Braddock asked.
"What?" The man shook his head. "Hell, no. That's my father. I'm Jason Rainey."
He stuck out his hand.
Braddock gripped it and said, "G.W. Braddock." It was doubtful anybody would recognize his name. The Rangers would have kept any mention of his activities out of the newspapers. Having somebody going around doing their job for them would be an embarrassment.
Jason Rainey picked up the beer and used his other hand to wave at an empty table in the back corner of the room.
"Let's sit down," he suggested. "I'll tell you all about the old man."
This was too good an opportunity for Braddock to pass up. He said, "I'm much obliged," and he didn't just mean for the beer.
Chapter 4
"My father was a major in the army," Jason began as he leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs under the table. "He fought the Apaches in Arizona Territory and dragged my mother and me from one dusty outpost to another. She tried to tell him that sort of life wasn't good for her. Her health was never the best. He didn't really listen to her, though. It took her dying for him to understand."
"I'm sorry," Braddock said.
Jason spread his hands and shook his head.
"You can't hold a man's ambition against him. My father had his sights set on being a general. He would have been a good one, too."
"But he left the army?"
Jason nodded and said, "Yeah." He picked up the glass of whiskey he had brought to the table with him and sipped from it, rather than downing the whole shot. "He'd inherited some land here in Texas from an old bachelor uncle. We didn't know it was a ranch, and a pretty good one, until we got here. He bought some cattle from a man who had a spread below the border, Felipe Santiago. Santiago owned a gold mine in the mountains, too, but it never had paid off much and was about to go broke. He still believed it was just a matter of time until they struck a lode, though, so he talked my father into going partners with him." Jason took another drink. "It wasn't six months before they hit that lode, and they've been taking gold out of the tunnel ever since."
"Making your father a rich man."
"Yep. His luck turned when he left the army."
Braddock swallowed some of the beer, which was no better and no worse than what you'd find in most frontier saloons. Mostly it was just wet. He said, "Why are you telling me all this, Jason?"
"Well, you came here to track down the men who ambushed that mule train and killed those poor fellas, didn't you?"
"That's right."
"I figured you'd need to know some of the background. Might help you figure out who'd want to hurt my father by hitting that train."
Braddock's eyes narrowed. He said, "You think stealing all that gold ore bound for the smelter wasn't good enough reason?"
"Well, sure, but there could have been more to it than that."
"Like what?"
Jason polished off the drink and said, "Like Felipe Santiago died a while back...after my father had finagled him out of his share of the mine."
Braddock's eyebrows went up. He couldn't stop them. He said, "Your father stole Santiago's half of the mine?"
"I wouldn't say stole," Jason replied with a shrug. "Rustlers had been hitting Santiago's herds hard for a while. He needed money. My father bought out Santiago's share of the mine for less than it was worth, but Santiago wasn't in any position to haggle. Then he wound up losing the ranch anyway. It didn't help matters that he wasn't on good terms with the political powers that be down there."
Braddock nodded slowly. He understood all too well about how politics could ruin a man's life.
"So your father wound up with everything and Santiago got nothing."
"He died a broken man," Jason said. "And he left behind a son who blames it all on my pa. Manuel Santiago's been helling around below the border making noises about how he was going to settle the score for his father."
"So you think he might have had something to do with bushwhacking that mule train?"
"He knew the route my father's been using to transport the ore," Jason said.
"I imagine plenty of other people around here did, too."
"Yeah, sure, but Manuel used to work in the mine office down there. He knew about how long it was between shipments, so he could make a pretty good guess when one would be going out. He knew my father likes to move the gold at night, too." Jason made a face and shook his head. "He thinks it's safer. I tried to tell him the shadows just give bandits more places to hide, but he doesn't seem to see it that way."
Braddock drank more of the beer and said, "You may be on to something there, but suspicion is a long way from proof. I'll still need to talk to your father."
"Shoot, yeah. I'll take you up there myself and introduce you to the old man."
"Thanks." Braddock paused. "You say Manuel Santiago worked in the mine office?"
"That's right."
"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking."
Jason grinned, waved a hand to indicate the interior of the Palomino, and said, "You're lookin' at it."
* * *
The huge, building that housed the smelter and stamp mill was quiet at the moment. No smoke came from its stacks. It stood at the edge of the settlement as silent and unmoving as a monument.
When it was working its roar would fill the air and people would feel the vibrations from its machinery through their feet as they went about their daily tasks. It was what brought life to the town of Cemetery Butte, along with the Spade Ranch, which was also owned by Martin Rainey. His money was the blood in the settlement's veins.
In Braddock's time as a Ranger, he had seen other places like this, places dependent for their very existence on one man. Usually they weren't very happy places, because the people who lived there knew everything they had relied on the whims of a single individual. That bred a certain powerlessness in people.
And powerlessness bred resentment.
Somebody who wanted to strike back at Martin Rainey probably wouldn't have much trouble recruiting men to help him. Most rich men had an abundance of enemies to go along with their wealth.
Those thoughts went through Braddock's mind as he rode up the trail to the top of the butte with Jason Rainey. Braddock's dun was a rangy animal, not much for looks, but it had sand and could run all day. Jason's mount, a big roan, was much more impressive, and Jason cut a splendid figure atop the animal.
The sides of the butte sloped down fairly gently. The trail didn't even have to zigzag back and forth. It just climbed straight from the plains to the top. It didn't feel to Braddock like they were very high until he turned slightly in his saddle when they were almost there and looked back to the south, toward the Rio Grande several miles distant and the rugged mountains beyond the river. The landscape spread out before him like a painting in hues of brown and tan and gray with bursts of green vegetation here and there.
"What made folks decide to start burying their loved ones up here?" he mused. "The view?"
"Could be," Jason said. "The town's graveyard was already on top of the butte when my father and I came to these parts. You're right, though, that the scenery is pretty impressive. The air's so
clear that when you stand on the gallery of my father's house it looks almost like you can reach out across the river and touch those mountains."
The trail branched at the top. To the right, Jason explained, was the cemetery, about half a mile away. The path that curved to the left led to the Spade Ranch. Braddock could see the house from where they were, along with the outbuildings and the corrals.
"I'm not sure I'd like living in a house that close to the edge," he said.
"Well, it's not like it's on a cliff," Jason said, smiling. "The drop-off's not sheer. It can't collapse in an avalanche or anything like that. But from the second floor balcony, it does seem like the world sort of drops out from under you. You get used to it, though. Hell, a man can get used to anything."
Braddock wasn't so sure about that, but he wasn't going to argue.
The house had a covered porch that ran around all four sides. Given the relative scarcity of trees in this part of the country, the lumber to build such a place must have cost a fortune. Braddock asked, "Was the house here before you and your father moved in?"
That question brought a laugh from Jason. He said, "Not hardly. I told you, Great-uncle Jesse was a bachelor. He lived in a little shack, and that was enough for him. And that was where my father and I lived until the gold strike. Then he built the house. Said it was the sort of place my mother would have liked." He shrugged and added, "Seems like a waste to me, her being gone and all, but there's no arguing with my father."
A man came out onto the porch as Braddock and Jason rode up to one of several hitch rails located around the house. He wore glasses and a gray tweed suit and said, "Your father wants to see you, Jason."
"I'm sure you told him I'd gone down to town, didn't you, Mr. Horner?"
The man's face got a dour look on it. He said, "I didn't lie to him, if that's what you mean."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
Horner frowned at Braddock as the two riders swung down from their saddles and looped reins around the hitch rails.
"Who's this?"
Blood and Gold (Outlaw Ranger Book 3) Page 2
