Strong Cold Dead (Caitlin Strong, #8)(28)

“Six of us, Ranger. Means you don’t get to miss even once.”

Steeldust Jack didn’t flinch, blink, or breathe. “Did I mention how many times I reloaded at Devil’s Den? You boys wanna have at it, let’s do this. But I was sent here to do my job, without call for who’s involved. And it’s my job to find who killed your friend, whether they reside on this reservation or not.”

“Well,” another of the gunmen started, “we’re here to do a job too, and these damn Injuns are in the way. That’s the whole of it.”

“And what job would that be, exactly?”

“Keep your mouth shut, Elmer, or I’ll shit down your throat.” The leader holstered his pistol and took off his hat. “Name’s William Brocius. But folks know me better as Curly Bill. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

“I’ve heard of a gunfighter by that name,” said Steeldust Jack. “Heard he can shoot jackrabbits blindfolded and can snuff out a candle with a perfectly aimed shot.”

Curly Bill bowed his head slightly, never taking his eyes off Jack Strong. “That’d be me, Ranger.”

“Maybe you’d like to tell me who you’re working for, so I can have a conversation with him instead, since you’re here to do this job and all. Get a notion of what might bring six gunfighters like yourselves to these parts.”

“Seven,” Curly Bill corrected. “You’re forgetting the one in our number who came to a real bad end at the hands of these Injuns.”

“You didn’t answer my question about what brought you here in the first place.”

“Because it was a statement, as I recall. And maybe we’re just passing through.”

“Comanche don’t cotton well to that, Curly Bill. So I’d be of a mind, if I was you, to respect their wishes and get yourself gone someplace else. And if your boss, whoever he is, wants to discuss the matter further, I’m all ears.”

Curly Bill moved his mouth about as if he were gnawing at the insides of his cheeks. His eyes stayed locked on Steeldust Jack in what men of their kind referred to as a gunfighter’s glare. The Ranger waited for him to break the stare, watched Curly Bill grin broadly.

“Me being from Arizona, you’re the first Texas Ranger I ever met.”

“I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Still deciding.”

“Fine by me, Curly Bill, long as you do it somewhere other than here.”

Curly Bill backpedaled, the rest of the gunmen falling into step with him, toward a nearby shaded area, where they’d hitched their horses.

“This ain’t over, Ranger,” he said, before turning around. “Not even close.”

“That’s entirely up to you, friend.”

Steeldust Jack didn’t take his eyes off the gunmen until they rode thunderously out, spraying a curtain of dust and dirt behind them.

“They’ll be back,” he told Isa-tai, once the riders were out of sight.

“They’re not your problem,” Isa-tai said, standing board straight and gazing off in the direction in which the gunmen had disappeared, as if he could still see them.

“Yes, they are. The body of their friend was found off the reservation, and I was witness to them threatening you on sovereign land the United States government has deeded to the Comanche. That don’t sit well with me under any circumstances.”

“They will be dealt with,” said Isa-tai, still staring out into the distance.

“What’s that mean?”

White Eagle fixed his gaze on Steeldust Jack. “They will be dealt with.”

“Then answer me this, Isa-tai,” the Ranger said. “What is it they came here after? What is it they want from your people?”

“Not our people; our land.”

Steeldust Jack thought of the rows of cornstalks he’d passed when he rode in. Nothing about the reservation that particularly stood out besides that.

“Which brings us back to who those boys are working for,” he said. “Think I’ll have a talk with him, make sure none of these other fellas end up like the one got himself torn to bits.”

Isa-tai’s expression tightened, his gaze suddenly so cold and resolute that Steeldust Jack could feel the chill all the way to his bones.

“There are some things, Ranger, that no one can control.”





22

BALCONES CANYONLANDS, TEXAS

“I’ve heard of Curly Bill Brocius,” Dylan said, when the present-day White Eagle stopped his tale there. “He shot Tombstone’s town marshal in 1880 and was involved in the killing of Morgan Earp. Wyatt himself returned the favor, a couple years after the infamous gunfight at the OK Corral.”

“You know your history,” the old man said, as if he wasn’t impressed at all.

“I know my gunmen.” Dylan realized Ela was holding his hand, but he couldn’t recall exactly when she’d taken it again. “And that boy named Jimmy, who threatened Steeldust Jack, could’ve been James ‘Killing Jim’ Miller. He earned that nickname for good reason, since he supposedly murdered his own grandparents and shot his sister’s husband in the face with a shotgun.”

“I’ve heard of him, too,” Ela chimed in. “I believe he went on to become a Texas Ranger.”