3

It was around ten o’clock the next night when the Ranger and cowboy reined their horses to a halt on the edge of the Rio Grande. The tracks of the outlaws’ horses led straight to the riverbank.

“Well, it looks like they beat us into Mexico,” Sheehan sighed. “I don’t know about you, Ben, but I’m still goin’ after ‘em.”

“The border ain’t gonna stop me,” Judwin answered.

“But your Ranger badge ain’t worth a dime in Mexico,” Sheehan protested.

“That doesn’t matter,” Judwin explained. “Those renegades have got to pay for what they did to Bill. Besides, someone has to stop them before they do any more killin’. Appears it’s up to us, so I’ll either bring them back to Texas or die trying. And no matter what else happens, Clete Hardisty is gonna die with my slugs in his belly, or hang. Let’s go.”

Judwin put his steeldust into the shallow water. Sheehan and his sorrel gelding were close behind. The river, low this time of year, barely came to the horses’

bellies as they reached midstream, then climbed the bank onto Mexican soil. Once the horses had shaken themselves off, their riders pushed them into a dead run yet again.

The two men, one determined to see justice done, the other seeking revenge for the death of his wife, rode hard for half an hour, then slowed their mounts to a walk. They moved cautiously now, since they could not chance riding up on their quarry unexpectedly. It was an hour later when Judwin caught the faintest whiff of wood smoke, and reined Charcoal to a halt. The dim entrance to an arroyo was just ahead.

“Hold it, Jake,” he ordered. “I’ll bet my hat that’s Hardisty’s bunch up there in that canyon. We’d best walk from here. We’ll take the horses along, in case we need them in a hurry. Make sure your sorrel stays quiet.”

Sheehan clamped his hand over the gelding’s nose.

“He won’t make a sound.”

“Good. Let’s check our guns before we head in there.”

Quickly, and as silently as possible, the two men checked the actions of their Colts and Winchesters.

“What if there’s a guard?” Sheehan questioned.

“I doubt there’ll be one,” Judwin explained. “Those hombres probably figure no one’ll follow ‘em into

Mexico. We’re goin’ to show them how wrong they are. Let’s move.”

Judwin paused for a moment.

“Jake, if we don’t come out of this, I want to thank you for siding me.”

“Por nada,” Sheehan shrugged. “I’m just grateful you let me ride along, so I’ll have a chance to get even for what they did to Becky.”

Leading their horses, the Ranger and cowboy headed slowly up-canyon. They rounded a bend, and could now see the flickering of a campfire behind a cluster of boulders. The voices of the outlaws drifted through the still air.

“Those sons of Satan,” Sheehan hissed. “They’re bragging about what they did to my Becky.”

Indeed, the outlaws were raucously celebrating the success of their latest foray into Texas, boasting about how much they had stolen, the women they had violated and the men they’d killed.

“They won’t be braggin’ for long,” Judwin promised. “Let’s circle ‘em.”

“Just give me time to get in place,” Sheehan answered.

While Sheehan disappeared into the dark, Judwin pinned his badge to his shirt and leveled the Winchester

he carried. He waited two minutes, then stepped around the boulders to emerge into the renegades’ campsite. At the same moment, Sheehan appeared from the opposite side of the rocks.

Judwin’s voice cut through the dark like the crack of a whip.

“Texas Ranger, boys! You’re all under arrest. Don’t try for your guns unless you’re lookin’ for a bellyful of lead.”

The stunned outlaws fell silent, frozen for a moment in disbelief that their hiding place had been discovered. Then, with a curse one of them went for his gun. Judwin dropped him with a bullet through the stomach.

The rest of the renegades pulled their guns and began firing. Their vision still dimmed from gazing at the fire and their targets shrouded in darkness, the outlaws could only fire blindly in the direction of Judwin’s voice and the flashes from Sheehan’s rifle. Seven of them went down with Judwin’s or Sheehan’s bullets in them.

Judwin heard a grunt of pain. He glanced sideways to see Sheehan staggering from the bullet which had slammed into his side. Sheehan jacked another shell into the chamber of his Winchester and fired. The bullet ripped through a cursing outlaw’s throat. Sheehan fired again, and another desperado went down. Then an outlaw’s slug tore through Sheehan’s thigh, dropping him to one knee.

Judwin put a bullet through another renegade’s belly, the man screeching in agony as he jackknifed. The Ranger was slammed back against the rocks by a bullet which struck him high in the chest. His return shot plowed into the chest of the man who’d shot him.

Jake Sheehan had tossed aside his now-empty rifle. He held a Colt in each hand, blazing away at the outlaws. However, the remaining men had recovered from their initial surprise, and were aiming more precisely. Bullets were thudding into the cowboy’s chest and stomach. His desire for revenge keeping him upright long after he should have been stretched out in the dirt, Sheehan gunned down several more of the killers, until Pete Stone put two finishing bullets into him. Both slugs buried themselves deep in the cowboy’s gut. Stone cursed in triumph when Sheehan began to sag. With one final effort, Sheehan fired twice more, his bullets ripping into Stone’s chest. Stone was slammed onto his back, dead. As Stone fell, Jake Sheehan crumpled to the ground.

Ben Judwin had also taken several more of the outlaws’ bullets. He was braced against a Boulder, his vision was beginning to blur, and he could barely keep level the Colts he now held while he shot at the few surviving members of the Hardisty gang. He was vaguely aware of the screams of a badly injured horse, then another, and realized outlaws’ slugs had found his and Jake’s mounts.

Tex Lloyd, Hardisty’s next in command after Pete Stone, had crawled undetected to within a few feet of Judwin. He lifted his .44 Remington, fired, and put a bullet low into the Ranger’s belly. Judwin dropped one of his pistols. He clamped a hand to his gut, buckling, but still managed to aim his other revolver at Lloyd’s head and put a slug between his eyes.

As Judwin began to double over, another bullet ripped into his chest, slamming him back against the rocks. Through his fading vision, Judwin saw Clete Hardisty closing in. A wicked grin twisted the outlaw’s powder-streaked face.

“I’ve got you, Ranger,” he sneered.

Before the outlaw leader could thumb back the hammer of his sixgun, Judwin fired twice, both slugs taking Hardisty in the stomach. Hardisty began to slump. Judwin put his last two bullets through the killer’s belly.

“That was for Bill Pierson,” Judwin muttered, as Hardisty hit the ground.

Judwin gazed at the Colt he still held, the Colt Peacemaker that had belonged to his partner, Ranger Bill Pierson.

“I reckon it’s over,” he half-whispered, then slowly collapsed to his face.

With the last of his rapidly ebbing strength, Judwin dragged himself to where Jake Sheehan lay, face-down in a puddle of blood. He rolled the cowboy onto his back.

Sheehan’s eyes flickered open.

“Ben…did we get them…all?” he weakly gasped.

“We got them all,” Judwin answered.

The cowboy let out a last long sigh. The Ranger’s eyes slowly closed as he took his final breath.