After two days of riding the friends fell comfortably into old patterns, passing the time alternating between conversation, laughter and total silence. They held a new appreciation for the simpleness of a trail ride without pursuit. Chancho explained to them what he found at Mt. Sabinas, and how he’d used his share of the gold. Muddy and Nena did their best to console his grief over the loss of his orphanage family. Muddy vowed to help fulfill Ah Puch’s dream when the time came, and Nena offered that perhaps most of the orphans had survived.

As they neared Brackettville on the second day a solemness shrouded Chancho until Muddy offered one of his favorite stories involving Jesse during their time in the troop. At the end Nena punctuated the story, “He died the way he wanted.” They all nodded, riding three abreast down Main Street.

“It was a good death.” Chancho added. Clearing his throat, he begged them with his eyes to not prolong his agony any longer, having waited since San Antonio to hear the rest of the story Muddy had alluded to. Nena rode closer to Tripalo. Reaching into his saddle bags she pulled out a small tin can and tossed it to Chancho.

Muddy explained, “Bronco’s men collected me and Nena’s saddle bag in Blondie before the ranger could, although they never found yours.”

Chancho slapped his forehead. “Ay. I dropped it behind a saloon. It had the knife from Rock With Eyes.”

“Well, there was nearly a riot—”

“You would’ve liked it.” Nena added.

Muddy continued, “We made it out in the confusion, but didn’t unpack the bags until we reached the caves. When we did, we found that. It was Jesse’s, I’m certain.”

Chancho popped the lid from the can and carefully slid the contents into the palm of his hand. “What are they?”

Muddy exchanged glances with Nena, both of them giving Chancho more time.

“Each of them is made from a different material.” Chancho tucked the can into his pocket, using both hands to inspect the flat donut-shaped discs. He finally looked up at the others as they turned down a side street heading for Jesse’s place.

“We’d hoped you could tell us their purpose.” Muddy said. “There were doubles of each material. We left the others with Sunny and his granddaughter.”

“She was the female version of you. You’ll have to meet her, I just don’t want to be there when you do.” Chancho feigned offense as Nena motioning her hand like a mouth. “Yap, yap, yap.”

Muddy played peacemaker. “We thought they might be used—”

“With machinery.” Chancho interrupted. “Engines, pumps, anything mechanical. Si.” He scratched his chin. “It’s ingenious. So simple. Why didn’t I think of this? It’s always the simplest solutions that are most difficult.” Holding up a ring made of light plastic he peered at Muddy through the hole in the middle of it. “Remember the tank of methane for the harvester?”

Nena smirked. “I wish I would have seen that.”

“My scorched buttocks are another matter.” Chancho waved her off. “But the fire wouldn’t have happened with one of these. See?” He tossed it to Muddy. “With one of these the right size sandwiched between the tank and the rest of the valve the gas would not have leaked.” Chancho manipulated another ring in his hand, one made from a bendable rubber.

Nena was skeptical. “Why would Jesse have hidden tractor parts in our bags.”

“Not just tractor parts. Everything.” Chancho grew animated. “Autos, appliances, plumbing, pumps. Especially anything with liquids or gases.”

Muddy made the connection the rest of them missed. “Like oil.”

“Si. Definitely oil.” Chancho tracked the thought down, finally making the connection. “Oil!”

But before they could follow the thought further they arrived at Jesse’s.

“Is this—”

“This is it.”

“What happened?” Chancho gawked in disbelief at the charred wreckage of Jesse’s stick-framed house. Tattered remains of the old, scout’s personal effects fluttered gently in the breeze, scattered about the property. The burnt debris had been overturned, a path leading into the middle. They dismounted, Nena glaring about the neighborhood while Muddy and Chancho approached the rubble.

Rummaging their way into the pile, they overturned a section of siding still intact. “Santa Maria.”

The hollow beneath it revealed an earthen cellar. With Nena standing watch the men climbed down and waited several seconds at the bottom for their eyes to adjust. Dim light filtered through the opening above them. “Did you know about this place?”

Muddy shook his head. The room extended for a dozen feet, the walls covered with empty shelves from floor to ceiling. Broken jars and empty ammunition cartons laid strewn across the floor. Like the rubble above, this room had been ransacked.

“What did he keep in here?” Chancho inspected the dust patterns on a shelf looking for evidence of what they had held.

After several seconds Muddy answered. “Guns, food, anything he needed for emergencies, and it looks like he was preparing for emergencies, lots of them.”

“It looks like Jesse Warrior was not retired after all.”

Muddy ran a hand over an empty shelf. “He said something to me on the way to the airstrip—that he had stumbled into something big involving Germans and a hideout near here.” Chancho waited for him to finish. “Whoever did this, they were looking for something, and it wasn’t guns.”

Chancho rubbed the missing notch of his earlobe. “Whatever it was, do you think they found it?”

“From what I know of Jesse, which obviously was not as much as I thought, I doubt it. This room would have been for emergency supplies, not for secrets.”

“Plus someone came back down here after they burned the house. Why would they have done that, if they already had what they wanted?” Chancho climbed up into the sunlight first.

“Why burn the house at all if you are certain it contains nothing of value?” Muddy climbed up the earthen steps next. “Jesse had a modern toilet, remember?”

“He never used it, but built an outhouse instead.”

“Exactly. He said it didn’t work.”

“Ay caramba.”

“Help me find it.” The two men carved a new path through the rubble until they discovered the overturned ceramic toilet—the bowl broken, but the pull-chain tank intact. Muddy reached inside it and pulled out a heavy metal object with rubberized handles.

“What is it?” Chancho’s jaw dropped.

“I don’t know, but let’s get out of this mess.” They retreated to the big palm tree by the road.

The object was heavy. Constructed mostly from metal, several buttons lined one side, and words had been stenciled along the length of it in Spanish. Chancho used his sleeve to wipe the grime from its surface until he could read the label, “Geological survey—Secretariat of the Interior.” He slowly shifted his gaze from the object to Muddy and then Nena. “I’ve seen these words before.”

Nena prodded him. “There’s a lid.”

Chancho carefully flipped the top of the device open while Muddy held it. Beneath the lid was another solid surface made from a different material. He tapped it. “It’s glass, but… like a photo plate.”

“As in photographs?”

“Exactly. The last time I saw something like this was on General Obregon’s personal train bound for Texas, just before Ah Puch and I, uh, diverted it. Come to think of it, it’s probably still where we left it.” Chancho sat the device on the ground. “I’m going to try something.”

Atop the row of identical black buttons sat a larger red button. Chancho pressed it. A low buzz from within the box grew in intensity. The three friends backed away until it popped. A fizzling sound trailed off into silence as the glass surface began glowing blue. The glow increased until it revealing patterns of darkened black lines and illuminated blue areas of the glass. Holding their breath, they watched the patterns emerge.

“It’s a map.” Nena saw it first.

“Of what?” The image filled nearly the entire surface, still spreading into the corners. “It’s big, look.” Chancho held his finger over the surface. “This is the Texas Gulf Coast. This is Mexico.”

“And this is what? California?”

“Must be. Coahuila, Chihuahua, all the Northern provinces and Southwestern states.”

Nena pointed at the glass surface. “So what do all these dots indicate? And why are there so many of them in Texas?”

“And if that one button revealed this map, what about all the others?” Chancho added, “this thing could be like a box of negatives.”

A noise came from the next block over causing Muddy to close the lid. “Here.” He handed the devise to Chancho. “Let’s figure it out somewhere else.” The three friends mounted up. “Besides, don’t you have a campaign to run? And I miss my goats.” Chancho grinned nonstop as they rode quietly out of town.

McCutchen turned, burying his Colt .45 into the stranger’s belly with surprising speed considering his level of inebriation. At the same time he felt a pinch in his ribs. He looked down to see a pistol jabbing into his own side, applied with the same stealth and speed.

“Ha.” He removed his Colt and let the hammer down gently. “I guess you got me.” Holstering his gun he turned back to the bar and drained what remained of his fourth glass of wine. An empty bottle sat next to the now empty glass. “Pull the trigger or push off. I’m busy.”

“Are you? ‘Cause to me, it looks like your calendar’s wide open. What, now that you’re not a ranger and all.”

Grinding his teeth, McCutchen slowly popped his neck and turned to face the stranger.

“You son of a…” He stopped when he finally looked the man in the face. “Do I know you?”

The man smiled. “We’ve met, once.”

“I’ll be damned.” McCutchen slapped the surface of the bar. “Lipscomb. What the hell are you doing in Del Rio? Taking a vacation?”

“Do you mind?” Lipscomb indicated the stool next to McCutchen.

“Sure. Be my guest, but the wine sucks here.”

Lipscomb nodded to the barkeep, “beer.” He turned back to the ex-ranger. “You’re looking good, my friend.”

“Cut the crap, Deputy—”

“Uhh,” Lipscomb tapped his badge, “It’s Sheriff now.”

“Well congratulations. I’m glad someone benefitted from this circus, ‘cause it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, McCutchen. You see, I don’t just work for the people of Brackettville. I have,” he paused to take a drink as his beer arrived.

“Drinking a Heineken?” McCutchen grumbled.

Lipscomb ignored him, “Now where was I? Oh yes. Let’s just say I answer to other interested parties,” he cleared his throat, “that compensate me well.”

“Do you mind?” McCutchen lifted his empty glass, tapping it with his finger. Lipscomb flagged down the bartender again. “What interested parties?”

“One interested party, to be specific, and I’m sure you could already guess as to their identity.”

“Guesses are ugly for everyone involved.”

“True. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’d hate to have to kill you for no good reason.”

McCutchen tensed noticeably, but quickly let it go. He didn’t trust Lipscomb and wouldn’t anytime soon, but there was no point in preparing for a fight he would lose. “That would be a shame.”

“Indeed, but it need not come to that.” Lipscomb took another swig of beer. “I’ve come with a job offer.”

“Hah.” McCutchen scoffed. “Why the hell would I want to work for you, as a deputy?” The bartender filled his glass.

“Nothing like that. No, you wouldn’t be working for me. And let me make one thing perfectly clear.” He gripped McCutchen in a steely glare that caused him to flush. “It wouldn’t be in any official capacity.”