[Texas Rangers 06] - Jericho's Road by Elmer Kelton Page B

bridle reins. A telescope hung from a leather string around his neck. He said, “Been watchin’ you-all with the spyglass, so I knowed it was you. Been a long time on this trip, ain’t you?”
    Hatton wondered if the guard was being subtly critical. “It takes a while to drive a herd all the way up to San Antonio.”
    “ Jericho’s been gettin’ a little nervous, wonderin’ if maybe you-all decided to take the cattle money and look for greener slopes.”
    Curtly Hatton replied, “He knows me better than that.” Should he ever succumb to that ambition he knew he had better travel a long way, for Jericho would send somebody to track him down. Jericho would not care how long it took. Forgiveness was alien to Jericho’s nature. He never forgot, nor did he ever fully trust. Hatton harbored a suspicion that Jericho might have assigned one of the men riding with him to watch the rest. If there was such a spy in his midst—and Wilkes seemed the most likely candidate—Jericho would not be long in learning what really happened to his nephew.
    Hatton tried to reason that he was wrong, that he was just being paranoid. A man was apt to get that way, working for Jericho.
    The guard said, “I hope you’ll tell him you saw me and that I was right on the job.”
    “ Sure, I’ll do that.” But Hatton knew he would not. He had more important things on his mind than accommodating a lowly gun toter worried about staying on the payroll or hoping to be promoted to a more profitable position.
    The nucleus of Jericho’s headquarters had been built long ago in Spanish times when Indian raids were a periodic threat. The stone walls of the long main house were thick enough that no bullet would penetrate them. Narrow rifle ports allowed shooters inside to fire at an approaching enemy with minimum exposure. Beyond the outer walls that enclosed the major ranch buildings, the ground had been cleared of brush for two to three hundred yards to expose attackers as they came into good rifle range. The first brush removal had been done by the Spaniards. Jericho had maintained it for his own protection.
    Most visitors were unwelcome, whether they were Mexican bandits or lawmen such as the Texas Rangers. He could stand them off if they ever came at him here in his stronghold. So far, none had tried. Even Guadalupe Chavez, who took pleasure in rustling the outfit’s cattle, had never attempted to overrun the headquarters. Outlaws were welcome so long as they were white and were willing to operate under orders, though their stay was short unless they proved themselves.
    Hatton hoped by riding directly to the barn that nobody would notice the riderless horse. That would give him time to present the money and put the boss in a good humor before delivering the bad news. But Jericho was at the barn, watching a hired hand shoe his favorite mount, a big gray capable of carrying a large rider. He watched the riders’ approach, and his flinty gaze fastened hawklike on the lead horse.
    Jericho stood more than six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. Women were drawn to him and considered him handsome, but they didn’t see him as Hatton saw him now, coiled tight and dangerous like the spring on a trigger. Hatton wondered if even Jericho’s Missouri-raised wife had ever seen him that way.
    Hatton tried to head off the question by dismounting and immediately unbuckling his saddlebags. “The cattle brought a little more than we expected, boss. Got the money right here. I think you’ll be tickled.”
    The big man was not to be distracted. “Where’s the boy?”
    Hatton swallowed. “It’s a long story.”
    “ Give me the short of it. Where’s he at?”
    Hatton stammered. “It’s like this … we run into some of them Chavez bandits …”
    Jericho seemed to tower over Hatton, his eyes cutting like blades. “You tryin’ to tell me you got him shot?”
    “ It was … there wasn’t nothin’ we could do. They was on us so fast … we tried to