down. I did not have much time. Gripping the bridle, I tugged on Brisco’s mane. It had taken me the better part of a month to teach him this trick back when he was knee-high to the stallion that sired him, and on more than one occasion it had saved my hide.
Brisco sank onto his side and I shucked my rifle from the saddle scabbard and hunkered behind him, just in case. The thunder of pursuit grew louder and louder, and soon I saw them, eight or nine, riding hell bent for leather. They passed within fifty or sixty feet of me and did not spot me. As soon as the night swallowed them, I shoved the rifle back into the scabbard, brought Brisco up off the ground, and cantered south.
Ten days later I reached Denver. I took my usual room. Several letters were waiting for me. One was a job offer from Kansas. A sodbuster wanted some Indians killed. They had taken his milk cow, and he offered me a hundred dollars to wipe out the whole blamed tribe. I tore his letter up. My fee was a thousand dollars. Everyone knew that.
The next offer was from Utah. A Mormon gent was upset that another Mormon gent married all three of his sisters and promised me a thousand plus one of his sisters if I would fill the other Mormon gent with more holes than a sieve. I liked the idea of the sister and set the letter aside.
The third letter interested me more, though.
I decided to give myself two days to rest up and then head out. The plain truth is, a Regulator’s work is never done.
Chapter 1
When most folks think of Texas they imagine the lowland along the Gulf Coast or the heavy brush of longhorn country or even the vast inland prairies. Few think of mountains, yet in west Texas there are more mountains than you can shake a stick at. Fact is, Guadalupe Peak, the highest in the state at over eight thousand feet, is part of the chain of Rocky Mountains that runs clear down into Mexico.
I had been there before and loved the country. Something about it appealed to me. Particularly what they call the lost mountains. Peaks that are not part of the chain but exist like islands in an ocean of grass. Mix in the gorges that crisscross the region and you have as rugged and pretty a chunk of landscape as anywhere in this here United States of America. I should know. Since the end of the war I’ve been most everywhere and seen most everything.
Whiskey Flats had sprouted on a plain between two lost mountains. To the east rose the Fair Sister, a bald mountain with a rocky peak that gleamed in bright sunshine and lent the mountain its name. Miles west of Whiskey Flats reared the Dark Sister, a wooded mountain laced by ravines and canyons. The Dark Sister was a notorious haunt of badmen and beasts and was shunned by most decent folk.
I rode into Whiskey Flats on a Sunday morning. That was fitting, all things considered. My getup attracted a lot of attention as I rode down the main and only street to a hitch rail in front of the saloon. Out of habit I almost reined up, then thought better of it and gigged Brisco to the livery. As I dismounted an old geezer with a limp came hobbling to take the reins.
“How do, mister. Planning to put your horse up? It will cost you—” The old man stopped and his lower jaw dropped. He had seen the Bible and the collar. “Land sakes! Are you a parson?”
“No, I’m a Comanche,” I said with a poker face.
The old coot cackled and slapped his bad leg. “A parson with a sense of humor! Now I’ve done seen everything.” He offered his hand. “They call me Billy No-Knee on account I lost part of mine to a Yankee cannon.” He thumped the side of his leg about where his knee would be. “Hear that? It’s a wood brace I have to wear every minute of every day or I fall flat on my face. Damned stinking Yankees.” Catching himself, he said sheepishly, “Sorry about that, Parson. I know we’re supposed to turn the other cheek, but it’s hard to forgive folks who lob cannonballs at you.”
“We all have our burdens to bear.” I wiped dust from the Bible with my sleeve, pushed my hat back, and lied. “I had no idea there was a town in these parts, Brother Billy.”
“If you can call it that,” No-Knee responded. “As towns go, it’s a mite puny. Hell, if it was a flea, the dog wouldn’t hardly notice.” Again he caught himself. “Sorry about my language, but I ain’t used to gabbing with a Bible-thumper.”
“Indeed.” I like that word. It sounded as if I was smarter than I am.
Billy coughed and pointed at the only two-story building Whiskey Flats boasted. “That there is the hotel. It’s also the only place to get eats. The gal who runs it, Miss Modine, is as pretty a filly as you’ll find on either side of the Rio Grande.” He coughed again. “Not that parsons think about such things, I reckon.”
“Ever read this?” I asked, tapping the Good Book.
“No, sir, can’t say as I have. I never had me much schooling. Oh, I can wrestle with a menu if I have to, but reading and writing give me headaches.”
The one and only thing I was grateful to my ma for was her teaching me to read. Since the only book we owned was the Bible, she made me read from it every night from the time I was six until I was twelve. I got to know it pretty well. Well enough that I can fake knowing it better than I do. “Then you have never read the Song of Solomon?” I opened the Bible and flipped the pages to the part I wanted. “ ‘Your lips are like a strand of scarlet, and your mouth is lovely.’ ” I picked another part. “ ‘Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.’ ”
His eyes about popped from their sockets. “It says
“And much more,” I assured him.
“I’ll be switched. And here I thought it was all about begatting and blessing.” Billy shook his head in wonderment. “How is it I never heard a parson talk about breasts and lips and such at church?”
“And be tarred and feathered and run out on a rail?”
Billy snorted and grinned. “That’s what would happen, sure enough. The prim and proper don’t like to be reminded that under their clothes they’re the same as the rest of us.”
I took a liking to him. “I’d be obliged if you would see to my horse.” Handing him the reins, I turned to go.
“Fixing to stay long, if you don’t mind my askin’?”
“I’m just passing through.”
“Too bad. We don’t have a church. About a year ago a traveling preacher stayed a week and held meetings every night. He’d bellow at us about fire and brimstone, then pass around a plate. I didn’t mind being called a worthless sinner, but I wasn’t about to pay for the privilege.”
I liked the old coot more by the minute. “Blessed are the meek,” I said. I knew snatches here and there, but I couldn’t recite an entire passage if my life depended on it.
“Exactly,” Billy said. “And that preacher was anything but. Oh well.” He shrugged. “I can’t hardly cast stones. I have too many sins to my credit.”
“The Almighty forgives all,” I intoned, and proceeded down the street. The half-dozen or so people out and about stopped to stare, and faces peered out of windows. I did some staring of my own at the sign above the restaurant.
After the glare and heat of the sun, the dimly lit room was a welcome relief. I waited to let my eyes adjust, then moved to an empty table. Only four customers were present. To my left was a pretty mother with a girl of ten or so, indulging in slices of pie. To my right were two scruffy men in need of a wash and a shave.
I had hardly sat down when a door at the back burst open and in bustled as handsome a female as I ever set eyes on. Billy had called her pretty, but that didn’t hardly do her justice. She had lustrous brunette hair that cascaded in curls past her shoulders, full cheeks a chipmunk would envy, the reddest lips this side of cherries, and flashing green eyes that sliced into me like twin sabers. I was smitten at first sight, and mighty upset with myself for picking to play a parson instead of a patent medicine salesman.
“Be right with you,” the vision said as she carried a tray to the two men and set plates heaped high with food in front of them. “Here you go, boys. But why you want to eat my cooking when your ma is the best cook in these parts is beyond me.”
The pair were not much over twenty, if that. The youngest had cropped sandy hair and enough freckles to fill a whiskey jug. He showed his buck teeth in a wide smile and answered, “I’ll tell her you said that, Miss Calista.
