Despite his recent celebrity status, Chancho had to wait nearly an hour before seeing Bronco O'Brien at the Bexar County Jail. During his wait he pondered the gaping expanse between Austin and San Antonio. While geographically close, the two towns were ideologically worlds apart. San Antonio, dominated by cattlemen and military, opposed Austin's politicians and university students.

By the time the guard escorted him to Bronco's cell he understood why the Rangers had chosen to imprison the old man in San Antonio despite Ranger headquarters being in Austin.

"Chancho, you scamp!" Bronco's greeting caused the guard to stiffen, hesitant to let Chancho into the cell. "I knew you'd give 'em hell!"

Finally ushering Chancho inside, the guard slammed the bars behind him. "You've got half an hour. Whistle if you want out before that."

"I heard about your pardon a couple days ago. I hope that bastard, McCutchen, got what was coming to him."

Chancho hugged Bronco. "You know, I haven't heard. Last I seen him was at Santa Polco."

Bronco slapped his leg. "He won't be able to survive the scandal. I bet you dollars to cow pies he was a civilian by the time you shook the governor's hand. Hot damn. You gotta tell me what it was like. That limp-wit Hobby. He'd a pardoned his own mother's murderer to git rid of this mess. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he did."

He stopped to breathe. "Sorry about that. Just that I ain't had nobody to visit with since Chloe left a few days ago. Here." Bronco ushered Chancho over to the prison issue mattress. "Have a seat. I'm gonna stretch my legs for a bit."

"How is Chloe?" Her mention caused a wave of mixed emotion in Chancho. Part of him had hoped to see her.

"Oh, she'll make it. Hermilla's been taking care of her. Beau and Luke can run the ranch. She's a tough nugget, that one." His voice started to quiver as he paced the cell. "I don't know how I would have done it without her, after her mother died." He turned and winked at Chancho. "You should stick around. She's supposed to be back in town today."

Chancho changed the subject. "I want to apologize, Mr. O'Brien."

"Fir what?" He started pacing again.

"For landing you in here."

"Dag blast it. Now cut that out. That piss ant, McCutchen, had me thrown in here, not you. Ha!" He slapped his leg. "You're the one who made sure it was the last official thing he did. I should be thanking you." He sighed. "Besides, I'll be getting out pretty soon. Trumped up charges on obstruction of justice and violation of the county liquor laws can't hold me for long. Tried to get me for inciting a riot, but the judge already threw that one out. I think they just want me cooling my heels until after the elections." He snapped his fingers. "Speaking of! Chloe mentioned the buzz around Austin. Is it true? Don't shoot me no shit, boy."

Chancho smiled and nodded.

"Hot damn! That'll show 'em. Did you know you're the first bonafide Mexican representative since Texas became a state?"

It struck Chancho all over again how little he knew about the world he was entering.

"Oh Daddy, leave the man alone. He hasn't even gotten elected yet." Chloe stood in the hall waiting for the guards to buzz her into the main prison corridor.

"Why, don't you think he'll win?" Bronco slapped Chancho on his sore shoulder, bring tears to his eyes.

"Oh, he'll win, but first things first." The door clicked and Chloe swung it open. She whisked around the door swaying her hips like a movie starlet on the silver screen rather than a rancher's daughter in a county lockup. Chancho stood, holding his peace and trying to think about anything other than settling down to the pastoral life with Chloe in her perfect fitting jeans.

"And what things might you be referring to?" Bronco winked at Chancho elaborately, playing at something completely beyond him.

"Why Chancho, have you been crying?"

Chancho looked back and forth between them, both acting funny. "It's just my..." he gestured toward the sling immobilizing his arm, but gave up and shrugged his shoulders.

"And what's that silly outfit you're wearing? Is this what people in Austin are wearing these days?"

Sputtering, he looked down at his clothing, "I —" but the door buzzed again, cutting him off. Slowly the heavy bars swung open.

"Well, ain't this just a party," Bronco said. "It's about time."

Chancho gasped as Muddy and Nena stepped into the corridor, followed by a long silence.

"At least he's not naked." Nena gripped the bars of the cell. "Anything else is an improvement." She looked him in the eyes. "Although these bars are not becoming to a man of great vision." Muddy stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

Moments ago Chancho's worst fear had been that his best friends were dead and gone. He had not prepared for the even worse possibility, that they lived but had not forgiven him. This sudden fear pulled him toward the floor like a millstone around his neck. "I'm sorry—"

"No." Muddy cut him off. "We should have stayed together."

Nena nodded. "Muddy is right, he was right. You were right, Chancho. The people were ready."

Chancho shook his head. "No. I was't ready. I was selfish and proud." A tear trailed down Nena's face and Chancho broke down into sobs. "Now look who's crying." He reached his arms through the bars to give both of them an awkward hug.

"You started it, you crazy Mexican." Nena's voice quivered.

Chloe and Bronco joined in, completing the group. Finally Bronco broke them up. "This is sweet and all, but one of us is supposed to be doing jail time here. The rest of you should be hugging and kissing on the outside." He ribbed Chancho.

"But how did you get here?" Chancho asked.

"'Cause the guard there is sweet on my daughter. Just lets her walk right through." Bronco said loudly.

"No," Chancho corrected. "Not in here, but how did you get to be here? How have you hidden all this time?"

"Oh that was easy, honey." Chloe sparkled. "I took 'em straight out of Blondie once we realized you were gone and dropped 'em off south of the ranch. Daddy kept the ranger busy."

Bronco danced. "You should have seen him. The crowd worked him over pretty good before it was all over. He wanted to arrest 'em all, but he settled for me."

Chancho's boyish fascination returned. "Of course, the Kickapoo. And you stayed with them the whole time?"

Muddy nodded. "They were more than glad to hide us. We stayed until Chloe left the signal that it was safe. When we learned we'd been pardoned we came here."

"But how did you know I—"

Nena cut him off. "Don't be dense. We knew you would be looking for us, and we knew you would visit Mr. O'Brien."

Chancho shook his head. "Am I really that predictable?"

They were interrupted by the guard. "Alright. That's enough. Only one visitor at a time." He ushered Muddy and Nena with a drawn nightstick. "Out. Out."

Chloe held fast. "I'm staying, honey."

The guard sighed, "Alright. You in the cell, come on."

Bronco stepped front and center. "Hot damn. I knew they'd come to their senses."

"Not you, old man. The Motorcycle Mexican."

Bronco laughed. "So is that what they're calling you?"

Chancho shrugged as the guard escorted him from the cell. "I'll get you out, Mr. O'Brien. After I get elected, I'll do everything I can."

"I know you will, son. Don't worry about me. They got great chili in here. I'll gas 'em out before its over." He clenched his cheeks and ripped a barn burner that echoed off the walls.

"Daddy!"

"No one can silence Bronco O'Brien!" He danced about his cell while the guard herded Chancho toward the second set of doors leading to the entryway.

Chloe clutched at Chancho's sleeve imploring him with her eyes. "He's keeping his spirits up, but he can't stay in here. Please."

Chancho brushed her cheek with his hand. "I'll get him out. I promise."

She kissed him on the forehead. "Ya'll be careful. It can be rough out there, even for a celebrity."

Chancho rolled his eyes. "Please, señorita, I'm no celebrity. I'm the Motorcycle Mexican."

"Break it up." The door buzzed and the guard shoved him through it.

"I'll keep a room ready for you at the ranch." Chloe blew a kiss through the bars as the three friends turned to leave.

"Bautizada! Bella, Tripalo!" Dressed like a gentleman but prancing about like a school boy, Chancho embraced the horses while creating a scene in front of the jail. "How did you get them?"

"We didn't. A man from Fort Clark transferred them here yesterday with instructions to hand them over to Del Rio Chancho Villarreal, aka the Motorcycle Mexican. That's you, my friend." Muddy put his arm around him.

"¡Increíble!"

"There's more." He wrapped Nena in his other arm. "But the rest can wait until we get to Brackettville. Come, we have a long ride in front of us."

"Wait," Chancho stopped. "I need some clothes."

"What's wrong with those." Nena snickered.

"We don't have any money." Muddy looked him over, the corners of his mouth starting to curl. "Besides, you look fine."

"¡Increíble!" Chancho shoved him. "We do have money, and these are my politicking clothes. I can't muck them up on horseback."

"How do we have money?" Nena prodded him.

Chancho ran his thumbs up and down along the sides of his vest, grinning. "I made them compensate us for our marihuana."

"You didn't."

Chancho nodded. "I did. The rinche had it destroyed as soon as they found it under Bronco's barn. I think the governor wanted it kept secret." He pulled a money clip from his pocket. "Twelve hundred dollars." He flapped the money as he skipped toward the boardwalk, Nena and Muddy chasing him. "Come. You two look ratty."