A Good Day to Die by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2012-05-23T14:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

It was mid-afternoon when Sam Heller and Lydia Fisher reached Rancho Grande. One of the biggest spreads in the county, in all north central Texas for that matter, the ranch was bordered on the north by Old Mission Road and the south by the upper fork of the Liberty River.

Before getting too deep into Grande land, Sam and Lydia were intercepted by a band of vaqueros who patrolled the lush grasslands to deter trespassers, rustlers, and marauders. Ranch master Don Eduardo Castillo had no love for intruders on his private domain, especially Anglos, all of whom he lumped under the label “Texans” and whom he resented for what he felt was their steady encroachment on his land.

The outriders closed in. Mexican-Americans, they were hard men with grim, unfriendly faces under broad-brimmed sombreros and weapons—guns and rifles—held at the ready.

“I heard the Grande riders shoot white folks on sight,” Lydia said.

“Not true,” Sam answered. “Just pesky yellow-haired gals with braids,” he added dryly.

Lydia looked unsure as to whether or not he was joking.

Sam was no stranger to the ranch, thanks to previous involvements with the Castillo clan. He was recognized by the jefe, boss of the vaquero band. Sam spoke a few sentences to him in rough, broken Spanish, a language he was learning but still a long way from mastering. He got his message across, though, especially the dreaded word Comanche.

Of no less dread import was the name Mano Rojo—Red Hand.

The jefe’s face stiffened, his dark-eyed gaze hardening. Some of the vaqueros muttered curses. All checked their weapons and peered into the distance in search of war parties.

Mexicans and Comanches had been mortal enemies for more than three hundred years, since the first armor-shelled conquistadors ventured north from Mexico City across the Rio Grande. The rancho had battled for survival against the Comanches for over a century.

The jefe issued a series of rapid-fire comands to his men, who leaped into action. One wheeled his mount, spurring it southward at top speed toward the rancho, hidden from view by some low ridges. He raced all out to give warning.

Two more vaqueros peeled off from the group, pointing their horses in opposite directions, one going east, the other going west, galloping away to spread the alert to other working parties tending the herds on the grazing lands.

The jefe and those remaining escorted Sam and Lydia to the ranch. Twenty minutes of hard riding brought them in sight of the main settlement.

Here was the core, the inner citadel of Rancho Grande. A sizeable tract of land was enclosed by thick adobe walls ten feet tall. The walls were pocked and cratered by rounds fired in numerous battles, some old, others of more recent vintage.

The main gate faced south. A set of stout, ironbound dark wooden double doors stood open, allowing a view within. Square-faced columns topped by an adobe arch bracketed the entrance. A bronze bell hung from a black iron chain in the center of the archway. A dirt road stretched across the flat fronting the portal.

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