probably won’t be here long. Unfortunately, we don’t have a fine hotel or brothel in town.” Travis stepped forward and grabbed the horse’s reins. “But we do have a cook.”
“What brings you out here?” Chase said in a deep, serious voice.
“Colonel Walker sent me. General Taylor has authorized him to raise four regiments of Rangers—for the war. Speck he’ll be moving south before long.”
“Colonel Walker?” Chase replied.
“Yeah, now that we’re part of the army, he’s a colonel. Hell, they made me a lieutenant,” Chester answered as he dismounted. “He thought you boys might be tired of living the honest life…I suspect you’d both be elected company captains or better. That is, if you’re interested in mustering on.”
“Can’t speak for Chase, but my fighting days are over. You know that. Ten years was enough; I’ve seen enough killing for one lifetime,” Travis said, extending a hand and helping Chester up on the porch.
“What about Tony Flores? Any truth to the rumor that he’s taken up arms for the Mexicans?” Chase asked, again in a sincere voice.
“Yes, sir,” Chester answered. “He’s signed on to fight with Rayo.”
“Rayo,” Chase said, lifting his eyebrows and looking at Travis.
“I guess every man’s got to pacify his own soul,” Travis added. “It would be difficult for me to take up arms against men I’ve fought with under any circumstances. And it’s about time Señor Rayo gave up fighting.”
“War’s coming,” Chester said. “You can’t run from it. The Mexican army will be here sometime. You’ll have to fight them one way or the other. Or fight the Indians if they leave. I guess you could sit around here raising stock for Little Face…wait for him and his braves to come get your horses and your scalps.”
Chase groaned and mumbled. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you worry. I’m going kill that Injun one day.”
Travis laughed. He patted Chester on the back. “Enough of this talk of war and scalps.” He handed Chester the jug and reached over to rub the top of Chase’s almost bare head. “You know how it stirs up Captain McAlister. He doesn’t have any hair to give. Let’s go inside and have a drink. You can tell me what all the boys are up to.”
“To tell you the truth,” Chester admitted, slapping his hat against his legs in an attempt to extract some dust, “I thought you two would be eager to get back across the border. See some people you haven’t seen in a few years. Finish any unfinished business you might have, especially you, Travis.”
Travis turned to look down at the crystal-clear Rio Grande, then across the river to the enigmatic, gorgeous arroyos leading off to the sunset. What waited in that land he had not entered in a decade? What inner demons lurked just over the horizon that he wanted to service? His enemies were there: the evil bandit Paco Medina and the cunning Comanche Little Face—both had evaded him for years. Also, the woman he loved and longed for was there. Would he ever go back across that river? He had given up the gun to pacify his soul. He would have to take it back up to go. Was he prepared to do that? He had been thinking it over, struggling with the decision for months.
“Lot of old scores to settle over there,” Chester continued. “Bunch of Mexicans betrayed Texas during the revolution. Thought you might want to be around when we get there…might have some things to settle down there.”
Travis sighed deeply. His stomach lurched, and he felt his skin grow cold as he turned to Chase. The two exchanged silent stares for a few moments before strolling inside.
Chapter 1
San Antonio, Republic of Mexico, September 1835
Travis nonchalantly strode up to the sturdy, stucco walls of the governor’s palace. It was a cool, fall evening, perfect for the annual celebration of independence. Loitering outside the handsome residence, a couple dozen patróns talked in their best outfits—men in light, white jackets, ladies in their finest evening dresses, priests in their black cassocks, soldiers in their gaudy uniforms. Atop the white ramparts, guarding the building on all sides, colorful red, green, and white regalia, illuminated by a score of burning torches, fluttered with the soft breeze and made the residence stand out dramatically against the dingy and dull backdrop of the town.
Travis tipped his hat to several people he recognized as he entered the house, which was so full of gaiety, the chattering and gossip filled his ears before he crossed the threshold. Two young soldiers, clad in meticulous uniforms, stood at attention at the entrance. Travis paused at a large mirror in the foyer to scrutinize his dress and tidy his disposition. He removed his hat and spent a few minutes admiring himself—his youthful, thirty-year-old face; his long, combed brown hair; his blue eyes; and his tall, lean figure all made up his affable, optimistic appearance. He adjusted his beige coat and pulled up his matching slacks until their position passed his inspection. Travis certainly enjoyed advertising his easy, comfortable nature.
He finally brushed his thin mustache a few times and turned to inspect the large ballroom. The floor was full, alive with the motion and noise of bodies, ladies’ hand fans, and servants. Behind the crowd, a five-piece military band strummed patriotic songs. A short mestizo man, dressed in a nice white jacket and carrying a tray of drinks, offered Travis a glass of wine that he accepted.
As Travis scanned the ballroom for familiar faces, he caught sight of the woman in the crowd. Her green eyes stood out against her pure white skin and long yellow hair. She turned and made eye contact, eyes wide and round, penetrating, even from across the room. She moved elegantly toward him, emerging from the crowd. Travis noticed her long, fine lines and well-proportioned hips, cloaked with a long, proper skirt containing a slight slit that occasionally exposed a supple lower leg with her easy stride.
As the woman moved closer, her face gained life, and with it, more attractiveness—sumptuous female perfection. Her lashes were long, dark, and full of life. She returned Travis’s stare with a spunky smile, causing Travis to bashfully turn away. But he continued to feel the weight of her stare. He could sense her getting closer. He looked back around to find himself face to face with her. Her collar was tall and stiff, signifying something proper, he thought. And her mannerisms were dignified. She stepped closer with polite correctness and extended a silent hand.
Travis returned the gesture, quietly appreciating the lovely woman for a few moments.
“I could not help but notice you admiring me from afar,” the woman finally said in perfect English. “Thought I’d introduce myself. My name is Mercedes Rayo.”
“You’re as beautiful a female specimen as I’ve seen in these parts,” Travis said self-assuredly. He politely bowed. “I’m—”
“Lieutenant Travis Ross…the famous Indian fighter. And I’m sure you’ve seen many women much more beautiful than I.”
Travis recoiled from his bow and took a sip of wine. “Well, I must confess. Your candor complements your looks.”
Mercedes giggled and her eyes danced with amusement.
“Your laugh is wholesome and unabashed,” he said, “a slip of etiquette, but very enticing…I hate crowded places. Too noisy in here. You want to go out to the veranda?”
Mercedes nodded, and Travis led her a few paces to a door. Outside lay the idyllic and star-filled Texas night. Travis lit a cigarette while Mercedes sat down in a chair, folding and smoothing her dress over her thighs. “Your English is excellent,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“Coahuila. A proud Mexican. And you?”
“England, but I grew up on the Sabine River.” Travis paused, thinking as he ashed his cigarette into one of the immaculate flower beds abutting the patio. “Are you daughter of Javier Rayo?”
“I am.”
“Then you’re a very