William notes that Kyle is riding a different horse than last evening. This one is a lean but hard-muscled sorrel stallion. Of the long-necked and narrow haunches “Texas horse” type. They aren’t the fastest in a sprint, but they can cover miles and miles of ground at a quick pace, with little water. The horse has an uncommonly aware, intelligent, and spirited look in its eye. Like that of his own fine bay quarter horse stallion. Kyle’s horse might excel over distances, but he’d bet that his own bay would beat by a long shot in quarter mile run. And that horse couldn’t turn on a dime and stop on a nickel like the bay. The two prime males looked each other over, sized each other up, and seemed to come to a compromise. The sorrel made the sign of accepting the bay into this temporary, and the other Rangers’ geldings and mares acknowledged and did the same. William and Kyle looked at each other, each with the same thought. “If a mare comes into heat, it’ll be hell.”
Kyle touches the brim of his hat in the early morning light and says, "Morning, Mr. Moore, Mr. McLaury. These are Rangers Howard Moses, Frank Denton, and Luther Heinrich.” The men touch fingers to brims, look William and Gideon straight in the eye, saying, more or less, “I’m an honest and reliable man to ride with, I hope you are too.” When William returns the look in the eye, the men variously say, “Pleased ta meet ya,” “Good ta meet ya,” and “Howdy.” Gideon, says “Howdy do,” rather grimly.
Kyle says, “Well, we’re ready to ride if you are, Mr. Moore, Mr. McLaury.” He puts both hands on his saddle horn, looks down, and says in a clear voice to no one in particular, “As a reminder, we’re goin after a horse rustlin and stagecoach robbin gang. To start, we’ll ride around 60 miles to a abandoned farm house in Llano County, by way of San Marcos.” The Rangers silently listen up, also looking down. It seems to that a pre-ride briefing is something these Rangers customarily do. Even the horses seem to expect it. “These gentlemen will lead us to the precise location. “From there, we’ll see if we can track somebody to their current location and bring em in. It goes without sayin that deadly force is authorized. Mr. Moore and Mr. McLaury got to be at a state trial tomorra morning at 9:00. Any questions?” None of the Rangers have any. “Alright, let’s git goin and I’ll fill y’all in as we ride. I think I can probably almost finish by the time we reach Llano in around seven and a half hours.” The Rangers chuckle, and the group sets off west from the Drover Hotel toward the Austin – San Antonio highway.
Kyle continues from the road. “The gang we’re lookin for is affiliated with them prisoners these gentlemen and their associates brought in. They was in a gang led by three brothers name a Duncan. One of em-- Mike-- is in jail and goin on trial tomorra. His brothers Rick and Phil was shot dead in the gunfight at the old farmhouse. Mike Duncan wouldn’t respond to questions, but the other prisoner Mark Davidson sang like a mockingbird. Says he never met the members of the other gang, but he’s heard em referred to as the Shepherd brothers. One name of Louis, goes by Lou. From the letter Mr. McLaury and Mr. Moore and their associates took off of a dead Duncan gang member, it sounds like Lou Shepherd goes by the alias of Jack Wilson. At least when he’s expectin a letter at the post office in Austin. The letter taken from the dead Duncan also indicates that Lou’s brother Farley Shepherd is his gang. They rode with Bloody Bill Anderson’s outfit durin the War.” He stops and let’s that sink in on the Rangers for a minute. They get it. “And the letter says there’s a fella named Phineas ridin with em. Even Lou Shepherd seems to consider him a crazed, trigger-happy murderer. Mr. McLaury believes the man might be his brother.” He looks over at Gideon, in case the man might want to say a word. But Gideon remains grimly silent, staring ahead at the road.
Kyle continues. “Davidson also said that a Anglo rancher by the name of Harvey Adler around Comaltown in Comal County is involved in the horse rustlin business. Buys stolen horses stolen from the north from the Duncan gang, and sells ones from the south to em. Well, he did. He surely knows by now that the Duncan gang was wiped out. I wish there was time to go after him before he has time to dispose of any stolen inventory. But that will have to wait for another day. What’s the Rangers’ motto?” William expects them to say the well-known, “One riot, one Ranger.” But Luther Heinrich says with a slight German accent, “One riot, one Ranger-- that’s all the State vill pay for. Und the pay’s a month late.” Kyle and the Rangers smile. Frank Denton says, “That’s the new one? I thought it was still 'Hungry, thirsty, sunburnt, and froze-- and now it’s time to leave town.'”
Kyle again continues. “Oh, and one more thing. We’ll be passing through San Marcos and Hays County. There’s a Mr. Hoffman and his family who run a hotel and cards and drinkin place. I know him, I believe him to be as right as rain. The Hays County sheriff John Behan….” He shakes his head. The mounted and silent Rangers seem to get it and acknowledge what the lieutenant is implying. “At the moment he’s all all shot up after gunfight over a woman. Somebody else’s wife. And the county deputy is dead. Shot checkin that out ole isolated farmhouse in Llano County we’re headed to. San Marcos has two city policemen, but that leaves the rest a Hays County with no law officers. Y’all all know that word about somethin like that gits around quick. Ordinarily law-abidin men can git tempted to do things they wouldn’t regularly do. So we’ll keep our eyes open while passin through Hays County.”
The group reaches San Marcos at around 10:30 AM. They water their horses at a trough near Hoffman’s, then ride on to the town police office. The lead policeman Jim Dryden is there at desk doing paperwork. Kyle introduces himself and explains the group’s mission. He says, “We hear that the sheriff's laid up.”
Dryden replies, “Yes sir. He's lucky to be alive. Was shot with buckshot."
"And the deputy's dead?"
"Yes. Deputy Sheriff Harold Riney was shot multiple times, from different directions. Rifle shots. He was a good man.”
"Any reports of lawlessness out in the county?"
The policeman pauses. "Not yet."
“And another man? These men might could identify him, if the body’s not buried yet.”
“It’s buried. The fella was wounded, then executed at point blank range. Powder burns. Mr. Hoffman identified the man as one of his hotel guests a couple a days before.”
Gideon says under his breath, “Sebastian. Phineas.”
That doesn’t leave William with much of a next action, unless he wants to comment on something or ask questions. But we’ll stop here for now and give him a chance to post.
