Jesse reloaded his mare’s legs with regular rounds as he bounced in the saddle behind Muddy, ignoring the blood oozing from his side. “Sorry about that. I knew that snake Swisher had been staking me out, but I didn’t figure he’d make the connection.”

“I’m afraid Nena was right, we’ve only brought you trouble.” Muddy and Jesse rode double in the lead, Chancho following them closely, while Nena brought up the rear.

“Nothing doing. I’ve been in trouble since you left.” Jesse finished loading his weapons and craned his neck to see behind them. “Look, I haven’t been totally honest with you.”

“I’ve never known you to be anything less than honest.”

“Well, now you have.” He winced as Tripalo barreled into a dry wash and lunged up the other side. “That shoot out was just as much about me as it was you.”

“I don’t understand.” They dodged a large prickly pear forcing Jesse to clutch tighter around Muddy’s waist. The horizon ahead of them shone with the oranges and yellows of a rising sun, but had yet to brush away the shadows of night.

Jesse shook his head. “There’s something going on along the border involving international players. It’s big.”

“Mexico’s big.”

“Nah, bigger than Mexico. Europe. Hell, the whole damn world. I’m sorry, I just haven’t put it together. Apparently there’re folk that don’t want me to.”

“Why would those folk suspect you?”

Jesse clutched his side. “Let’s just say I’ve seen some things they didn’t want me to.”

“Like what?”

“Just shut-up for a second. Damn, Nena’s usually the one with all the questions. There’s some stuff I need to tell you, and not much time for the telling.” A gunshot rang out behind them. Jesse continued, “Some fellers offered me a job a while back to help them move some guns across the border. I didn’t like the way they smelled, so I told ‘em no. I doubled back and followed them to the biggest stash of weapons I’d ever seen. Crazy stuff too. They turned out to be Germans connected somehow to the Mexican government. Obviously they got spies around here too. I knew Swisher was one, but there’s probably more.”

Gunshots echoed behind them. Muddy clutched the reins, his prayers for Nena a clot in his heart. Jesse squeezed him around the waist. “Focus, Muddy. Trust me, she’s fine. No army of rangers could bring that battle ax down. Anyway, not everything’s relevant, but there are things that can’t die with me.”

Muddy cut him off. “You won’t die.”

“That’s not for you to decide, dammit. The good Lord and I have known it was coming for a long time now. But you need to listen!” Jesse grew more urgent. “There’s an abandoned railroad tunnel and mine south of here, not far from the border. The Huns are using it as a headquarters. I haven’t had the chance to report its whereabouts. If I can, I’ll use a phone at Fort Clark. I still got some friends there, but I got enemies there too. We got enemies there. First priority is to get y’all out safely. Now you know about the hideout, so there’s two chances the knowledge’ll survive.” He lifted his hand from his side, blood still oozing from the wound, “Even if I don’t.”

“Now that I know, who’ll I tell?” Muddy was still confused.

“You’ll figure it out. The fort’s just ahead. We gotta figure a way through the fence if we’re gonna reach the airstrip.”

“I think we’ve got just the thing. Can you reach the saddle bags? I just hope no one knows we’re coming.”

Chancho cut the second gourd open with the crystal knife. Muddy rolled the putty from the first gourd into a long snake in his hands before sticking it to the chain link fence. He connected the first snake with the second and buried a fuse in the end. Nena and Jesse exchanged gunfire with the ranger at a hundred yards. With little cover and Nena firing Muddy’s Spencer with deadly accuracy, their pursuers had been forced to dismount and hit the dirt with only their pistols at long range. But even in the dim pre-dawn light they were getting close.

“Hurry. It’s only a matter of time.” Nena grunted in an effort to heft the butt of the rifle higher on her shoulder. She stood, creating a shield for the others.

Chancho tossed Jesse’s lighter to Muddy, who flicked it to life and lit the fuse.

“Get down, you crazy woman.” Jesse pushed Nena to the ground as Muddy and Chancho grabbed the horses’ reins. Nothing happened. Then a short series of pops, a fissuring crackle, peeled the fence back like a knife through flesh.

“Leave the horses.” Jesse barked. “You can’t take them where you’re going. Go. Go!”

Chancho unloosed his saddle bags, hefting them over his shoulder. Jesse tossed Muddy’s bags to him, depositing something swiftly into them before he did so. Nena fetched her own.

“Nena, leave me the Spencer.” Jesse already held the Blakeslee Cartridge Box. For the first time, Nena noticed the blood soaking through his shirt.

“You’re injured.”

“Damn hardheaded woman. I’ll cover you!”

“I’ll help.”

“Good God darnit! You made me swear, and now we both got troubles.” He nodded toward the airstrip. “You get ‘em to the plane. I’ll be right behind you.”

Nena looked over her shoulder. A small number of soldiers emerged from a barracks no further from the hanger than they were themselves. The old man would not change his mind, and the ranger, already back on his horse, advanced on them.

Without a word she threw him the Spencer and darted with deer-like grace toward the others. Wasting no time he loaded it with the Blakeslee and threw himself to the ground, resting the barrel on a rock. His first bullet cut the sheriff’s horse out from under him, sending the law man smashing into a prickly pear. The two remaining riders split up, forcing him to choose. Without hesitation he chose the ranger. But as he swung the rifle into position the ranger leapt from his horse in mid-gallop, changing the tables on him again.

“Polecat!” Jesse swung the rifle toward the deputy who pulled his horse up, uncertain of how to proceed. The Spencer bucked as Jesse encouraged the deputy with a hot slug to the leg. With his horse raring, he bailed out of the saddle backwards and crunched down on his head.

Quickly, Jesse tried to find the ranger in his sights, but rock chips showered him as a ricochet grazed his shoulder. “This ain’t good.” Chucking the Spencer he leapt onto Tripalo’s back, two more bullets barely missing their mark. “We got one more ride, old friend. Hyaw!”

With the ranger on foot he and Tripalo took the upper hand. High in the saddle Jesse crossed his arms over his head, pulling his dual mare’s legs from their criss-crossed holsters strapped to his back. In a single downward movement he spun the two pistols, working the levers to load them as Tripalo bore down on the ranger, hungry for blood. Jesse burned the air with lead and smoke, spinning the cutdown Winchesters to reload them.

The damned ranger, insistent on survival, whistled for his horse as he zigged a crooked path toward it. Jesse kept the 44-40s blazing until both were empty, amazed the ranger still lived. With Tripalo only twenty yards away and galloping at full speed, the ranger finally mounted his horse.

Nothing for it now. Old enough to know what he was about to do was the stupidest thing he could think of, Jesse left all earthly anchor. He leapt from the saddle and crashed full-mast into the shocked Texas Ranger. Entangled, the two men flew from horse to ground over the span of a full 10 yards, the ranger absorbing the blow as they hit. Jesse bounced, the ranger’s ribs compacting below him, and rolled a summersault in midair before crashing down to earth.

Tripalo swung an arching loop. For several seconds the falling of hooves and the ringing in his head were the only things Jesse could hear. He pitched over on his stomach and heaved himself up from the ground, taking a few staggering steps toward the ranger’s crumpled body. He felt like he’d been tossed from a moving train while crossing a bridge a hundred feet above a river.

Suddenly a bullet clipped his left arm. Angrier than a mother porcupine and with more quills, the sheriff walked steadily toward him, his pistol spitting lead. Tripalo’s hoofbeats coming up fast behind him and to his right, Jesse threw his right hand out to catch the saddle horn in his grip. With one bound he bounced his chest off the neck and shoulders of the running horse, his right foot in the stirrup, and let his momentum swing his left leg over the rump of the horse until he was seated backwards in the saddle.

As he passed by he waved at the sheriff who still had one bullet left in the cylinder, the one Jesse had been waiting his entire life for—seventy years of living up to his Warrior name. When the burning lead tunneled through his chest he thought first of the Warriors who had gone before him. He had served his people just as they had. Next he thought of Muddy and Nena, hoping for his people’s future.

The early morning gunfire woke some soldiers while catching others in various stages of routine. Stumbling from the barracks in disarray, they took up arms. But with no clear idea of the threat the soldiers’ aim remained tentative. Never suspecting someone would steal a plane, they drove the traspassers in the direction of the airstrip intending to strand them in the open. Muddy and Chancho reached the biplane moments before the soldiers figured out what was going on.

Not yet in imminent danger, Nena coiled, ready with her crossbow and waiting to strike. Muddy dropped his things to unscrew the gas cap, taking a whiff. “There’s gas. Chancho, load our things in the back.” He moved around the front of the craft. “British S.E. 5 with a second seat. This is nothing like what I’ve flown.”

“But you can fly it.” Chancho slogged the saddle bags under the seat. “No time for flight school, mi amigo. ¡Viva la revolucion!”

“Shut up, you crazy Mexican! We’re on a U.S. airstrip,” Nena snapped.

“Perdóneme. The heat of the moment.” He slapped Muddy on the back.

In the distance, orders finally came to use all necessary force to prevent the invaders from stealing an aircraft. The follow-up command floated across the fort grounds even more loudly, “But for God’s sake, don’t shoot the plane!” Gunshots followed tentatively, wide or high of their mark, in an effort to encourage the invaders to stand down.

“Well, mis amigos, I suggest we get in the plane." Chancho started to climb into the front seat.

“Muddy!” Nena crouched with her crossbow directed toward the breach in the fence. Muddy followed her aim until he saw Tripalo walking toward them across the gravel compound with Jesse slumped in the saddle.

Muddy gritted his teeth. Past the hulking black horse metal gleamed in the shadows of the hanger as a rifle drew a bead on the old scout. Muddy bolted past Nena, snatching her crossbow and releasing a torrent of darts. Like a starting pistol, the rifle crack released the stored up tension across the entire fort. The soldiers, assuming they had been fired upon, loosed shots with more deadly intent. Taking knees, they fired at every perceived threat.

Slowly, Lipscomb emerged from the shadow of the hanger, firing the stolen Spencer Repeater. He shifted his target from Jesse to Muddy.

Unarmed, Chancho clung to the hull of the aircraft. “Nena! Muddy!” He knew Muddy would never make it. A bullet thwacked the wooden frame of the plane causing him to flinch. He scanned for the source. “The rinche!”

Nena heard him. McCutchen and the sheriff stood in the breach firing from behind their horses, unconcerned about the safety of the plane. Without another thought Nena dashed toward Muddy, leaping shards of lead and gravel. Muddy moved steadily toward Jesse, exhausting his supply of arrows until he finally struck the deputy, causing him to drop the Spencer. But before he could sprint the last thirty yards to his mentor, friend and father a searing pain chewed into the meat of his thigh.

“Muddy!” Nena dove, rolled and sprang to his side as he double clutched, stumbling forward onto his knees. She nimbly caught his crushing weight, saving him from sprawling face first.

“Jesse!” He continued to strain his muscles, dragging the couple forward on their hands and knees until his leg folded under the weight.

“You stupid kids.” Blood dripping down his leg and from the stirrup, Jesse regained consciousness. Ashen faced and dry, he swallowed hard before he could talk. “Git, or I’ll shoot you myself. This is my funeral, not yours.” His fingers twitched, eventually managing a yank of the reins. Obediently Tripalo turned, heading back toward the breach in order to block the ranger’s line of fire.

Muddy clutched a fistful of gravel and peppered the side of the hanger in a burst of rage. “I’ll see all of you in hell!”

“Muddy.” Nena buried her head and shoulder in his armpit and lurched upward, wrenching his arm. “Time to go.” Heaving upward with his good leg, the two of them loped awkwardly toward the plane. Shots pocked the runway and tore through the fabric of the aircraft. Having awoken to violence, a frenzy unleashed on the fort and everyone in it.

Chancho jumped down from the cockpit and helped Muddy climb into the rear seat as he and Nena took the front. Within seconds the engine sputtered and came to life, the prop a spinning blur pulling them forward. Unarmed, vulnerable and cramped onto Chancho’s lap, Nena turned in a fit of frustration, slapping him across the face. “You have done this to us!”

Silenced by the sting and the anger in her voice, Chancho closed his eyes in grief and in prayer. Did the people around him always come to harm? Bouncing down the runway, they distanced themselves from the dying gunfire. The three gritted their teeth and clutched the aircraft with white-knuckles as the wind whipped past them faster.

Muddy focused everything on his memories of flying scout planes for the 14th, the tug and pull of the controls in his hands, the pitch of the wings, the torque of the engine. But everything had changed in the years since. Completely ignorant of their center of gravity, the power that tugged them down the runway felt unfamiliar.

With a grunt he pulled harder on the controls. Their stomachs rose and fell as the plane bounced, pitching dangerously from side to side. The cost Jessie had paid for their freedom played in his mind along with his dying wish that they would survive him. With a steely anger Muddy jerked the controls, lifting them into the air.