In the Book

The heat of day had already turned to the chill of evening when Sanchez decided to warm himself with more than his bedroll. In addition to the eighty-five dollars he had absconded with from the Brewster County Mercantile, he had also liberated a couple of bottles of Tangle Leg Rye. He figured that two or three, or maybe four shots would help him sleep a lot easier on the cold, hard ground. Of course, figuring was never something he did very well.

Less than an hour later, the rumble of Sanchez’s snores completely drowned out the sound of Raven walking into his camp, kneeling beside him, and sticking his .44 caliber Walker Colt into the Mexican’s ear. Nothing interrupts slumber and quickly focuses the mind quite like the cold steel of a gun barrel.

“I wouldn’t reach for anything if I were you, amigo. I’ve already repossessed your sidearm and your blade. Plus my associate over there in the dark has a bead on you with his Sharps.”

“I no move,” was Sanchez’s only reply.

“You’ll move…just enough to roll on your belly and put your hands behind your back.”

The Mexican did as he was told, and Raven quickly tied his wrists with the vaquero’s own piggin’ string.

“You no kill me. Yes?”

“I no kill you. No.”

“You bandito?”

“Worse. I’m a Texas Ranger.”

Mierda! What we do now?”

“Now, we get my associate some water. Then, we sleep. Got a long ride back in the morning.” He turned, raised his voice, and said, “Red. Over here, boy.” The horse stepped out of the shadows, clopped over with his head down and let Raven take the reins.

“Only el caballo? You lie to me.”

“True. Just be glad that’s all I did.”

Sanchez grunted but made no reply.