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blackened face and looked around at his brothers, Tillman and Prew.
    â€œI don’t know if it’s the blast or that damned mescal, but I’m still not right in the head,” he said.
    â€œThere’re some would say you never have been, Foz,” Prew said, rising to his feet. “I heard all about that mescal. I even brought some along in case I want to see for myself how strong it is.”
    â€œDon’t drink it, Prew,” Foz warned, also pushing himself to his feet. “It’s ruined me.”
    â€œI won’t,” said Prew. “Not now anyway.”
    Foz stared at Prew grimly and said, “I ain’t joking. There’s something wrong with that stuff.”
    Prew gave his brother a dismissive chuff under his breath.
    Cleary and Bonsell stood up, water running from their scorched faces.
    â€œIf that damned Ranger ain’t dead, he’s going to be after us,” said Bonsell.
    â€œHe won’t be for long,” said Prew. “There’re plenty of Golden Riders between here and Kane’s hideout. One of us will kill him before he gets too close. If not,Brax will stop his clock when he hears about him killing Cordy.” He turned to his horse and picked up its reins. The horse’s tail was frazzled and burnt on the ends. “Either way, Burrack is now just a killing waiting to happen.” He swung up into his saddle. The men swung up as well, except for the Bluebird who sat staring out across the night sky.
    â€œLet’s go, Bluebird,” said Bonsell. Then he repeated himself in Spanish. Still, the Indian just sat staring. As Bonsell stepped his horse closer, the Bluebird saw the dark shadow of the animal stretch out on the water. Looking around he saw the men atop their horses, and stood up himself.
    Bonsell looked at Prew and said, “Just one more hardheaded Injun is what I think.”
    â€œMight be,” said Prew turning his horse away from the water toward the trail. “Let’s go get ourselves some guns and take the Bluebird to Kane’s hideout.” He nodded at the Bluebird’s bulging saddlebags. “I don’t like traveling with dynamite behindme.”

PART2

Chapter 6
    For three full weeks the Ranger kept the law in Midland Settlement while Sheriff Schaffer recuperated from his injuries—the burns, broken ribs and numerous cuts and contusions the explosion had inflicted on him. During that time, marshaling town law had not been difficult. The people of the settlement were too busy rebuilding their town to participate in the drunkenness and brawling that might ordinarily take up much of a sheriff’s time. It helped that for the first week and a half the saloon itself had been closed for repairs, due to the domino effect the explosion had created racing along the main street.
    â€œI don’t mind telling you, Ranger,” he said, “I’ll never sleep at my desk again—if I ever have another desk, that is.”
    â€œYou’ll have a desk, Sheriff,” Sam said. “I ordered you one up from Texas. Should be here in a month.”
    â€œObliged, Ranger,” said Schaffer. He sighed. “By my estimation, we lost a full third of our businesses right there,” he said, gesturing a bandaged forearm toward the new buildings under construction across the streetfrom where they stood out front of the doctor’s office. “Not to mention my jail and office building,” he added. “When the jail blew, the explosion ripped through the mercantile stockroom. Smitty, the owner, said he had four and a half kegs of black powder stored there. That did it. We’re lucky we didn’t all land in Mexico.”
    Sam only nodded, gazing along the row of unpainted flat-plank-and-adobe buildings. Almost miraculously, a band of Mexican adobe craftsmen had shown up from across the border and began constructing the structures with blocks made from mud mixed on-site in the