outlandish costumes obviously chosen more for effect than for practicality. As he drew a pair of binoculars to study the camp in closer detail, two women emerged from the hut, both attired in the same slutty fashion as the camp whores they had liberated: miniskirts, boots, low-cut T-shirts. None of it was sensible in cold spring weather, but he had to admit they were outfits well chosen to please the men they were with. Miguel studied the camp for five minutes, searching for evidence of any captives, but there were none. Perhaps this band of outlaws preferred to move more freely than would be possible with reluctant prisoners in tow. Perhaps that was why the women in Palestine had not survived their encounter, if these were the men responsible.
Miguel grunted in frustration.
'Anything seem strange to you, Miguel?' Adam asked, keeping his eye to the scope of his weapon.
'What am I looking for?'
'A lot of them are clean-shaven, lean and trim,' Adam said. 'Not like the other agents.'
'I see,' Miguel said. 'Blackstone's soldiers, perhaps?'
Adam shrugged. 'Suspect so.'
It was all idle and pointless speculation. They could not know the minds of the men down in that glade, and short of stealing into the camp to snatch a prisoner for interrogation, they never would. And again, what would be the point? They had been lucky in Crockett. The agents there had been sloppy and ill disciplined. There was nothing about this gang that made him think they would be as fortunate a second time around. The camp was well laid out, with garbage and sewage pits dug well away from the lodge and the little spring that presumably provided their water. If they were soldiers, there would be fighting positions, traps, and perhaps even land mines hidden around the exterior of the camp. A line of clothes hung drying in the weak sunlight, attended by the whores who had just emerged from the lodge, and there was even a small vegetable patch situated to catch the northern sun.
No. These men knew what they were doing, which meant they would have patrols out in the woods.
He had seen enough.
'Let's go,' he mouthed to Adam. 'We must divert farther to the northeast,' Miguel insisted.
He warmed his hands over a potbellied stove in a holiday house overlooking Pineywoods Lake, a good twenty miles to the west of the road agent's camp. Most of the Mormon party was there save for Benjamin and Maive, who were out riding patrol. The ranch-style home, all timber and stone, had expansive views over the water, which rippled in the glow of a crescent moon. He was able to see out through the picture windows because a few candles and the glowing coals of the stove provided the only illumination, creating just the ghost reflection of the small group of travelers in the glass. Still rugged up against the cold, routinely armed, thin and tired, they presented an almost medieval image when viewed against the background of the moon-dappled lake.
'Are you sure about this, Miguel?' Cooper Aronson asked. 'It could add weeks to our traveling time, and I don't need to tell you that every day we're out in the wilderness is another we're at risk.'
'I saw them, too, brother,' Adam said, speaking with quiet confidence. 'They were road agents for a certainty. And a meaner crew than we saw in Crockett. They looked… I don't know… professional.'
'He is right,' Miguel said. 'They were agents, and I suspect they may have been the ones responsible for Palestine. They were close enough for it to fall within their territory if it is true that Crockett was the northern extent of the other gang's turf.'
He cast an inquiring eye over at the camp whore called Marsha. Of the women they had taken in after Crockett, she had adapted best to her new role with the Mormons. That did not make her particularly reliable or pleasant company, but she was better than her two sullen friends who sat apart smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and furtively drinking from a hip flask they passed between each other. The Saints did not prevent their drinking-that would have been unfair given that they raised no objection to Miguel taking a sip at the end of the day-but they did not encourage the women to feel comfortable doing so in their presence. Marsha sat well away from the two women but still maintained her distance from everyone else except Miss Jessup, who formed a bridge of sorts between the two groups of women.
'Well, Marsha, do you think it's true?' Trudi asked, in a gentle voice. 'From what you knew. Are the men Miguel and Adam saw today likely to be agents claiming the country north of Crockett?'
Marsha glared momentarily at Miguel, who had, after all, blown the head off her man, but she softened under a supportive shoulder pat from Miss Jessup. Sofia rolled her eyes at her father, but he motioned her to be still. There was no sense holding a grudge against this woman for the company she had kept, not when she might be of some use to them.
'Could be,' Marsha offered. 'The boys didn't like to talk much about that sorta thing. They'd brag all day on a shootin' or some pillage. But old Tom, he cracked down pretty hard on discussin' things like that. You know, turf and politics.'
Miguel nodded. 'Old Tom was the last man we hanged, yes?'
Marsha glared at him. 'He was. And he was a good guy, too!'
Sofia snorted. 'He was a murderer and a rapist who got what he deserved.'
'I am sure he has gone to his reward,' the vaquero intoned in a flat voice before addressing Aronson again. 'You know my feelings about the agents. They are Fort Hood men. Perhaps not the lesser rank of them. They would just be thugs for hire, expendable. But the leaders of these gangs, they must answer to Blackstone, and to run their gangs as effectively as they do, they must have some training. The camp today, it was like the army with its discipline. I believe had we delayed long on that ridge, we would have been caught by them. They are not amateurs, and we will have a hard time staying away from them if we pursue our original route. This is why we must divert to the northeast. We cannot go west and into the lands directly controlled by Fort Hood. To them you are federales. Seattle's people. You will not find an easy passage there.'
Willem D'Age leaned forward from his perch next to his fiancee Jenny, on the end of an expensive-looking leather couch. He used a small log to open the grille of the wood stove. Tossing in more fuel, he took up the case with Aronson.
'Miguel might be right. We did have trouble with those Texas customs and excise people a few days after we left Corpus Christi. You said at the time it was almost like they were waiting for us. And to tithe us as they did, I still do not believe that to be legal or just.'
Miguel folded his arms and nodded. 'It is as I said. Out here justice is a bullet. These customs men, they pretended to tax you?'
Aronson snorted.
'No pretending about it, my friend. They took ten percent of our herd and supplies. Said it was a border fee or some such thing. They had papers and issued us with a receipt. It was all very official. Right down to the platoon of Texas Defense Force soldiers standing watch over the transaction. But they also said we would need to pay more tolls if we used the state roads to offset the cost of our protection. That's how we came to ride through the agents' territory. It seemed to us we would have nothing left if we tarried long in Blackstone country.'
Miguel stroked the rough beard on his chin and grunted.
'I have heard similar tales of federal ranches similarly taxed despite the exemption from Seattle, although it did not happen to me. Why take something piece by piece when you can have it in one bite, I suppose.'
'So do we do as Miguel suggests and ride around these men?' Adam asked, surprising the cowboy and causing Aronson to raise his eyebrows, too. The lad had developed a very mature sort of confidence. Miguel suppressed a smile as he saw young Sally Gray glancing approvingly at the boy, an interlude that his daughter very studiously chose to ignore. She would just have to accept the situation, he thought. The two Mormon youngsters had been spending a great deal of time together when the boy's duties allowed, and although Miguel could see that Adam was drawn to the exotic in Sofia, there was no doubting the attraction of one's own kind in the end.
He did not imagine they would be zipping their sleeping bags together, however. The Mormons maintained a strict propriety regarding such things. Even D'Age and his fiancee still slept apart. For Miguel, who felt Mariela's absence like a suppurating wound, it was an impressive display of abstinence. What he would not give just to lie down with his wife one last time. Just to tell her of the things there had never been time to discuss in the rush of the everyday.
He rubbed at his eyes as they blurred and watered. Nobody noticed the weakness.
'I do not suppose we can hope to stand down this gang if we encounter them,' Aronson mused.
Again, before Miguel could answer, Adam spoke up.
'Not a chance,' he insisted. 'They looked sharp and mean. The best we can hope for is to never see them again. I suggest we move before first light. They will have outriders, and the cattle do raise a dust cloud.'
