Muddy, Nena and Chancho reached Brackettville after sunset. They paused on the edge of town to discuss their options one last time.

“We could head for Mexico.” Nena leaned forward in her saddle. “It would be possible to reach the border before sunrise.”

Muddy grunted. “Possible. But difficult. There are many eyes on the border.”

Chancho was too tired to think straight. The desert orchestra of crickets were hypnotic, causing him to sink deeper inside his exhaustion. As if Muddy could sense it, he continued, “Besides, we need to rest. What good will it do to step in a rabbit hole in the dark?”

Nena glowered. “We do not need to rest. Chancho needs to rest.”

The sound of his name snapped him out of his trance. “I’m sorry, mis amigos.” He took a deep breath. “But I do not want to go to Mexico. Not tonight, not tomorrow.”

Nena narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him through the dim twilight. “Would you mind sharing why you do not want to go to Mexico?”

Chancho sighed. He had no good reason for not wanting to cross the border, yet he had several good reasons he shouldn’t. Trouble was, he hadn’t shared any of them with his closest friends. Without being any closer to understanding why the rinche was tracking them, the only thing for certain was he did not intend to give up easily. Chancho could not risk the loss of human life due to his concealing parts of the story. “I can’t go to Mexico.”

“I have not been honest with you, mis amigos.” Chancho rushed onward without looking Muddy or Nena in the eyes. “I am wanted by the Constitutional Government for destruction of property, theft and murder.” He fetched the gold coin from his pocket. Stretching from his saddle, he handed it to Muddy. “For robbing a very large amount from a very important train for Pancho Villa. Afterwards, when things were at their worst, I abandoned Villa.”

“Why would you be afraid to tell us this?”

Muddy shushed Nena, waiting for Chancho to continue.

“When I finally understood the truth behind war, I panicked. I didn’t want to remember the old Chancho anymore. I didn’t want you to know him either, so I tried to bury the past.” Cricket song throbbed, almost visible in the failing twilight. “And then, after the rinche, I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to change what we have.”

“What would that be other than a lack of trust?” Nena quipped.

Muddy silenced her with a quick slash of his hand. “More importantly, what is it you still need to tell us?”

“I thought it would go away, that the rinche would stop looking for us. That we could keep everything the way it was.” Chancho rubbed the notch of his earlobe. Now that he spoke the words out loud they felt small and pathetic.

Nena opened her mouth to speak, but caught herself. Muddy remained a statue on Tripalo’s back.

Next Chancho told them about the cantina, about Primitivo, about leaving out the back door just before the shootout. He told them how he thought his problem had resolved itself until he found out about the dead ranger. Finally he concluded, “I honestly don’t know why the sheriff and the rinche chased me.”

Nena could no longer keep quiet. “Why was it easier to blame Muddy’s El Chupacabra?”

“Maybe I didn’t want it to be my fault.”

“You didn’t want to be alone.” Muddy spoke in a somber, even tone. “You feared if it was only you they were after that we would leave.”

“No.” Chancho shook his head.

“As long as the three of us are together the present guards you from the past.” Worse than Nena’s white hot anger was Muddy’s steady accusation, “But how could you think we would leave?”

Chancho shriveled inside. “Lo siento, I just wanted to preserve our simple life, maybe fall in love. I should have trusted you.”

“You’re damn right!” Nena thumped her saddle horn.

“Nena.” Muddy spoke the single word with force enough to stun a bull, like a lead pipe across its brow. He turned to Chancho, handing back the gold coin. “Whether the rinche is after goat rustlers, revolutionaries, murderers or marihuana farmers, we will stick together. It is what family does.”

Muddy’s disappointment crushed Chancho. As small as his family was, he couldn’t afford to lose any part. “You’re right. I couldn’t see past my own self-pity.”

“And now what are we to believe?” Nena hissed, “if we are wanted for the killing of a Texas Ranger it will not be safe for us anywhere north of the border.”

Muddy’s eyes shown in the dark as he turned toward his wife. “I don’t want to go to Mexico.”

Nena breathed rapidly, her chest heaving. ”He has already put our lives at risk with his lies. How many more will it take? I am not afraid of Carranza or Villa. We should ride to Mexico. There is no longer a home for us here!”

Chancho surged back to life. “But what about Sunny, and Bronco, and Chloe? We can’t just leave them. They are family too.” Chancho grew animated in the settling darkness, sweeping his arms out wide to indicate the land surrounding them. “Since the rinche drove us from the Catholic Hills our home has only expanded.”

"You are as blind as you are crazy. You would call me disloyal to family? We do nothing to help our friends and family by staying here, but only put them in harm’s way. We are wanted criminals thanks to you.” She shot Muddy an angry eye. “And we are waisting time.” Bella pawed the ground nervously as Nena drew her crossbow and held it in her lap. “The ranger will follow and threaten anyone who helps us.”

Muddy slapped his fist into his open palm. “Stop.” Even the crickets obeyed. “We have come to Brackettville already. The ranger will follow, just as you’ve said. We have already involved those who live here. That was my decision. Chancho has lied, but lies are not new to any of us.” He turned to Chancho and took a deep breath as Tripalo shifted his weight. “You were wrong not to trust us. But you were right that the reason we are pursued is not important.”

“We are guilty of nothing. We are not lost or alone, and we should not act that way.” Muddy’s words were hammers on anvils. “We will take the position of strength and stand up to the ranger when the time comes.” He put his hand on Nena’s shoulder as tenderly as he could. “But for now, I agree with Chancho. We should not go to Mexico.”

Nena avoided his attempts at affection, reasserting her control. “Come then. Main street will be trafficked enough to mask our tracks. If you insist on staying here overnight we should at least ensure we aren’t found out by morning.” She made no attempt to mask her fury at losing the battle.

Battered by regret, Chancho pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew Nena had not ceded the war. His actions over the last few days had caused damage not easily undone.

Before the moon rose over the treetops Muddy reined Tripalo to a stop in a neighborhood designed for decommissioned black Seminole scouts. His two years at Fort Clark left him with strong connections in the old troop, connections more willing to overlook his taking a Kickapoo wife than his immediate family had been.

 With palpable tension still sparking between them, the three friends dismounted in front of a small wooden framed house. It looked like all the other houses on the block, save a single light flickering behind drawn curtains where a window had been opened to the evening breeze. As Muddy knocked on the front door a rifle barrel jutted out the opened window, pointing straight at Chancho. He and Nena froze.

“Jesse! It’s Muddy.”

“Muddy?” A head stuck out the window above the barrel. “Well, I’ll be. Get yourself inside!” The rifle barrel withdrew and a few seconds later the door opened.

“Mad Muddy Sampson. I’ll be derned.” The two men embraced each other and slapped backs hardily. “And is this that firecracker Nenaiquita? Give this old rascal a hug.”

Nena obeyed, doing her best not to smile.

“And who’s this?”

Muddy introduced Chancho to their new host. “This is my good friend, Chancho Villarreal.”

The two men shook hands. “It is my honor to meet you, Señor Warrior. Muddy has spoken of you often.”

“Oh please, call me Jesse. And I swear half of the stuff Muddy says ain’t truth. But I reckon you know that by now.” The old man slapped Chancho on the back, forcing him to jump to keep his balance. “Just the other day I heard tell of a goat-bleeding monster goes by El Chupacabra. Sounded just like a story Mad Muddy used to tell around the campfire, ‘cept folk were repeating it like it was God’s truth.” Muddy lifted his hand as if to speak. “But I’m sure ya’ll know all about that, huh? Now come on, bring those horses around back and we’ll get ya’ll settled in.”

After unsaddling the horses and scooping a coffee can of grain for each, the group settled around the kitchen table. Muddy started the conversation. “Your greeting has gotten stiff since I saw you last.”

“Hell, this whole town has gone stiff since you left. The war in Europe got the military coiled up like a rattler that don’t know where to strike. With the revolution still going on in Mexico more peons are flooding across the river now then ever, and bandits too. For the most part people overlook a small bunch of dark-skinned ex-scouts, but you never know. Don’t count to get lazy.” Jesse smiled a patchwork smile, every other tooth gone.

“I don’t suppose so.” Muddy set his coffee cup on the table. “You seem to know an awful lot about the situation.”

“Yessir.” Jesse grinned again. “A man’s gotta’ eat ain’t he?”

Muddy stared back at him.

“Well, I’ve been working, part-time mind you, as a guide of sorts.”

Nena asked, “And who exactly would an old scout be guiding?”

Jesse slapped his leg, “Dagnabbit if you young’uns ain’t worse than that slippery old Capt’n Chandler. Greasy white feller. But enough about me. I knew when the locals started yapping about Muddy’s fictional monster that ya’ll be by sooner or later, and it does this old man good to have the company.” Jesse shook his head. “Them white folk, they tend to find all sorts of things to demonize, whether it be booze or black folk. But a demon strengthened by two Indians and protected by a Mexican, that’s making it awful easy." He slapped the table. "So out with the bad news that brung ya.”

Muddy swallowed a gulp of coffee. “A Texas Ranger has tracked us to Brackettville, determined to catch or kill us. Or both.”

Jesse scratched his ear as Nena and Chancho took sips from their coffee. “Ain’t that beat all. Two years ago you was tracking outlaws for this damn country and now they tracking you. Can’t say I’m surprised. There any point in me asking why, other than the bull plop about El Chupacabra?” Chancho grimaced and looked down at his cup, wondering if Muddy would wait for him to explain all over again.

Instead Muddy reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a couple of marihuana leaves. “We think because of these.”

“What? Marihuana? That don’t make no sense. There ain’t no law against marihuana.”

Muddy continued, “We’ve grown and harvested lots of it, and it seems the Anglos fear it much like alcohol.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Jesse nodded. “Hell, there ain’t no figuring whites and what they fear. If you say so, I don’t doubt it. But it ain’t no matter to me. There’s a slobbering El Chupacabra behind every bush these days.” He took a gulp of coffee. “You say this ranger’s tracking you. Should I be on my porch with my babies?” The old man reached under the table and produced two mare’s leg 44-40 lever-action pistols, cut down from Winchester 92s.

Chancho choked on his coffee. “What are those?”

Muddy took one to look it over more closely. “Jesse, what kind of guide are you?”

“Honestly, fellas. I’m just an old scout too long for this world. I had to find something to pass the days.”

“Woodcarving would pass the days.” Nena said.

“This is a mite more fun.” He put the mare’s leg on the table. “I know the land.” He shrugged. “Some friends needed a favor. The next thing I know I’m showing folk across the border. It keeps me busy and keeps me fed.”

“No.” Nena interrupted. “This is a warrior looking for a warrior’s death.”

Jesse grinned. “All the same, should I be keeping these handy?”

“The ranger will know we are in town, but not where.” A second thought occurred to Nena as she spoke. “Unless someone saw us—”

“Ain’t nobody gonna’ talk to no Texas Ranger about what they saw. This is a military town. Military ain’t been friendly with the rangers since I was a boy first entering this land. Ain’t cut from the same cloth.” Jesse picked at the stubble on his chin. “Now if the sheriff start poking around…” He trailed off and then started talking more to himself than his guests. “But that wouldn’t be till morning at the earliest.”

Chancho cleared his throat. He’d been eyeing a closed door behind him, and now looked hopeful. “Mr. Warrior, you wouldn’t happen to have indoor facilities. The coffee, it goes right through me.”

“What? That? Yeah, I got a fancy wacha’ majiggy. A water closet.” Chancho pushed his seat back from the table with enthusiasm. “But it don’t work. Latrine’s attached to the shed out back.” Jesse thumbed toward the back door. Crestfallen, Chancho trudged outside while Jesse finished his thought from before. “Ya’ll be fine here ‘till morning, but we gotta come up with a plan to get you safely on your way. Now Mexico—”

“We’re not going to Mexico.” Muddy interrupted. Nena looked away toward the window.

“Not going to Mexico…” Jesse sputtered. “What in tarnation. That makes things a mite more difficult.”

Slowly the old man looked around the table, staring each of them in the eye and thinking. Finally he slapped the table, spilling what was left of his coffee. “Muddy, you think you could still fly one of those scout planes?”