CONTINUED: Return Of The Lone Ranger

 “Mais oui, but the hand generators breakdown often. Also, there are maps that need to be transported---and the occasional liquid refreshment.”

 “Is that all there is to it?”

 “Well---there is one other thing I will mention, since I am not an officer and therefor tend to deal simply with men.”

 The American rose to his feet and gazed expectantly at the Frenchman.

 “You see, positions change very quickly sometimes. New telephone wire has to be put down and sometimes senior officers do not like waiting on such things. My point is that in such circumstances, the enemy is not always completely neutralized by the time a courier arrives in the area.”

 “You mean the enemy is still close enough to take shots at men who approach the area from the rear.”

 “Exactly—but cover fire is provided and when possible we have the courier horses enter the danger zone when the sun is behind them. Also, the enemy would rather shoot at a man with a gun than a man with a mail bag, so the duty is not all that hazardous really.”

 “I don’t need to enlist or anything?”

 “Oh no. My captain just require your name, address of next of kin, and information regarding any contacts you have in this city.”

 “I won’t sign any contracts,” warned the American. “The deal would be for me to deliver the mail as long as my horse and I get what we need and I get enough under the table wages so that I can save up for a train trip south.”

 “South, Monsieur?”

 “I plan to ship my horse to the United States, and I’m not getting on any ship that has to travel in the shipping lanes between England and America. My plan is to catch a ship in a southern port that is bound for Brazil.”

 The corporal laughed in spite of himself.

 “You fear the submarines that much?”

 The American ran a caressing hand down the neck of the big animal and said, “I don’t think they make life jackets in his size.”

 “Well, you can take all that up with Captain Benoit. I was just sent to fetch you. Oh, I almost forgot the treats.”

 The corporal pulled an apple out if his sack and said, “With your permission.”

 Reid nodded assent and the corporal reached into the pen, foolishly holding the apple by his fingertips. The horse eagerly chomped at the offering while startling the corporal somewhat.

 Reid then made a slight face and said, “A word of advice, Corporal: place the food on the palm of your hand with the fingers stretched away. Horses aren’t meat eaters but you don’t want to get yourself bit just the same.”

 “Allow me to practice with another,” said the corporal, who then held out the second apple in the prescribed manner.

 “He will be treated thus for as long as he serves,” the corporal promised with a smile.

 Reid didn’t smile back but he nodded slightly and said, “Alight, I’ll meet with your Captain Benoit, but he better understand that I won’t be separated from my horse. Now just give me a moment to get saddled up and we’ll ride double.”

 “What is your horse’s name?” asked the corporal while waiting for the saddle to be secured.

 “Snowstorm.”

 “What an unusual name for an animal.”

 “I took an instant liking to it,” Reid said in a friendlier tone. “You see I’m from the U.S. state of Texas, and in that part of the country a snowstorm is a fearsome act of nature that we Texans don’t handle very well because we are for the most part a warm weather state.”

 “What type of horse is he?”

 “He is of the Camargue bloodline, which I admit I had no knowledge of before I arrived in France.”

 Grabbing a fistful of the horse’s mane, Rein climbed effortlessly into the saddle.

 “Does that not annoy the animal?” asked the corporal while awkwardly climbing up to take his place behind the American.

 “No. I’ve seen horses that don’t care for it much, but there is no actual pain caused by it.”

 “And I’ve always wondered why riders always mount from the left side,” the Frenchman added.

 “Oh that’s just common sense. Cavalry riders would be packing pig stickers on the left hip. So you mount on the left side of the horse so you can get your right leg over easy. If you’re ex cavalry you’re just naturally inclined to brag about it and insist that people ride the cavalry way. So the traditions got spread into civilian equestrianism.”

 “You seem---well educated,” the Frenchman ventured to say.

 “Do I?” was all the American had to answer with.

 “You did not come to Arras to buy this horse did you?”

 “Nope. I came to study a new type of pneumatic drill that was developed by Mr. Dominique Guizot. My father manufactures drills for oil companies and he became interested in Guizot’s work. But Guizot died of a heart attack a few days before I got here. His widow was selling his property so she could move further west. I just couldn’t believe it when I saw the horse he had owned.”

 “Then---you are not truly poor. When my captain heard about you, he just assumed that you would need employment.”

 “Oh I do.”  the American assured his riding companion. “The money I gave the widow for the horse was supposed to support me and get me back home in time. I don’t dare contact my father and tell him that I spent the money on a horse.”

 The two men rode three-quarters of a mile across town to a modest stone house that had half it’s thatched roof missing. Someone had helped themselves to it a few weeks back but that didn’t concern it’s present occupants.

 Figuring that the corporal might need a little help, Del threw his right leg over his horse’s neck and slid off the saddle so that the corporal would have more maneuvering room. Once the Frenchman was back on the ground he gestured toward the front entrance that held no door. (The door had been stolen last winter.)

 “I will watch Snowstorm for you while you are with the captain.”

 Reid nodded his appreciation and went in to find an older, heavier Frenchman sitting behind a desk that always needed to be moved whenever it rained. Many of the papers on his light weight desk contained ink runs and interestingly enough, a big revolver sat on the desk top as well.

 “Good morning Captain. I hope that hog leg isn’t on the desk for my benefit.”

  “Ah, Monsieur Reid, I am happy that you chose to accommodate the corporal and give me a chance to speak with you.”

 “Well---he fed my horse…”

 “Yes, that is a very important matter to any horse owner is it not?”

 “As well as promises that are kept, Captain Benoit. So far I’ve heard a great deal of talk about how well my horse will be fed if I take up courier duty, but I happen to know for a fact that three-quarters of the horses that are in military service are underfed and will probably die before the end of the war.”

 “And the other twenty-five percent are like you, Monsieur Reid. Those men refuse to have their animals pulling artillery pieces through quagmires that are many kilometers in length.”

 “I don’t believe I’ve seen any of those,” said Reid.

 “That is because you have never seen what the autumn rains can do to the landscape in northern France. Do you have any idea how worthless an automobile can be in that sort of terrain?”
 “Ah, well, I’m from Texas where things are a mite drier most of the time.”

 “Which is precisely why I want to hire you, Monsieur. I spoke to a man who visited our state before the war. You men of Texas are proud of your heritage. You are not ashamed of being cowboys—“

 “Hold up there Partner,” Reid interrupted half jokingly. “The cowboy’s job was to move herds of cattle across country. That lasted only until the railroads came along. Ranchers do many of the same chores such as branding and  moving herds from one grazing area to another, but real cowboys are a thing of the past.”

 “But the image is still with you, and it could be of service to my superiors,” said Benoit.

 “You thinking about stampeding cattle across No Man’s Land?” the Texan joked again.

 “Permit me to explain: You will only be one of dozens of courier riders, but you could give inspiration to your fellows. You see, Monsieur---most men do not want to ride horses. They prefer anything with an internal combustion engine. It is a matter of pride to be a member of the new mechanized military. Many men regard the use of a horse as menial duty. We can ill afford such an attitude with the rains that will be coming soon enough.”

 “I don’t think I understand you Captain. What exactly do you want from me?”

 “I want you to learn all about the front in the coming weeks. Then when the rains come I want you to show the other riders that a horse is better in mud than any machine. I want you to give the men a cowboy image that they can share and be proud of.”

 Reid thought about that for a moment. He was privately of the opinion that the Allies were a pack of idiots to be fighting the way they were. But he had to admit to himself that they were braver than any men he had ever known back home. True---the American Expeditionary Force under Black Jack Pershing was now in France, but they hadn’t been committed to battle yet, and anyway, that had nothing to do with Reid and his own desire for self respect. He was at that age where he was growing tired of being under his father’s shadow. If he could go home as a hero….

 “Alright Captain, I’ll make you specific offer so there won’t be any misunderstandings. You want a mud rider. So be it. I’ll ride for the Army until Old Man Winter freezes the ground permanently. I don’t plan on riding in the winter and by then the wheels of a mail truck will be turning just fine. In exchange for my services, I want a transport to La Rochelle for me and my horse. I’ll also be needing money to take a steamer to Brazil.”

 “I find that acceptable if somewhat unconventional,” responded Benoit. “Since you will learn of this soon enough I will tell you here and now that your work will be somewhat hazardous. Therefor I must ask you what you wish done should you be killed in the performance of your duties.”

 “If the horse come out of it in good shape, give him to one of those men you talked about a while ago. Tell my father that I died one step ahead of the Doughboys.”

  The captain smiled at that and said, “In truth, there are a number of American adventurers already fighting for France, but we will not look at the airplanes flying overhead for our inspiration. This war is going to be won on the ground; and it will always be thus. I am certain of it.”

 Reid didn’t much care if that was true or not. He just wanted to test his metal and then get to the other side of the Atlantic. Until then he wouldn’t allow himself to think about what the reception his father would have waiting for him. There would be enough hostility coming from the Germans. 

 Benoit knew his business. He called a meeting of all of the horse couriers and introduced the American to them. He kept dropping the term cowboy, but other than that he was above board in his efforts to raise morale amongst the men who weren’t quite as respected as the tankers or even the men on motorcycles.

 The remainder of the summer was not intolerable for Reid and his comrades. They dodged far fewer bullets than the men between themselves and the enemy positions, and the combat weary officers and enlisted men would sometimes walk back to where Snowstorm was tethered so that they could give him a friendly petting and remind themselves that there were living things in this world besides dust covered soldiers.

 Then finally Benoit’s prediction came true. The dust turned to mud; a relentless curse placed upon them by torn up landscape and a chilly rains that were guaranteed to return just as soon as your socks were dried out. In point of fact the socks didn’t dry out, unless you had the opportunity to place them on the water sleeve of a machine gun barrel that had overheated. Trench foot, like frost bite didn’t come at you like a bayonet charge, but it could bring on amputations just the same.

 Reid saw the whole thing as insane. Sure, if Berlin was just behind the Germans, or if Paris was just behind Allied lines, then it would make sense to dig in and refuse to give up ground to keep the capital free. But all this gopher fighting was taking place where nothing could be resolved; where the leadership of both sides could easily ignore the large scale insanity that was trench warfare.

 Every time Reid delivered a message and began to leave, he would look to see if anyone would try and leave with him. It just seemed unnatural that so many other wise intelligent men would be willing to remain in their dugouts and continue to wait for the next stray bullet or piece of shrapnel; and that constituted their rest time.

 He had never been on the front when the whistles blew and everyone climbed out of their holes to run forward into the machine gun fire, and he never would. You’d have to be an idiot to deliberately show up when there was a maximum of lead flying. Reid was always careful to make his deliveries and pickups early enough to clear out before the push offs got started. But on occasion he would get instructions to move further up the line towards the British, and when the Brits discovered that there was an English speaking courier on their southern flank, they threw additional business Reid’s way.

 That’s how he made friends with Jackie Williams, a little fellow who considered his virginity a big problem. So much so that when he got the opportunity to made regular runs to the city of Bethune, he bent every effort to locate and fall in love with a Flemish lass who was willing to judge the height of a man while he was in the saddle. (Which can be interpreted more than one way.)

 Reid preferred to stay out of towns unless he could report to some English speaking officer like Benoit. Country folk might want you horse in order to pull a wagon. City folks on the other hand would often size up your steed while licking their chops. Reid paid to have a bath tub hauled into the livery stable that would cater to Snowstorm’s needs while they were both in town. He’d being eating canned beans that he brought with him. A boy fetched a bottle of wine for him, but for the most part his visit to Bethune was of the no frills variety.

 Like most of the towns within cannon range of the front, Bethune was an architectural tragedy. Buildings packed with history that would suffer the insults of artillery concussions and displaced people who weren’t terribly concerned with the maintenance of the buildings they were sheltering in for the coming winter. Coming from Texas, Reid had seen a few old mission buildings that had stood the test of time in the semi deserts. But it intrigued him that so many people could reside during peacetime in large structures that were several hundred years old.

 “They must have real good roofers,”  he often thought to himself.

 Coming from England, Jackie Williams was far less impressed with the architecture than the girl of his dreams. (Truly a fine lass albeit one with crooked teeth.) Like any sensible person Agnes compensated for her physical imperfection with a wonderful personality and the belief that you don’t save yourself for marriage when bombs are dropping all around the countryside. For that reason (or possibly the twenty year old Scotch that Jackie brought) Agnes got rid of her two roommates and soon Jackie was in a bed with pink covers waiting for Agnes to make her special entrance wearing a roommate’s Joli Coeur (nightie.)

 It was almost a miracle that the highly focused young man was able to note the passing of a man past his window. A most puzzling sight considering the fact that they apartment was three floors up. Only something that perplexing could prompt Jackie to get out of bed and walk over to the window. The ledge outside couldn’t have been more than eight inches in width, so whoever the stranger was, he was a daring bloke, even for a cat burglar.

 The man had passed from right to left, so Jackie placed an ear to the wall of the apartment on the left and tried to hear something besides Agnes singing a French song that probably had to do with eternal love and stuff like that there. Jackie almost yelled for Agnes to shut the hell up when he realized that he was hearing German being spoken on the other side of the wall. Quickly he put his clothes back on and headed for the outer door just as Agnes made her appearance through an inner one.

 “Where are you going?” she asked in alarm.

 “Just next door, Love. Uh---I thought I heard a call for help. I’ll be right back.”

 “In English?”  she asked with a blank expression.

 Jackie rushed up to the neighbor’s door and hardly noticed the slight creaking of the floor under his stocking covered feet. Now he could more easily make out the harsh sounding gutturals that always sounded military like to Jackie, even if spoken by a German mother to her baby. The young Englishman almost fell over when suddenly the door opened and there was nothing to press against.

 Expert hands grabbed hold of his arms and also covered his mouth before he was dragged into the hostile domicile. An hour later four men would laboring to get a cedar chest down the narrow stairways. When Agnes asked them if they had seen a young British fellow (without shoes) one of them shook his head while the others kept their eyes focused on the steps.

 Out in front of the apartment building Del Reid was standing next to his horse and was trying to decide if he should enter the building or not. On one hand: they needed to get back before dark which would be coming soon enough. On the other hand: Jackie wasn’t from Texas, that meant that he was probably a bit shy with women and would require more time to get rid of a certain something that was harder to get rid of when you are living with your folks in a nice peaceful civilian environment.

 Reid smirked up at the row of third floor windows and then at his horse.

 “What about you Snowstorm. You ever get a chance to get behind a mare?”

 Suddenly the four men with the cedar chest were out of the building and making their way toward a parked truck that was nearby. Reid stepped forward and was about to offer his help when the horse let out a loud snort. Then the animal actually approached the cedar chest and sniffed it like it was full of oats.

   One of the men shoved at the horse’s nose and that brought Reid in a few steps closer.

 “Get your nag away from us; we’re busy men,” growled on of the four in French.

 The horse let out a whinny and stamped the ground with an anxious forefoot.

 “What’s wrong with that glue pot?”

 “I don’t speak French, but I know when my horse is being insulted, and I don’t like it when my horse is being insulted.”

 The four men ignored him and finished loading the chest into the back of the truck. Then they all got in the vehicle and glared at the American while the truck was thrown into reverse and backed up a few feet. Reid exchanged unfriendly looks until the truck was well away, then he tied off the animal and proceeded to go get hold of his friend.

 “Hope they get stuck in the mud,”  he thought to himself as he made for the apartment building’s staircase.

 When he reached the third floor Agnes was pacing up and down nervously trying to make sense of the mystery that had befallen her.

 “Oh—ah—hello. Is Jackie in there?” the Texan asked while pointing to the girl’s door.

 “He has disappeared,” the woman said with a flustered look. “I have his shoes in my apartment, but he is nowhere to be found in this building.”

 “You asked every tenant?”

 “Oui, even four suspicious men I saw in the hallway. I think they might have been stealing something.”

 Reid made a face.

 “Carrying a cedar chest? Do you know which apartment they came out of?”

 “The one right next to mine. In fact, I think Jackie was referring to this very apartment before he ran out.”

 “What do you mean, referring before he ran out?”

 “He thought he heard someone call for help.”

  Reid stepped up to the door and pounded on it so that only a deaf person inside could not hear.

 “I do not think anyone was left behind in the—“

 Before the woman could finish the American threw his shoulder to the door. Fortunately it wasn’t a very well constructed door and gave way to Reid’s one-hundred and sixty pound mass.

 “Perhaps you should have summoned the police,” the woman suggested meekly while peeking around the American’s left shoulder.

 “I see blood on the carpet,” said Reid, who bent down and ran the sample between thumb and forefinger.

 “Very fresh---and I believe I smell ether.”

 “It did not seem to me that any of those men were injured in any way,” the woman reported.

 Reid did a quick search of the premises and then headed for the staircase.

 “Ether can also be used to put a prisoner to sleep so he can be quietly moved, my dear woman. Kindly report this matter to the British military police. No one else. I’ve got a truck to find.”

 Before the woman could respond Reid was taking four steps at a time down the staircase. He didn’t know what was going on but he was sure of one thing: in the future he would pay closer attention to his horse.

 When he reached the animal he said, “If I get that Limey back, he’s going to owe you more apples than his new girlfriend eats in a year.”

 Unfortunately, of all the places where a truck would have left a clear mud trail to follow, this urban area could not be included. It was paved not more than a year before the war had begun. (The citizenry was very proud of that fact.) But Del Reid had himself a seven-hundred and fifty pound blood hound between his legs and for some reason Snowstorm could get wind of Jackie boy even when he was in a box. So Reid gave the animal his head and after twenty minutes of sniffing up one street and down another the animal slowly zeroed in on a shop that was set up to do iron work of various sorts.

 The large bay door was closed so Reid went to the side of the building and peered in through a window that was smoked from years of fumes and neglect. The truck was inside alright, along with three of the four men he had seen. What was truly thought provoking about the whole thing was that the men were adding a prefab back end to the truck to give it the appearance of an ambulance.

 Since there was an upper story to the building Reid decided to go around to the back and see if he could find a way to access the second floor. Sadly, there was none on the premises, but Reid recalled seeing a heavy trellis three buildings down so he grabbed hold of Snowstorm and went to inspect it. It was covered with creepers and was a bit more than Del was actually looking for, but he reasoned that he really didn’t have time to scrounge up a proper ladder, or a large force of policemen for that matter.

 Taking out a length of rope that was sometimes used to pull automobiles out of the mud, Del fastened one end to the trellis  and the other end around his saddle horn. The trick here was to know the limitations of his hitch up. Fortunately, the owner of the wooden framework wasn’t terribly obsessed with the thought of someone making off with his property, even though firewood was always a highly desired commodity.

 The structure let go of the three story building with a loud crack and then Del nervously dragged the woodwork out of sight before altering the tow rope for better transport. Five minutes later his horse watched with mild interest as the human placed the trellis against the metal shop and ascended to a window that wasn’t locked. As he climbed through the window it occurred to him that he could be making a very big mistake, but if so, it was his horse’s fault as much as his. Anyway, he couldn’t afford to tread lightly with Jackie either kidnapped or even murdered.

 His best bit of luck came with the fact that the window he had selected belonged to an empty room. Halfway across it Reid had to remind himself to breath or he might have gotten light headed. He couldn’t hear a sound coming from within the building; only outside noises that irritated him but also reminded him that if any German was to cut loose with a hand gun, it would draw attention that would be much appreciated.

 As if in a bad dream Reid crept out of the empty room and into the hallway where he could count three more rooms and the top of a staircase. Steeling himself for the next act of recklessness, he eased himself over to the nearest doorway and carefully peeked in. There he received a joyous surprise. Jackie boy was tied to a chair and gaged, but his eyes were open and he seemed to be alright. That is he was alright until he caught sight of his American friend. Then his eyes expressed extreme disapproval which told Reid that the Brit was probably not alone in that room.

 Del let out a deep sigh and sized up the door that was halfway open. Most likely one of Jackie’s captors was hiding behind that door waiting for him to blunder in to the rescue. Well, this would be a hell of a time to run away, which of course was something that Texans never did anyway. So……..

 With grim resolve he advance toward his unhappy comrade and then threw his weight at the door, hoping to stun whoever was hiding behind it. But when the door was shoved all the way back, it simply made a loud banging sound against the wall, since no one had been hiding behind it. In point of fact a solitary German was sitting about three feet further along the wall, and Reid’s abrupt entrance startled the hell out of him.

 “Aw shit,”  thought the American as the guard recovered his wits and rose from his chair.

 Reid saw a knife start to come out and somehow managed to get hold of the wrist as the weapon was brought to bear. The two men then performed a dance of life and death which included bouncing into poor Jackie who’s eyes were filled with emotion. The American was the first to think of bringing his knee up to where it could do some good. The German agent gamely held on to his knife, but his other arm weakened for an instant and Reid took the opportunity to throw a punch into the man’s throat.

 That got Reid ownership of the knife, which he quickly used to cut Jackie’s bonds. The three men working on the counterfeit ambulance were making too much noise of their own to hear the ruckus that was being made up stairs but the forth agent who had made off with Jackie was just burning secret papers in the fireplace and rushed up the stairs thinking that the Brit had somehow gotten loose. When Jackie spotted the man in the doorway he got to his feet the very instant the knife cut through the rope that had been binding his ankles.

 The agent was reluctant to use a fire arm because of the noise, but he certainly wasn’t going to tangle with these men bare handed. His comrade off to the side was gamely struggling to get his feet under him, but Reid had done a pretty fair job on him. Jackie had watched and learned from that struggle, so now he rushed forward to within kicking distance and launched a boot in the same local. Reid rose up and pivoted with knife in hand and then heard the gun go off in front of his friend. He saw Jackie punch the captor in the nose which was a very encouraging sign.

 The bullet had punched a hole in the meat just above the hips; what some folks refer to as love handles. Jackie was too energized to react to that just yet. He followed the nose punch up with a left-right cross combination to the man’s jaw. Del for his part scooped up the fallen Enfield revolver even though Jackie accidentally stepped on Del’s hand in the process.

 “What are they, Kraut spies?” he asked as the German slid down the nearest wall.

 “Right. Caught em in the act I did. Not sure why they didn’t kill me right out…”

 “Let’s go ask those guys down stairs,” Reid suggested while leading the way down the hallway.

 At the bottom of the stairs the two men were close to a door way leading to a recently installed bathroom that used to be a supply closet. It saved their lives when a German appeared in the doorway leading to the garage and fired two rounds from a double barreled shotgun. Knowing the man’s weapon was now empty, Del left Jackie in the closet and rushed forward hoping to catch the German before he could reload. The man had disappeared and as Del advanced he could hear the sound of an engine being started.

 That brought him forward with less caution since it meant that the enemy was now bent on escaping. Sure enough, the bay door was being opened by one man while another waited anxiously behind the wheel. Del’s only mistake as he rushed at the truck was that he didn’t notice that neither of those men were the one who had fired at him with a shotgun. That man suddenly immerged from behind a stack of crates and placed the muzzles of his weapon against Reid’s spine

 “Drop it,” the man commanded.

 “Del realized that the only reason he wasn’t being blown in half was because the bay door was now open and the noise would be all the more incriminating. But the German would most certainly pull the trigger if Del didn’t relinquish the pistol forthwith. With that done, the truck rolled out of the garage but then the driver returned to the garage and the bay door was again lowered. The man with the shot gun went back into the other section of the building to recapture the eavesdropper who had witnessed De’s capture and was now attempting to retreat out a back door.

 But the two men upstairs had managed to scrounge up another gun and painfully make their way down the stairs in time to intercept the Brit before he could make for the only remaining door way in that part of the building. Soon both men were tied standing on opposite sides of a heavy tool rack. A make shift fuse was devised to ignite a great deal of gasoline and other flammable materials that were hastily piled in the same quarter of the work area. As soon as the fuse sputtered to life the men all rushed out a small service door and a moment later Del and Jackie would hear the truck engine roar in a speedy departure.

 “What the hell did you run into?” Reid demanded to know.

 “That truck has some sort of new carburetor designed for tanks. They were in the process of spiriting it back to their lines when they caught my attention.”

 “Using a fake ambulance to get back to their side of the war,” Del concluded. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that.”

  “Right; I’ll follow you since you appear to have all the ideas.”

 “Just one,” said the American.

 Suddenly he let loose with an ear piercing whistle. Then a few more at five second intervals.

 “Wouldn’t it make more sense to yell help?”

 As if in response to the Englishman’s query, the closed service door shook from a thunderous blow . Del whistled again and this time the door flew open with a shattered latch. To Jackie’s amazement, Snowstorm squeezed through the service door and snorted in disapproval at the growing conflagration on the other side of the chamber.

 “Get help,” commander horseman.

 The horse turned about and squeezed back out the doorway.

 “Lucky thing it’s your horse we sent out. Mine would be heading for the nearest pub,” quipped Jackie.

 Reid didn’t even smile at the joke. He had every confidence that his horse would get someone’s attention in his own way. Trouble was, he only had a few minutes to get it done successfully. With so many doors left open the fire would have plenty of oxygen for growing, and there was the matter of the gas bottles just a few feet away.

 “Almost wish he was a parrot, then he could at least say the word help.”

  “Almost got my cherry picked before chucking it in,” the Brit muttered to himself.

 Del watched the flames suddenly spread across the ceiling like a carpet being rolled out of hell. He then stared hard out the open service door at the neighboring building no more than twenty feet away.

 “Somebody’s got to be smelling the smoke by now.”

 “Right you are, Mate. Trouble is, these metal shops do a fair amount of grinding, welding and torch cutting. Smell of something burning ain’t exactly unusual in the trade.”

 “But there were those gunshots,” pressed the American.

 “Lots of things go bang in a shop as well as burn. Or some bloke playing with a Luger he bought off a Tommy. Lots of guns in these parts.”

Del rolled his eyes at that but stayed with his train of thought.

 “If you were going to take an ambulance to the German lines, which road would you pick?”

 “As far as I know, 74 is the only road going east that hasn’t been wiped clean by years of shelling.”

 Then the Brit added, “Is that the last thing you want to talk about before we become a pair of sausages?”

 “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings, Jackie.”

 The Brit’s eyebrows knitted in puzzlement before saying, “You Yanks ain’t the easiest blokes to die with.”

 “I wouldn’t know,” responded a smiling American as a Frenchman suddenly entered through the service door.

 “Oh mon Dieu!” exclaimed the man as he reached into his pocket for a jackknife.

 While cutting the fettered men loose the Frenchman asked several questions in rapid succession until Del cut in with his usual, “Je ne parle pas francais.”

 Both men were coughing a bit as they accompanied their liberator out into the open air. But Reid paused only a moment to thank the neighbor who had been called away from his supper by terrifying blows on his front door.

  “I’m going up 74. Those Krauts probably have papers with a forged signature from someone high up, but they’ll likely still have to wait for permission to enter the forward area,” said Reid while climbing into the saddle.

 “I’ll try and alert the MPs by telephone, but I doubt that will work much faster than your four feet. Don’t trip up mind you; bloody sunset will leave you in the dark before you get halfway there,” warned the fellow horseman.

 “Yes Mother,” Del responded before turning his mount toward a street that would take him out of town.

 The neighbor had run off to summon the fire fighting brigade, but Jackie just stood there now and watched the machine shop go up in flames.

 “Dear Lord, what you don’t do to keep me pure,” the Brit mumbled while thinking of Agnes.

 The German agents smeared a bit of mud on themselves and tried to look tired instead of nervous. Ambulance personnel were a perpetually overworked lot, and it wouldn’t do to arrive at the checkpoint looking as though they had spent the last three days hiding in a place where you could even take a bath.

 A British Sergeant-Major approached the driver side of the ambulance and gave the men a somewhat more charitable look than usual.

 “So what’s all this? There aren’t any wounded in this sector.”

 “Exchange of wounded, Sergeant Major. This fellow in the back is a big shot aviator. His dad owns half the breweries in Germany the way I heard it. Gunna trade him for a general who got too close to the action a few weeks back.”

 The post commander was given several documents and he looked them over slowly, in lieu of the failing light.

 “Damn peculiar,” he finally said while walking around to the back to get a look at the special prisoner.

 One of the men who had tangled with Reid was now laid out in the back and attired in a hospital gown.

 “No aviator’s uniform?” he queried.

 “I reckon the hospital staff didn’t figure it was worth cleaning,” speculated a second medic with a shrug. “Oil, blood holes and all…”

 “And I’m to receive word when Jerry is ready to let you come across?”

“All we got to do is shoot off a flare at 1900 hrs,” explained the driver.

 “Bloody damn peculiar,” grumbled the sergeant major, “but the papers seem in order. I’ve seen General Bradshaw’s signature often enough to verify it. Right---pass on then, and good luck to you.”

 The driver smiled to himself. He had been assured that the forgeries were first rate, but until that moment, he wasn’t happy about risking his neck with them. Now all they needed to do was drive two miles and then commence the nerve racking crawl in first gear through the openings in the wires that had been arranged on both sides of no man’s land. He briefly wondered to himself how many special operatives had been assigned to this smuggling operation. The men who stole the item, the men who got it as far as  Bethune, and of course the people who forged the special pass that allowed them to drive (like they owned the cursed land) up to the German lines.

 The fact that a British counter espionage agent got wind of them and almost blew the whistle on them didn’t matter at that point.  Mein Gott but he was a good actor, insisting that he was just a horse courier who couldn’t speak a word of German or French. Ha!

 A quarter mile behind Del Reid squinted at the barricade up ahead. It was that point in the roadway where a normal civilian byway quickly became an over rutted cleave between two sectors of no man’s land. A place where explosives reshaped the terrain and whole gullies existed where flat land had been farmed several years ago. Despite the urgency Del reined up in front of the red striped wooden barrier and shouted to the first soldier than emerged from the guard shack.

 “Did an ambulance just pass this way!?”

 “That’s right---prisoner exchange. General Bradshaw’s signature was on the papers. Is anything amiss?”

 “You could say that. They’re Kraut smugglers. You got a wire to any forward observation post?”

 “Right---half a tick!”

 The American wasn’t going to wait for anything. He quickly scooted around the barricade arm and put Snowstorm into a flat out run. This was dangerous. In just moments he could become sniper bait, but the more likely danger was the irregularities in the chewed up roadway. It was now nightfall and horse and rider were sprinting forward on ground that could lame a horse in the blink of an eye.

 But Reid did have a few things going for him. The ambulance was a fake, but the road being used to pass from one side of no man’s land to the other was not. Truly legitimate prisoner exchanges had taken place using that road in the past. The Germans would change their minds in the future, but for now, that section of the front was deep, thinly manned and relatively peaceful by the standards of the day. So Del urged his mount to rush forward, knowing that an ambulance would be moving in low gear and praying that the mud wouldn’t be too bad. 

 A British patrol was on a nighttime security creep when they heard the low gear whine of a truck some thirty yards to their right. Since the vehicle was coming from the west, there was no reason to be concerned, only curious. The head of the four man detail risked exposure by standing up and moving briskly so as to get a better view of this large noisy target that (amazingly) was not drawing any fire from either side. It was too dark for him to make out the huge red cross on the side of the van, but he was experienced enough to know that a limited truce must have been worked out, and he didn’t get the word because his home dugout had lost it’s wire a few hours ago.

 Yes, it was curious but not disconcerting since the strange vehicle wasn’t drawing any artillery fire. The decision was made right then and there to wait for the vehicle to return so that when he submitted his report it would show they he didn’t withdraw while the vehicle was in danger of falling into enemy hands. He would also be able to report that he saw a man on horseback galloping swiftly after the vehicle, most likely to deliver a last minute message.

 Del Reid would have begged to differ. He came up on the slow moving van knowing that he had but one hope. If he could force the vehicle to turn off the road it would likely become trapped in a crater, mud trough or barbed wire entanglement. The road was very narrow and the truck was required to go without headlights until it reached the exact middle of the frontier. British military police would be on the way if could keep the enemy from advancing any further.

 The best opportunity came when the fraudulent ambulance attendant in back made the mistake of opening the canvass tarp in order to get a look at the horseman who was overtaking them in the dark. Like everyone else, the German agents thought he was a courier who might have to be disposed of with a knife, but they certainly weren’t expecting what they got. Their vehicle had been disguised to look like a Rover Sunbeam, which meant that it had no right and left passenger doors. Del made good use of that fact by riding up alongside the truck and leaping off his saddle onto the flabbergasted driver.

 Wrenching the steering wheel to the right, he forced the truck to skid off the road of shallow mud into a vast pool of deep mud. Del threw a couple of hard rights into the side of the driver’s head while the agent in the passenger’s seat pulled out something from a kit bag. Del fully expected it to be a pistol, and it was, but the not the kind that would fill him full of lead. No, it was a Mk IV flare gun that would signal the Germans to advance and claim their prize.

 Del and the German fell out of the cab while struggling for possession of the stubby pistol. In the meantime the men in the back piled out with their ill gotten gain, totally focused on getting the stolen engine part the rest of the way across no man’s land. Del punched his opponent in the throat three times thinking that the others would be on him in an instant. But when he got to his feet and looked around he realized that the other two spies were interested in running not fighting.

 Del cut loose with a loud whistle and in no time Snowstorm was at his side. The American mounted up with the flare gun and galloped off in pursuit of the two spies who were no shouting in German at the top of their lungs.

 “Oh crap,” growled the horseman as he closed the distance and took aim at the back of one of their heads.

 The flare streaked downward and slapped the running agent like a hand of hell fire. In truth the burn was not life threatening, but it caused the man to slap at the back of his own head and scream as if some demon of the night was accosting him from behind. That left the man carrying the package, and Del knew just how to stop that individual. Del dropped off the saddle and hooked an arm around the man’s neck while coming down. It was like the first half of a calf roping competition and the German’s face was a bloody mess by the time Del realized that he was receiving company from two directions at once.

 Straight ahead, perhaps one-hundred yards into the darkness Del heard a man calling out in German. Most likely responding to the continuous screams of pain coming from the flare gun victim. Behind him was the roar of a British troop truck determined to make right the mistake made back at the security check point.

 “Oh crap again,” muttered Reid as he assumed custody of the engine part and ran over to where a slightly confused horse was waiting.

 “Snowstorm old buddy, we don’t want to stay on this damn road.”

 The man hastily usher his mount into a mud filled depression twenty feet off to the north. Then he brought the horse all the way down onto its side. The animal snorted its disapproval but allowed the weaker creature to hold him down.

 “Trust me Big Fellow. You don’t want to be standing for a while.”

 Suddenly there was an exchange of gunfire. First between the two approaching forces on the road, and then also by the British recon patrol that hastened to join up with the soldiers who had piled out of the transport and were now shooting from prone positions the entire width of the road. Since the German’s had come to participate in a covert operation, they were in no position to hold their own against sixteen heavily armed men, but the shooting was a two way exchange for the better part of five minutes.

 The Brits understood full well that this area would draw heavier fire from reinforcements if they didn’t withdraw. But they had caught a glimpse of a large white horse as it left the road and they very much wanted to meet with its owner.

 “Hello Courier---are you out there?” the sergeant major called out from the side of the transport.

 “I’m here, and I’ve got what the Germans were smuggling!” Del called back in triumph.

 “Well I’ll be poxed. Looks like we got ourselves a real old fashioned hero to bring back to town,” exclaimed the sergeant major. Walk your mount up behind the truck. We’ll cover you if need be.”

 Twelve hours later Captain Benoit and Reid’s most current boss Major Nigel Livingston were shaking the courier’s hand, even though neither one of them personally approved of the American’s reckless behavior. Del guessed as much but was pleased enough with the bottle of cognac that was given to him, along with enough time off to drink it and then nurse the inevitable hangover. Jackie was likewise rewarded, and so the two horsemen borrowed a table at the local NCO club where Livingston made sure they would be welcome.

 “If the major really wanted to show his appreciation, he should have given me permission to take my bottle over to my girl’s apartment,” Jackie commented.

 “Now offense intended, but I think the military police want to make sure Agnes is alright, if you know what I mean.”

 “Sure, they can’t find any German spies on their own but they can stick their big fat noses in a young lady’s personal life,” grumbled Jackie

 “Yes, bad form as you Brits might say, but you can’t take it personally. Anyway, we should all be very happy how the whole thing turned out.”

 “No arguments there Mate, especially in your case. If they had murdered me alone, the Army would have written a nice letter to me Mum and that would have been it. But you could have gotten yourself killed or in hot water for starting a battle. Jerry was probably thinking that you was violating a truce. Everyone on that sector of the line had been told that a special ambulance was going through, so it must have looked bad when it got stopped half way.”

 “Only those who knew that there weren’t any wounded would start a shootout,” reasoned Del. “The Krauts fired first.”

 “Except for that bloke who’s hair got on fire. Coo---you must have been a wild man out there in the dark. Like I was saying---you’re lucky the brass took it as well as they did.”

 “The Krauts almost burned us to death---and they almost got my horse shot to hell which is even a bigger sin,” declared Reid. “I think my behavior was perfectly understandable under the circumstances.”

 “All the same, if a beautiful lass ever puts you on to some criminal activity in the future, you would do well to go straight away to the constabulary.”

 “You talking about Agnes? She didn’t tell me that you were in that box, the horse did. By the way---what made your scent so special to him anyway?”

 The other courier hesitated for a moment and then said, “Well, fact is---I’ve been giving him a wee nip from the bottle in the way of saying hello.”

 “What the hell---why were you oiling my horse?” Del demanded to know.

 “Fairness,” was the response. “I’d be giving my own horse a treat and then yours would step over and beg.”

 “Where?”

 “In front of head quarters. You always get there before me. No harm done. We almost never get sent out again. Besides, we’re only talking about half a shot’s worth licked off me hand.”

 “And had some in the apartment,” Del speculated.

 “To steady my nerves Mate. It was supposed to be special evening for me.”

  A grin broke through Del’s look of disapproval.

  “The Virgin Hero,” joked the American. “Seems to me you had more reason to kick ass on the Krauts than I did.”

 True to his word, Del Reid performed his duties no matter how God awful the terrain or weather. True to the Army’s word, when the ground finally froze up Del and Snowstorm were released from their responsibilities and given passage to the southern coast of France. Three months later the two were on a train chugging through the south Texas countryside.

 Del was sitting opposite a gentleman who was reading the paper and shaking his head in dismay.

 “Monsters. What is it that makes the Germanic people the way they are?”

 “History I’m guessing,” responded Del, even though it was probably meant as a rhetorical question. “The French have this bad habit of thinking they can win without anyone’s help. Don’t know if they’ll ever get over that habit.”

 “Well—I was referring to their use of poison gas. It’s effects on the body are monstrous.”

 “Yes, but only about four percent of the fatalities have been caused by gas so far,” responded Del.

 “But the manner in which they are killed…” pressed Reid’s traveling companion.

 “Well sir, explosions are quicker, if they happen close enough. I was lucky. Most of the time I was hundreds of yards away when the shells were coming down.”

 “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize you were a veteran. My name is James Getz.”

 “Del Reid,” the younger man responded while offering his hand.

 “Pardon my saying so, Mr. Reid, but you look rather young to be a veteran, and I was given to understand that our troops haven’t been in Europe very long.”

 “I was there in a civilian contracting capacity,” explained Reid. “I was a horse courier for the French and the British.”

 “Do you intend to return as an American soldier then?”

 “Well, that depends on how the war goes. I would go back if they really needed me, but I believe the Germans are now on their last leg.”

 “So will you now seek employment with the postal service?”

 “No, my dad owns a business that is related to oil exploration.  I had been sent to France to contact an expert in that field but unfortunately he passed away before I could meet him. Then I took the job as a courier but only on a temporary basis. Now I’m on my way home and my dad will likely scream his head off when I get there because I wasn’t supposed to stay and risk getting killed.”

 “So why did you do it?”

 Reid half grinned to himself and said, “My grandfather was a Texas Ranger. He was what you might call a big risk taker. My dad on the other hand resented the fact that his Pa was always risking his neck when there was a family to raise up. I  had no reason to develop any such resentment. I was free to admire my grandfather for his accomplishments. Anyway, I’ve always wondered if I would be brave in the face of danger. When I got my chance to find out---I took it.”

 “Ah, well then I can see why your father would be angry with you. No father wants a brave son. Every father wants a safe son.”

 “In that case Mr. Getz, there are one hell of a lot of unhappy fathers back in Europe,” Del replied with zero humor.

 His traveling companion nodded in agreement, then both men gazed out at the Texas countryside.

 Del’s stomach tightened slightly as the train approached the Dallas train station. Texas fathers weren’t inclined to tolerate insubordination from their offspring and Samuel Reid was no exception. Being your own man was a respectable thing in Texas, but only if you were working your own business and Del wasn’t anywhere near that yet.

 As Del stepped off the train he was reminded that there were notable differences between European cities and what was generally found in the USA. Dallas was far more spacious, and less wood and stone was used to construct just about everything. There was less cold, less mud and more dust. But wouldn’t be thought provoking for long since Del had spent most of the winter in Latin America and now Texas was rapidly approaching spring.

 Del kept scanning the crowded train depot for a unhappy looking parent and only relaxed when he finally caught sight of Bob Grant, his father’s shop foreman and right hand man. Bob was in between generations and easier on the eardrums than Del’s father. He was totally loyal to the boss, but could afford to be more objective about the independent streak that had become so pronounced over the past eight months.

 “So the pony express rider returns. Welcome back Del.”

 “Good to be back home Bob. So where is Dad? Is this a sign of how angry he is with me?”

 “No Del, you dad has took sick. It’s that influenza that’s going around. I’m thinking maybe it’s a good thing you got home when you did.”

 Del swallowed hard and stared at the back of the train for an instant.

 “I got something in one of the freight cars in back. You’ll have to bear with me a while.”

 “Will it fit in my car? I just bought one about five months ago,” the foreman said proudly.

 Del smiled despite the bad news he had just gotten.

 “Uh, no Bob, this definitely won’t fit in your car. But it might be kind of funny watching you give it a try.”

 An hour later Snowstorm was tied to the back end of Bob’s automobile and not looking very happy about it.

 “So you say business isn’t what it should be. What’s the problem exactly?”

 “It’s kind of a strange story. You know a guy named Simon Slater?”

 “Yea, a competitor out of New York. I don’t think Dad ever counted him as much of a problem though. He’s well fixed on the coast but Dad’s got all the business sown up in eastern Texas.”

 “Until recently,” corrected the foreman. “Slater got himself a new backer. He was able to produce a newly designed pump that could hurt us bad if it lasts as long as Slater’s engineering people claim. So your dad and Slater dreamed up a sort of contest in this new development called West Philly. There’s a new silver mining operation going on there and they’re putting down two very long vent shafts. One is being drilled with equipment that we built, and the other will test the new pump that Slater came up with. Whoever wins that contest will probably get all the future orders coming from Texas. That could make or break us.”

 “When is the contest expected to end?”

 “It won’t even start until tomorrow morning. We expect the work to last about twelve hours; assuming that the equipment doesn’t break down. If it does, we may or may not lose by default.”

 “Where is this West Philly?”

 “A couple hours east of here by truck. They don’t have a railroad, and I don’t think any of the rail companies will be giving much thought to extending a line out that way.”

 “You think the silver deposit will play out quick and West Philly will become just another ghost town?”

 “That’s right Del. Besides that, it’s one of the roughest little towns I’ve ever seen. Slater has about a dozen men in that town that don’t do anything except walk around and keep the miners on edge.”

 “How do they do that?” queried Del.

 “All they have to do is stare at them.”

 “What the hell does that mean?”

 “You’ll find out for yourself. Tomorrow I’m supposed to take you to West Philly so you can appraise the situation.”

 “Same question: what the hell does that mean?”

 The foreman looked a trifle embarrassed and said, “I’ve spent my life around some pretty tough men. I’ve been in many a bar where you might someone’s teeth on the floor. But some of the birds coming to roost in West Philly look like vultures to me. They’re not working men who sometimes fight. They look like fighting men who never work. They got big city written all over them and I can’t think of any good reason why they should be in Texas.”

 “But you must have a theory,” pressed Del.

 “I’m thinking maybe Slater made a deal with the devil.”

 “Jez Bob, you were less cryptic before I left for France.”

 “I’m talking about organized crime,” the foreman specified heavily.

 “And they have nothing better to do than muscle into the drilling business?”

 “Drilling for silver, and eventually oil,” put in Bob.

 Del had to admit that might make a bit of sense, but they weren’t in New York, or even Galveston for that matter.

 “Maybe I should shave before seeing the Old Man. He always had a comment to make whenever I skipped the razor.”

 “Best go in now Del. He’s been waiting a long time.”

 “That’s not exactly news to me Bob,” the younger man growled half to himself when climbing out of the Ford.

 Del transferred the horse reins from the Model T to the hitching post in front of a large Victorian mansion. It had been his home for about four years before he headed for Europe. But now it was just a place where the Old Man was waiting. With a sigh of resignation he went into the house and made his way to the staircase.

 “Welcome home young Mr. Reid,” said a Latino housekeeper who’s English had improved since Del had left.

 “Good to be back Victoria. I missed your cooking.”

 “You missed supper so I’ll warm up some leftovers after you have spoken with your father. He is waiting for you I believe.”

 “Yea---he probably is,” muttered young Reid.

   Del had never bothered to notice until now that the staircase had twenty-one steps; eight more than what was used to ascend a gallows. He didn’t feel quite that bad but he was finally approaching the moment he had dreaded for many months now, and he probably should have told Victoria to forget about the food and just have some whiskey ready.

 Del entered the master bedroom with a grim resolve. He would take the tongue lashing and not fire back. He would keep his head bowed and his eyes downcast, because every parent has the right to be upset when an offspring does something reckless, and young Del Reid had jumped into something that dwarfed any martial event in Texas history.

 As it turned out, he spent all that time worrying for nothing. His father was not only flat on his back, but was also settled into a mood of complacency that was partly due to a lack of oxygen. At the last moment the old man turned his head slightly and regarded the appearance of his son with a minimum of emotion.

 “Tonight you sleep in your old room, but tomorrow you get yourself out there and help Bob. He’s been doing your job and that’s not right.”

 “Yes sir,” Del responded formally.

 “Keep together. Coyotes always go after a lone prey. Two legs or four---predators are predators.”

 “Uh---are we talking about West Philly?”

 “I was a damn fool,” admitted the older Reid. “But Slater dealt fair and square with everyone he knew until hard luck compelled him to partner up with some city slickers. Now they’re treating us the way we treated the Comanche long ago. If they lose that drilling race, they’ll arrange some work mishaps for our men. They’ll make things unsafe for everyone and then start the talk about buying us out.”

 “How do you know that, sir?”

 “Because something’s never change,” answered the father. “Every wilderness has the same rules. Your grandfather helped civilize this part of the country, but even as far east as the Atlantic sea board there are men who are no different than Butch Cavendish and the bunch he rode with before I was born. They have a leg up on the law, especially in Darnell County.”

 “How is that, sir?”

  “Texas Rangers were men who could fight better than they could do anything else. Some of them weren’t overly smart, but they could out kick a mule and shoot the nuts off a squirrel at fifty paces. Today’s lawmen are different. They own businesses and work on community projects so that folks will remember them when they run again for Sheriff. I do not look down on such men, but they are no match for men who kill for a living.”

 So much conversation brought on a coughing spell that didn’t end until the sick man was breathing hard and looking feverish. Del was more than a little surprised by his father’s revelations. In all the years he was growing up his dad never once hinted that the old instruments of law and order were praiseworthy.  When he inherited a pair of Colt Peacemakers from Del’s grandfather, he simply handed the weapons over to a fellow who was starting up a museum in Dallas. Samuel Reid owned a modern pump action shotgun and a high powered hunting rifle (that never saw use.) He did not hate guns, but he never entertained the possibility that he might someday have to take a human life. That’s what his father did, at great personal risk that young Samuel was keenly aware of.

 Del was given many opportunities to practice shooting, since most of his father’s friends and employees would go out and bust a few caps now and again. But his true shooting mentor was a fellow named Jeremiah Quincy, son of one of the greatest marksmen that ever lived. Jeremiah preferred Texas to his home state because as he liked to put it: “In the winter time your fingers get stiff but your pecker shrivels up.”

 Del became a good shot, but saw no cause to break his father’s heart by going into law enforcement. Cavorting through the largest war in history would be adventure enough. But apparently, even Del’s pacifist father was willing to suggest that Texas was still a place where justice might have to follow six pieces of lead.

 “Thad Anderson is still Sheriff in that backwater county, and he is a no fool. He will do what is right and you should seek his counsel on a regular basis as long as we have commercial interests within his jurisdiction. However, should the man die of anything short of the malady that now grips me, you would do well to get Bob and the other boys back here where the law is strongest,” advised the oldster.

 Then there was another coughing spell followed by a longer recovery.

 “Ah hell---I’m all talked out. Go spend the rest of the evening with Bob. He has more to say on our current problems than I do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 Del nodded slightly and headed out of the room.

 Just before he got to the doorway his father said, “I was mad as hell with you, but I guess you had to prove that you’re a man now. Well---I didn’t give a shit about France, but I care about Texas. I hope you don’t have to stand up for it, but if you do, I know you’ll show a little of your granddad. Not too much---God willing.”

 “Yes sir,” Del responded, even though he really wasn’t sure he understood what had just been said.

 His father seemed like a different man. Maybe if was because he was running a high fever. But maybe---just maybe it was because there was a change taking place in their lives; a change that would require a change in philosophies. Del was happy to be home, and he was happy that his father had put the European thing behind them. But Del walked out of that bedroom with a very bad feeling all the same.

 His father had just hinted at something; a threat that no man wants to face when he is old and sick. A threat that no man would want to pass on to a son.

 The nice thing about West Philly was that all the buildings were new. That gave the place an air of respectability. But by the time Del and Bob Granger got to the city limits, both men knew that there were snakes under the floorboards, and plenty above board too. Their company drilling site was on the north side of town, about two-hundred and seventy-five yards from the nearest commercial building which was owned by the Bell Telephone Co.

 There were thirty- three commercial buildings in West Philly and only fifteen residential houses. That was because the town didn’t exist so that men could raise families. It existed so that men could apply themselves to a handful of enterprises that would probably go belly up within three years. West Philly had been constructed so that men could pull from the earth what was of value and then leave wood and stone to the bats and rodents after the digging and shallow pumping was done.

 Del was like most Texans in the sense that he didn’t care how many ghost towns were created in the semi-desert region east of Dallas, but he did care about the caliber of men he had to compete with. That concern rose up a notch when he and Bob stepped into the company maintenance building that provided support for the drilling site. The wooden structure contained bunk beds for twelve, a cooking heating stove, heavy shelves along one wall that were filled with tools and spare parts for the drilling operation, and the twelve men who would oversee it all until relieved by men from out of town.

 The building featured two windows and one of them faced a sixteen foot tripod that formed the base of the drilling derrick. Since it was only creating a ventilation shaft and not searching for oil, it was considerably smaller than the iron structures that were so common on all the oil fields. The competing derrick was one-thousand feet away, also just beyond the outskirts of the town. Most of the silver mining would take place in between and the digging operation was of no concern to the men who were sinking the vent shafts.

 Cory Brooks and Kevin Leavitt were young men without families who jumped at the chance to participate in the drilling.  There was a bright future in drilling and historically; boom towns had always been very exciting places to work. Sadly, they didn’t realize until they got there that West Philly was going to be really short on carnal opportunities. Cory was sporting glaring proof that the town wasn’t exactly everything they had hoped it would be.

 “I’m Del Reid. I couldn’t help but notice that none of you boys are out there tending to the derrick. I realize that you can see it out this here window, but I expect—“

 Suddenly Reid noticed that one of the men had an eye swollen shut.

 “Who are you?”

 “Cory Brooks, sir.”

  “What happened to you Brooks?”

 “Got punched by one of Slater’s men, but it wasn’t my fault sir. I was over at the general store getting enough canned beans for supper and this pretty girl came in. So I struck up a conversation with her and then this guy came in and told me to leave her alone. Well I wasn’t talking dirty to her or anything. I just asked her if she was with those other married ladies that sort of keep together on the east side of town.”

 “He was hoping the answer would be no, but as it turned out, being a single woman in this town doesn’t mean much unless you’re a member of Slater’s group,” Leavitt partially elaborated.

 “That’s about as clear as mud---and I don’t care,” stated the boss’ son. “Your job is to keep an eye on the drill pump and pray that it keeps running longer than the one a thousand feet away.”

 “Yes sir, but as you can see, we’re fixing to eat, and we got a view of the rig.”

 “Yea, but if that pump goes bad, it will likely ruin itself in about ten seconds unless somebody is right there to turn it off and get the repairs started. If the pump goes permanently bad, we can’t cheat and replace it with another. The rule of the competition is that we have to use only that one pump, and we have an estimated five hours to go before the shaft is completed so—“

 Suddenly there was familiar sound of an approaching train; except it was no train. The nearest rail line was twenty miles away. Del had once been told by Jeramiah Quincy that approaching tornados sound the same way but Del had no experience with such phenomenon. The parched earth outside began to swirl and caress the sides of the building. None of the men in the building could tell how localized the wind was because in a few more seconds all visibility was reduced to zero.

 “Biggest damn dust devil I’ve ever seen,” commented a man named Ned.

 Del stared hard at the derrick and tried to make out the metallic heartbeat of the pump that supplied the digging mechanism with compressed air. All he could hear was the sound of fine earth being swept along the outer surfaces of the building; as if the desert itself wanted to enter their domicile. Without a word Del left the building and walked slightly bent over to the derrick, all the while holding his fedora so it wouldn’t blow away. He didn’t hear the knocking sound until he was within five paces of the pump. Then he turned towards the observation window and waved his arms frantically.

 The entire project crew poured out of the building. Some with tools and one with a roll of tarp that was quickly spread out and held over the pump, despite the wind’s best efforts to turn the tarp into a sail.

 “What do you think Earl?”

 “All we can do is strip the unit down Mr. Reid. We came out here with enough spare parts to completely rebuild the pump twice so I’m not worried about which part is bad. My concern is that if this damn wind storm keeps going we’ll have a repeat of the problem as soon as we fire her up again.”

 “No we won’t, because we’ll construct a tent that can stand up to the wind for as long as is necessary. Have Collins get on that while you’re tearing the unit down. I’m going to go see if our competitor is having the same problem.”

 “Excuse me Mr. Reid, but I wouldn’t go walking up to Slater’s pump like you own it. He’s got more than just workers at his sight. He’s got men with guns,” warned Brooks.

 “Security guards huh?”

 “Not exactly sir. More like hired thugs. See when I got clobbered I decided to check around town to see if the man who slugged me had any friends. My thinking was that if he is the only hired muscle Slater has, I could pay him back. But soon enough discovered that there’s eight goons in town and I got a feeling that they don’t work for Slater directly.”

 “The word is that Slater is in partnership with some mob boss from back east,” explained Collins.  “I don’t know why any mob boss would bother leaning heavily on a little place like this, but it looks like somebody is expecting some old fashioned trouble.”

 “Not from us,” Del assured everyone who was scrunched down under the wind flapping tarp. “We didn’t come out to this mining town to do anything but finish my father’s business and then pack up and leave; win or lose. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Everyone stay put until I return.”

 Del only got twenty yards from the tarp cover before realizing that he should have gone back into the building and scrounged for a pair of protective goggles. The dust was irritating his eyes and he had a long hike to anyplace he would want to shelter in. So he walked blind for twenty paces and then took his bearings for a second and then went another twenty paces. By the time he managed to work his way over to the other digging site the wind had subsided to half strength and he found it interesting that a tiny guard shack had been set up thirty feet from the shaft.

 The man standing in its open doorway was no rent a cop. He wore a well tailored suit and was no doubt a bit perturbed that it was getting blasted by the parched earth that had become so strangely animated. As he slowly circumnavigated the drill site a number of engineers approached the derrick and ran their own brand of technical diagnostic. Apparently the opposition was faring better. Their pump continued to putt along and the dangerous looking fellow in the guard shack gave Del a hard look as if to say, “If I have to leave my shelter, I’m going to make you sorry that I did.”

 Reid didn’t miss the body language. He kept moving while continuing to stare at the group of engineers huddled around their charge. When he was well past he decided to head for the town’s only restaurant. He had eaten a sandwich while driving out but he wanted to ask a few questions about the town and in a small town that meant talking to someone running an establishment that waits on the majority of the citizenry.

 Of course around the turn of the century most Americans still took their nourishment at home when not traveling. But this was a special town, and Del had yet to learn just how special. The eating emporium was called Lucy’s, and it featured only six large tables and a short bar that would have men elbow to elbow after sundown, when kerosene made for power working light. Lucy was a fat over the hill woman who ran her bar/restaurant with the aid of a young woman who was half Comanche and half Creole.

 The emotionally insecure Lucy hired the younger slimmer woman after it became common knowledge that the dark skinned drifter loathed all mankind; especially the ones close to her age. So within the confines of her property at least, Lucy remained the center of attention and the sour faced cook and cleaner could remain in the kitchen and spit on the food when it suited her. Lucy gave the stranger a cheerful greeting but Del’s response was a bit muted by the fact that there were two men seated at a table, and one of them was Slater himself. Del had never been introduced to the gent, but his foreman Bob had been sharp enough to come up with a picture of the rival CEO. Del realized instantly that he was trapped. He would have to introduce himself, even though Slater was the last man on Earth Del wanted to meet. (That, by the way, would change soon enough.)

 Del deliberately held off from ordering anything lest he find himself in a situation where he would have to eat or drink while near an enemy. The hastily improvised plan was to approach the inhabited table and try to look as diplomatic as possible.

 “Mr. Slater? My name is Del Reid. My father sent me out here to supervise the remainder of the pump competition.”

 Glad to meet you young Reid. This is Frankie Russo, he’s head of company security for Armstrong Industries.”

 “Don’t believe I’m acquainted with that company,” Del responded.

 “It’s a newly formed subsidiary of the Eaton Shipping Company,” Slater hastily explained.

“I guess that means that someone expects to mine a lot of silver in this area. I’ve been told that there are a lot of big tough men in this town and they all work---security,” said Del with thinly veiled suspicion.

 “Most of those men are in training,” put in Russo. “When we branch out into the oil industry, those men will head up security squads that will be needed at that time.”

 “Really? I’ve been around a few oil fields while growing up and I don’t remember seeing a single guard. Certainly not any as well dressed as the ones you have here in town.”

 Russo was in between Reid and Slater in age, but in some ways he possessed more business savvy than Old Man Reid himself. Russo had a law degree that was only four years old, but he had been mentored in the intricacies of under the table commerce since he was seventeen. Back then he had been on hand to help a shipping magnet retire a partner (to the bottom of the ocean.)

 With black soulless eyes and hair greased back in the latest fashion, Russo was even more decked out in his pin striped tailored suit than his hired muscle.

 “Sometimes a nice suit of clothes will command more respect than a badge,” reasoned the Italian, who was noticeably shorter than every other man in town.

 “Yes but only if they are kept clean. Does this town have an establishment for cleaning gentleman’s attire?” asked Del.

 “Sure do,” piped up Lucy. “Chin Lee does a great job. Wouldn’t trust my merry widow to anyone else.”

 “I’m surprised you father isn’t here,” Slater said to the relief of the other men.

 “I’m afraid he’s taken ill. Influenza I’m afraid. Win or lose I’m anxious to wrap this contest up so I can get back to him. I’ve been away for a longtime and we have much to catch up on.”

 “I was just given to understand that the competition is over. Your pump was shut down because of the freak sand storm. Isn’t that true?” queried Russo.

 “Yes, but the contest is a race to see who can complete the required shaft depth first. Both teams are still in the process of accomplishing that,” Del asserted.

 “For the purpose of determining which pump is superior,” argued Russo. “If one breaks down and the other does not, I think that is very telling.”

 “As you implied, Mr. Russo; we have just experienced a freak sandstorm. If we would have had reason to expect such a phenomenon, we would have taken proper steps to shield the pump from blowing sand.”

The Italian’s expression would have served him well at a poker table, and his voice was flat and devoid of any charm.

 “You and I will not resolve such a difference of opinion, Mr. Reid. A judge will have to do that, now that there has been a irregularity in the competition.”

 Slater was more than willing to change the subject.

 “A great many people are coming down with this influenza. It’s killing children as well as the elderly.”

 “It is becoming a subject of concern throughout the world,” confirmed Del.

 “I was told that you participated in the war,” probed the Italian. “What are you final thoughts on the matter?”

 “I think it most of the generals should have been lined up against a wall and shot,” growled the young veteran.

 “I confess that my schooling was centered around the law,” said Russo, “but it seems to me that warfare became a most illogical activity for the common soldier after they did away with looting.”

 “Well, when you have a million men fighting for years in an area roughly the size of our state, there isn’t going to be much opportunity to loot anything anyway,” explained Del. “Most possessions get sold off for eating money and the like. Anyway, I just came in here to find out if I could get special orders made up for my people. I’d like to be able to order the food in advance so that my men aren’t lounging about any longer than is necessary.”

 “I don’t see what the concern is,” drawled Slater. “Supervision doesn’t require as much manpower as what you have available and when your shaft is completed, there won’t be any big hurry to disassemble the derrick.”

 “Time is money Mr. Slater. I confess that I haven’t always taken my father’s axioms to heart, but that is one that I have to keep in mind now that I’m in charge of calculating the labor hours.”

 Lucy almost brushed up against Del to get his attention.

 “If you would like to step into my back office Mr. Reid, I’ve put down a few numbers that will give you some idea what we can do for your men at feeding time.”

 Del had assumed that his men would be eating their own cooking for the short remainder of their stay in the mining town, but he wanted an excuse to leave the two men at the table. He was totally unprepared to deal with them. So he would buy the crew breakfast and lunch the following day in order to buy some time with the restaurant owner. Lucy’s office was nothing more than a desk set up some fifteen feet from the back butchering room. There, Manette La Tour was struggling to get an eighty pound hog carcass into a drain sink.

 Del left the desk area before Lucy could say anything and was bending over to grab the end of a hock when he got quite a surprise. The dark skinned woman deftly kicked him in the hand.

 “Hey, what was that for?”

 “I don’t want your help,” the woman declared with an edge to her voice.

 “I can see that---but I didn’t need to feel it.”

 “If I had said that I didn’t need any help, you would have lifted the hog up anyway. That’s the way men are. They never listen to what a woman says. They just go ahead and do things their way.”

 Del had already sized up the spitfire and had to admit that only his upbringing compelled him to assist the woman. She was about five foot nine with a frontier physique which included fairly broad shoulders. With a slightly apologetic look Del took a step back and allowed the woman to dead lift the eighty pound carcass unaided, then he glumly returned to where the older woman was grinning from ear to ear.

 “I would have warned you, but like Manette just said: Men just go ahead and do things their way.”

 “We learn it from our mothers you know,” the young man retorted.

 “And forget just about everything else, like: don’t fight with the other boys.”

 “You’re new to Texas aren’t you Ma’am?”

 “Yes. I’m from New York, same as most of the other people in this town. Why do you bring it up?”

 “Texas mothers don’t tell their sons not to fight. They tell them not to fight without good cause.”

 “Your mother told you that?”

 “No. She died bringing me into this world. I guess that’s one more reason why my father has never appreciated reckless behavior. Life is precious, and life is short.”

 “For some folks more than others. Those goons that work for those men you were talking to for instance. They were all killers back in New York. Did you know that?”

 Del’s expression grew deadly serious.

 “No, I didn’t. So how often does Sheriff Anderson come through town?”

 “I’ve seen him twice since the town was built. Six months ago when most of the buildings were completed, and then five days ago when John Kelso got his headlights kicked in.”

 “Oh, what was that about?”

 “Rumor is John got caught sweet talking Michelle Tyler. She’s Brad Borcart’s kept woman you see. So Brad sees John driving across town and he just stepped out in front of John’s car and when John stopped, Borcart just up and kicked the headlights in. Then he said something to John and walked away. Sheriff came into town the next day but I have no idea what was all said and done. Borcart is what you might call Frankie Russo’s right hand man. Russo comes and goes but Borcart hasn’t left town in weeks. Michelle does but never Borcart. I have no idea what he does when he isn’t prowling around town.”

 “So he doesn’t patronize this place?”

 “Never sets foot in it. Did you notice the building that’s as big as a hotel but it has no sign on it? That’s a company building. They have a small kitchen downstairs and most of the men living there take their meals in their rooms. They got a few whores that tend that sort of thing when their feet aren’t up in the air. I’m not complaining mind you, cause I don’t want trouble in this place, even if Russo would be making good on any damages. That’s how it was with me back in New York. Some mob muscle would come into my place and beat the hell out of some fellow. Then a lawyer would show up with money and expect me to forget it ever happened.”

 Del made a face and said, “Ma’am---you do realize don’t you that this is a boom town? If there’s an average sized vein under this town you’ll have business for about three or four years and then this place will dry up and become another ghost town.”

 “Well, my business back east was doing poorly when this representative of the Eaton Shipping Company offered to buy my restaurant at twice its value, and then build me a new place in Texas dirt cheap if I’d stick with it for a minimum of two years. Like all the other imported proprietors in this town, I wondered why I needed to promise not to run off the first chance I got. Now I’m beginning to understand why. I don’t see no reason for all the muscle men in this town, but the number of them keeps going up. It makes regular folks kind of nervous.”

 “But you’re a big city girl. Aren’t you used to street toughs prowling the boards?” Del half teased.

 “You’re talking gang members. I’m talking about men who only show up because someone with money wants someone put out of business. Men like that can kill someone, then board a train and disappear while the cops waste their time with drifters.”

 Del paused to evaluate the young woman’s butchering technique. He became more than a little impressed by her deftness with a knife. Most people would saw very slowly through the layer of fat to make absolutely certain not to puncture the intestines. Then they would get their fingers under the muscle wall and painstakingly work a short upturned blade parallel with the muscle wall to create the slit that ran from diaphragm to anus. She did it in about forty-five seconds.

 Turning back to a slightly miffed older woman Del said, “Maybe you local business people should hold a meeting.”

 “Every Sunday morning in place of church,” said Lucy.

 “Yea, they all get together in Darcy’s bath house and pray for some spine,” quipped Manette.

 “So says the woman who can pack up all her Earthly belongings and leave town faster than that hog gets butchered,” retorted Lucy. “Everybody has plans to move in a few years, but I got a feeling that when we were all propositioned, a few important details were deliberately left out.”

 “Such as…” prompted the young man.

 “We don’t know. Not yet. But something’s coming to this town besides silver.”

 “Uh huh. Well, I better get back to my boys now.”

 “Does that mean you’re not interested in a serving plan?” asked Lucy.

 “Not at all Ma’am. You come around and feed my men breakfast. But only plan on lunch if we win the race.”

 With that the young man smiled politely and went to make his excuses to the men still eating in the front.

 “Don’t matter if he wins or not,” said Manette with a smirk. “I don’t know what the fella hopes to win but I’m pretty sure the Wop in the dining room isn’t going to let his boss lose anything.”

 “You shush,” hissed the older woman. “You wouldn’t be so cocky if any of those goons was standing in this room. There’ll likely be a small army of them before the year is out.”

 “Sure looks to me like a bunch of store clerks bought into something without reading the fine print,” said the young woman with a smirk.

 “We’re going to do just fine,” insisted Lucy. “I’m just saying that you got to behave like a New Yorker while you’re here. Don’t go acting like your husband is the Sheriff or something.”

 “I don’t know the sheriff, or any man I’d want to be married to. I thought I made that plain enough,” grumbled Manette while tying off the pig’s anus.

 “That was just a for instance,” Lucy snapped before heading back to the customers who were far more than just that..

 With bloody hands Manette blew a lock of hair out of her eyes while glaring at the world in general.

 Del’s drilling team finished up first, and predictably, Slater and Russo wasted no time declaring that they would be heading into Dallas to contest the outcome of the race. Del speculated that no ruling would come forth for quite some time so he instructed Bob to get the derrick torn down and get everyone home a.s.a.p. Del would head back to report everything to his father, at the risk of getting chewed out for not standing guard over the pump.

 He drove the company car back to Dallas, and while parking in front of his father’s house noted with interest that the family physician was immerging from the front door.

 “Dr. Hathaway, haven’t seen you in over five years sir.”

 “Yes, when that horse threw you. As I recall it was my recommendation that you have that animal destroyed---but you didn’t.”

 “Harry Schneider took that critter to pull a heavy wagon.”

 “You must have it in for Mr. Schneider. That animal might kick him in two.”

 “Maybe, but in the meantime he’s having a good time showing everyone how brave he is. So how’s Dad doing?”

 The doctor’s expression turned sympathetic.

 “It looks bad Del. This epidemic is like nothing I’ve ever seen. I’m guessing that his chances are fifty-fifty. If you need to talk over anything important, I don’t think you should put it off too long.”

 Del nodded and took three steps past the doctor before turning to ask, “Say, Doc; you know if that boom town east of here has a doctor?”

 “I haven’t heard as much,” responded the doctor, “but I was told that the mining town is still just getting started. They probably won’t need a full time physician until the mining operation actually commences. I was told that quite literally the entire town has been imported from New York. I suppose a doctor might come with that at the proper time.”

 “Yea, I didn’t bother to ask while I was there. I should have.”

 The doctor brushed that aside instantly. There was more than one young sawbones just starting out who could assume such responsibilities if approached.

 “I know you haven’t seen much of your father lately, but don’t let him talk too much,” cautioned Hathaway.

 Del nodded with a slight frown and head upstairs. When he was back at his father’s bedside, it was as if he was seeing him for the first time since his return. The man was shrunken and pale, and it occurred to Del that the difference now was that his father’s eyes had lost their strength. That disturbed the young man, who never thought he would behold such a sight.

 “Uh, Dad---I’ve got good news and bad: We won the drilling competition, but Slater is going to contest it. It’s partly my fault. We had this freak sandstorm come up and it messed up the unit. We got it going again fast enough to make up for the lost time, but Slater is taking the position that his pump is better because it didn’t break down. I personally don’t think that will matter to a judge in civil court. Hell, it was a race and we won. But Slater is going to drag us into court anyway.”

 The old man’s fevered expression turned inward for an instant, then he looked up at his son and said, “Don’t let Beck--- hear the case. Anybody--- but Beck.”

 “He’s on the take?”

 “Thaddeus Beck---wants to run---for the Senate. He could use---campaign backers.”

 “Not Slater---that would look like hell,” Del reasoned.

 “Slater’s a puppet---and he doesn’t even---know it yet.”

 “You know anything about the Eaton Shipping Company, Dad?”

 Samuel Reid looked thoughtful if somewhat winded and chose his words carefully.

 “I’m not a patch---on your grandpa---but we both---learned to spot---coyotes.”

 Del wasn’t sure he understood, but it was obvious that his dad was too weak to continue this conversation.

 “Ok Dad, I’ll make sure that we don’t get stuck with Beck. Now get some rest.”

 Apparently satisfied, the old man closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly. The next day Reid Senior’s condition was the same and foreman Bob returned with the men and the equipment.

 “You made good time,” Del said in the way of a greeting.

 “Yea, well, having a bunch of tough guys watching you from fifty yards off can encourage you not to waste time,” said Bob.

 Del nodded and asked, “Do you suppose Slater has gotten wind of a mining strike or something?”

 “I don’t know why you would ask that question. We’re not miners and I felt pretty darn unwelcome in that town.”

 “But if they thought they’ll be busting heads in the near future, they wouldn’t want any witnesses around that weren’t bought and paid for like the town merchants,” Del theorized.

 “True, but I got a feeling that the silver mining has nothing to do with all the broken noses and cauliflower ears they got in that town.”

 “It’s gotta be Bob, hell there isn’t anything else there except desert land.”

 The foreman shrugged awkwardly.

 “Yea I guess.

 Del went to the lawyer who always handled civil cases on behalf of the family business and prepared for the forthcoming legal duel. The attorney wrote up affidavit forms that had to be signed by residents of  West Philly who noted that the drilling at the Reid site was completed before Slater’s project was completed. Del sent Bob to collect the signatures but when the foreman returned it was to announce that all three witnesses had decided that they couldn’t clearly recall when the drilling had stopped.

 “Who cares?” asked Bob. “Slater hasn’t denied that we beat him. He’s just making the stupid argument that our rig shouldn’t have broken down in the sandstorm. It goes without saying that the judge will see it our way. The contest was a race, and in a race the only thing that matters is who finished first.”

 Del wore a slightly dubious expression. He wasn’t thinking about the race so much as the spectators who had seemed unimportant at the time.

 “Three different people all changed their minds simultaneously. That is no fluke Bob. They’ve been bought off---or scared off. Now if the opposition is going to take that course of action, it must be because they intend to submit an official statement that is contrary to what they are letting us think.

 “I thought they already made their statement,” stated the foreman somewhat lamely.

 “No Bob---and I wasn’t terribly concerned about it until just a minute ago.”

 “Well, meaning no disrespect to your father, I think that drilling race was the only idea your dad ever had that didn’t make much sense. Times have changed after all. Now it’s the salesmen who decide which companies get the contracts.”

 “Yea, the days of company competitions are over with,” agreed Del. “But any businessman who finds himself under the thumb of a unethical kingpin, just might want to get out from under. I was told that some of the citizenry has been holding meetings; the kind of meetings where Slater and his bunch would not be welcome. I’m going to attend the next such meeting. If I’m lucky, those witnesses will be present.”

 The foreman shook his head.

 “When the silver plays out, then the merchants will find their spines and start calling a spade a spade. But until then, they will not cross the people who set them up to support the mine. Truth is; your dad just plain messed up when he allowed that contest to take place in Slater’s backyard. I dunno---maybe he was already feverish when he made the deal.”

 Del shrugged and said, “The hearing won’t take place for a while and you pretty much run things here in town, so I’m going back to West Philly and talk to a few more people.”

 “You should first go find out who are judge is and explain to him that the witnesses that will be coming into his court are under Slater’s heel,” argued Bob.

 “You find out who the judge will be. Then I’ll have a talk with him after I get back. I’m going to go sit with Dad for a bit and then go to bed so I can get an early start tomorrow.”

 “The old man hasn’t woke up in quite some time. His breathing isn’t too good either. If I was you Del, I’d stay close to home until the hearing.”

 “The last thing Dad did was put me in charge of that drilling race. If Slater is going to pull a fast one on us he’ll have to do it with me looking over his shoulder. Both here and in that mining town.”

 With that Del headed for his father’s sick room, where he would watch his father’s chest rise with fall with difficulty.

 Darcy’s bath house was actually a pretty nice place to meet if you were a customer. There were four soaking tubs (one along each wall) and a heavy wooden bench that was circular and positioned in the center of the twenty square foot room. Steam pipes kept the men sweating like pigs until the cheap whiskey was out of them. Then they would leave the sauna-bath area red as lobsters and hacking up phlegm from whatever crap they had to breathe at work.

 But for the time being the steam pipes failed to hiss and the tubs were empty. The five men present were fully clothed and if any of them were sweating, it was only because they didn’t fully trust one another in the responsibilities that they shared. Their respective establishments were within three-hundred feet of one another so their informal meetings were held as often as three times a week, and they started when they realized that they weren’t quite in the same situation as the other members of the newly formed community.

 Chris Dietrich owned the dry goods store. Like Lucy and the others, his business back east had been doing very poorly when he was approached by a legal representative. Russel Lauer was a metal smith. He was the only one who didn’t look like a trapped mouse, but that wouldn’t help him much if certain parties decided to pay him a visit. Phil Raner managed the phone company, which only had twelve customers but that didn’t matter at all. The phones were there for the sake of the mining company and no one could call outside of town without Raner’s switchboard. Carl Walters owned two of the biggest trucks in Texas. He didn’t sweat as much as Dietrich but he was no less nervous.

 Darcy McDaniel owned the bathhouse, but also a huge barn out back that only got used once a week for a few hours before Walters could make his run. He and Walters had the most to fear and consequently the most to say at these meetings. This one had been called because Walters had spotted the Reid boy returning to town. That couldn’t be good.

 “He’s going to ask Hartman, Dowell and Quincy why they changed their stories,” guessed Walters.

 “Well of course he is,” Raner snapped back. “Reid will lose half his business if Slater wins in court. But the only thing that matters is that Slater is the up front man. What we’re doing is far and away removed from any commercial rivalries.”

 “I don’t see how you can think that,” grumbled McDaniel. “Witness tampering is done with money or coercion. The local sheriff’s office isn’t going to be terribly upset if they get the idea that people have been bribed. But the goons in this town are half crazy. They’re not sensible enough to stay in their boarding house when outsiders show up. That Reid boy will likely realize that the goons are telling Hartman and the others what to say. Then the sheriff will come poking around. Then the respectable women in this town will open up and bitch about all the unsavory characters. Next thing you know the Sheriff will find out that the goons are here because they got into too much trouble back in New York.”

 “Oh hell McDaniel, you act like Russo and his bunch go around carrying signs that say, “We are criminals. Please arrest us.”

 “I ain’t finished,” McDaniel. “The sheriff won’t want to deal with any of this alone, so he’ll call the state authorities into it. They in turn will contact the Federal boys. Then one of those crazy goons shoots a man with a badge and has to do a deal to keep his neck from being stretched. That’s where we come into it with no fancy lawyer to help us. Mark my words.”

 “I don’t remember you being such a Gloomy Gus when they were waving the money under our noses,” remarked Raner.

 “I’m just saying that we should all go to Slater and advise him to make it look real obvious that those three witnesses were bought off and not scared off. Then hopefully the sheriff will ignore the New York tough guys and stay focused on the men who are starting the mine.”

 “Men in suits don’t care what people like us think. We took their money and now we gotta take their orders. If we don’t, them goons will be given something more to do than just walk around till their fancy shoes get dirty,” put in the metal worker

 “I heard that old man Reid has gotten real sick,” said Raner. “I don’t want to go bitching to Slater about anything until we know for sure what the young Reid boy has in mind. Hell, he was running around in Europe for the longest time. Maybe he won’t take it hard when his people get screwed in court.”

 McDaniel let out a sigh.

 “Alright---we’ll continue to sweat this out until we know which way the Reids are going to jump. But I’m telling you, them big city goons aren’t just mean, they are mean and bored. They got nothing but contempt for the county law and they can leave this town a lot easier than we can. They won’t keep their hands in their pockets for two whole years or more, I am certain of that.”

 And so the meeting ended on the same note as the last one. But this time they had something to watch and fret over; namely a young man who was skirting the edge of a tall cliff with blissful ignorance. The desert was playing host to a malignant growth best suited to an urban jungle. It was a place where curiosity could most certainly kill a cat. It was a place where bad things could happen to those who walk alone.

 Pete Hartman was a carpenter. He displayed his skills by raising nearly half his house before finding out that it wasn’t worth the bother. Like all the other imported residents Hartman discovered that his livelihood would last approximately two years and then his efforts would be given over to the desert. Just as importantly, he would have to forget about finding a wife to settle down with for two years. He didn’t want to bring a woman to this place where fear was thick enough to cut with a knife.

 His job was to build the support braces that would hold up the tunnels in the mine. It was very simple, unimaginative work that only took up a portion of his day. That’s why he had been prowling around the Reid derrick in time to witness the completion of the hole that men were betting on. Now he wished he had remained ignorant and busy with the house that would be worthless in a couple of years.

 Hartman was visibly shaken when Del Reid entered the carpentry barn that was located in back of a half completed house.

 “Oops, sorry—didn’t mean to startle you,” Del said when he saw the carpenter whirl around like a fighting man.

 “Left over nerves from the bad neighborhood I lived in back in New York,” Hartman explained with a sheepish grin.

 “You should have seen some of the neighborhoods I stayed in back in France. People were just dying to leave some of them.”

 “You mean the war? I thought it just ended.”

 “Yes, for the A.E.F., but I was a horse courier. I left the winter before the armistice was signed. The name’s Del Reid. My old man is---“

 “Yea I know who your father is,” Hartman interrupted, “and I know how important that stupid competition is to him. Damn fool thing to do. Mixing sportsmanship with serious business concerns. Slater had enough cause to cheat even without a pack of gangsters expecting him to win.”

 Del turned hopeful.

 “So you acknowledge that this town is being bullied by thugs.”

 “Not the whole town, just a handful of men who aren’t good at the big city custom of minding their own business. Plus the occasional out of town fella who makes the mistake of noticing Michelle Tyler. She belongs to—“

 “Brad Borcart,” finished Del. “I’ll keep reminding myself not to court any ladies from around here. Anyway, I need to hear it from your own lips; are you going to lie in court? If that is the case I got a lawyer who would be willing to drive out here and explain to you what perjury is.”

 The carpenter shook his head sadly.

 “I thought it was plain enough to you that this is a company town.”

 “That is plain enough to me, Mr. Hartman, but are you also hinting to me that if you and your friends don’t perjure yourselves, you’ll lose your livelihoods or maybe even your walking privileges?”

 The carpenter let out a sigh and said, “I don’t know anything for certain. I only know that some rough looking characters patrolling this town and we can only guess what they’re doing here.”

 “Maybe Slater got advance word that the miners are going to unionize. That would explain the presence of head busters,” Del reasoned.

 “Yes it would, but if any union organizer has set foot in this town I for one have not heard of it.”

 “Yea well, you might have been hammering nails while something else was getting hammered. But let’s not stray from the subject at hand. You, Quincy and Dowell are going to give false testimony in court because you’re afraid to do anything that might hurt the masters of this town. But if representatives of the state of Texas were to show up at Slater’s door step, maybe then he wouldn’t begrudge you doing the right thing in court.”

 Hartman rolled his eyes at that.

 “Young fella, the men I’m working for could look the mayor of New York right in the eyes and lie to him knowing full well that the mayor knows he’s being lied to. Everybody knows that there ain’t no truth without evidence. What you know and what you can prove are two different things both in New York and in Texas.”

 “I don’t much care if kingpins are lying to the government, Mr. Hartman. My concern is that you are going to give damaging testimony because you are afraid of men who break things for a living.  Who the hell knows, maybe Slater himself doesn’t like to have the goons around. He’s never hired muscle before now.”

 “Fine, wave your magic want and get rid of the goons,” the carpenter said with a hint of irritation.  “Then we’ll talk again about who won that stupid drilling race.”

 Del’s jaw tightened and his eyes grew harder. He turned around and left the carpenter staring at his back.

 Then with ten paces between them he turned and said, “It wasn’t a stupid race. It was the kind of contest that was used in the old days to resolve matters between honorable men.”

 “A man has to understand the times he’s living in,” responded the wood worker.

Del didn’t have an answer to that. He just headed back to his car, hoping that someone at the state capital would be interested in one of the last boom towns to be found in the west.

 Del didn’t quite make it to his car. It had been parked a fair distance from the carpenters property so as to draw less attention to their meeting. Now he was staring at a beautiful young woman who was a good seventy feet away but Del’s heartbeat would have suggested that they toe to toe. Suddenly this Brad Borcart fellow didn’t seem nearly so crazy. Del’s feet were moving toward her even before he realized that this meeting might serve to shake something out of the tree.

 As Del approached the woman, he was very pleased to note that she was attired in riding pants and boots. The white cotton blouse exhibited a evenly distributed figure, but Del appreciated the highly developed lower body musculature that told him that this lady had a great deal of experience riding horses. She looked to be of Irish stock with her flaming red hair, freckles and keen blue eyes.

 “Going to or coming from?” he asked as the two drew near to each other.

 “What?” she inquired with a half smile.

 “The stables of course.”

 The woman’s laughter was unpretentious.

 “I have a small corral in back of my house. You can’t see it from here but when the wind shifts you can smell it. At least that’s what some of the women folk claim. Their menfolk all have automobiles which in my opinion stink more than horse apples. My name is Michelle Tyler by the way.”

 “I’m Del Reid. Might I suggest that you get yourself a parcel of land on the edge of town? Even the most devoted equestrian should have his animal right next to the house.”

 “Well, one of my neighbors does own an extra lot that he would sell---but not to me. He claims that other women in town would never forgive him. I guess you could say that I’m kind of unpopular. Anyway, the nearest parcel I could afford is almost a mile away. So I guess I’ll continue to treat Bell as if she were a yard dog.”

 “One of these days I ride Snowstorm out here. Then we can explore the outlands together.”

 “Are you a rancher?” inquired the woman.

 “No. I was a courier rider in the great war, but now I’m back to help my father run a family business in Dallas.”

 “And what business is that?”

 “Heavy drill manufacturing. Fact is we were in a little competition with Mr. Slater until recently.”

 “Yes I heard about that. I was told you might have won if it hadn’t been for the sandstorm.”

 “We finished first,” said Del without emotion.

 “Yes, after rebuilding the machine,” the woman said with a nod. “My boyfriend is of the opinion that you actually used two drills to compete with, therefor the victory is being contested.”

 “Only about a fourth of the drill was replaced, and only because we hadn’t bothered to shield the drill from the sand. I’ve lived in the Dallas area most of my life and I’ve never seen such a wind kick up.”

 The woman didn’t see any point in discussing the subject further so she switched to something more favorable.

 “You say you were a courier in the war. Then you must have returned home early.”

 “Yes, I wasn’t actually in the American Expeditionary Force. I worked for the French and the British. It was kind of an unusual arrangement.”

 “I suppose there was a shortage of motor cars?”

 “There was a shortage of everything, but the main reason the horses were popular was because of the mud. It tended to stop motorized vehicles in their tracks.”

 Tyler laughed at that and said, “I’d love to see a bit of that around here. One fellow got his arm broke cranking on this automobile starter, but aside from that, the machines tend to out perform horses and the local ladies bring that up in conversation now and then.”

 “Perhaps your riding attire irks them more than your horse,” Del ventured to say.

 “How very perceptive of you, Mr. Reid. Yes, my wardrobe is another frequently touched on topic of conversation.”

 “My father has been an outspoken widower all of my life; free to speak his mind at the dinner table. He advised me long ago that there is nothing more treacherous than a delicate and genteel lady. Don’t ever give up riding horses Ma’am. It is a healthy thing for both body and soul.”

 The woman laughed with a quizzical expression. This young man had obviously never been taught how to speak to a woman, but that made him oddly endearing in a way.

 “I will heed your advice good sir, and I have some to offer in return. You should board your horseless carriage now and head back home. There is a man walking towards us and I would prefer to have you avoid speaking to him.”

 Del turned and stole a glance at the man who was still half a block away.

 “Is he the boyfriend you spoke of?”

 “No, he is a subordinate, and not a very friendly one to strangers.”

 “Well, the solution to that is simple: I need to stop being a stranger. What’s the name of that neighbor of yours that has the adjourning parcel of land?”

 “Andrews,” the woman responded without thinking.

 Del nodded with a smile and then turned to address the approaching thug.

 “Say, aren’t you the security guard I saw at the Slater drilling site when that sandstorm was brewing? My compliments sir. You were very alert and attentive when most men would have been preoccupied with protecting their very expensive suits. That was quite a storm wasn’t it?”

 “You shouldn’t be talking to her,” the bigger man rumbled.

 “Miss Tyler,” Del corrected.

 The well dressed fighting man paused for an instant and then said, “Yea, Miss Tyler.”

 “Then I’ll be off. My dear old dad cautioned me to stay out of trouble. Good day to you both.”

 Without another word Del strolled over to the company car (with a mischievous smile upon his face.)

  Foreman Bob rose from a chair in the reception room and met up with Del as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

 “How’s the old man doing?”

 “Better. The doc thinks the glass is half empty but I’m betting that Dad will beat this thing. Anyway, if that damn undertaker comes back here you send him to West Philly with some bull shit story that Slater is interested in buying a box. I swear there is nothing worse than a pushy mortician.”

 “Yea I guess not,” Bob responded with something more important on his mind. “Say, did you buy some land in West Philly?”

 “No, I had Steve Schmitt do it because I reasoned that it would go smoother that way.”

 “You used company money though.”

 “I didn’t ask for any money when I was in Europe,” Del responded defensively.

 “You didn’t dare. You were staying there against your father’s wishes.”

 “He understood,” Del shot back with a pointing index finger, “and I don’t want that brought up again.”

 “Ok, but what the hell is the land for? You know damn well that the town is going to dry up an blow away in a few years.”

 “As long as that town is important to our chief competitor it is important to me, Bob. I don’t pretend to know exactly what is going on out there, but it’s got to be worthy of our concern.”

 “Why?”

 “Because big city thugs wearing fancy suits are probably more expensive to employ than miners, carpenters and the like. So I want to have an excuse to snoop around on a regular basis.”

 “Some excuse you came up with,” grumbled the foreman. “You’re building a horse stable. First thing your dad will do when he gets out of bed is kill you.”

 “If you knew my strategy you’d understand,” said Del.

 “Alright, explain your strategy.”

 “The town is made up of city dwellers. They built the town and they populate it because they intend to make a great deal of money in the near future. I am convinced that their activities are not going to be entirely legal; not even counting the fact that they are going to try and cheat us in court next week. The way I see it, they are a very unhappy lot because they are used to the excitement of New York. Now they are cooped up in a little town of their own creation and the boredom will affect the thugs that keep arriving and that in turn will get on the nerves of the merchants. I intend to add something to the pot and see if it boils over.”

 “Will you now explain to me what it is exactly that you plan to throw into this pot you speak of?” asked Bob.

 Del headed for the front door of the house.

 “No.”

 

 The young man sat at his father’s bedside and held a hand that was still warm but now unresponsive. Reid senior had remained asleep since yesterday and the doctor had perceived that the body was gradually shutting down. Del was almost relieved in a way. He had heard many stories concerning the last words imparted to loved ones just before the end. His father probably would have chosen to use his final moments to speak of some business concerns that would have been better received by foreman Bob.

 Del let the grief wash over him like a cold European rain. In the back of his mind he hoped that his tears would be witnessed by the his father’s spirit. Would the departing master of the house appreciate the sight of his son’s bent back and lowered head, or would he silently admonish him for not showing more strength?

Del would never have the answer. All he knew was that he had taken much for granted, childishly thinking that there would always be time enough for the two of them to talk about something besides the business and all the things in Dallas that Reid senior had disapproved of.

 Bob showed his worth over the next couple of days by functioning as the unofficial head of the company while always being on hand to listen attentively to whatever Del felt like saying about his dad and life in general. Del held a meeting and assured his father’s employees that he would not sell the business or lay anyone off that year. For the next forty-eight hours he signed whatever papers Bob and the family lawyer put in front of him and noted with some irritation that Dallas continued to go about its business as if Samuel Reid had never existed.

 The burial service was short, surreal and shared mostly by descendants of those who had known  grandfather John Reid back in the days of the wild and wooly west. Del found it somewhat ironic that his father had tried to down  play the importance of the Texas Rangers, but at the funeral reception most of the conversation revolved around the history of the state, and how the Reid family had always been in the thick of it.

 Time dragged along like a worn out plow until Del received a letter that was a reprieve from all the ledgers and files that Bob kept reviewing with the new owner. Somehow Michelle Tyler had heard about Sam Reid’s passing and was offering her condolences. She also mentioned that a horse stable was being constructed on the very lot that she had dreamed of buying and that a very wonderful gentleman named Steve Schmitt was willing to feed and shelter her horse.

 Del grinned at that and was looking forward to the day when he could confess to her that it was really his property. He was also looking forward to meeting with her boyfriend. He didn’t like the fellow and he had never even met him yet. That didn’t seem quite right so he was anxious to test the possessive nature of Brad Borcart so that he could hate the man in an honorable fashion. Besides, how could anyone be the boss of a pack of thugs and not be a king sized jerk himself?

 So it was the very next day Del drove back to West Philly in search of a self fulfilling prophecy. He was even stupid enough to go directly to the hotel sized building where Borcart resided when not in the company of Michelle. Naturally he wasn’t going to bring up the subject of the lady, there were far better and more respectable ways to step on the man’s toes. In the front reception area of the building Del met up with three immaculately attired bone breakers who were scowling at him before he could even state his business.

 “Is Mr. Borcart in, I’d like to have a word with him,” said Del.

 “Who are you?” one of the three asked.

 “Del Reid, son of Samuel Reid.”

 “Yea, Burt saw you talking to Michelle Tyler a while back. Said you were kind of a smart ass.”

 “Well that’s why I’m here,” Del said easily. “I’m here to apologize to Mr. Borcart-- him being Miss Tyler’s boyfriend and all.”

 The thug doing the talking gave one of his fellows a nod and sent him toward the back section of the first floor.

 The ex bouncer looked Del up and down with a grin of contempt and said, “I heard the boss saying that your granddad was a Texas Ranger. I’m kind of wondering how they would be different from the flatfoots we got back in New York.”

 Del shrugged slightly and asked “Is it true that New York City police call for help by blowing on a whistle?”

 “Sometimes, why?”

 “A Texas Ranger might be five days ride from any help. He could end up being judge, jury and executioner to men who have no use for civilization. That’s a nice suit you have by the way.”

 “Good thing your daddy wasn’t a cop, or you wouldn’t have a comfy business to inherit. Sounds to me like you’ve got a real nice set up for the rest of your life. You ought to stay in Dallas and make the most of your blessings.”

 “You’d probably be happier there than here,” Del responded. “I suppose a big city boy like yourself gets tired of looking at the same old frightened faces every day.”

 “What do you mean by that?” the leg breaker asked in a deadly tone.

 “I’ll explain it to your boss, that way I won’t have to say it twice,” said Del as the gofer returned behind a very surprising gentleman.

 Del was expecting the appearance of another goon. A big grim faced monstrosity stuffed into another expensive suit. Bradly Borcart was anything but. He was a good fifty pounds lighter than his henchmen and a head shorter. He had wavy blonde hair and looked like he might possibly shave about once a week. He didn’t convey the appearance of a weakling. He was poised and very intelligent looking with an air of confidence that Del fully expected. But he certainly stood out from his goons in size and coloring, and Del was silently reminded that people are not all that predictable.

 “Mr. Reid, I’m sorry to hear of your father’s passing,” said Borcart while extending a smaller than average hand.

 Del took the hand and decided at that moment to place his best diplomatic foot forward.

 “Mr. Borcart, my company won that drilling competition and now three of Mr. Slater’s contractors are preparing to testify at the up coming hearing that we in fact lost. It seems to me sir that you have a sort of image problem. Your security force is so very imposing in its appearance that some of the locals had gotten the idea that they should be afraid of you. I’m sure that any such misconception is unintentional.”

 “Oh my, that is quite a stretch Mr. Reid. But I suppose it would do no harm to explain something to you. We’re anticipating a mining strike once all the workers arrive. We have it on good authority that this strike will have legal repercussions that could be felt all over this country. As an employer I’m sure that you are just as concerned about the spread of communism as we are. I realize that with nothing to do my men end up prowling nervously about and probably do prey on the imaginations of residents who have been victimized by street gangs back home. But really sir, you should be taking your concerns to Mr. Slater. I’m just a humble supervisor.”

  “Well, I feel that if you are going to accuse someone of witness tampering, you should first gather all the information that you can. I feel that touching base with you was necessary. Now I will speak with Mr. Slater. Good day to you sir.”

 Del turned and headed for the front door. He then stopped purposefully and turned as if something had just occurred to him.

 “Say, do you ride? Horses I mean.”

 “My girlfriend is trying to get me interested in that, but I doubt that I’ll ever have her passion for it,” Borcart answered with a wary expression.

 “Pity. It gives the desert a different kind of feel, and horses can be very useful in security work. I’ll mention it to Mr. Slater. The livery that was just constructed has eight stalls so boarding wouldn’t be a problem. I’m going to have my own horse brought out here. Perhaps the three of us could go riding sometime. I’ll enjoy monitoring the activities in what might prove to be the last boom town in the west.”

 “Three of us?” queried the blonde haired man.

 “Yes. Your charming girlfriend wouldn’t forgive us if we rode off without her.”

 Del’s parting smile was a thing of beauty. For the first time in his life it occurred to him that if the family business were to fold, he might have a future in the theatre. He was a pretty fair actor, and in the 20^th Century, that might serve him better than a six gun.

 

 Borcart returned to his makeshift office immediately. Now he had two reasons to dislike the younger Reid: his girlfriend, and the fact that now he would have to run this whole thing past the boss. Russo was reviewing the list of names on Borcart’s desk. Sixteen men who only belonged to Borcart as long as Borcart belonged to Russo.

 “So what did our young Mr. Reid have to say?” the Italian asked as soon as soon as his security chief returned.

 “He’s on his way to speak with Slater. He’s not happy with Hartman and the others.”

 “That’s understandable.”

 “Yes, very much so, and I must admit that I don’t understand why we’re going down this path. That stupid drilling contest means nothing to us, but if Reid turns into a sore loser and convinces the Sheriff that he should spend more time around here---“

 “We’ve been averaging one shipment a week thus far and each time we’re out on a limb for perhaps four or five hours before the truck crosses the county line. All the law enforcement on the boarder route is bought and paid for so the only way the local sheriff is going to get wind of anything is if someone here in town panics. So kindly be so good as to inform Mr. McDaniel that his bath house meetings are threatening to get on people’s nerves. A bit more optimism is needed I think.”

 Borcart knew that McDaniel’s bath house was being frequented by people within the inner circle, but just presumed that it was a harmless outlet for men who shared an important secret in a one horse town. If there was more to it than that, and if Russo was learning such things without the help of Borcart, it would spell trouble for the security chief.

 “Why don’t you just buy McDonald out and replace him with someone more stable?” asked Borcart.

 Russo shook his head.

 “We’d have to kill him, and you can imagine what affect that would have on the others. No, just mess up his illusion of privacy. Let him wonder how I learned about his pessimistic attitude.”

 “He won’t be the only one pondering that mystery,”  Borcart thought unhappily.

 “I am actually looking forward to the trouble  that is anticipated with the miners,” Russo went on. “Nothing like a good labor dispute to keep everyone’s attention focused where we want it.”

 “When will that be exactly?”

 “The transport trucks are bringing the miners in tomorrow. Digging will begin the day after. We’ll give it a week or so before we raise the prices at the stores and begin the bully boy tactics.”

 “That will frighten McDaniel and the others even more,” Borcart said with a ghost of a smile. “They think that anything  that gets the Sheriff’s attention will be bad.”

 “That’s because they are spineless and unimaginative. Besides which they do not realize that there are competing factions who could hit us at any time and would do so if the soldiers weren’t here. But we have to justify all the muscle and that’s where the mining strike comes in. I’ve got it set up to last about a month, and by then about eighty percent of the shipments should be through.”

 “Then you’ll cave and give the miners whatever they want?”

 “Only in regard to medical and retirement benefits. It will be easy enough to walk away from that at the proper time.”

 “That will make Mr. Slater very nervous,” Borcart predicted.

 “Don’t waste anymore of my time warning me how people around here will feel about things,” warned the gangster. “Now is the time to be thinking about shipments. I will let you know when it’s time to hold some cry baby’s hand.”

 With that Russo took his leave, serene in the knowledge that Slater would suffer a heart attack when The Company was all done with the Texas shit hole that felt like an elaborate prison yard.

 Thad Anderson’s office was at the backside of the courthouse, and the courthouse used to be the John Tyler Beaumont estate before the retired rancher came down with a venereal disease while consorting with a Mexican harlot who ruined eight good men before someone shot her. Thad owned a hardware store that was mostly run by his wife. He had never truly gotten comfortable with the town of Harbinger, but it strategic location enabled him to pull in customers who would otherwise go to Dallas in order to buy their nuts, bolts, copper tubing and what not.   

 Thad was a big man who wasn’t afraid to stand up for what he believed in, and he believed that people shouldn’t steal (especially from merchants.) Consequently, when old man Jenkins dropped dead from changing a tire on a 104 degree afternoon, everyone remembered that Thad Anderson would stand up for law and order. His wife was very unhappy when he agreed to run for office, but she understood that in the world of rural politics you had to go forward if you owned a business.

 His cousin Earl’s black smith shop folded up in Dallas just in time for him to become Thad’s deputy and the Dallas Ford dealership was quick to point out that it was perfectly alright for the sheriff to run personal errands with the county patrol car. So everything fell into place nicely and creation of a boom town on the other end of the county was Thad’s first real challenge in office. Del Reid was the first man to bring in bad news on that account, but Thad didn’t see any reason to assume the worst, especially since his hardware store just might yet benefit from the sudden development.

 “Del, I freely acknowledge that I have been remiss in my duties concerning West Philly. But I’d like you to try and see things from my point of view. Every bag of nails, every two by four and every shingle needed for the construction of that town came from back east. To this day not one single resident of that mining town has set foot in Harbinger. I’m not complaining mind you, I’m just saying that they aren’t very neighborly folks and so we’ve sort of responded in kind.”

 “Thad, I’m talking about tampering with witnesses that are supposed to appear in a Dallas courtroom. I don’t care if they bake us pies any more than the next man.”

 The sheriff nodded again.

 “Yes, I’ll drive out there first thing tomorrow morning and have a talk with the Mr. Hartman and the others. Course it probably won’t do any good. I’m no expert on big city ways but I once read about old Teddy Roosevelt when he was running the New York City Police Department and got the distinct impression that organized crime is kind of like an army: the privates do the dying and the generals live to a ripe old age.”

 “That’s real interesting Thad. I don’t recall using the term organized crime. You came up with that all by your lonesome.”

 The small town lawman shrugged and said, “In towns like Dallas and Houston  loitering rough necks abound. But they are not well dressed because they had little spending money. When I see violent looking men idling about, and they are well dressed, I realize that a great predator has moved into my county.”

 “Good; then we are of the same mind,” Del declared in triumph.”

 “Yes and no. I will do what little I can to discourage false testimony in court, but I think it is realistic to suppose that the men with the money will be allowed to spend it in Texas. This land has seen empire builders in all sizes and shapes. The history of this state was not written by men who had a high regard for traditions of the land.”

 “Are you saying that because the Indians and the Mexicans got screwed, we should now get screwed by eastern city boys?” asked Del.

 “Substitute the word should for the word could young fella,” advised the sheriff.

 Del paused for a moment and then shrugged himself.

 “Yea, bad things happen to good people. The war taught me that.”

 “Just so you don’t leave here with any illusions,” cautioned Anderson. “If these boys want to break their pledge to honor a contest result, they’ll likely be allowed to do that in a town that they built themselves. But I will make my presence felt in that town tomorrow. That is my pledge to you.”

 Del raised both hands in a defensive gesture and said, “Hey, my dad said you are a good man and I don’t need you to swear any holy oath in front of me. I’ll just get back to my job and let you do yours any way you see fit.”

 “Tomorrow morning,” Anderson repeated while extending his hand.

 The two men from Texas shook hands and parted amiably. They had different ideas concerning Slater and his bunch, but both men would stand before the winds of change with the same beliefs as their fathers before them. For each of them, Texas wasn’t just around them---it was inside of them. Some things in the Lone Star State were changing, but not everything.

 Not everything.

 The next day Thad Anderson did speak to the three men who had been subpoenaed to testify in the upcoming hearing. Hartman was glad to speak with the sheriff, but not enough to admit that he was fixing to lie under oath. The other two men sweated a lot and clung to the stories they had composed at an earlier meeting. The sheriff also had a cup of coffee with Lucy, and noted that he was under surveillance every time he left a building. That certainly primed him for his meeting with Slater, who at least was a home grown boy; albeit woven from a different bolt of cloth.

 “Sheriff, I didn’t witness the end of the drilling competition, but no one disputes the fact that the Reid driller broke down in a sandstorm. The whole purpose of that competition was to determine which driller was superior. I have ha product that keeps running even in bad weather, and I am now getting financial backing from people back east who appreciate the importance of Texas. I will not sit here and play the role of some villain who twirls a mustache and wears a black cloak.”

 Anderson almost rolled his eyes at that.

 “Mr. Slater, I believe in freedom. My car followed a convoy of trucks that brought in dozens of miners. They will live and work in a community that is of your own making and I applaud the fact that you are creating so many jobs. But if any resident of this community is required to give testimony in a court of law, they should under those circumstances feel obligated to the state of Texas and not the man who signs their pay checks back home.”

 “You continue to imply that I am guilty of some wrong doing sir,” Slater fired back. “You will never see one grain of proof that I am telling my employees what to do or say regarding this forth coming hearing.”

 “But you aren’t the only man who has a dog in this race Mr. Slater. I have been given to understand that Mr. Russo is a functioning partner who represents your eastern backers.”

 “Yes of course but he wouldn’t know the men who are going to testify if they fell on him. He motors in to this town and meets with me and then he motors back out again.”

 “And what of Mr. Borcart?”

 “Beg pardon?”

 “Does he answer to you or Mr. Russo?”

 “Well---Russo, but their only concern is the miners. We are anticipating trouble with some union organizers in the near future.”

 “That seems rather odd to me, Mr. Slater. How can you have labor problems of that sort when the men are just forming up to start work?”

 “Don’t underestimate the United Mine Workers of America. They are not just a pack of illiterate Irishmen I can assure you.”

 “Should I have the same opinion of your security force?” queried the sheriff. “They certainly are overly dressed for handling a strike.”

 “They didn’t handle mining strikes back in New York. Probably dock worker strikes or something just as urban.”

 “Either way blood stains are hard to get off an expensive suit,” said Anderson.

 “A very fine indication that violence is not in my plans,” Slater stated while bristling slightly.

 “Nor is witness tampering, but it looks like it’s going to happen. Unless of course you call Mr. Hartman and the others into your office and explain to them how very important due process of law is to you.”

 “You seem absolutely certain that Reid and his people are in the right. Are you well acquainted with the Reid family, Sheriff?”

 “Met the old man a few times. Naturally everyone knows about granddad Reid.”

 “Ah yes, the more colorful days of the Texas Rangers. Well Sheriff, while you’re in these parts I want you to feel as though you have an entire company of rangers at  your beck and call. Investigate to your heart’s content and I will indeed have those witnesses called to my office. Does all that satisfy you?”

 “Very much sir---I could not ask for more.”

 “I believe Mr. Borcart is out of town on an errand, but I’m sure he’ll be available for interviewing tomorrow.”

 “That reminds me sir, why do you have an office set up in this town? You yourself do not own the mine that’s being dug, and an engineer would far better oversee the use of your company’s equipment in this project.”

 Slater nodded without offense.

 “I’m broadening my horizons, Sheriff. My backers obviously are interested in all facets of the Texas economy and I am to help them with this in order to show them how my equipment can aid them in all the excavating ventures that are down the road.”

 “Well I guess that makes sense. I suppose I’d better let you get back to your work sir. Thank you for your time.”

 “Don’t be a stranger, Sheriff. After all---we’re in your county even if we are on the other side of it.”

 “Yes, thank God for the automobile. Of course the taxpayers spend more on gasoline than they ever did on hay but I guess that’s part of going modern.”

 “One more reason why my backers are happy to find opportunities outside of New York,” said Slater with a grin. “Could their tax situation possibly get any worse back east? I can’t imagine such a thing happening for a thousand years!”

 It didn’t take Del long to tire of all the paperwork required to transfer control of the company from father to son. Desiring a break in any form Del got a sudden urge to go through his dad’s old cedar chest. It was special because it was the only collection of memorabilia that retained largely to Grandpa Reid. Del always found it ironic that his father didn’t want to gloat about grandpa’s exploits, but he never the less treated all the first generation records as if they belonged in the Smithsonian Institute. Del always got about a fourth of the way through the papers and old style daguerreotypes photos before his father would show up and order him to leave it all alone.

 Now he went through it all, and half expected his father’s ghost to come along and order him to secure the time capsule once again. Del took his time, staring at old photos in an attempt to memorized every detail. He was somewhat amused by the obvious fact that the rangers didn’t mind posing for the photographers, so long as they could do so with their precious rifles and pistols. Then at the very bottom of the pile Del came upon something of great interest. A photo of his grandfather standing beside an American Indian.

 Del already knew that the man standing next to his grandfather was of the Potawatomie tribe. He knew that the man had ridden into the desert never to be seen again shortly after the last great outlaw was put under. Del smiled at the fact that, like himself, the man in Potawatomie was very young for someone who allegedly killed four white men and an even larger number of Comanche. Were so many deaths the result of his association with a lone ranger? Del would never know. He had long since run into a dead end trying to gather additional information concerning his grandfather’s past.

 “Where the hell did you go?”  he thought while gazing at the photo.

 Hopefully not to any damn city. That would have been a crying shame. With a small sigh Del left the photo on the top of the pile and closed the chest. He had to get back to work, and quietly regret the fact that he had never been blessed with an older brother. No one really wanted to know how he felt about being the new boss. He just was the new boss and that meant that every silly ass problem was brought to him. No one ever asked him about his experiences in Europe, they just placed more papers on his desk.

 “It’s not like I was on vacation,”  Del thought to himself.

 Sheriff Anderson left town around 3:00 p.m. As was usually the case, the day had not rewarded him with a strong sense of accomplishment, but he felt that he had not wasted the taxpayer’s money visiting a new development that would bring additional tax revenue into the county. Something occurred to him and he decided to make a note of it so he stopped the Ford on the lonely dirt road and got out his pencil.

 “Crud,” he muttered as the piece of wood and graphite slipped from his fingers and fell under his seat.

 With a sigh of resignation he removed himself from the vehicle so that he could get a full arm under the seat. It was then that he noticed a trail of dust growing in the direction of town perhaps a half a mile to the northwest. There were no roads out that way and it would take more than Michelle Tyler’s horse to kick up that much earth.  It was probably nothing, and the sheriff wanted to get home before dark, but it was his job to be curious, and that came naturally enough after talking to a bunch of New Yorkers. So he took the Ford off the road and set the hood ornament on an interception course with the front end of the dust cloud.

 Unfortunately the heavy duty transport truck was on a preselected route that did not consist of a road, but it did avoid sand pits and other nature obstacles. Anderson didn’t fare quite as well and ended up behind the truck by a good five-hundred yards. Of course the sheriff still didn’t have the mind set that he was in pursuit of any law breakers. The silver mining operation could involve something off to the northwest that would make perfect sense to him, but when he truck pulled up behind the bathhouse barn the sheriff opted to hold back and observe things for a bit.

 Taking out his field glasses he zeroed in on two movers just in time to witness something extremely interesting. A crate was dropped at the back of the truck and when the contents spilled out onto the ground, the sheriff swore under his breath. A belt of machine gun ammo was hastily thrown back into the over turned box and carried into the barn. Anderson’s first impulse was to hightail it out of there and get some backup, but he wasn’t sure how long the evidence would remain in the barn. So he patiently waited for the haulers to finish their work and drive off. He would help himself to a portion of the shipment. That way even if the shipment got moved he could justify a search of the entire town.

 Anderson was not overly surprised to find the doors to the barn locked, nor was he put off. He was a hardware man by profession and also a locksmith. He kept some of his tools in his car (mostly to help absent minded citizens) and now he was able to access the barn with the coming of nightfall.  Once inside he made his one and only mistake: he borrowed a kerosene lantern and then became enthralled by sight of a brand new water cooled Browning Model 1917 machine gun. By the time he had extinguished the light and began his withdrawal a very large man began to close the distance between them. His eyes were just beginning to get accustomed to the darkness when a sap made contact with the back of his skull. His life didn’t end there, but his fate was now a forgone conclusion. Even the Neanderthal who had slugged him understood without instruction that no mercy would be shown to the man with the badge. He has stumbled onto secret of West Philly, and the penalty for that was death.

 Borcart was beside himself with rage when he found out that the sheriff had actually gotten past a locked door before the guard discovered his whereabouts. Russo was less emotional about the whole thing but no less determined to discourage such a lack of vigilance. Clean up was both swift and imaginative. The guard responsible for the breech in security was struck from behind with a two-by-four. He was then stripped and dressed in miner’s coveralls.

 The entrance to the neophyte mineshaft was only sixteen feet in length; little more than a starting gate for the half mile long excavation project that was on the drawing boards. But the thing that mattered was that the overhead rafter work was second rate because the ore cart tracks had not yet been laid down. The guard who had struck down Anderson was a undocumented immigrant and so he could be a miner as well as a thug. A story would be concocted in which Sheriff Anderson asked the miner to show him the entrance to the mine. Then a freak cave in would claim them both.

 Russo’s reasoning was that a lone death would have looked more suspicious, and a double killing would serve to warn the other guards that a lack of vigilance would not be tolerated. The east coast gang representative assumed that all he had to do was rule the little town of West Philly with a tighter grip and everything would work out alright. The arms smuggling would only go on for another three weeks and then he could turn the town over to a flunky who could supervise the organization’s interests in the mining operation. But Russo failed to take into account that Anderson’s deputy had a brain of his own, and he used it just as soon as he found out that his boss was dead.

 Forty-eight hours later Earl Anderson was standing hat in hand before Judge Walter Conrad in a uniform that was fairly covered in trail dust.

 “Now let me see if I understand you, Deputy Anderson: you suspect that your boss and cousin was murdered because you can’t find any records pertaining to the man who was killed in the cave in with Thad?”

 “No Judge, I’m just mentioning that to you because it’s my job to report all that I’ve learned so far. The reason I think Thad was murdered is because I found tire tracks that match our patrol car that left the town’s only access road and intercepted much larger and heavier tracks about a half a mile off the road.”

 The judge blinked several times and asked, “So?”

 “I talked to the only man who owns a heavy truck in those parts and he swears that he was never northwest of the road.”

 “He’s lying?”

 “Through his teeth,” responded the deputy.

 “So what do you want from me?”

 “Permission to search the whole damn town with the State Police.”

 The judge thought about that for a moment and then said, “I’ll have them examine the cave in first. If they find anything suspicious, I’ll have the town turned upside down.”

 “But Judge, if we’re going to accomplish anything with a search, we gotta move now.”

 “I disagree. All you have to do is set up road blocks both east and west of town. That will bottle up any incriminating evidence that someone in town might want to move out.”

 “Aw Judge, that ain’t even partially true,” whined the deputy. “At night there’s hundreds of acres of desert sand for burying whatever it is we’re looking for.”

 “Deputy---if the cave in was staged to cover up a murder, it is very likely that the crime took place because of something the Sheriff overheard. What would be in that town worth killing for? They haven’t even begun to take silver out of the ground yet. Go tend to your road blocks and I’ll contact the appropriate parties at the capital.”

 The ex blacksmith hesitated for an instant and then nodded slightly while taking his leave. Hopefully the state would send someone down who would be able to prove that the deadly cave in was encouraged by murderers with picks and shovels. Anyway, pressuring the guilty parties to show their hand was probably more logical than searching every building in West Philly for blood stained clothing or whatever. With that in mind, Deputy Anderson put the word out that he wanted to meet with anyone who owned a riding horse and could spare some time out around West Philly.

 Del got the word and didn’t mind handing the company over to Bob so that he could escape the desk work for a while and help look into the so called accident that had killed a good man. The plan was to do a perimeter sweep around the city limits on horseback; especially in areas where a car might get caught in the sand. Deputy Anderson made no efforts to keep this patrolling a secret from the locals. He smelled a New York sewer rat and he didn’t much care if that offended anyone. As for Russo; he found it all quite amusing. Let the local yokel flatfoots comb a thousand acres of sand. All that was important was the delivery truck and the storage barn. He also decided to have the truck bed modified so that a smuggled item such as a machine gun could be hidden under a false floorboard. That would please his driver, who had taken to drinking.

 The Mexican government had already received the majority of the goods that they had contracted for and what remained north of them could pass through as soon as that idiot deputy got tired of eating sand out there with the lizards.  Russo’s overall contempt for Texan thinking processes enabled him to catch a train for back east. He probably wouldn’t have left things in the hands of Borcart if he had known that Del Reid had his own ideas concerning Sheriff Anderson’s death. Del only half listened to the deputy’s plans to throw a lariat around a mining town.  Then he made his request for a badge which Anderson did not find objectionable. The deputy would have if he had known what was going to happen.

 Del hadn’t forgotten that there was a nice new livery stable in the town of West Philly, and his horse would be much happier there than out in the desert pounding sand. Del paid a visit to Dallas gun store, and then headed out on his four legged friend.

 When Del finally reached the small mining town he could feel more than a few eyes on him. The fact that he was an outsider had something to do with it, but the fact that he was carrying a holstered pistol was also significant. When he was in amongst them it was then noted by a few that he also wore a deputy sheriff’s badge. Del went straight to the livery stable and before he could remove the saddle from his horse the lovely Michelle appeared and proceeded to admire Snowstorm.

 “So this is a French horse? Well, I hope he doesn’t seduce my mare.”

 “Oh he’ll keep his pride tucked,” Del assured the woman. “We had a nice long talk on the way out here.”

 Michelle laughed at that and said, “I believe that Mother Nature speaks with a louder voice, but any man who can ship a horse across the Atlantic is probably responsible enough to keep an accident from happening. So, will you be spending the night here at least?”

 “Oh yes; several days in fact. I’m going to do some patrolling for the new acting sheriff. Using the town as a base of operations makes perfect sense don’t you agree?”

 “Well yes, if I understand you correctly. But exactly what is it you intend to find?”

 “Probably nothing, but Deputy Anderson is understandably upset that his boss is dead. He’s in the mood to shake a few trees to see if anything falls out. They were cousins you know.”

 “No I didn’t. Say, is there some rule against me tagging along when you go on your outing?” asked the woman.

 “Well I’ll tell you what: after my horse cools down and I get a bite to eat, we can head out together then. I’ll be out until sundown, but of course you can return anytime you wish.”

 “Why don’t I go tell Lucky to fix you up some fried chicken? It’ll be ready by the time you’re done brushing Snowstorm,” suggested the woman.

 Del nodded gratefully and got to work on the horse.  An hour later the two of them were both mounted and cantering out of town. That was observed as well, which was exactly what Del was counting on. Before they reached the last building, a well dressed man sporting a facial scar stepped out in front of the horses and gestured for them to stop.

 “You arresting Miss Tyler?” asked the simpleton.

 That got a grin of amusement from both Del and Michelle.

 “You see any handcuffs on anyone?” responded Del in an easy tone.

 “It’s my job to ask,” the man growled defensively.

 “Really? Suppose I did have her under arrest; would you get in my way? I have the authority of the sheriff’s office behind me. What have you got?”

 With that, Del got Snowstorm moving again. After they were out of earshot the woman said, “Were you trying to provoke him?”

 “I was testing him,” said Del.

 “To what end?”

 “I don’t think your neighbors really consider themselves part of Texas. Of course some people in town feel that way more than others.”

 “Are you referring to my boyfriend?”

 “Nope, I’m referring to whoever killed Thad Anderson.”

 “He died in a cave in along with a man named Franco. I went over to the mine and saw it myself. Did you?”

 “I don’t know the first thing about mine shafts. But some experts will be showing up to take a good look around before long.”

 “But you’ve already concluded that the cave in was no accident,” said the woman, “so who is your suspect? I’m guessing that you do have one.”

 “Russo is the go between man so he is likely involved, but I don’t know what else to think at this point.”

 “That comes right off the stable floor,” Michelle responded. “My boyfriend is head of security so you might as well lump him in with Russo.”

 “Is that your recommendation or your fear?”

 The woman brought her horse to a stop and regarded her rider companion with a new demeanor.

 “You want my thoughts? Alright, here they are: A bunch of city slickers show up in this county with the ability to make a lot of money---and the locals resent it. You see a number of well dressed fighting men hanging around town so that means we have a den of wolves here. The fact is we’re going to be taking a fortune in silver out of the ground and our financial backers worry a great deal about theft. Maybe they shouldn’t but they do. Fighting men make for better guards than librarians. Also, I would like to point out that while I was growing up I witnessed many a Texan fighting just for sport. So I don’t think we have any right to look down our noses at tough guys who come from someplace else. Then there is the matter of the miner’s strike that everyone is expecting. Yes, things look suspicious around here, but not so much that you have the right to accuse anyone of murder without rock solid proof.”

 Del nodded slightly and said, “There are two logical possibilities: either the Sheriff was murdered or he wasn’t. It is the duty of the Sheriff’s Office to examine both possibilities. No one had accused anyone of murder yet, I’m just discussing the idea with you because we need help from the citizenry and I don’t doubt for an instant that you stand for law and order as much as anyone.”

 That calmed the woman down a little, but only a little.

 “The only thing worse than having people think I’m a kept woman is having people think that I’m being kept by a thug. I resent it, Mr. Reid.”

 “As I understand it, the house was purchased by you with inheritance money.”

 “That is correct.”

 “Then I reckon you ain’t a kept woman, Ma’am.”

 Michelle looked confused for an instant and then said, “Brad wants me to move east with him when the silver pinches out. I suppose it would be kind of nice living in a world without small town gossip.”

 “Yes, but it would mean wearing dresses all the time. Might be a hell of a price to pay when it gets hot in the summer.”

 The woman shook her head with feigned frustration.

 “You make it hard to decide whether or not I should like you, Mr. Reid.

 “I suggest that you like me until you can collect some more riding friends and then you’ll be in a position to dump me.”

 The woman rolled her eyes at that until she noted the cloud of dust that soon took the form of an automobile.

 “Well, he didn’t waste any time,” she muttered as soon as she recognized the vehicle.

 “Actually, I would say he’s just a tad late,” responded Del.

 When Brad Borcart arrived he didn’t waste time on witty conversation.

 “Were you a cop all along or did you just buy that piece of tin you have on?”

 “I was made a deputy so I could help with an investigation,” answered Del.

 “Well I’m head of corporate security so if you need to ask any questions in our town then you do it through me.”

 “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear, Mr. Borcart. The county and state will be investigating the death of Sheriff Thaddeus Anderson. That is above your pay grade; way above it.”

 “That’s what you’re doing right now? Do you think my girlfriend has committed a crime?”

 “No I don’t. I also don’t believe I’ll be insulting anyone if I ask her a few questions.”

 “About what? Whether or not it was safe for the sheriff and Franco to go poking around in a mine that wasn’t ready to be occupied?”

 “That will be determined by geological people that the state is bringing in. Did the acting sheriff explain to you that the mine should be keep off limits to everyone until then?”

 “He phoned in those instructions, but those examiners had better not keep us waiting forever. We don’t want to pay those miners to just sit around you know.”

 “If you hired some drifters to improperly build the entrance to the mine, then you’ll just have to deal with the consequences of that, whatever it may be. I didn’t come out here to talk about money to one of the people I’ll be fighting in court in a few days,” Del said tersely.

 “And I’m sure Mr. Russo won’t be happy when he finds out that the man he’s going to meet in court is now wearing a badge and using a law enforcement office to jab at us while we’re struggling with problems,” countered Borcart.

 “I think we should go back to town Brad,” advised the woman. “We’re not going to settle anything out here.”

 Borcart paused for effect and then nodded. Without another word horse, rider and motorist turned around and proceeded back toward town, leaving Del Reid to stare after them as the sun continued its descent toward the desert landscape.

 Michelle awoke with a start, instinctively clutching the covers to her naked form while Brad Borcart swore an oath and reached for his bathrobe. Ten seconds later he was at the front door to Michelle’s house putting the fear of God into a messenger who truly loathed being where he was. But once the message was delivered, the flunky was off the hook and now it was Borcart’s turn to worry about what a boss was going to say to him. Five minutes later he was in his office where a sleep deprived Russo was waiting for him.

 “I had a meeting with the boss in New Orleans. He’s working on a new deal with the Beans to send merchandise by sea. We got one last big land shipment coming through here and it’s got to go without a hitch so we continue to look good. I started breathing a little easier when he sanctioned the cave in. In fact he made it clear that to protect the last shipment, any killing will meet with his blessing if it can be made to look like an accident. We got a good thing going with Mexico and we don’t want to lose their confidence in us.”

 “Yea, well---about the cave in; Del Reid has been deputized and he told me that the state is going to send some geology people to look at the mine entrance. They won’t be able to prove that the cave in was man made but if they come to the conclusion that it was a freak accident—“

 “They have always been suspicious of us and they will continue to be so until the last ounce of silver is out of the ground. Then they’ll be suspicious of us when we drill oil. It is not our challenge to win these locals over---it is our job to make money while they sit and fume about it. Just keep your men sober and we’ll be fine,” said Russo.

 “You heading back in the morning, Mr. Russo?”

 “Yes I am. The boss purchased himself a yacht and I will be sailing with him all the way back to New York.”

 “Sounds like fun sir.”

 Russo showed the slightest hint of disapproval before saying, “It will be a yacht, not an ocean liner. He’ll be checking on the shipment when we reach Florida. Do a good job with these locals and you could end up with a nice big office overlooking a sea of oil rigs.”

 “That image wasn’t terribly picturesque, but Borcart appreciated what it implied.

 “I’ve got a diversionary plan that will draw the cops away from the transport route at the proper time.”

 “The proper time will be 6:00 a.m. tomorrow. I want the miners out in front of the mine making a big squawk about not being able to go to work yet. That should capture the interest of any part time deputies assigned to the area.”

 “Actually they pretty much keep station at the road blocks on both ends of town. I’m sure you noticed when coming in that they have no idea what they’re doing,” said Borcart.

 “Maybe they don’t; or maybe they just want us to see them hanging around until the state investigators get here. I’m hoping it will be today.”

 After a pause Borcart said, “Mr. Russo, didn’t it seem odd to you when Mr. Clemente announced that he was going to open up a silver mine and smuggle weapons through the very same area?”

 “To some extent, yes. But the transport truck has a legitimate reason to be in this area, thanks to the existence of the town. This is important. The police will eventually leave us alone because we have a lawful reason to be out here in this dust bowl. Criminal activity must always be combined with a lawful enterprise, or it is doomed. Now let’s get a few hours sleep. If the state inspectors show up today things will be just a little tense.”

 Borcart nodded at that, and wondered where Del Reid would be at that time.

   The state inspectors came and went. Their conclusion was that the cave in was highly unusual given the amount of bracing that had been utilized. When Hartman found out about the cave in he told himself that that drifters who had dug out the entrance had simply failed to place the heavy bracings where they belonged. Those men were no longer available for comment, but the fact that they had been hired in the first place suggested that they had not been strangers to tunneling.

 Hartman’s uneasy feelings were shared with Lucy who in turn passed them on to the other ladies in the town. Each hoped that some other soul would drive into Dallas or at least the county seat and share their suspicions with the authorities. But each along with their men folk kept quiet, knowing that the whole town was being watched by men who rarely spoke to them bur were always watching.

 In fact they could have rested easy on the matter. Del Reid didn’t need to talk to Hartman again or anyone else in town. He didn’t need to sway any state inspectors either. He would dig up his own facts with time, patience and determination. He didn’t like the town of West Philly and he didn’t give a damn that it didn’t like him. When the all important transport truck made its last run in the early morning hours, Del found it. Unlike Thad Anderson, Deputy Reid approached it much the same way as he would have tangled with a German truck during the war. (Except now he was better armed.)

 Bringing his mount to a halt some one-hundred yards ahead of the transport, he drew a war surplus Springfield rifle from its saddle scabbard and aimed above the headlights. The truck came to a halt before it became necessary to fire a round. But then the driver did a most peculiar thing: he extended his left arm out of the cab window just far enough to fire a flare pistol into the air. Del didn’t like the looks of that but wasn’t willing to make the driver pay for it with his life.

 “Keep the head lights on and stand out in front of them with your hands in the air!” Del shouted while dismounting.

 Carl Walters did as he was told with a look of grave concern.

 “Now turn around and place your hands on the hood. I’m going to frisk you and you better not be thinking that I need this rifle to handle you.”

 “I ain’t thinking about fighting. You saw the flare. You’re smart enough to figure out what it means,” said the trucker.

 “Yea, it means that you’re calling in a pack of thugs so you can be an accessory to murder.”

 “Not if you get back on that horse and get the hell out of here. For God’s sake Deputy, I don’t want anybody hurt, but I got more reason to fear them than you.”

 Del nodded curtly and then walked briskly to the back of the truck.

 “Ok, I’ll get out of here---but I’m taking some evidence with me.”

 Even in the dark Del perceived the false bottom that had been placed onto the truck box. The deputy promptly smashed a hole in it with his rifle butt and began to yank hard on something heavy.

 The driver came around and laughed without humor at what the deputy was fixing to do.

 “That machine gun weighs almost as much as a man. If you can get it onto your horse without my help, you’ll still get run down by the cars that are heading this way.”

 “Not if I go where they can’t,” Del responded, “and the good news is that they won’t be able to blame you.”

 “Yea---that’s what matters all right. But I’m telling you, there ain’t no way you are gunna lift that gun up onto that saddle.”

 Del slung his rifle across his back and gave out a shrill whistle. Snowstorm obediently trotted over to the back of the truck and stood beside his master.

 “Down Boy. Shit For Brains wants to see us put this contraption onto the saddle.”

 The horse promptly got down on it’s belly so that Del could lay the big gun across it’s back.

 “Up.”

 The horse got back on it’s feet and Del stood along side the animal and balanced the weapon with one hand on the barrel.

 “What, you’re gunna walk?” asked the driver.

 “Only until I get to the really soft dirt.”

 “How do you know for sure where a car can go and where it can’t?” queried the driver.

 “Made a real in depth study of that sort of thing in the war. Oh, and don’t think that just because you didn’t try and take me down you’ll be alright when the replacement sheriff comes for you. I haven’t quite figured out yet what kind of criminal you are exactly, but I’m sure it’s the go to prison variety.”

 The trucker’s eyes were venomous in the dark, but only until something very important occurred to him.

 “We’re not a town of killers. Guns come through these parts on their way to Mexico. We’re not involved in anything else.”

 “That’ll be for a judge to decide later on,” Del called out over his shoulder.

 Half an hour later he was mounted with the heavy weapon and moving slowly through deep sand. He had the early morning dawn on his back and he was feeling fairly optimistic about getting the Army hardware to the county seat. But that optimism burned away with the last of the morning dew when Del caught the sounds of engines that did not belong to any automobiles. After another five minutes of growing concern, Del was treated to the unhappy sight of four Model O Indian motorcycles that quickly broke formation and converged on the hapless Reid from different directions.

 Del didn’t even think about going for his gun. Each biker had a Thompson submachine gun strapped across his back and the automatic weapons were brought to bear as soon as they all came within fifty yards.

 One of the four bikers took up station right in front of a nervous Snowstorm and shouted, “Don’t give us any trouble!”

 Del carefully dropped his revolver and rifle in the sand. Then the heavy machine gun followed.

 “You’ll be carrying that into West Philly,” declared the group leader.

 “I don’t think the horse wants to be burdened with it anymore,” said Del.

 The biker killed his engine and strolled over to stand at arms length from the horse. He made a show of drawing the bolt of his Thompson back and then pointed the .45 caliber weapon at the horse’s forehead.

 “Ok, we’ll carry it---but only because burying a horse is an awful lot of work,” drawled the prisoner.

 “What makes you think we’d bother to bury it?” inquired another of the bikers.

 “Because otherwise the vultures would show my fellow lawmen where my horse got shot,” Del answered.

 Then Del repeated his little horse loading which actually earned a chuckle of approval until the gang leader reminded them all that the weapon was supposed to be delivered in mint condition. Several hours later Del was sitting on the ground on the backside of a knoll that separated him from the outskirts of West Philly. One of his four keepers got the crap scared out of him when he sat down on a rock and discovered that there was a rattle snake hiding underneath. The thug almost shot the reptile but was reminded at the last moment that they were not supposed to draw any attention to their waiting area.

 The snake was dispatched with a small rock and then mischievously thrown on Del’s lap. While his executioners laughed, the prisoner contemplated the fact that help was only about seven-hundred yards away in the form of a police roadblock. That fellow deputy could just as well been on the other side of the world.

 Suddenly Brad Borcart was amongst them, looking regretful, but not very merciful.

 “You’re a natural born lawman, Reid,” he said in way of a greeting, “but you made the mistake of working as a lone deputy. You can’t do that when you’re up against organized crime.”

 “Does Michelle know what you are?” inquired Del.

 “She knows that my superiors cheat on their taxes and employ underhanded business practices. She knows that Texas is always occupied by the strongest people to come along.”

 “That’s what you call a half truth, and it won’t do you any good in court.”

 Borcart picked up the dead snake and threw a disapproving look at his men. But then his expression became thoughtful.

 “A town full of thugs is investigated by a Sheriff and a deputy and they both end up dead within days of each other. Tell me the State Police are going to just shrug that off,” Del continued.

 “No they won’t,” Borcart conceded. “They will poke and prod and hand out tickets for jaywalking in hopes of provoking a favorable response. We might even have to sacrifice one or two of our soldiers in order to give the law dogs a bone to chew on. But that’s how it is sometimes back east, and it never stops us from turning a profit.”

 “As smugglers or as silver miners?” asked the prisoner.

 “Both, and don’t forget oil, which is where the real money is. But I don’t dig in the earth for a living. I keep troublemakers at bay. Admittedly I never entertained any fool notions of being a cop killer, but I’m afraid you haven’t given me much choice in this matter. I suppose I can only be thankful that I’ve been provided with a plan of action.”

 “Bullet or knife?”

 Borcart didn’t answer. He took the snake by the jaws and opened the reptile’s mouth to show it’s fangs. Then, he had done that sort of thing many times in the past, he placed the fang tips over the prisoner’s right radial artery located in the wrist. With a guard holding the limb steady, the fangs were driven into flesh.

 “They’ll still be suspicious,” said Del after wincing slightly.

 “And as I said a moment ago, we can live with suspicion. We can even live with blood on our hands because the people we kill want us behind bars. We live by a natural law that is thousands of years old Mr. Reid. The idea that the weak should be given any special consideration is a fairly new concept you must admit.”

 “Jesus might have disagreed.”

 “Jesus wasn’t in government,” countered Borcart.

 “I’ll bring that us with him, since you likely will never get the chance,” threw in the prisoner.

 “Take him out a few miles and keep an eye on him until nightfall. Then you can leave him,” Borcart instructed.

 One of the four guards grabbed hold of the prisoner’s arm and tried to bring him to his feet. Del quickly delivered a hooking punch to the man’s testicles. The next nearest man was about to kick the prisoner in the head but Borcart commanded him not to strike.

 “No bruises---no marks of any kind,” the chief of the guards spelled out. “Watch him carefully until he loses consciousness and don’t let him hurt himself in the meantime.”

 “Is it true that rattle snake poison kills slow and painful?” asked the man who had been punched.

 “Yes, but I’m not expert on the subject,” Borcart admitted.

 “Then I won’t mind leaving him be.”

 “I don’t care how you feel about it, obey instructions to the letter or you’ll end up like that loser who let the sheriff get a look at the stash. Don’t ever forget that you’re not just being paid to follow orders, you’re also being paid not to slip up and give the cops something to use against us. Now get him out of here.”

 “See you later,” was Del’s farewell taunt.

 “Yes, most likely I will have to escort Michelle to your funeral,” Borcart responded evenly.

 Four hours later Del closed his eyes and lay still on the desert floor. As far as the four guards were concerned it was the end of their death watch.

 “I’m disappointed,” said the guard who was still walking slightly bent over. “I was hoping his eyes would bug out and his tongue would turn purple. Didn’t seem like all that terrible a way to go.”

 “Well, he still has a pulse,” reported another, “but I doubt that he could stand even if he was to wake up again. Let’s get back to town. I wanna take a dump and I don’t want to do it in front of you perverts.”

 “Only one man laughed and said, “Can’t be talking about Bobby, he got his urges put to rest on the edge of town.”

 “Go to hell,” responded Bobby.

 The four men piled into the two vehicles they were using and slowly made their way across the desert landscape. The plan was to take their victim’s horse out to him the following morning, and brush away the tire tracks leading to the corpse. If his heart was still beating at that time they would simply smother him. One way or another, Texas terra firma would take the blame for another lawman’s death.

 Del had a dream. His grandfather was watching him die, and at the same time he was speaking to someone who was near but not in sight.

 “Well I hope you’re happy. All that Heathen mumbo jumbo is being rubbed under my nose and the good Lord doesn’t seem to be offended. Alright, just so the boy gets another chance. You can be a smug about it as you like when you’ve crossed over yourself.”

Grandfather Reid was wearing the clothing and pistols that had been donated to the library so many years ago. His features were illuminated by campfire light, and as young Reid watched, the flames grew until they threatened to engulf the lawman of old. But all that happened was that the flames grew to the point where they dominated Del’s entire field of vision, and then suddenly he was awake and staring at a real campfire that was burning several miles from where Del had been left for dead.

 “Mmm---take long time. Guku root must be stale,” said a low gravelly voice.

 Del zeroed in on the source of the voice and was slightly startled by the countenance that was being illuminated by the fire. The man was a Native American, but not the sort that Del had grown up with. This man was wearing buckskins and a colorful assortment of beads and bones on an ancient and somewhat sunken chest. His hair was medium length and completely gray with a band of rawhide crossing a heavily wrinkled forehead. He looked like he could be on the high side of 90, but of course as an Indian that was almost to be expected. People who lived close to nature tended to age quickly and die fairly young. But Del was immediately given the impression that the man staring at him was old in the extreme, and more than a little odd.

 “I’ve been poisoned by rattle snake venom. Can you get me to a white doctor?”

 “Stay with me. That better idea,” responded the Indian.

 “Well, obviously you’ve done me some good,” conceded the young man, “but I could lose my whole arm if I don’t get to a doctor.”

 “You not lose anything,” stated the mysterious figure from a bygone age.

 Then a small wooden bowl was passed to him that contained something that was best concealed by the poor light.

 “Now you drink big cure. I give small cure while you sleep.”

 “What is it?”

 “Tell you later. Less throw up that way.”

 Del rolled his eyes at that and then tried to scan beyond the light of the campfire.

 “Did you move me?”

 “Little bit. Outlaws come back in morning I think.”

 “You’re right, but how did you move me? No offense but you look a little long in the tooth for heavy lifting.”

 The old man gave a short whistle and a pinto pony suddenly appeared out of the desert night.

 “Oh---nice looking animal,” Del said politely. “Still, you could have hurt yourself just getting me on board.”

 “Down Scout,” commanded the Indian.

 With that the pony dropped down onto its belly.

 “Well I’ll be damned,” the young man exclaimed with a grin.

 “Then something occurred to him.

 “You called it Scout.”

 “Scout number three,” the red man said while throwing a cow chip on the fire.

 “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Tonto would it?”

 “Yes, and you are grandson of old friend.”

 “Holy shit---talk about miracles.”

 “No miracle. I come back after Sam Reid die. Watch over you.”

 “Well---where have you been since Granddad passed on?”

 “Grandfather have small silver mine. Not much left. Enough for supplies. At night, learn to speak with desert spirits. Time go fast.”

 “And my Dad---did you know him?”

 “Yes---and no. He afraid of me. He think I give you bad ideas.”

 Del laughed at that.

 “They wouldn’t have been as bad as what the French gave me. Anyway, I am profoundly grateful for your sense of duty to my family. After I get those big city jokers put in jail, I’ll see about building you a proper dwelling in whatever location pleases you. I can even arrange for a servant. Plenty of Indian women in these parts that could use a job as a domestic servant of sorts.”

 “No, that would chase spirits away. Took long time to bring in.”

 Del frowned at that. He was no stranger to Indians but the ones that he knew personally were members of the 20^th Century. Most of them were converted Christians and all of them embraced a world that now ran on gasoline and electricity.

 “Well---I’ll find a way to show my appreciation when my lawman duties are completed. I’m not a regular deputy you see. I just agreed to help out because Sheriff Thad Anderson got killed and now there is no doubt in my mind that he was murdered.”

 “Yes, and now you too,” responded the old man.

 Del tensed up at that and said, “Wait---I thought you were going to help me. Are you now saying that I’m dying?”

 “No, you live, but outlaws must think that you are dead.”

 Del shook his head at that.

 “I think you’re trying to go down the same path you traveled with my Grandfather. In this case that is not necessary. All I have to do is…….”

 It suddenly occurred to Del that while he was free to declare himself a victim of attempted murder, he lacked the kind of hard evidence that would be needed in court.

 “Uh---well, at least I can put a stop to their smuggling operation.”

 “That not avenge Thad Anderson,” pointed out the old man.

 “Nobody is giving up,” declared Del. “Everyone is expecting a miner’s strike. I’m going to get a couple of informers to join the mining crew. Sooner or later one of those gangsters will make a mistake and I’ll be ready to do something about it.”

 The Indian’s natural expression was deadpan, but even so, those dark weary eyes conveyed a quiet skepticism that a wise man would pay heed to.

 “You get pawn---not King. Not good justice.”

 “Yea---that happens a lot in this modern age,” Del admitted half to himself.

 “My way better. Frighten outlaws. Make panic.”

 “Yes, you and Grandfather were very good at that sort of thing, but you’re an old man now and I’m not a patch on my Granddad.”

 “Not me. Get friend to help.”

 “To do what exactly?” Del almost shouted.

 “When windstorm come, shoot to frighten. Make panic.”

 “There’s only been one windstorm. How can I know when there will be another?

 “Windstorm come when called. I call now.”

 Del laughed at that for a second, then realized that his benefactor might also be harboring delusions about a snake bit cure.

 “Can we ride double through the rest of the night? I want to go back to Dallas as soon as possible. I know I’m being a burden to you but that’s what I want.”

 “We go after storm,” the Indian promised.

 “And what makes you think there will be one?”

 “I call it.”

 Del rolled his eyes at that and asked, “How long will that take?”

 “Ten minutes.”

 Del chuckled again, despite the fact that he was probably still dying from snake bite; and in the company of an old crackpot.

 “Alright, since it’s your horse I guess it would be bad form for me to insist that we leave before you can show me a really neat trick.”

 The old man was muttering some sort of incantations even before Del expressed his last skeptical remark. For five minutes the young man wore a smirk that was mixed with a quite understandable concern for his safety. After seven minutes his eyes darted here and there as wisps of sand sprang up and taunted a dancing campfire. After nine minutes Del heard the sound of millions of grains of earth colliding with one another all around him. Then when the clock ran out, so did Del’s disrespectful attitude.

 Del felt as if he was going do drown in sand, and for an instant, he felt the unreasoning panic of a non swimmer who finds himself in deep water. But after that instant the sand dropped all around him and the peace of a normal desert night returned. Albeit now the campfire had been extinguished and the pony was snorting in disgust.

 “Jesus H. Christ,” the young man exclaimed under a comical coating of sand.

 “That no fun, but now you respect elder,” muttered the ancient warrior.

 “No wait---that stuff you made me drink. I’m hallucinating,” Del concluded quite logically.

 “Get you dirty again tomorrow night,” promised the Indian. “Now we go.”

 “I’m riding behind you,” Del stated somewhat tactlessly.

 “You want carry my knife?” responded the oldster.

 Del gave the desert night a long suffering look and said, “I’m not here to insult, I’m here to stay alive. Not all Indians get along with men wearing badges.”

 “That true. Thad Anderson chase me out of his store one time. He think I want to steal from him.”

 “There!” Del declared in triumph, “That’s what I’m talking about. Out here a deputy could be hated for reasons he doesn’t even know about.”

 The old man rose up on stiff legs and prepared to saddle his pony.

 “I’ll do that for you,” Del offered, then promptly keeled over after getting halfway to his feet.

 “Ugh! Damn drug. Can I really believe that its going to help me with my snake bite?”

 “Yes---Honest Injun,” joked the old man.

 “If my doctor verifies that, you could end up making a fortune in the pharmaceutical business.”

 “No can put cure in bottle,” said the Indian.

 “You don’t know that. You don’t want to underestimate American Ingenuity.”

  “My blood part of cure. No have enough for whole country.”

 “Interesting,” muttered the young man half to himself. “So you must have been bitten yourself at least once, and developed a kind of immunity.”

 “Snake bite---Tonto sleep three days. Desert spirits watch over me.”

 Del let out a long sigh.

 “Yea, like they kept your joints from stiffening up. I hate the idea of you remaining out here alone when you just barely got your saddle up on that pony.”

 “Maybe Tonto get wife to saddle up for him.”

 Del wasn’t sure if the old man was joking for not but it did support the notion of moving the old man into town.

 “No woman wants to live out here. Move to Dallas and I’ll buy anything you need. I’m sure Granddad would want me to do that and I will.”

“Kemo Sabe left silver mine. That enough.”

 “Yes but you said its beginning to peter out.”

 “Same like me. Old ways also gone soon. No matter. Del Reid live long time---and leave snakes have desert forever.”

 “Uh-huh,” breathed the young man as he climbed into the saddle and then helped the old man up onto the horse’s rump.

 “I behind you,” noted the Indian.

 “Whatever,” mumbled the young deputy.

 The civil court trial turned out to be a disappointment for Del and his workers. Not a terribly large surprise, but certainly a disappointment. Hartman and the other witnesses decided to tell the truth when they found out that Sheriff Anderson was probably murdered. Only Hartman had a detailed memory of what the support beams looked like and how they were used. He in turn convinced his fellow witnesses that the cave in was no accident (even though it was officially just that.)

But the judge went along with the premise that the drilling contest was intended to show which drill design was superior, and since the Reid drill was the only one to break down during the contest, it could be considered the lesser of the two mechanisms. But there was a silver lining. Acting Sheriff Earl Anderson believed every word that Del said about his run in with Borcart and his men. They both agreed that they had no evidence to run with, but it was a comfort to know that the city slickers weren’t fooling anyone, they just had a few legal technicalities going for them at the present time.

 Del’s attending physician fully expected him to stay in Dallas where the doctor could monitor what appeared to be a luck brush with a rattler. Both men knew that if a rattler bites you after it has injected its venom into a prey, you could end up with nothing more than a sore spot where the fangs went in. The physician was inclined to think that this was the case with Del, who in turn came to believe that Tonto was enjoying delusions of grandeur as a healer. But it didn’t matter. He felt that he owed a debt to the old man, and young Reid was curious to get a look at the silver mine that had been forsaken by his father.

 The mine was located four and a half miles north of the road connecting Dallas to West Philly. As Del approached the entrance to the mine, he looked around at the empty horizons and felt as if Tonto had been living in one of the most lonely places in all of Texas. But his aged guide and guardian had an entirely different way of looking at things. During the winter months he migrated down to the coast, the rest of the year he basked in the dry heat that was good for his old joints. Most importantly: he had the stars above him and the spirits of the land whispering their secrets to a soul that had only begun to hear things back when he was in his late sixties.

 Del had brought his own lantern and promptly ventured into the tunnel opening of the only sizable rock formation to be seen for miles. Del returned in only a few minutes.

 “Hey, the mine is only about eighty feet long. How can you assume that the vein is played out?”

“Spirits say so,” was the old man’s reply.

  “Uh huh---well, I’d get a second opinion if I were you.”

 “Spirits never wrong. Sometimes misunderstood, but never wrong.”

 Del’s disappointment showed in his eyes. He was glad that he had gotten a chance to see his grandfather’s hole in the hill, but it certainly didn’t amount to much. In front of the mine opening was a well used fire pit, and it was Del’s half hearted theory that the crazy old man would set by the fire and listen to the wind find expression in some portion of the mine entrance. All in all a very lame way to spend one’s declining years.

 “This is it? This is where you commune with the forces of nature? Jeez---that drug you gave me must get you going really good after you get a build up in your blood stream.”

 “You want to see storm again?” the old man challenged.

 “You can tell when its about to begin?” asked Del.

 “No, bring to you like I said,” declared the desert sage.”

 “Ok, how about making it happen in----an hour and a half?”

 The Indian nodded slightly with his usual deadpan expression.

 “Have time to show you something.”

 The old man let Del back into the mouth of the manmade cave and with surprising strength picked up a strange looking rock that squatted near the right side wall. Suddenly Del realized that it wasn’t a rock at all. It was made of paper machete and expertly crafted to look like a rock. The Indian carried the fraudulent rock back out into the bright sunlight and instructed the younger man to take it and tear it open. Inside he found three things: A mallet operated cartridge reloading set, a bullet casting set, and a bone handled Colt Peace Maker revolver.

 “Yours?” Del asked while examining the weapon.

 “Yes. Museum wanted gun. I said no.”

 “Why go to such trouble hiding these things? No offense but they’re not exactly worth a fortune.”

 “People pass by---maybe, once a year. Take what they find.”

 “So keep the stuff with you,” said Del.

 The old man shook his head and replied, “Warrior Tonto is no more.”

 “Oh I’m not suggesting that you carry it in a holster like you used to. But you could keep it in your saddle bag.”

 As usual the old man’s eyes conveyed neither approval or ridicule toward any words spoken to him. He simply went back to the fire pit and slowly lowered himself on a spot that most likely he had used many times in the past.

 “Young men say, ‘Hey Old Man, what you got.’ I say I have nothing. They leave me alone. If I have gun, I must give it to them or fight.”

 “If you know men like that in the county, I promise to do something about it,” the deputy pledged.

 “I go south in winter. Bad men everywhere. I no fight anymore. I listen to spirits and learn. More important than owning things.”

 “So in your own way you’ve gotten religion.”

 “Most men struggle when young, then turn inward when old,” said the Indian.

 “I think it depends on what you are doing,” Del put in. “You and Granddad were responding to the actions of men who could not be ignored. My father on the other hand immersed himself in his office work. He never turned inward as you put it, because his work was always there for him day after day. He never needed the peace and inner quiet that a man craves when he’s fought to the death.”

 A flicker of approval appeared in the old man’s eyes for just an instant. Then he closed his eyes and began to hum something that barely qualified as music. In time that was replaced with the same actions performed the night of the sandstorm. Del felt an unreasoning fear grip him, despite everything he had been taught as a civilized man. Then when a wind finally picked up, the old man opened his eyes and turned his gaze skyward.

 “Take Scout into mine. Stay with him.”

 “Will he stand still for having a blanket placed over his face?” asked Del.

 “Maybe he kick you---maybe not,” was the response.

  Del rolled his eyes and guided the animal into the mine shaft. Soon thereafter the campsite was the center of a shifting hissing tempest of sand. It lasted approximately four minutes and then gradually subsided to the point where Del could speak to the Texas Shaman without shouting.

 “Why didn’t you seek shelter? I don’t expect you to sit through something like that while I take cover.”

 “Not polite,” muttered the old man.

 “What isn’t polite?”

  “Leaving in middle of talk.”

  “So---you’re talking to a spirit when the storm comes in?”

 “More yes than no.”

  “Ho-lee shee-et,” responded the reformed skeptic. “Alright, now that you’ve won me over, what is it exactly that you want me to do?”

 “Start fight with outlaws.”

 “Uh-huh, and then what?”

 “End fight with outlaws.”

 “Alone?”

 “I bring desert spirits. You bring Lone Ranger.”

 Del gazed dourly at his mentor and said, “I realize that languages aren’t what you do best, but you are going to have to make things a whole lot clearer for me. I have no idea what you are trying to say to me.”

 “Had idea that you play dead, but you say no. Now I say again, you play dead.”

 “How? By now everyone knows that the snake bite did no lasting harm to me, and I am not going back to West Philly to give those jokers another chance to kill me.”

 “True---Del Reid not go back to West Philly. Grandfather Reid go back during storm. Frighten stupid men with guns. Make them shoot into desert. Then deputies come.”

 “A set up?” Del asked with a thoughtful expression. “That is a sweet thought indeed, but it would never work.”

 “First time your grandfather ride with me, he say same thing. His brother’s spirit watch over him. Now, your Grandfather watch over you.”

 Del Reid almost smiled that that. Almost.

  “Such beliefs are a comfort to be sure. But when I was in the great war, I saw very few men being watched over by dead relatives.”

 “You know why Kemo Sabe?”

 Del was a bit surprised that the old desert dweller had an answer for what had bereaved millions of white people. But he waited patiently and attentively for information that was forthcoming.

 “Men in great war did not die fighting evil. Men on both sides same.”

 Del had to think hard on that. He had to admit that the old guy had a valid point. A soldier was just a soldier in most cases. They fought and killed because the rules stated that the men wearing different uniforms were the enemy. It was a completely impersonal thing. But the Lone Ranger had come into existence only because of a murdered brother. Del also desired revenge because of what almost happened to him. Was it possible that such things mattered in a life and death struggle?

 “Well, I’ve got something more important to bring up. My Grandfather was one hell of a shooter and he had a partner who could track a mouse over marble. Seems to me you want me to start out with a hell of a lot less than what my granddad had.

 “You can shoot,” said Tonto.

 “Yes, but not like Granddad could. He performed miracles with his guns.”

 “That important to you?” queried the Indian.

 “Of course it is. Those Gangsters number around two dozen. Even with a posse on my side we’d be in for one hell of a fight.”

 The Indian shrugged to himself while starting a fire with wood they had brought with them.

 “Tomorrow, bring more meat, grain---and bullets. I show you something.”

 That promise perked the young Reid up considerably. He couldn’t remember anyone ever commenting on Tonto’s marksmanship. Tomorrow would be interesting. Maybe not as miraculous as a sandstorm that comes when you call, but fun; and considerably easier on the hair and clothing.

 Brad Borcart took his rightful place on the razor edge that had formed shortly after Del Reid’s safe return to Dallas. Since there weren’t any herpetologists in his merry band, he could not sidestep the likelihood that he had screwed up with the dead snake. Russo’s eyes kind of reminded Borcart of that dead rattler, except that they moved from time to time; but they never left Borcart for long.

 “He hasn’t called in the State Police, nor has he contacted the Feds. Obviously he is intelligent enough to realize that it would be his word against several others. But this is the sort of blunder we simply cannot afford after the Anderson matter.”

 “You left me in charge, and a deputy sheriff managed to hunt down our last overland shipment.”

 “Are you implying that you had no choice but to kill Reid? Perhaps you have forgotten the details of a conversation we had when you first came out here. I thought I explained to you that if that tick turd of a driver Walters goes to prison he will not make a deal with the District Attorney because we have already made a better one with him.”

 Borcart nodded grimly. Bottom line: Walters would be killed in prison if he got caught and tried to make a deal for a lighter sentence. But if he comported himself honorably there would be something in the way of severance pay waiting for him when he got out.

 “I saved the merchandise and left no proof of attempted murder,” Borcart said in his own defense. “If it had been up to me I would have shot Reid and buried him but the standing orders would not allow that.”

 “Yes, we still want all killings to look like an accident. Actually the snake idea was quite resourceful. I’m sure that if you had supervised your plan through to the end, it would have gone splendidly. Now I’m afraid you’ve worn out your stay in Texas. The Boss has found employment for you with the Browning Arms Company. You’ll be working in their records department.”

 Borcart nodded unhappily.

 “So if the government finds out that we’ve been stealing from the factory, I’ll be the fall guy.”

 “It would have been Johnson if you had kept your wits about you. I don’t know how many times I need to explain this: If you want to get rich, you have to perform flawlessly. Wanting to succeed isn’t enough. You have to actually get things done right each and every day. It’s very much like walking on tight rope. Keep your balance and you stay up. Lose your balance and you fall. No one forced you to go to work for us Borcart, and no one caused you to lose your balance. You messed up on your own.”

 “Maybe taking me out of Texas is necessary,” responded Borcart, “but I manage guards, not production records.”

 “You would have ended up managing the work records of hundreds of guards stationed wherever we have property. For an intelligent man all paper work is manageable. You’ll probably be alright Borcart. But if we have to throw you to the lions at some point in the future, don’t forget that you play by the same rules as a truck driver who gets caught with contraband in his vehicle. You must surrender to your fate. Only the company matters.”

 As far as Borcart was concerned, that meant that he would stay out of prison only as long as the company didn’t need a fall guy. How long would that be?

 The ex-security chief nodded at the sentence that had been handed down and asked, “Will I have to train in my replacement?”

 “Of course. Since the local Law Enforcement isn’t embarrassing us with accusations of attempted murder, we certainly don’t want to do anything that might make you appear worthy of questioning. You will train your replacement, and then leave here as if you don’t have a care in the world.”

 Borcart’s mind flashed to Michelle and the fact that he would have to part company with her. Would she really care that much? Not if that damn Reid ever got to feeling that it was safe to come back to town. Then suddenly a crazy idea struck him.

 “Mr. Russo, they’ll never be able to prove that Anderson was murdered. Reid on the other hand could cause us trouble, or move us away from it.”

 “How so?”

 “He’s not a real cop. He owns a company that just got its butt kicked in court by us. He took a rattle snake bite trying to catch us doing something illegal. Suppose he were to be obsessed with that. You’ve heard of cops planting false evidence on guys that are too smart to catch. What if Reid bought a crate of Thompson submachines guns and was fixing to plant them on us, but got caught in the act?”

 “You’re suggesting that we sacrifice a crate of machine pistols just to discredit one part time deputy?” Russo asked incredulously.

 “I am. This man is the grandson of a famous lawman. That could hurt us down the road because he will not forgive or forget what almost happened to him. We have to destroy him, and you yourself keep saying that we can’t do it by killing.”

 Russo repressed a smile and said, “You are a true gambler Mr. Borcart. You wish to go for broke. I admire that, but of course my admiration will not make the grave any shallower or any softer if you fail. Oh, but the way, this conversation never took place.”

 “But you would reward audacity if I succeeded,” pressed Borcart.

 “Well, I suspect the Boss would. I could only comment how impressive the whole thing was. After first learning about it that is.”

 “You can get me the Thompsons?”

 “I can place them in a  local where you will be able to steal them. Take care, Mr. Borcart; you know how much I abhor theft.”

 “In my line of work it is frowned upon as well,” Borcart joked back.

 The dice would roll one last time. As far as Borcart was concerned, he had very little to lose.

 Del had a dream. His grandfather had just given him the best shooting lesson of his life, and the two of them joked at long length about how the father of one and the offspring of the other couldn’t stay on a horse if he was roped on. It was a wonderful dream, and unbelievably lifelike. When Del woke he found himself back at the silver mine even though he couldn’t remember riding out there. But he must have, because there was meat and ammunition that hadn’t been there before. Del felt confused, but still in good spirits because of the dream.

 “Now it is time for you to shoot,” announced the old man who apparently had been close by all the while Del was sleeping.

 “Yes, believe it or not I was actually dreaming about target shooting before I woke up. I was—“

 “With Grandfather---yes, I know,” Tonto interrupted. “Now you shoot.”

 Del put his hand to his head and gave the Indian a questioning look.

 “Did you drug me again? I can’t remember what happened before the dream.”

 “Not important. Get up and take gun.”

  Del slowly got to his feet. He looked and felt like a man who had been hitting the bottle and now suddenly he was expected to be at his best. But he didn’t issue any negative comments. The old man had promised to give his a demonstration of marksmanship before nightfall and that wasn’t far away. He took Tonto’s bone handled pistol and searched foolishly for a man sized target but saw nothing of the kind.

 “So what the hell am I supposed shoot at now that I’m awake?”

 “Plug of tobacco on rock in front of you.”

 Del’s eyes narrowed as he focused one inch square piece of chewing tobacco that was perched two feet off the ground and some twenty feet ahead of him.

 “Damn, you don’t believe in easing into something do you? Well ok, I suppose I should at least try and shoot like a Ranger.”

 Del raised the Colt revolver to eye level and was immediately admonished.

 “That not how Lone Ranger shoots. Put pistol at stomach level.”

 “Are you out of your mind?” responded the young man. “I’ll take fifty shots to walk it in from there. I’m not that good. In fact I’m not even sure my Grandfather was that good.”

 “He was. He learned same as you.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Dream of great warrior. His brother.”

 “What?”

 “You dream Grandfather teach. Grandfather dream brother teach.”

 “Tonto---you’re not going to tell me that my Grandfather became a great marksman simply because he had a dream like the one I just had?”

 “Different teachers. Same thing.”

 “You’ve been in the sun too long. Watch this…”

 Del cocked the revolver and pointed the barrel while it was positioned at stomach level. He squeezed the trigger, honestly trying to come within three feet of the tiny target. Instead, the plug of tobacco promptly flew out of sight as a curtain of smoke followed the roar of a .45 cartridge.

 Del’s mouth hung open and his overall expression looked really stupid.

 “Holy shit. Wait, that was probably a lucky shot.”

 “You say same thing about sand storm. I prove---now you shoot all you want.”

 “You mean I’ll never miss?”

 “Foot in stirrup, spoon in mouth, all the same.”

 The Potawatomie could be very cryptic, causing the young man to pause and decipher what the hell was actually being said to him. Del promptly decided right then and there to test the limits of this magical gift that had been bestowed upon him. Removing the empty cartridge case from the Colt’s cylinder, Del tossed it up into the air and fired a round at it as if he were a skeet shooter. The piece of brass disappeared with the man made thunder and it was Tonto who found it and retrieved it from the sandy soil.

 He wordlessly handed it to Del who gazed down at the pronounced dent in the soft metal tube. In a strange sort of way, it felt as though he had been shooting that way for years, instead of just a few moments.

 “Is this the same kind of power you demonstrated with the sandstorms?” Del finally asked.

 “No. Sandstorm come from desert spirits. Shooting come from teacher spirit.”

 Del gazed at the old man with an extra helping of wonder and finally asked, “Did you—experience the same sort of martial development?”

 “What mean martial development?”

 “Learning to fight.”

 “No. Learned to hunt. Many spirits. Like stars in sky.”

 “There’s a word for this stuff. If only I could remember……”

 Suddenly the white man snapped his fingers and said, “Psychic!”

 The old man stared blankly for a moment and then shrugged.

 “You’re telling me that you spent most of my life out here, communing with spirits?”

 “Much time----not all time. Take trail to great water in south. Meet people. Help them. Make friends. But come back here in springtime. Voices of spirits are strongest in desert.”

 “Because it’s your home?”

 The old man shook his head.

 “Great water make too much noise.”

 Del almost laughed at that but his thoughts quickly returned to the challenges at hand.

 “You talked about a set up; getting the gangsters to open fire on the deputies patrolling the road into West Philly. I can’t imagine how I would pull that off alone. Besides, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a deputy getting shot. But I would be interested in any thoughts you have on the subject.”

 “Soldiers in great war fight like badgers. Have holes in ground. Deputies do same. You get helper in Dallas. Many good fighters there.”

 “You mean hire a mercenary?”

 “What mercenary?”

 “Someone who does something for money.”

 Tonto’s brows knitted in thought, then he asked, “Mercenary same as whore?”

 “Sort of---except mercenaries kill people.”

 “So do Comanche whore.”

 With a slightly dazed look the young man started to saddle up the horse he had borrowed from a rancher friend.

 “While I’m off recruiting a suitable partner, maybe your spirit pals can tell you where Snowstorm is. I’m worried sick about him.”

 “No worry. Woman from West Philly find him and take him someplace safe.”

 “The spirits told you that?”

 “No. Man delivering grain to town told me. He also feed Scout but not since trouble.”

 “It must be Michelle,” the young man said in a husky voice. “Got to get back to Dallas and telephone her.”

 “And get partner,” Tonto added.

 “And get partner,” echoed Del with a nod of his head.

 A great weight was lifted from Del’s shoulders when he telephoned Michelle and confirmed that she did indeed locate and transfer Snowstorm to Jake Kinslow’s ranch. There, the horse could not be used as a tool of retribution by the enemy. If she had taken the horse to the West Philly livery, there’s no telling what mishap might have taken place in the dead of night. Kinslow wasn’t the friendliest man in the world, especially since his boy came back from the war with a leg missing. He was getting up in years and now he couldn’t just turn the ranch over to his son like he had planned on doing.

 The old man was still angry with a world that had gotten too big and complicated, and that reminded Del of his father to some degree. But some good comes from most everything. Del had an employee who foreman Bob felt was too sloppy with tools of measurement. But the man was raised on a ranch and worked hard at what he could handle. So while Del was out retrieving his horse (and compensating Jake for his trouble) he arranged to shed his little company of an employee, and give Jake someone who could make a difference on the ranch.

 Unfortunately it gave foreman Bob the opportunity to dump a ton of administrative work on his badge wearing boss. There it all would have remained if not for call from Dr. Hathaway, stating that Michelle Tyler had been assaulted, and by none other than her boyfriend. Del found her sitting in the doctor’s office. She wasn’t hurt bad. A slit lip and a puffy cheek was the worst of it. But she was boiling mad, and Del was partially pleased to see her that way.

 “I’ll have him up on charges just as soon as I can call for some back up. Acting Sheriff Anderson doesn’t want any lawmen operating in the West Philly area anymore, except in strength. It’s unofficial of course, but as far as we’re concerned, we’re at war with a criminal cartel.”

 “You’re damn right you are!” snarled the woman. “My God how could I have been so stupid! Thinking that it’s stylish to part of an underground economy and play cat and mouse games with the authorities! I must have been out of my mind to get involved with a man who cracks a whip over the heads of a bunch of thugs.”

 Del didn’t respond to that. He had some vague notions of how women like Michelle looked at life. She loved horses which meant she loved the country. But the wide open spaces could get lonely and cause a woman to become vulnerable to a fancy dressed city slicker who claimed to be going places.

 “We need evidence of illegal activities, Michelle. Any help at all would be appreciated.”

 “I know where there’s some right here in town,” the woman said with confidence, “and more about a quarter of a mile this side of West Philly.”

 “Do you know what kind?”

 “Yes, crates of what you call Tommy Guns.”

 “Fan-tastic,” responded Del with a glowing expression. “I round up the boys and—“

 “I wouldn’t if I were you,” warned the woman.

 “Why not?”

 “Because someone on the Sheriff’s department is on the take. Brad didn’t tell me that, I overheard a telephone call once when he thought I was asleep and put two and two together. Seems to me criminal cartel workers always try and buy the opposition before turning to more drastic ways of doing things. They probably tried to bribe Thad Anderson but obviously that didn’t work.”

 “Ok, lead me to the goodies, and we’ll plan out next move from there.”

 The goodies turned out to be in a funeral parlor that had gone out of business. There were even a few coffins left in a back room and four Thompson submachine guns were in one of them.

 “I think you better load the evidence into your car and keep it all with you until you’re ready to go to the state police with everything,” advised Michelle.

 “Well, I’d rather call a huddle and work as a team, even with a possible rotten apple in the barrel. But since we’re scattered out so far today I guess I’ll have to chance working on this alone. Is the other stash of guns in a place where I’m not likely to be ambushed?”

 “Oh yes, no obstructions and the surrounding landscape is pretty flat. Have you ever noticed a dry river bed to the north side of the road about two miles west of Philly?”

 “Yea.”

 “All you have to do is follow that riverbed for half a mile until you come to an abandoned old freight wagon. That wagon just serves as a marker. Get yourself a compass and walk ten paces out from the wagon on a heading of straight north; and don’t forget your shovel.”

 “Alright, but you stay in town. Someplace where there are a lot of people until I’m ready to relocate you. I hate to say this but you’re not going to be entirely safe until this whole business is over.”

 “I know, but I got myself into this mess, and now I’ll have to get myself out,” responded the woman.

 “Not by yourself,” said Del before stealing a quick kiss.

 “I better get on the phone and have a talk with my sister. She’s going to say I told you so but I won’t find that so unbearable since she happens to be right.”

 Del grinned at that and grabbed a pair of Tommies.

 Del laid his hand upon the dusty relic as a silent gesture of respect to a bygone era. Did its last owner have problems as big as the ones now facing the inexperienced deputy? Maybe so, but that snake bite scare put them on an even footing at least for a while. Only difference was that he hadn’t been victimized by a dumb reptile. With that in mind Del paced off straight north of the wagon until he noted a single stick the size of a pencil protruding out of the sand. Del struck just below it and the blade of the shovel met something unyielding only three inches down.

 Ten minutes later he was opening a crate that held half a dozen submachine guns identical to the ones he had in his car. Unfortunately the weapons did not come with a supply of ammunition. Del regretted that very much as a cloud of dust rose up between the dig site and the outskirts of West Philly.

 Swearing to himself the young man jumped into his Ford and began to high tail it towards distant Dallas. After just a couple of minutes at forty-five miles per hour, he noted that there was a single car now in pursuit, and it was closing on him because it was a newer and more powerful vehicle. Del placed his revolver on the seat beside him and grimly prepared himself for a double killing. He was waiting for the men in the pursuit vehicle to display a weapon, then the grim business of killing would commence. But as the faster car pulled up alongside the Ford, the man in the passenger seat flashed a badge out the open window.

 That brought Del’s car to an almost immediate halt.

 “Federal Officer Sam Petrie. Are you acting Deputy Reid?”

 “Yea,” Del responded with a grin of relief. “I’m not complaining Petrie, but you and your man scared the shit out of me back there.”

 “I think we should return to that spot if you don’t mind, Deputy.”

 “By all means, Mr. Petrie. By all means.”

 When Del’s two pursuers emerged from their faster car the deputy noted that they were wearing cheap suits and were of Anglo Saxon heritage. Of course that didn’t prove anything but it made Del feel just a tad more comfortable even though it shouldn’t have mattered.

 Del was almost clucking when he picked up a Thompson and offered it to the Federal agent.

 “Sorry I couldn’t hold on to the first piece of merchandize that I came across. Belt fed water cooled Browning. Almost gave my horse a hernia trying to move it. But I guess these small arms will be enough to prove that we got ourselves a pack of gun runners in that so called mining town.”

 Petrie stared uncomfortably at the Thompsons and then fixed Del with a look that was entirely inappropriate for the occasion.

 “Deputy Reid, are you well acquainted with Alvin Perkins?”

 “Yes, he’s the president of the bank where my Dad---I mean where my company does business.”

 The Federal Agent took out a document and handed it to Del. It was a court order allowing the Fed to look at Del’s company finances.

  “Your company made no purchases or paid any bills between the fifteenth and the twenty-third of last month correct?”

 Del’s laugh was short but carefree.

 “You mean to tell me I was chased across the desert just now by a pair of Revenue Agents?”  Del asked incredulously.

 “No sir, you were chased by a customs agent who has been trying or figure out who has been buying Thompson submachine guns in the Dallas area and then apparently sending them off to an undetermined location in the south.”

 “Ah, well, yes---here they are. Now let’s gather the rest of the Sheriff’s department and go kick some ass,” Del suggested.

 “Deputy Reid---you have just been caught attempting to bury additional weapons here. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you into custody.”

 “Are you out of your mind?” Del asked rhetorically. “I found both collections of guns. I was going to turn them all over to Sheriff Anderson. Only a fool would think anything else.”

 “Banking records indicate that you made a very large purchase that is unaccounted for. It looks to me like you bought at least two stashes of guns.”

 Confronted by such an accusation, Del did what anyone would have done under the circumstances. He just stood there and gawked at the man.

 “Needless to say, I want to be fair. I’m perfectly willing to hear your side of the story. If you are not responsible for these guns being here, pray tell me who is?” the man asked without a hint of rancor.

 “The gangsters in that town,” Del answered while pointing toward an eastern horizon.

 “Yes Deputy, the place where your sheriff died a very mysterious death. A place that is run by men who have ties with organized crime. Believe me I sympathize. But here’s how it looks to me: You want those bastards so badly that you are planting some guns of your own to provide false evidence that they are smuggling guns into Mexico. Damn it Reid, you’re not helping with this kind of thing.”

 Del’s heart dropped into his stomach. Was it actually possible that Michelle had helped set him up? How else could he explain the timing of all this?

 “I didn’t buy these damn guns and I wasn’t going to plant them anywhere. You just try and prove that shit and see where it gets you.”

 “I got better things to do Reid, but I have to report my observations. Let’s just hope that they’ll settle for your badge and let it go at that.”

“Who contacted you? How did you get brought into this?” Del demanded to know.

 “Enough Reid. Don’t blame me because you were stupid enough to nearly empty your company account and not even dream up a false purchase to square it all. Now get into your car and head for the Sheriff’s office. We’ll be right behind you once we get the guns loaded into our car.”

 Del bristled at the whole bad dream scenario, but mostly he struggle to come to grips with the fact that Michelle was part of the crap that was being dumped in his lap. With that dark cloud over his head he got into his Ford and began chugging his way over to the county seat. His eyes were on the road but his thoughts were with a beautiful woman that he thought had come over to his side.

 “Why do they always go for the bad boys?” he grumbled to himself.

 A few minutes later the wind picked up and waves of dust began to wash over the dirt road that constituted the shortest route to Harbinger. Del glumly gazed into the rear view mirror. Naturally the Feds were still back there. Those assholes who found it so very easy to believe the worst about him. Well, screw em. The truth would come out and then it would become obvious enough that he was set up because he was getting on the city boys nerves.

 Suddenly, amazingly, the Indian Tonto was standing alongside of the road with a hand raised at shoulder level. Del pulled over and rolled down the passenger window despite the dust.

 “What the hell are you doing out here!” he shouted over the wind.

 The old man got into the car and said, “Drive.”

 Before Del could get the car back in gear the escort vehicle rolled up on his left and a unhappy Fed scowled from his seat.

 “What’s going here?”

 “Just giving a citizen a ride into town. Won’t do any harm,” Del assured him.

 “Alright, but proceed immediately to the Sheriff’s office.”

 Del didn’t respond to that. He just rolled his window back up and got the Ford going again. After a half mile or so the winds picked up and the Ford had to chug along in low gear in order to stay on the road Del lost sight of the car behind them and didn’t much care until they came to a familiar T in the road.

 “Go left,” instructed the Indian.

 “You realize that Harbinger is to the right don’t you?”

 “We not go there. We head for silver mine.”

 “I can’t do that,” Del said unhappily. “They think I’m putting guns in gangster-land so I’ll have an excuse to arrest them. I can’t step a toe out of line until I find out how my bank records got tampered with.”

 Tonto had no idea what the white man was talking about and it didn’t matter.

 “Lone Ranger not care about such things.”

 “I’m not him, and Grandfather lived in a simpler time,” Del pointed out.

 “When justice not reach outlaws, time to turn left. Turn left!” the desert sage commanded.

 Despite his sense of logic, the driver complied and noted with interest that the car behind them had disappeared in a thickening gust of wind and sand.

 “Do you have a plan?!” Del shouted back in anger. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to stick you in a home for the feeble minded vanishing American!”

 “No such place,” the Indian said in a tone of sad irony.

 “Just tell what I’m supposed to do with the Federal authorities now convinced I’m worthy of their wrath.”

 “You say bank records not good?” queried the Indian.

 “That’s right. They make me look guilty of something I didn’t do.”

 “Then you go talk to bank owner. I go get you partner. Then we make plans to bring justice to county.”

 “I was hoping you already had something like that,” growled the young man.

 “Small detail. Necessity is mother of invention,” Tonto quoted with a hint of pride.

 “Like in sandstorms?

 “Getting better,” the Indian responded with even more pride.

 “Oh yea. Now you can do it on the move,” the driver conceded.

 The Ford then broke out of the sandstorm and picked up speed. But Del would continue to feel lost. Just as lost as the Federal agents who were now stuck a quarter of a mile back in the sand.

 Alvin Perkins wasn’t a dishonest man by nature. Even when he became addicted to gambling he never entertained any vile thoughts about dipping into the cash resources of his humble little financial institution. The Lone Star Bank & Loan Company was like his own dear mother: it would remain pure and unsullied to the end of his days. But his wife had left him and he was probably the only banker in Texas who grew his own vegetables without the benefit of Mexican labor. He tended to go to bed early to save on electricity and so Del had no choice but to get the man out of bed for their nocturnal meeting.

 The skinny little man opened the back door for Del as if receiving the Angel of Death himself. The look of shame on the banker’s face was plain enough and the confession of his gambling habit came out in less than five minutes. Del was more than a little surprised with himself that he felt no urge to smack the banker for falsifying the bank account records.

 “Didn’t you realize that you were helping to set me up with people who could then blackmail you for the rest of your life?” Del asked incredulously.

 “Yes,” the banker answered with downcast eyes and a subdued voice.

 Del couldn’t remember ever seeing any man look so small and defeated. Even in the war men left with nothing seemed to have more life in their eyes.

 “Mr. Perkins, normally I wouldn’t intrude into your personal life this way, but it is undeniable that you need professional help with your gambling problem. Also, you will understand that I will be seeking the services of another bank.”

 The man nodded heavily and said, “I’m so very sorry. It happened so fast. I still don’t know how they found out about my problem. They just showed up out of nowhere with enough money to save me---and they made it very clear to me that they had no intention of ruining your business or having you jailed. They just wanted you to lose you badge because you were taking such a keen interest in their anti-union activities.”

 “No, I was taking an interest in the fact that they murdered Sheriff Anderson and they are smuggling gun into Mexico,” Del corrected.

 The banker’s eyes rose to meet Del’s in a flash of honest astonishment.

 “Oh my God. I didn’t know that. I swear I thought it was all about strike busting. I felt so desperate for the money, and the labor issues seemed so silly since it is common knowledge that the silver deposit in that area won’t support a mining operation for more than a couple of years….”

 “Mr. Perkins, there are three things you need to do to atone for you misconduct:

First, go to the judge who will be handling this case and confess what you did and why.

Second, don’t tell anyone I was here. Third, get help for you gambling habit. Believe me sir, if you don’t, the crime cartel will be there smooth over your gambling debts in exchange for additional services that will destroy you as a businessman.”

 “I’m already ruined as a banker,” Perkins said heavily.

 “Not necessarily. I could tell them that you and I had worked out a kind of sting operation to draw some big city cockroaches out of the dark where they could be dealt with.”

“Why would you do that for me?” the banker asked meekly.

“Because I may have to break a few rules myself, in order to put some things to right. When that happens, I guess you and I will be kindred spirits in a way. It doesn’t matter. Just do as I ask and as your victim, I’ll be satisfied.”

 The banker smiled sheepishly and said, “You’re an unusual man, Del Reid.”

 “The adjective that best suits me is weird, and I’m going to get a whole lot weirder before we all end up in court for one thing or another.”

 “But I think things will work out alright,” Del added hastily, knowing that the banker was frightened of his future.

 “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Medicine Man to contact. He has a gambling problem too.”

 Weeks would pass bay before the banker would become truly curious what Del meant by that.

  As a former warrior of old, Tonto wasn’t the sort to look down his nose at a man simply because he had a mean look to him or threatened to punch out a fellow drinker for spitting to close to his boots. So after a few moments of deliberation the old Indian approached the biggest man in the saloon and asked the man if he would be interested in some temporary but highly lucrative night work.

 Maybe it was the way the Indian put it or maybe it was case of simple racism. In any case, the giant rough neck grabbed the old man by the shirt and fairly lifted him off the sawdust covered floor. It wasn’t the first time Jake Tamper opted to make a scene in that particular saloon, but it was the first time he had ever paid attention to a man who wasn’t white.

 “Listen to me you old hog thief, I ain’t interested in helping some old tick collector make off with a white man’s livestock.”

 “He didn’t say one word about thieving,” said a bystander who was holding a large brass spittoon.

 The rough neck frowned in the direction of someone who had fairly broad shoulders, long athletic legs and a fierce warrior scowl. Interestingly enough all those features belonged to a woman dressed in male work clothes.

 “Mind your own business cleaning bitch or you’ll be wearing that spittoon on your head.”

 “I wouldn’t put it past you. Anyone who would pick on an old man would likely enjoy beating up a woman just as much.”

 “I don’t see no woman lipping off to me. All I see is squaw man who has to sit down to take a piss. Twenty years ago your mother’s owner would have sold you for a bottle of cheap whiskey, and then you would have been passed around until—“

 In the blink of an eye the young woman was toe to toe with the giant and swinging the spittoon with one hand. The white man saw the blow coming and barely checked it with a meaty arm. But that attack was immediately followed by a swift kick to the family jewels and the big man doubled over despite his desire to play down what was happening to him.

 Tonto had been released and was now stifling a grin, but he was almost certain that the pleasantries were far from over. Sure enough, the big man collected himself after paying homage to his feet and began to move toward the spitfire with a grim look in his eyes. Undaunted, Manette picked up a chair and swung it at her enemy with surprising force. It actually broke against the big man’s right shoulder, but it didn’t stop him. She immediately armed herself with another chair but by that time a long pair of arms was able to turn the clubbing duel into a wrestling match. Even when Manette’s supply of oxygen was cut off she gamely continued to try punch an kick at the powerful man who now had her like a rattlesnake being held at the neck.

 Half the customers were laughing and half were tactfully suggesting that perhaps the woman shouldn’t be forced to go without air for much longer. Tonto’s expression was unreadable, and he didn’t fumble as he took out a small sake of powder from his possibles bag. The woman’s eyes were beginning to flutter and the bartender threatened to call the sheriff if the woman wasn’t released immediately. Manette’s throat was still being kept warm when a handful of powder was thrown into the rough neck’s face.

 Most of the clientele were highly entertained by what happened then. The big man’s eyes became a waterfall of tears to the point of blindness. Manette was released because now the big man wanted to get reacquainted with the older Injun. Tonto knew what was coming and he drew a small skinning knife from his bag. The teary eyed brawler couldn’t make out images in detail but he knew that the blob to his right was the powder thrower, and he was going to send the flea bitten old Redskin to his happy hunting grounds just as soon as he could get hold of his neck.

 A single horizontal slash drew crimson from both hands, but not enough to endanger the man’s life, but enough to make him think that his life was being threatened.

 “Somebody shoot that Redskin, he’s trying to stab me!” the semi blind man bellowed.

 “I don’t allow guns in my establishment, unless they belong to friends of mine,” said the barkeep. “I don’t see any mutual acquaintances here a bouts.

 “I want that dirty fighin Injun arrested or I’ll tear this place apart!” yelled Jake while grabbing hold of a nearby chair.

 “Then you’ll go to jail Jake Tamper. I ain’t got much sympathy for a man who chokes my cleaning help and can’t even protect himself without bleeding all over my floor,” declared the bartender.

 With a sulfuric oath Jake raised the chair over his head and prepared to bring it down on the nearest table. But the brass spittoon was put into action one last time and this time Manette made solid contact with the back of Jake’s head. So the chair did in fact hit the table, but just a bit harder than Jake’s face.

 The spitfire looked over at her unhappy part time boss and said, “I suppose my services are no longer required here.”

 “I did not hear what passed between Jake and the old man, but I wasn’t paying you to get involved in misunderstandings that occur in this here establishment. I have been informed that you are not popular in West Philly, and now you are making enemies in this community. You need to rethink your place in this world before you run out of Texas towns to work in,” advised the barkeep.

“You haven’t answered my question,” pressed the woman.

 “You’re fired. Now git before Jake comes to and tries to kill you all over again.”

 “I got wages coming.”

 “Yea and I got property that has to be replaced. Git. Maybe I can hire you back again in a month or so. Maybe.”

 “Screw that,” responded the woman over her shoulder.

 A moment later the woman was outside the drinking establishment looking for something to kick. Tonto then immerged and intended to walk right past her without saying anything.

 “Yea, that’s right, don’t bother to thank me for standing up for you and losing my job in the process!” bellowed the woman at the old man’s back.

 The old man turned slowly and looked at the woman with tired eyes.

 “You are creature of anger, not justice.”

 “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 The old man let out a sigh and said, “Tonto thank girl for bravery. Very sorry that girl lose job cleaning spit buckets.”

 Manette was about to declare that she had done far worse working in a hospital  when suddenly something occurred to her.

 “Tonto----you called yourself Tonto. Are we talking about the actual side kick of the Lone Ranger?”

 “Friend of great warrior, but not like stories say. Stories get exad----exad---“

 “Exaggerated,” put in the woman.

 The old man only nodded and turned to leave.

 “Wait a minute. What did you want with that big jerk Tamper?”

 “Looking for badger--- found skunk instead.”

 “But for what?” pressed the woman.

 “Not safe to explain in saloon. No reason to explain to girl.”

 “Maybe I could do the job.”

 The old man looked perplexed, but mostly rundown. Once again he turned his back on the young woman and walked slowly away.

 “It too dangerous,” he said at the last possible moment.

 Manette ran after him and fixed herself to his side.

 “I’ve had a knife to my throat five times. First three times were kinfolk. Don’t underestimate me Mr. Tonto. I may talk like a white woman but I can chuck rocks at prairie chickens and hardly ever miss. I wasn’t raised in a town but when I was old enough I got a job in a hospital and once I helped cut a man’s leg off.”

 The old man frowned again in honest perplexity.

 “You speak much, but say little. I look for man with gun, not girl with spit bucket.”

 “Ah! I also know how to shoot, but I admit that I don’t own a gun of my own,” the woman said in a rush.

 Tonto stopped walking but continued to star straight ahead.

 “When work done, you must leave county on trail I show you.”

 “On foot?” the woman asked with a look of concern.

 “No. We give you horse, water, food----money.”

 “Who’s we?” she immediately inquired.

 “Tonto and ghost of man who must walk again.”

 “A real ghost?”

 “No. Stupid question. Girl must not think stupid anymore. Must be clever on job.”

 “I will. But what exactly is my job? You told Tamper that you were looking for a man who was new to the area and could move like a ghost. I can’t really blame him for thinking that you were looking for a burglar type.”

 “Your job simple, but dangerous. You make noise at right time. Draw attention away from partner.”

 “Dr. Simons would call that a diversionary tactic,” said Manette. “He was an Army surgeon and all he ever talked about was his experiences in the military. To listen to him you would think he was at the front of the war with the Spanish instead of in the rear. I picked a thing or two from him though. You skin and cut up animals all your whole life and medical surgery doesn’t look all that complicated. I’ll bet I could be a saw bones. Being good at sewing buckskin makes me..”

 The young woman stopped when she realized that her employer have taken on a dour expression.

 “Don’t like the idea of women doctors ?”

 “Liked you better when you unfriendly,” was the old man’s response.

 The criminal element of West Philly was in the process of undergoing significant policy changes--- at least for appearances sake. All the leg breakers were now wearing guard uniforms and the miner’s labor representative was treated as though he were a high ranking dignitary. Of course it was all temporary; more so for some people than others.

 The last rays of the setting sun were fading and an old Indian hobbled feebly toward the mine entrance that had recently been dug out by the workers. He carried with him an assortment of bones, beads and a small urn full of ashes. A guard on foot patrol spotted him from fifty yards off and approached him more out of curiosity than concern.

 “What the hell are you doing out here, Old Scalp Taker, especially at this late hour?” asked a guard who up until now had never met a Native American.

 “Pray to spirits. Keep miners safe tomorrow,” the old man responded.

 “Hah! You must be talking about praying to St. Barbara. Well, it just goes to show you that there are superstitious fools to be found in all races and creeds. My old lady used to talk about the saints to no end. She was more civilized than you but not much smarter.”

 “Men die here. Must placate spirits,” the old man insisted.

 The guard let out a nervous chuckle and asked, “What’s to you? Neither of those men were Indians. One was an outsider and the other was a store clerk lawman who didn’t care much for your kind anyhow.”

 “Medicine Man have duty spirit guardians,” explained the boney remnant of a bygone age. “Much hatred in dark winds. Dead men feel cheated out of life.”

 “Oh yea? Well I suppose you’ll be expecting some kind of reward after you’ve chased the angry spirits away. Am I right?”

 “No money. No food. Just duty as Medicine Man.”

 “Oh hell, go back to your teepee or whatever you live in and don’t trespass on this property again. If we see any angry spirits, we’ll get a Catholic priest and he can sprinkle some holy water on the place. That won’t make any more sense but at least it won’t offend the few bible thumping women who live in this town. Now scram before I put my foot up your wrinkled old butt.”

 The old man turned regretfully and hobbled off in the direction he came from. The guard didn’t bother to ask how the old timer got to town and he cared even less how the old geezer was going to get back home. Naturally he reported the incident to Borcart and before long the second and third shift guards were sharing a good laugh. No one knew much about Indians, but even the urban leg breakers had assumed up to that point that the local tribes were members of the 20^th Century. Alcoholic ne’er do wells perhaps, but certainly not pagans like their ancestors. To think that some wrinkled old piece of crow bait would want to perform a pagan ritual in their midst was definitely something to write home about.

 But the mood of the grave shift guard did not remain jocular throughout the night. Loneliness, fatigue and the sudden distant howling of coyotes gradually seeped into the nooks and crannies of his subconscious, causing him to jump once when a bat flittered by. He placed the flat of his hand on a walnut pistol grip and cursed his own nerves. All that talk about angry spirits was funnier than hell five hours ago, but now he was wishing that the silly ass subject had never come up.

 The guard took out his last cigar and struck a match against a pile of lumber that the miners would make use of in the morning. More track would be laid down for the new heavy ore carts and support timbers would be carried into the deepening man made cave as earth was taken out. The guards would sweat in their hated uniforms, but at least their expensive suits would be spared the for the glorious vacation days that the men lived for. The night guard didn’t have to worry about perspiration since the desert nights were chilly. That got a bit uncomfortable late into the shift since no one had thought to bring uniform coats to a desert local.

 The only way for the outside guard to stay warm was by walking around, but he wasn’t allowed to venture out of sight of the mine area. There was nothing to look at but the dark buildings that made up the west end of the town and the vast desert on the other end of the mining acreage. You could try and read something by lantern light, but that was discouraged because it would make the guard a target, and it might even attract the attention of a bored deputy sheriff who might be sitting in a car out on the road leading to town.

 All in all it was miserable duty for whoever drew it. The only good thing about it was that you could take a snort of liquid love from a drinking flask and piss whenever and wherever you liked. The men took turns with the graveyard shift, but that meant that no one got used to the hours. The guard’s fatigue was growing, and even though he had found the star lit night sky entertaining in the beginning, now he couldn’t appreciate anything except the tobacco that had been imported from Cuba.

 The guard had to turn his back to a south wind that came up when he was half way through his stogie. The minor nuisance turned major by the time the butt was consigned to the desert sands. The urbanite cursed and quickly took shelter in the newly dug out mine entrance. The guard shack was two-hundred feet farther away and sported a broken window from the last wind storm, so the guard opted quickly for the mine. The only good thing that could be said about the storms was that they didn’t last very long. Two farmer stick matches got him to a kerosene lantern that was perched on a stool some twenty-five feet down a tunnel that was now being carved out by professionals. The sandstorm was a pain in the ass, but at least it focused the man’s attention on a physical world that could be understood with the help of the five senses.

 The howl of distant coyotes and the death like stillness of his immediate surroundings had raised hell with the man’s nerves. At least now he could almost look upon the wind and sand as companions in his lonely environment. Of course his stupid uniform would need washing the next day while he slept. Well, the Rice Ball would tend to that well enough. He didn’t seem like much of a man to the leg breakers, but his usefulness was beyond question.

 The guard kept staring at the back of the mine; mostly to remind himself that he was truly alone in that less than perfect shelter. But after a few moments something compelled him to turn his gaze to the entrance, and there he beheld a figure that was both startling and reassuring at the same time. A man in a deputy sheriff’s uniform was standing in the entrance, but after a moment the guard realized that there was something very peculiar about the lawman. His eyes were hidden under a wide brimmed western style hat that matched his khaki uniform but was otherwise out of style.

 It was a minor miracle that it continued to drape down over most of his facial features considering the strength of the prevailing winds. But the guard had more important things on his mind than hats. Because after he too five steps toward the mysterious lawman, the khaki clad phantom drew his service revolver but kept it at hip level. The guard assumed at that point that he was under arrest. There was no reason for shooting and besides, shooting from the hip only worked at point blank range and there was still a good twenty feet between them.

 The guard’s logic was flawed but not fatally so. The crack from the .38 special merely resulted in the lantern flying out of the guard’s hand. The kerosene splattered across the back of the mine and ignited, making the guard a very fine target in front of a preview of hell. But by the time the guard got his own weapon out and ready to fire, the deputy was gone; swallowed up in the sandstorm that lasted another twenty minutes and then faded away.

 Despite the fact that he had the blood of a sheriff on his hands, Frankie Russo saw himself as the injured party when he learned of the confrontation at the mine. He now had confirmation that the local lawmen had not been fooled by the staged mine cave in. It was also now obvious that at least one man on the sheriff’s department was going to get revenge regardless of what the official word was concerning Sheriff Anderson’s demise. Thug mentalities being what they are, Russo would not tolerate any more terrorist attacks on his turf. He would act on the assumption that there would be another attack in the near future.

 The damn miners would be allowed to organize and belly ache to their heart’s content for the time being. Borcart’s oversized security guard force would now have but one function: to lay in wait and pulverize the vigilante lawman the next time he attacked. Thinking like a general, Russo planed for two axis of attack: a repeat attack on the mine and a possible hit on the building that housed the gang members. All night every night both locals would be covered from neighboring locations.

 Roof tops were ready made, but Borcart had his men construct a special lumber pile that was like a duck blind in which a sniper could hide and cover the mine entrance. The instructions to the men were simple, but hardly comforting. If there are any witnesses, then the vigilante lawman has to take the first shot. Then he could be put down. But if there are no witnesses to complicate matters, they could blast the fool as soon as he clears leather. Because the guard at the mine wasn’t injured and because guards were now rotated on an hourly basis, the leg breakers found the courage to wait on another nocturnal visit. It came precisely twenty-three hours and ten minutes after the last one.

 The intrusion was heralded by another sandstorm; the significance of which was not lost on the defenders. The guard posted near the mine entrance actually saw the intruder approaching this time. Less startling than a sudden appearance yet a bit unnerving to see the figure materialize out of the sand like an avenging spirit. It was a different guard this time and the man was comforted by the fact that a comrade was only thirty yards away with a Thompson sub-machine gun.

 The man in the blind couldn’t see the approaching specter, but the bait guard signaled effectively enough by placing a nearby ore cart between himself and the unwelcome visitor. He wasn’t supposed to do that but the sniper was hardly in a position to admonish the man. Just as before the intruder was wearing a deputy sheriff’s uniform and a wide brimmed hat that seemed impervious to the winds. The phantom lawman stopped sixty feet from the guard and stood immobile. The bait guard couldn’t be certain whether or not the sniper had him in his field of vision.

 After a few tense moments the guard shouted, “State your business here!”

 The guard wasn’t entirely sure the intruder heard him but he wasn’t about to move from his spot. Then to the guard’s great joy the lawman actually began to move toward the area between him and the lumber pile.  This would allow the intruder to eventually get a clear shot at the guard, but not until he became an easy mark for the sniper. The guard stood up straight and actually moved halfway out of his cover to encourage the deputy. Any second now the flat foot would pull out his pistol and then there would be a long budda budda budda from the Thompson.

 The guard’s eyes kept darting from the intruder to the lumber pile and back again. His eyes just happened to be on the lumber pile when a bucket sized object appeared out of the storm and arched up and then back down on the pile of boards. There was no explosion, or even a burst of flame, but suddenly a man could be heard swearing a blue streak. Manette had lobbed a bucket load of Indian concoction into the blind. What Tonto had actually cooked up that night was difficult to assess. It was a kind of chemical weapon that Manette was able to bear only because she was wearing protective goggles and a bandanna. Even so she was seriously thinking about asking for a raise as she rid herself of the stuff.

 With outlaw explicative after explicative swirling on the winds the deputy drew his service revolver and shot the guard’s uniform cap off his head. The latter assumed that the target had been a forehead and promptly hunkered down long enough to draw out his own weapon. He brought the Smith &Wesson up so that it barely cleared the top of the ore cart and proceeded to line up the sights. But the lawman’s next shot struck the front of the revolver’s cylinder causing one of the shells inside the gun to explode.

 The man’s gun hand was ruined in an instant, and his wrist was snapped clean. His exclamations of pain were ignored as a jack in the box sniper popped out of his blind and got the barrel of his Thompson bent by another miraculous pistol shot. With an oat the gunman drew out his backup weapon and scanned the limber pile for a target, but the lawman had already faded back into the elements of earth and wind. Thirty seconds later the rest of the guard force arrived lead by Borcart himself. They immediately fanned out in hopes of getting a shot at a getaway vehicle, but there was nothing to be found but desert and a dissipating wind.

 At the crack of dawn, a canvass tarp ornamented with sage brush was thrown off a pair of bodies that had been lying in the earth like a pair of macabre lovers coming back from the dead.

 “Did you sleep well, Dearest?” joked the male who was covered in dust.

 The woman got to her feet and brushed some of the earth from her black clothing.

  “For a while there I thought I was going to gag on the dust. But I’m beginning to appreciate exactly how Tonto and your grandfather could outsmart all those outlaws in the old days and live to laugh about it.”

 “I don’t think they did all that much laughing,” responded Del as he got to his feet.

 “Well from my point of view they must have had a great life,” Manette argued as the pair began their hike to where an old man would be waiting.

 “Great? Two guys living in a small silver mine, hiring people to bring clean clothes and other necessities out to a rendezvous point so they could remain hidden from most of the world. What’s so great about that?” Del asked while staring ahead.

 “Oh bull shit,” responded the Indian woman. “They were probably bathing and getting fresh clothes in a whore house every Saturday night. That old man just wants us to believe that he had a bad life so we’ll feel sorry for him. But think about it: They didn’t have to sweat out each day at some boring job, or take any crap from anyone. They were a law onto themselves; able to kick ass on anyone in the territory. The ordinary citizen admired them and the outlaws feared them. I call that the perfect life.”

 “Perfect? No family, always being secretive, being hunted by people who want you dead. Then when it was all over with the new sheriff could hardly wait for them to disappear into the past so that people could start believing in government again. Grandfather was just plain lucky that he was able to find a girl who was willing to start a family with a man who kept looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.”

 “You just don’t understand what it feels like to be at the bottom of the food chain,” grumbled the young Indian woman.

 Del chuckled at that while taking a precautionary glance over his shoulder.

 “We’re covered in dirt, we’re being hunted by killers, and if they get us nobody is going to be crying at our graves---assuming that we make it into a cemetery.”

 “So why are we doing it if it’s so God damned bad?” the girl fired back. “Don’t forget, you hired me to do this, not the other way around.”

 “For the exact same reason Grandfather did it: because the outlaws have found a way to remain outside the reach of the law. Sheriff Anderson was murdered and everyone and his dog knows it, but we don’t have any solid proof so officially it just didn’t happen. The new sheriff isn’t letting go of this but he won’t accomplish much by harassing the city boys on the main road. We need to combine our efforts and pull off something----imaginative.”

 “What does that mean?” queried the woman.

 “We can’t spend every night picking off soldiers one or two at a time. Anyway, they can be replaced easily enough, so we need to treat the enemy as if it were a snake.”

 “Cut off its head,” Manette speculated with excitement.

 “Yup. First comes a diversionary tactic that can only work if the enemy is good and mad at us.”

 “Is that why you haven’t killed anyone---because you want to shame them into hating you to the point of recklessness?”

 “Yes, but also because I don’t need to kill. I’m that good a shot.”

 “Did you learn to shoot that well in the Great War?”

 “No. The war taught me that killing is not the best way in which to make a better world. The gift of great marksmanship was given to me so that I could kill less, not more.”

 “So how exactly was this gift given to you? Only the U.S. Army can afford thousands of rounds of ammunition to practice with.”

 “It was given to me by my grandfather,” answered Del with a smile of newfound wonder.

 The woman rolled her eyes at that and said, “Hey, you’re asking me to stick my neck way out for a few bucks. I deserve some serious consideration here. No more jokes. How come you’re the best shot in all of Texas when your dad didn’t lift a finger to teach you?”

 “Ok, the Army taught me,” Del answered flatly.

 The woman nodded slightly and the two of them hiked in silence while the desert sun warmed their bones.

 “Liar,” the woman then muttered half to herself.

 The following night came too quickly to suit anyone. Their plan had more holes in it than a sieve and while the Sheriff was willing to cooperate, most of the posse didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Russo threatened to ruin everything by leaving town and heading back east, but the acting sheriff intercepted him on the road out of town and handed him a sealed envelope.

 It contained a letter that read:

 Run away and your miners will be given a good reason to quit you. Stay and you’ll have a fighting chance to win out, which is more than you gave Thad Anderson.

The Lone Ranger

 Russo tried to hand the letter over to the sheriff but the uniformed man shook his head and took a step back from the car window.

 “People like you want the police to look the other way. Alright,  I’m looking the other way, and it looks to me like things are going to get handled the old fashioned Texas way, which means a law book won’t help you none unless maybe it can shield you from a bullet.”

 “This joker signed the letter The Lone Ranger”  growled Russo while turning the letter so it would face the sheriff. “Obviously we’re dealing with that man’s grandson, who is going to make you look really bad in the eyes of the state police. I’ll stay alright, and I’ll order my men to leave all their firearms with the hardware merchant. Lets see what your vigilante friend does against unarmed men.”

 With that Russo cranked hard on the wheel and turned his car around to leave Anderson obscured in a cloud of dust.

 Del frowned at this unexpected development.

 “Damn---who’d a thought they’d do something so sensible? If we can’t provoke them into shooting up half their town, how can we justify shooting up the other half?”

 “We’ll just have to give them enough time to think that the whole thing has blown over. In the meantime we can help the miners get over their fear of the guards. I’ve got a friend who used to be a professional boxer in France. Colored guy. Maybe I can convince him he should come out here and get a job as a miner.”

 “Why?” asked Manette.

 “It might be a way to shake things up a bit. Those leg breaking bastards can’t live violence free any more than goose can keep from crapping.”

 “If that means that I’ll be out my combat pay, then I would like to make an alternate suggestion,” said the woman.

 At this the normally inscrutable Tonto exhibited open alarm.

 “Kemosabe, you must decide what path we take. This female has—“

 “This female has an idea,” Manette interrupted. “You can at least hear me out while we’re heading back to Dallas.”

 Del grinned at the old man’s apprehension. He didn’t know what it was based on but he found it slightly entertaining.

 “I’m all ears, Kiddo.”

 “One of the kept women went out to take something off a clothes line. She lost a cat to a pack of coyotes the week before and when she saw the same pack prowling between the boarding house and the mine area she decided to chase them away with a broom. That’s how she got a chance to see Randy Johnson running away from the mine about ten seconds before the cave in.”

 “Why in the name of God didn’t you tell the state police when they were investigating the deaths!” Del blasted with righteous fury.

 Manette’s expression was as cool as a mountain lake.

 “Because the whore who saw Johnson is wanted for pick pocketing back east. She told me and we both decided to keep quiet. Besides, it doesn’t really prove anything. But now I’m thinking that if Johnson knew he had been seen, maybe you could get to him.”

  Del glared at the woman for another minute, which met with Tonto’s silent approval. Then the young man put his thinking cap back on.

 “How do you start a cave in so fast, that the occupants have no time to get out?”

 “Dynamite,” Tonto answered after a moment of thought.

 “I want proof that he works with the stuff,” said Del. “Then, and only then will we consider him the weak link in the chain.”

 The following day Manette contacted Lucy who in turn contacted Dietrich who didn’t actually deal in dynamite, but always knew what was being trucked into town. Sure enough, Johnson was one of three men in town qualified to use blasting material. The other two had been playing poker when the mine caved in. It was therefor time to pay West Philly another visit, but Tonto suggested that first they stop over at a certain museum that Del used to frequent when he was younger. Back before he went off to war. Back when his grandfather was but a legend that had no impact on Del’s daily life.

 Those days were gone forever.

The following night there was another sand storm. Not as bad as the others but bad enough to drown out small sounds that might betray a man depending on stealth. Randy Johnson was never assigned a turn at guarding the mine because of the special job that needed to be done that night when a meddling sheriff had to be disposed of. But he still had to pick up his own laundry, and that horny old hag Lucy had picked up his shirts for him when he was too busy to get them before the laundry closed. He was instructed to come around the back of her place because the floors were being cleaned. That was fine with Johnson because he didn’t much like the idea of anyone seeing him and Lucy together anyway. Men who off sheriff’s don’t like to be teased about crazy old bags who think they have one last dance in them.

 Johnson was still entertaining such contemptuous thoughts when he rounded Lucy’s garbage hauling wagon and ran right into the most bizarre person he had ever seen. The assailant used his opponent’s forward momentum against him by punching him in the solar plexus while he was still marching towards the restaurant’s back door. Johnson doubled over with a croak that was swallowed by the wind. Before he found himself staring at the ground, he caught a glimpse of a man in a cowboy costume.

 Painfully willing himself to straighten up somewhat, he squinted up at the man who had just slugged him. Hell no, he hadn’t imagined it. There was a cowboy standing in front of him. Kind of a fancy looking cowboy. The shirt looked tailor made as did the calf hide shooting gloves. But the truly amazing thing about the man was that he was wearing a mask. A well crafted boot rose up to slam into Johnson’s testicles, but before he could perform another bow a gloved hand grabbed a fist full of hair.

 “Tomorrow you’re going to leave town and confess to being part of a gun running operation. I know that I can’t make you own up to a murder, but I want you to admit that you helped to smuggle military weapons to Mexico.”

 “I couldn’t do that without burning Russo, and I don’t think that would be a good idea,” growled Johnson.

 “Make a deal for protection. If I can’t have that much satisfaction I’ll just wait until your boss drops his guard and then I’ll bust a cap on him and you both.”

 “What about the others?” Johnson suddenly whined. “You don’t actually think that I got rid of two guys all by myself do you?”

 “Nope, but I only got your name from a trustworthy witness. You and Russo are going to have to suffice.”

 The thug then received another kick, this time to the ribs. That was followed by a rap on the skull with a pistol butt.

 Two hours later Del and Snowstorm were back at Tonto’s silver mine. He have Manette a grateful pat on the shoulder while settling himself down for a cup of camp fire java.

 “Your suspicions were right on the mark Kiddo. Johnson created the cave in and he wasn’t alone. Too bad I can’t trust Johnson to provide me with additional names, but I’m afraid that he would just burn anyone he doesn’t particularly like.”

 “I suppose, but I have to confess that this whole thing makes no sense to me,” said the woman. “You won’t get near Johnson a second time. The others will protect him and he’s the one you need to have panic.”

 “Well, I can’t guarantee that he’ll be panicking,” responded Del, “but I can promise you that Johnson won’t be getting any protection.”

 “Why is that?” asked Manette.

 “Cause you and I are heading back to Dallas where I’m going to put you on the phone.”

 The woman mulled that over while Del regarded the quietest member of the trio.

 “You haven’t been talking much since we all teamed up. Are you uncomfortable working with others?”

 “Yes,” the old man responded flatly.

 “It’s because of me,” piped up the woman. “He’s never made any secret of the fact that he wanted a man to help out.”

 “True,” responded Tonto with comic monotony, “but angry woman bother Tonto a little bit. Angry woman bother desert spirits more than little bit.”

 “That’s not fair Tonto. I haven’t raised my voice once since we agreed to team up,” the woman said defensively.

 “But anger is still in heart.”

 “So what? The only thing that matters is that I’m a contributing member of the team. Am I right?”

 Del nodded in agreement but Tonto’s eyes remained dour.

  “Desert spirits honor Tonto with windstorms, but anger much like pissing up stream from wash woman.”

 “You’re making that up,” the woman insisted.

 “You’re saying that these desert spirits can feel our emotions?” Del asked in wonder.

 “Yes, more than footsteps. More than bugle call.”

 “Then I must also be offending them,” Del reasoned.

 “Yes, but you grandson of powerful ghost.”

 “While any ghost ancestor my mine would be passed out under a table in some heavenly saloon,” Manette grumbled mostly to herself.

 “When this business is concluded, I would like to make a closer study of your religion,” said Del, “but right now we have very Earthly matters to tend to.”

 “In Dallas? Good. Maybe the desert spirits will be more tolerant of what we do in a big city,” Manette said without humor.

 Tonto remained sitting on the ground beside their camp fire. He was feeling his age today and he didn’t bother to even glance at the two young people when they rode off to the west.

 Russo’s eyes were dull from a lack of sleep, but there was also a glimmer of hope in them as he cradled the heavy phone receiver to his ear.

 “I’m always willing to pay for useful information; assuming of course that it can be verified.”

 There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then a female voice came back with a response that was to Russo’s liking.

 “If the state police leave you alone then you can hold on to your money and I’ll just be shit out of luck. But IF you DO end up with badges knocking on your door, I can give you the address of a woman and child that secretly belong to Johnson. With that information you won’t have to worry about Johnson making any deals with the police.”

 “And I must continue to insist that Mr. Johnson has done nothing illegal and would have nothing to say to the state authorities. However, since we are currently being besieged by a vengeful sheriff’s department, it is possible that we might need to contact his family in the event of a mishap.”

 “Just so the answer is yes to five-hundred dollars, Mr. Russo. I’ll get back to you if I hear any talk of arrests being made in West Philly.”

 “Yes, well, pardon me for not wishing you any luck, but if we need to do business---then we most likely shall. Good day to you Ma’am.”

 Five minutes later Borcart was standing in front of Russo’s desk.

 “Is it true that Slater has left town?”

 “With his tail set squarely between his legs,” quipped the security chief.

 “Annoying but not all together harmful to our cause. I admire the way you complicated things for that part time badge wearing Reid boy. If he is responsible for these night attacks then we can safely conclude that he has no confidence in the legal system and that he is turning into a vigilante lunatic. I am now of the opinion that if Reid desires to throw lead at our people, it would be advantageous if one of his bullets happened to hit Randy Johnson.”

 Borcart made no attempt to hide his skepticism.

 “Mr. Russo, I have reason to believe that our night time caller is one hell of a shot, and he isn’t really trying to kill anyone. I think he’s playing some kind of game with us.”

 “Agreed, but I want you to focus on what I want. You earned a reprieve by setting Reid up with a Fed, but now I want you to get behind Johnson the next time the night shooter comes calling. Force that night marauder to shoot Johnson and you will have my job just as soon as I can get settle in New Orleans.”

 “Johnson won’t want to place his head on a chopping block.”

 “Show him plenty of fire power covering him, but make sure they don’t shoot except on your order,” instructed Russo.

 “Then we’re going to rearm?”

 “Immediately, but with standing instructions that if any police show up in force they are not to be fired on. We’re after one lone vigilante, or to be more precise, one Lone Ranger.”

   Randy Johnson and Brad Borcart watched the sun go down together while sitting in front of the boarding house that was home for the enlisted guard force. It forced both men (very much against their wills) to briefly gauge the wisdom of their chosen professions. With that concluded they could focus on the weather. For as long as there was no significant wind, there would be no shooter to contend with. That assumption was illogical, since the windstorms themselves were not even supposed to exist, let alone exist on a nightly basis. But the gangsters were expecting another storm, and they were expecting their man to immerge from it.

 Did any or all of those men equate that with something that was out of this world? They didn’t dare. As was implied by the guard who had encountered Tonto, most of the leg breakers came from impoverished backgrounds and had rejected the idea that bad people get punished by a angels and ministers of grace. So now that their five senses were telling them that they were facing an unbeatable force, they had no recourse but to stubbornly cling to the idea that the storms and the miraculous shooting was mere happenstance. So Johnson grinned without humor when the wind began to pick up.

 “This time we’re going to get him. I got our best two men set up for a cross fire and the five others have instructions to swing around to the right as soon as they hear a shot and try to get behind the bastard. All you gotta do is stand next to that ore cart and keep a cigarette glowing so he sees you easy.”

 “So I can get my ass shot full of holes,” the thug grimly speculated.

 “He’s a pistol fighter not a sniper. He’ll come within visual range of our long guns. He’ll hesitate for at least a few seconds because that’s his style. But we won’t. Anyway, you could take the position that you’re bait because you let someone see you leave the mine area before it caved in. The others didn’t get spotted, only you. So don’t be a cry baby about it. You’re lucky the boss didn’t have you wasted when you admitted that you were in on mine entrance job.”

 “Nothing’s changed. They got no proof and I know that if I try for a plea bargain I’ll get iced in prison even if I’m only there long enough to eat lunch. Anyway, that guy knew, he wasn’t fishing I tell ya. There’s a snitch in this town and it doesn’t matter what I said because I know what would happen to me if I sung.”

 “It could turn out worse than that,” Borcart threatened while thinking about the fictional family that Johnson was supposed to have.

Johnson was still frowning at that when every shooter spotted something at the same time. They were all expecting to see a man on foot appear out of the sandy tempest like before, but this time they beheld a man on horseback. He was further out than usual and it was strange that visibility averaged only thirty yards, yet in this case the horse and rider was out there at least one-hundred and twenty yards. It was almost as though there was a portal in the wind that allowed them to see out further in only one direction. The horse was white as snow and suddenly reared up on its hind quarters before being directed off to their left.

 Borcart swore softly, mindful of the fact that the flankers were over on his right.  Could their tormentor possibly know that? If so how in God’s name? Suddenly Borcart was convinced that he could not possibly win this hide and seek game that was always played in a sandstorm that would eventually rob the men of their willingness to follow orders. A new tactic needed to be employed, and there wasn’t time to consult that bastard Russo. Borcart turned towards the town and started to jog towards it.

 “Hey, where are you going?” Johnson called into the wind.

 Borcart ignored him. He jogged straight to Michelle’s house but when he arrived he found that she wasn’t there. Then he tried the livery and wasn’t terribly surprised to find her comforting her stupid flea bag.

 “You should be in your house when these damn storms come up. The livery is too open to provide proper shelter,” Borcart said as soon as he was close enough to be heard.

 “I know, but the guy who was hired to tend the livery quit as soon as he heard about the first shooting.  Something very weird is going on around here Brad.”

 Borcart’s laugh was like the bark of a wolf.

 “You’ll have to be more specific Sweetheart. This whole damn town is weird.”

 “Exactly my point. My boyfriend works for a man who deals in secrets. The imported merchants and workers are all very upset about something but they won’t confide in me because of our relationship, which has been a bit one sided in my opinion. Now you have a local who’s gone crazy and I’m hoping it isn’t Del Reid.”

 “Why shouldn’t it be him?” Borcart spat out. “We screwed him pretty good. He’ll get out of it with a good lawyer and a local judge but I don’t think he’s looking at the bright side of things right now.”

 “Is all this about the cave in, Brad? Did your boss arrange an accident for a sheriff and another man just because of some stupid smuggled guns?”

 “Of course he did. Who could be brain dead enough to think that Anderson’s death was a coincidence? But I was in favor of getting rid of the evidence so that it would be Anderson’s word against an entire town. Hell most people in this state don’t care about gun smuggling anyway. Let the Mexicans fight all they want to. But the decision to kill him was made and now we have to play the game.”

 “How can you call something like that a game?” asked the woman, even though she already knew the answer.

 “We do business, and most of the time we can buy off anyone who had a reason to get in our way. Then once in a while we run into a water walker who thinks it’s a sin to sell merchandise that the government doesn’t approve of. Then the hard choice is made: kill or give up everything you have. When we do what we have to, everyone knows who is responsible, but the law works on evidence. That is their only reality. We can rise above this in time Sweetheart but we have to be patient and we have to keep our wits about us. You’ve been really outstanding so far but I need you to help me with one more thing.”
 The woman struggled to come up with the answer on her own and she found that it really wasn’t all that hard.

 “It is Del Reid that’s attacking you at night isn’t it? You want me to lead him into a trap.”

 “No, I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just explain to him that Johnson won’t testify against us in court, and that’s just all there is to it. If he wants to punish Johnson he should do it the next time Johnson goes to Dallas. That’s just common sense and he needs to see that. Will you do that for me?”

 “Sure, I’ll head for Dallas first thing tomorrow morning.”

 The boyfriend was not amused.

 “It needs to be done now, before he can get some of the more trigger happy men to do something stupid.”

 “Under your leadership? I’m sure you won’t let that happen.”

 Borcart let out a sigh. This relationship was falling apart but there was nothing he could do about it now. Tonight they needed to get a man who seemed to be part of the windstorm itself. The security chief had no logical reason to believe that Michelle could get to this guy; not after she had helped to get him in trouble. But he believed it, and it made him more than just a little jealous.

  “Yes or no Sweetheart. If it’s no, then I guess we’ll have to shoot it out. He’s not here to throw rocks.”

 “Alright. Maybe I can apologize to him before he shoots me,” said Michelle while stepping away from her unhappy horse.

 “Here, put on these goggles so you can see decent. I’ll walk you to where I think he might be heading.”

 Ten minutes later the couple was standing behind the gangster owned boarding house. Russo’s office was lit up like a Christmas tree and he could even make out a portion of the man’s head in the very corner of the office window.

 “You think he’ll come here!” the woman shouted above the wind.

 “Best way to kill a snake is to cut off it’s head,” was Borcart’s response.

 “But this is crazy! I can’t stand out here all night!” protested the woman.

 “You won’t have to. I’m sure he already knows that we’re here. He won’t be long.”

 For once the security chief was calling the shots with uncanny accuracy. Not ten seconds passed before a rider materialized out of the storm. Michelle noted with interest that Snowstorm was blindfolded. The rider served as the animal’s eyes, and Michelle silently vowed that if anything happened it the rider, she would do all that she could for the animal. A few more paces and Borcart had his confirmation. It was in fact Del Reid who was sitting in the saddle. Only one question remained: would the vigilante kill once, twice or three times?

 “I’ve come for Russo,” announced the rider.

 “You haven’t killed anyone yet, and it’s my opinion that you shouldn’t kill now. But if you believe that Russo needs to die, then you best do it quickly and get out of here. You can see him in the office window there. Take your best shot Reid, and join the ranks of those you look down on,” said Borcart.

 Del slipped out of the saddle; careful not to turn away from Borcart for an instant. Then he drew one of his grandfather’s Colt .45s and pointed it at his enemy.

 “Let’s all go visit him. He’s probably very anxious to hear the latest news concerning humble little me.”

 “Bad idea. There are usually three or four guys outside his office,” warned Borcart.

 “Yea, usually. But right now I think his men are dispersed around the western edge of town.”

“They won’t stay there now that you’ve obviously decided on a new approach strategy.”

 Suddenly a chain of manmade lightning and thunder spread out across the landscape somewhere between the edge of town and the portion of the desert that had been chosen for a road just a few years ago. Borcart felt a stab of panic in his guts as the rolling thunder cut through the howling sands. Only The National Guard could make that much noise and they were incorruptible. Maybe the governor was fed up with the whole thing and had decided to flush the toilet.

 “I think they’ll leave us to ourselves for a little while anyway,” the masked man said with a cavalier grin. “Come on, let’s go reassure the boss. All that shooting is probably making him wonder if he has time for the bathroom.”

 Del wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone but Tonto, but the truth was, he was on an adrenaline high the likes of which he hadn’t felt since he locked horns with the Krauts back in Europe. What he was doing now was crazy---and he was loving it. But the grin quickly disappeared after he entered Russo’s office. Because there was no near vanquished adversary waiting for him. No red faced and heavily armed desperado preparing to sell his life dearly. There was only a department store mannequin set up in his chair.

 April Fool’s Day had come late this year.

 With the speed of cougar Borcart pulled a wide eyed woman to the floor and waited expectantly. Del reacted to this by fanning off four shots into a closet door. Then there was nothing but the sound of distant gun fire and the wind as it stubbornly continued to test the strength of the office window.

 Del stepped over to the closet and opened it. It was empty, much to Borcart’s disappointment.

 “He was supposed to be in there?” Del asked in a conversational tone.

 “I was thinking with a Thompson,” confessed the gangster.

 “And he seemed like such a proper gent when we first met,” Del muttered.

 Then came a sound that was grim and all together unexpected. It was the sound of a man shrieking; first in fright and then in great pain. Del grabbed Borcart’s arm and encouraged him to get up off the woman and head for the door. No one had a clue what the hell was going on outside but it had to be more interesting than a department store dummy and an empty closet. When they got back outside they were all surprised to find Russo flat on his back, looking like a fly that had just been swatted. Michelle and Borcart shared a dumbfounded expression but at a glance Del was able to deduce what had happened. Russo had a canteen on him (which was now jammed hard into his left kidney.) He had attempted most unsuccessfully to steal Del’s horse. Snowstorm wouldn’t have done anything if Michelle had climbed aboard, but when Russo got into the saddle, the huge animal reared up on its hind quarters and then dropped straight back with a sickening crunch that only Russo could hear.

 The man wasn’t dead but he would wish that he was after coming out of shock. In fact he would meet his maker some three months later in St. Mary’s hospital located in Galveston. A visitor would pay his respects in the middle of the night and place a pillow over the man’s face.

 “I guess this makes you the man in charge,” said Del with a voice meant to carry above the wind.

 Then he relieved Russo of a pistol that he had been carrying in a shoulder holster and tucked the double action revolver into Borcart’s trouser belt.

 “What, we’re going to shoot it out?” the security chief asked incredulously.

 “You get to draw first, and that gun doesn’t need to be cocked with a thumb. I think I’m being very sporting about the whole thing,” said Del.

 “Dueling is against the law---even in Texas,” declared the woman.

 “That’s right Ma’am. We’re all law breakers, and the only thing that matters is whether or not we survive to horse shit the authorities with the best lawyers we can find. I’ll worry about that when the time comes. Right now, I just need to shoot a few more people.”

 “Don’t do it Brad,” the woman pleaded. “Put your hands behind your back and keep them there.”

 “I will Sweetheart,” the gangster promised; enjoying the term of endearment because it served to remind Reid who the woman belonged to.

 “You’re a good actress Michelle---pretending to be a victim of domestic abuse. Maybe you should go to Hollywood when this is all over.”

 “Maybe she should,” Borcart conceded. “I don’t know what the big boys will make of all this when the dust clears. Maybe they’ll blame Russo, maybe not. All I know for sure is that a man wearing a Halloween costume is going to look really guilty when the state government tries to put all the pieces together.”

 “Yea, if there was such a man hanging around I suppose—“

 Borcart didn’t wait for the end of the sentence. He made his move with a little surprise of his own. A five shot snub nose pistol that had been tucked into the small of his back. Trouble was, Del detected the slight bulge that the gun formed back in the office when Borcart went down on top of Michelle. With no element of surprise, Del drew his .45 a soon as he was his opponent’s elbows move. His round caught the little .38 in top of the cylinder frame, driving the weapon out of the man’s grip. Then Del coldly fired a second round that dislocated the shoulder and drenched the man’s shirt in blood.

 “I’ll be testifying against you in court,” vowed the woman as she pressed her hand against her boyfriend’s wound.

 “Someday,” Del conceded. “But first I need time to get to know Mr. Johnson better. I got this friend who claims he can make a truth drug that works really well. So I guess I’ll just go and collect Mr. Johnson and be on my way.”

 “The shooting has stopped,” grunted Borcart as he was relieved of Russo’s gun.

 “Yea, that’s a good thing. All that gunfire was making my horse skittish.”

 Borcart dropped to his knees. He was getting light headed real fast.

 “My point---is that a whole damn army---ah—is grabbing this town---by the short hairs.”

 Del climbed into the saddle and said, “Michelle, I know you’ve been through a lot, but don’t forget to feed your horse.”

 “Fuck you!” the woman shrieked in rage.

 Del had no response for that, so he turned his mount around and galloped towards a now silent battle field.

 He was absolutely thrilled to discover that the gangsters had fled to their vehicles and were now fleeing along the same smuggling route that Sheriff Anderson had discovered shortly before his death. Del didn’t give a damn if they made it all the way back to New York. He thought he was going to have to shoot each and every one of them, endangering his precious Snowstorm in the process. He soon came upon Michelle who was down by the road perched on the hood of a police car that was surrounded by three deputies and the replacement sheriff. Del was pleasantly surprised to find Randy Johnson seated in the car and wearing handcuffs.

 “Looks to me like things went better than I planned.”

 “You mean better than Tonto planned,” corrected the woman.

 “About that; I’m really uncomfortable just standing here when I feel that I should be chasing after the bastards that killed Thad, pulled the wool over the eyes of the state police and now have shot holes in my car.”

 Del borrowed one of the flashlights that was being held by a deputy and scanned the body of the car. Sure enough there was at least sixteen bullet holes in it.

 “Jesus, with all this desert to park a car in, why did you have to put it where Manette was supposed to draw fire?”

 “It was that Injun’s idea,” complained the new sheriff. “He said we’d need proof that we were attacked. I agreed with him but I didn’t think we’d take that much lead. Small miracle that the car’s engine block didn’t get hit.”

 “But you guys did stay behind the rocks didn’t you?”

 “Hell yes, and we stayed there even when this crazy woman dropped fireworks on our heads,” said Anderson.

 “Don’t exaggerate. I had all that stuff spread out a good five or six feet from you guys. Lucy is going to kill me when she finds out what happened to her 4^th of July stash.”

 “Hey, I’m the acting sheriff and I ain’t done with business just yet so be quiet and let me talk.”

 Manette rolled her eyes slightly and shifted her position on the hood of the car.

 “Del, are you absolutely positive that those city dwellers aren’t going to get away if I give them this head start across the desert?”

 “I emptied their crank cases of most of the oil. They should be heating up pretty good by now. Then they’ll walk. Best to come upon them at sunup when they’re good and tired. Probably surrender without a shot.”

 The sheriff concluded from this that he and his party were still out on a limb, but it was a fairly stout one.”

 “Hey, the damn windstorm finally ended,” commented a deputy who suddenly realized that no one had to talk loud anymore.

 “You got two badly injured men in back of the boarding house Sheriff. Both are bad guys so you can be fast about it or slow. I’m going to go check up on the old man now.”

 “Will you do me one more favor, Del”

 “Sure Sheriff, what is it?”

 “Take off that damn silly mask and don’t let me see it again. All this wild ass shit that we did almost makes sense except for that costume you’re wearing. Why the hell did you have to put it on anyway?”

 “Psychological warfare Sheriff. I don’t it worked, but everything else did. Anyway, if felt kind of good.”

 “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk anymore,” insisted the sheriff. “Half my job will be to convince everyone that you’re not nuts. We all got to have the right image when the high priced out of town defense lawyers come at us.”

 “Yea, that might be the tough part, but I’m with you all the way Sheriff. Thanks for having faith in me.”

 Del climbed into the saddle and pointed Snowstorm in the direction of a man who would be rocking gently in front of a small ceremonial fire.

 “Faith my ass, I’ve been egging those city boys on since the beginning. You just convinced me I should push a little harder. But we didn’t need that stupid costume. God help us if the defense lawyers make you wear it in court. That could turn into a………..”

 Del rode away without hearing the end of the sheriff’s ranting. Half an hour later he approached the small campfire that shed partial light on a stooped over figure swaddled in colorful if not entirely clean Indian blankets.

 “The outlaws are on the run. We’ll pick them up when it’s daylight and they’ve had a chance to mellow a bit.”

 “Uh---Tonto very tired. Could sleep for hundred years,” said the old man.

  “Yea, I suppose it’s hard work throwing that much sand around with those spirit fans of yours.”

 “No make joke. What is here is more important than anything white man value.”

 Dell walked up to his newfound mentor and plopped himself down beside the ancient warrior.

 “I know that friend. You have given me a glimpse at a larger and more wondrous reality and I look upon these things with awe. Please allow me to take you to my home and give you proper shelter from this day forward.”

 “Backyard.”

 “What?”

 “I put up teepee in backyard.”

 “But---but I can offer you—uh---running water. A toilet. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to have a toilet.”

 The old man thought about that for a moment and said, “Backyard also.”

 Del took off his mask and regarded the old man with mixed emotions.

 “In or outside of the teepee?”

 “Don’t know---have to measure teepee.”

 “Yea,” responded the young man as the first rays of dawn appeared on a brightening horizon.