Riders on a Dark Trail (Preview)

Chapter One

Wade Barrett pushed open the swinging doors of the Mexican cantina in Lopezville, just over the Texas border. After coming in from the bright sun, the cantina was gray and dusty. He blinked several times to adjust his vision. The chubby bartender with a large mustache and big smile looked friendly, but he was the only one who did. There were several hombres at five small tables, and two men leaned on the bar. Behind the bar, in the kitchen, he heard the sizzle of frying. The cantina smelled of tobacco, liquor, and various other substances he wasn’t sure he wanted to identify. His entrance into the place had caused some murmurs among the patrons. He walked to the bar.

“Whiskey,” he said.

He towered over most of the patrons. Barrett was six-three and muscular. When he spoke, he talked slowly in a Texas drawl. When he walked, it was more of a Texas mosey than a regular walk. He had not had many days off in his life. His muscles had been chiseled by cattle drives and ranch work and occasionally running down a bounty when he needed money. His partner, Adam Bedlow, remained outside for a moment, perhaps taking in the Mexican scenery.

The bartender brought a glass and slipped it in front of him, saying a few words in a pleasant tone but in broken Spanish. Barrett wondered if the jovial man had a regional accent. Barrett was from the south, but there were some places below the Mason-Dixon line where the accents were so heavy it took him a little time to figure out what a man was saying. He guessed the bartender had wished him a good day.

“Gracious,” he said, raising the glass.

The next voice he heard was not friendly. It was downright hostile.

“Gringo,” it said in a hard and angry tone. “We don’t want gringos in here.”

Barrett sipped from his glass, moved the drink to indicate the bartender. “I haven’t heard any objection.”

“You have from me. You gringos have caused us too much trouble. Get out.”

He turned around. The unfriendly man was a stocky Mexican, with two belts of bullets slung over his hefty chest. His hand was near his pistol.

“I don’t want any trouble.”

“If you didn’t want any trouble, gringo, you should have stayed out of Mexico. We’ve got trouble down here from sunup to sundown.”

Barrett gave a surly frown. The man was right. The French Emperor Maximilian ruled the nation, at least temporarily, with a large contingent of French troops to keep him in power. Mexicans were fighting back, and there were almost daily battles between forces of the Emperor and Mexican troops. The French were better armed, but there were also more Mexicans than French soldiers.

“I’m not French,” Barrett said. “I’m not your enemy.”

“If you are not Mexican, you are an enemy. Get out or die.”

Barrett swallowed his drink then set the glass back on the bar. He flipped a dollar bill to the counter. “A tip for such good service,” he said. The bartender smiled and nodded. He understood Barrett’s English better than Barrett understood his Spanish. He turned around and smiled.

“As I said, I want no trouble.”

The man backed up slightly to let Barrett pass.

“Don’t come back either. We have no need of more gringos here.”

As Barrett walked near the man, he clenched his fist and pivoted. Barrett moved and talked slowly but, if needed, he moved quickly. He figured the man wasn’t out of shape. With lightning quickness, Barrett put his whole body into the punch. He gritted his teeth, groaned, and caught the man perfectly on the chin. The Mexican left his feet and fell backward onto a table. His sombrero flew off. A tooth flew the other way, landing on the dusty floor and bouncing once. He rolled off the table and hit the floor too but didn’t bounce. Blood leaked from his mouth as he tried to stand. He rose to his feet and tried to make fists out of his hands, but the fingers wouldn’t cooperate. They loosened and didn’t clench into a fist.  His legs wouldn’t cooperate either, wouldn’t stand firm. They wobbled. Back and forth. The rubbery legs had difficulty holding the man up. As he tried to swing, the left leg collapsed. The knee hit the floor, and the weak punch wavered in the air. He coughed as if he was having a tough time breathing. Struggling mightily, he did manage to stand, but not without wobbling.

“I really think you should go home and lie down,” Barrett said.

He strode over behind the man, grabbed his collar and the top of his pants, and propelled him through the swinging doors. He fell into the street and didn’t move.  Barrett ambled out into the street, bent over the man, and grabbed his sidearm.  He brought it back to the cantina and handed it to the bartender.

“Keep that for him if you would,” he said.

The bartender chuckled, taking the gun and putting it under the bar. He poured another drink and placed the glass in front of Barrett.

“On the house,” he said.

“You speak English.”

“When I need to. I like what you did. He was a bully.”

Pete Bedlow walked in, gave a knowing smile, and came to the bar next to his partner.

“I can’t leave you alone for a minute, or you get into trouble,” Bedlow said, laughing. “You insult the man’s wife?”

“Ha! No, the discussion was more about real estate than anything else.”

“See you are a tough negotiator. And I always thought you were such an easy-going guy.”

Bedlow signaled for a drink, and the bartender brought him one.

“You still think there are business opportunities down here?” Bedlow said.

“With all the chaos down here, yes. There is a chance to make some big money. It will be risky but worth it. I fought for the South, but right now, there’s not a lot of opportunities in the South.”

Bedlow sipped his drink. “I trust that gentleman in the street was not one of your business prospects. He didn’t seem to like you.”

“Obviously due to a defect in his character.”

They walked back to the bar and ordered another drink. The bartender smiled as if he genuinely liked the two Americanos. Barrett spied a third American at a back table. He patted his friend on the back and pointed. “That must be Mr. Tyler. Let’s go talk to him.”

They sauntered back to the table. The man smoked a cigar and looked like the happiest man in the place. He wore a big smile.

“Are you William Tyler?” Barrett said.

“I am indeed, sir. I am impressed with you. If I ever had any doubts about teaming up with you and your partner, they vanished when you tossed that man out the door. On this job, I need people who can take of themselves and take care of a big herd.”

Tyler was short. Only five-six and a bit stocky. But there was strength in the man.  He didn’t dominate the room physically, but there was an emotional steadiness in him. Barrett got the impression the man was solid, not frivolous.

“Have you thought about my job offer?” Tyler said.

“We have, or we wouldn’t be here. We need a few more details. Are we talking a couple of bucks, or are bigger numbers getting involved?” Barrett said.

‘In this matter, I think we will have bigger numbers than you have ever seen. Why don’t you two sit down?”

Bedlow nodded. “Well, I’m interested enough to take a seat.”

“So am I,” said Barrett.

The two men sat down as a waiter walked by with a plate of chicken and rice with brown gravy. The two men took their drinks with them. The short, stocky man had a cup of coffee at his seat. He sipped it. Tyler was the only man in the cantina drinking coffee.

“In your letters, you said your herd is close to three hundred steers, and that both of you are good drovers. Correct?”

“Yes. We have been on a few trail drives. You probably couldn’t find better drovers if you looked for a year. And we have about three hundred and fifty ornery steers,” Bedlow said.

“My friend doesn’t exaggerate,” Barrett said. “He’s tight with the truth. The steers really are ornery.”

The stocky man smiled. “I have a herd of three hundred beef cattle, and I need to take them through about a hundred miles of Mexico. Are you aware of the political situation in Mexico?”

“Not really. Taking care of those steers is a 20-hours a day job. I really don’t have time to worry about Mexican politics. “

Tyler took another sip of his coffee. He grinned. “Those steers of yours, gentlemen, are very, very valuable due to Mexican politics. In late 1864, the French took over Mexico and installed Maximilian as Emperor. The French King knew the United States was engaged in a Civil War and too busy to object. The Mexican people objected to this and are fighting the French. But when you send a large number of troops to conquer a nation, you have to feed them. Maximilian needs beef to feed his troops, so he is offering more than top dollar for cattle. A beef can cost 20 dollars a head up here. A bull can run to 90 dollars. Maximilian is offering five times that much.”

Barrett almost choked on his whiskey. “I never went past sixth grade in school, but if my sixth-grade math is right, that’s a hundred dollars a head.”

Tyler nodded. “You’re good in math, Mr. Barrett, as well as being a good cowman.”

“We have about three hundred beef. At a hundred dollars a head that’s …”

“Thirty thousand dollars,” Bedlow said, then grinned. “I had a seventh-grade education. It included math.”

Tyler nodded. “If you know nothing about the politics of Mexico, the nation is in something of an uproar. Emperor Maximilian is only the head of the government because of the number of French troops in Mexico. The Mexicans do not like this state of affairs and feel, rightly, that their country has been taken over by a foreign power. But the French have better weapons and trained soldiers, so right now, they have the upper hand. But it’s a big country, and the Mexicans have organized into revolutionary factions, and they are fighting the French. It’s a perpetual state of war. I don’t think the French can hold out forever, but while they are in power, I would like to profit from this state of affairs.”

“If you put it that way, I wouldn’t mind profiting from it either,” Bedlow said. “The last war I was in bankrupted me. It would be nice if this one put money in the bank for me.”

Tyler nodded. “I don’t think the French gave this Mexican invasion too much thought before they sent troops.  As I said, France was taking advantage of the American Civil War. We have that little thing called the Monroe Doctrine that told foreign powers to stay out of the Americas. It had basically worked for forty years, but then the United States had the Civil War and no men to enforce the Monroe Doctrine. So France saw an opportunity and took it. But the problem is Mexico is a fair-sized country, and you need a lot of troops to occupy it. And when you have a lot of troops, one of the things you must do is maintain them. When they are not fighting the revolutionaries, that is.”

“That’s true; you don’t want a rebellion in the ranks,” Bedlow said.

“And to maintain them, you have to feed them. Hungry troops do have a tendency to mutiny. They’re a long way from home and probably don’t have the best morale anyway.”

Laughter erupted from three men sitting two tables down. One man almost knocked over his chair. Barrett caught a few of the words and smiled. The Americanos were the butt of the jokes. The hombres around the table, still laughing, lifting their glasses, had compared the Americans to jackasses. The laughter flowed over the bar, with other customers joining it.

“Wait just a minute,” Barrett said. He stood up, walked to the bar, and signaled the bartender. When the bartender walked over, he pointed to the table of the three laughing customers, then handed the bartender several dollars.

“I’m buying that table drinks. Give them your best liquor, señor.” Barrett gave a huge smile. “And tell them hee-haw.”

“Si, señor,” the bartender said, almost laughing himself.

Barrett walked back to his table and sat down. “Just wanted to create some friendships across borders,” he said. “Please continue, Mr. Tyler. I’m guessing you need drovers and gunmen. The herd has to be protected, which is often a dangerous job in the best of circumstances, and this is not the best of circumstances.”

“You are correct, Mr. Barrett. I plan to take a herd of almost nine hundred beef into the heart of Mexico and turn them over to the French. It won’t be easy.”

“You said nine hundred beef. We have three hundred. You have six hundred?”

“No, I have three hundred. But tomorrow, we will be joined by Jennifer Capri. Her father died about two months ago, but he had another three hundred beef on his ranch. She wants to sell them for a good profit. She’ll be coming with us. I realize men may be uneasy if a woman comes along, but she was raised on a ranch. She’s no tenderfoot. Plus, she’s bringing three good drovers with her, and we will need good drovers. With that many cattle, Maximilian has enough food to keep his soldiers’ plates full for a long time. Our destination is about a hundred twenty miles away. We can make ten to twelve miles per day. That means we can get his beef to him in about two weeks.”

Barrett’s eyes narrowed. He pulled a cigar from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He lit a match and touched the flame to the tobacco. “That would be the most money I’ve made for a cattle drive.”

“I won’t kid you. You will earn it. There’s a few roaming bands of revolutionaries in the region where we are heading. And if they see a herd heading to Maximilian, they will do their best to steal or simply shoot the cattle because they know it’s intended for the French troops. There are also bands of Indians who might want to take a few cattle. Plus, the Comancheros. There’s a band in this region that has been carrying out raids and attacks recently.  A nine hundred steer herd can’t hide. And I don’t want to fight. Cows are easily spooked. If we get in a gun battle, the herd may stampede, and we’ll lose countless numbers of them. The drive won’t be easy but, if we can pull it off, the payday will be immense.”

“Yes,” Bedlow said. “We can buy a good funeral for that amount of money.”

“Let’s hope we can use the money for other reasons,” Tyler said. “I didn’t promise it would be easy. I’ve told you straight out how dangerous it is.”

Barrett nodded. “You haven’t exactly oversold it. That’s for sure. But I appreciate that. We know what we’re getting into. But for fifteen thousand dollars, I think it will be worth it. I plan on heading west. Don’t really know what I will do yet, but I would prefer to have money when I go. I would like a ranch, maybe a horse ranch. I like horses. But of course, you need money to buy and build a ranch. And you can buy a pretty good spread for about three thousand dollars out in Colorado. I would also need to buy some horses and other things. But the money from this drive will make my dream come true.”

“And I may buy the ranch across the road from you,” Bedlow said.

“Or maybe we should work together,” Barrett said. “We’ve always worked well together.” He took a sip of his drink. “We might put together a horse empire out there.”

Tyler smiled. “You all dream big. But I don’t doubt you will be successful horse ranchers. But first, we have to get through Mexico. Have to get to the meeting point and get back out of Mexico. If we’re fortunate. If we make ten miles a day, then we should be there in two weeks. After that, we turn back and get back to the border. In less than a month, we should be back in the states with money in our pockets.”

“If we’re still alive,” Bedlow said. “With Mexicans, Indians, and Comancheros around, I’ve got a feeling the region may have a high mortality rate. But I risked my life for a lot less than that.”

“It’s something we faced before,” Barrett said. “And we came out alive.”

“Let’s hope our luck is still holding.”

Three men with sour looks and dirty clothes walked into the cantina. They took the one empty table. They wore wide sombreros and had gun belts slung over their chests. One man had a beard, the second had two red scars on his right and left cheek. The third had a hooked nose and a pointed chin, making him look similar to a bird of prey.  For a moment, Barrett wondered if the man had claws for feet under his boots. And he wondered if the three men were on Mexican Wanted Posters.

Bedlow was also looking at the men. “Add to the list of potential problems old-fashioned rustlers. Those three look like men who would grab a few beef and make a run for it.”

Barrett shook his head. “Nah, they look more like bank robbers.”

“They look more like cold-blooded cutthroats,” Tyler said.

They stayed silent for a moment, watching the three new customers. The trio ordered drinks but didn’t seem to do much talking. The noise in the cantina seemed to have dimmed a bit. The sizzling noise still came from the kitchen, and a slight murmur of talking could still be heard, but it seemed to have been turned down a notch. The bartender walked over and asked if another round was wanted. Barrett nodded.

“You know those new hombres, the one who sat at the last open table?”

“They are banditos, amigos. They come in because the sheriff is corrupt. They may not venture into other towns, those with good sheriffs.”

“What do they do?”

“Anything that makes them money. They rob and steal. And kill,” the bartender said. “Be careful. It is rumored they don’t like gringos.”

“Well, I can’t pretend to be too fond of them either.”

“Well, as long as they stay over there,” Bedlow said. He looked at his partner. “Of course, there are three of them and only two of us.”

“We’ve beaten odds like that before,” Barrett said. “We’ve beaten four to two odds. Even five to two once.”

“But considering we’ve always been on the short end, do you think we might be doing something wrong?”

Barrett laughed as Tyler cleared his voice. He had stuck a cigar in his mouth. He flicked a match and lit it. “There is one more thing that you should know.  Maximilian has basically put out a huge welcome sign for former Confederates. He figures those ex-army veterans may need a new home after the Civil War. He has promised them land and the support of the current government. And a lot of them are on their way down.”

“They shouldn’t bother us any,” Barrett said. “We’re neutral in the war down here. We’re just delivering cattle. We’re getting rich by assuring all those French soldiers don’t starve.”

“Possibly, but I’m just letting you know. I don’t want to try to fool you.”

Bedlow gave a soft laugh. “We just came from a tough job, so we’re used to it. What type of terrain are we going over?”

“I have a map I can show you when we get some privacy. But I can tell you it’s not too bad. Most of it is basically flat land, with one or two small hills. But the terrain shouldn’t be a problem.”

The three hombres sat at their table, but they stared at the table with the three Americans. One man muttered bitterly in Spanish. The other two nodded. Two smoked cigarettes and dropped the ashes on the floor of the cantina. The third man held a drink in his hand. He lifted it toward the Americans as if saluting them.

“We should tell the Americanos they are not welcome in Mexico,” he said.

“And tell them they are not welcome at this cantina,” a second man said.

The third man said, “But we will tell them they are welcome at the cemetery at the edge of town.”

The three Mexicans rose from their chairs and walked to the cowboys’ table.  Several other customers noticed and ran to get out of their way. The three men spread out into a semi-circle around the table.

“I’m wondering if that’s the new way of extending a greeting down here,” Bedlow said.

“Doubt it,” Barrett said.

One standing man shouted in guttural Spanish.

“Ignore him,” Barrett said. “We can pretend we don’t know Spanish.”

He looked at the three men and shrugged.

“I said we don’t want Americanos here,” the first man said.

Shucks, Barrett thought, one of them knows English.

“Americanos should stay in their country, not this one,” the second man echoed.

Barrett stood up and kept smiling. “You may not want cowboys here, but this is not your place. I think the bartender has something to say about who his customers are.”

The men shook their heads. “Not in this case. You leave now or die.”

Bedlow stood up and turned around to face the men.

“I will count to three,” the first man said.

“You can count to three?” Bedlow said. “That surprises me.”

Barrett knew his partner had basically called for a showdown. He whipped his gun out and fired twice at the first man. Bedlow fired two shots at the second. The third Mexican was fast enough to pull his gun and aim it before two bullets, one each from the partners slammed into his chest. All three fell to the whiskey-and-tobacco-stained floor.

“Wonder if there’s any bounty on these three,” Bedlow said.

“We can go find out.” He turned back and looked at Tyler. “Where do we meet you, Mr. Tyler? We want to see that map.”

“I’m in room 108 at the motel. I can give you a map there.”

Barrett nodded. “That’s fine. We’ll take these men to the sheriff’s office and check to see if there’s any posters on them.” He looked down at the three outlaws. “Surely somebody wanted these guys dead. And I hope they don’t mind paying for it.” They holstered their guns and grabbed the first outlaw. Barrett took the boots, and his partner grabbed the shoulders of the dead outlaw. They walked out of the cantina.

“You know, I don’t mind shooting outlaws, but I don’t like carrying them,” Bedlow said.

“Well, I know how you feel, but since they’re dead, we can’t expect them to walk over by themselves.”

The local sheriff took a good look at all three bodies when the two Americans hauled them into his office. He nodded.

“You Americans?”

The two nodded. “They told us to get out of Mexico, and they didn’t like that we moved slowly.”

“Looks like they moved slower, amigos.” He shrugged. “We will bury them. I’ll check to see if there is reward money on them. If so, you get half.”

“Get half?” Bedlow said. “We killed them. Shouldn’t we get all?”

The Mexican sheriff touched his badge. “The sheriff gets his cut.”

“Glad we’re not doing the cattle deal in your jurisdiction,” Barrett said. He was more amused than angry.  He had heard rumors about Mexican law enforcement. And the rumors were true.

They walked back to the cantina and, after getting two beers, sat down with Tyler again.

“Glad to see the place is peaceful again,” Barrett said. He turned to Tyler. “Did you say Miss Capri is coming tomorrow?”

“Yes, she should be here about noon.”

“Just to prevent trouble, I think we should meet her about a mile or two outside the town. There is a nice little stream about two or three miles outside the town, which would be a pleasant place to talk.  I’m not sure of the reaction if an American woman comes into this town. And I’d rather avoid trouble if possible.”

“I think that’s a good idea. We can ride out and meet her on the trail,” Tyler said.  “How far is your ranch?”

“Two days’ ride to the south,” Bedlow said.

“Miss Capri’s ranch is to the north, about the same distance. We can set up a rendezvous point.”

“Have you ever driven a herd in Mexico?” Barrett asked.

Tyler shook his head.

“I haven’t either. I don’t think anyone in our party has traveled through Mexico. That means we are riding blind, and with cattle, that’s not good. There are bandits and Indians where we’re going. We need a good scout. If we ride blind in dangerous territory, the chances of us coming back alive are slim.”

“Yes, you’re right, but to be honest, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know a good scout. Think I can telegraph him, offer him a job and a share of the profits. That may seem like a lot, but our lives may be in his hands. He’s dependable, honest, and good with a gun. His name is Adam Watkins. He fought for the Union, but this time, we’ll be on the same side.”

“And I suggest we keep mostly out of sight for the rest of our time in this town.  Men around here are too eager to fight or pull their guns,” Bedlow said.

“I agree,” Tyler said. “I was thinking this was a peaceful little town and close to the spot where we can move the cattle before we drive them. I live close to the border and am friends with a Mexican rancher. He has some open range where we can mingle our herds and then start the drive. But this little town has a lot of nasty people. We’ll probably meet a few more of them on our drive. We don’t need to deal with them now. Let’s sleep under the stars tonight.”

Chapter Two

Stars spotted the night sky as the men stretched out on their bedrolls. A few lightning bugs flickering provided a bit of light on the ground. A slight wind moved the branches of the surrounding trees. The fire crackled as it burned. They had camped by a stream, and the river hummed as it flowed by them.

Barrett eased down on the ground. “Sometimes nature makes a better companion than humans. I’d rather be here than in that town.”

Bedlow chuckled. “Me too. Had some grouchy people in that town.”

Tyler nodded. “With Maximilian ruling, there’s a lot of grouchy people in Mexico.  The nation is at war with the French. For now, the alleged Emperor is safe in a compound guarded by troops. But outside that, there’s a lot of fighting going on. The French are going to lose. I just hope they don’t lose until we sell them the cattle.”

Bedlow had a whiskey bottle in his hand and sipped from it. “Yes, until then, we root for the French. After the sale, we root for the Mexicans. French people belong in France.”

An owl hooted in the trees. They heard several squirrels scramble up or down a tree.

“Wish I had brought my fishing pole,” Bedlow said. “I might have caught a fish for dinner. Wonder if there are any bass in the water. I can cook a bass really well. You never had such good eating.”

Barrett smiled. “Well, unless we find a good stream on the way, I don’t think you’ll be doing much cooking in Mexico.”

“You send off your telegram to the scout?” Tyler said.

“Yes, he replied and said he’s heading for my ranch. Should take him about two days to get here. Said he has been down in Mexico, so he knows a little bit about the country.”

“Good, somebody should,” Bedlow said.

Tyler held a pan over the campfire with rabbit meat in it. Knowing they would need dinner, Barrett had shot a rabbit on the way to the camping spot.

“I wonder how many men we need,” he said. “It may be a tough trip.”

“I’ve got three good drovers on my ranch, and they’re coming with the herd. Miss Capri is also bringing three drovers. That’s nine people, counting us. We should be able to handle the herd. I’m bringing a cook too. He will keep us fed but won’t be helping with the cattle.”

Barrett thought he saw an animal in the nearby bushes. He saw a shadow run across several bushes. The fire flared up and sent sparks into the night air. For a moment, he thought about the drive. They were traveling through Mexico while the Mexicans were fighting the French. The herd would be a target for any random band of guerillas. And the word would spread quickly about the herd, which meant the guerillas would be targeting them. And the guerillas could move faster than the herd could. He flicked a match and lit a cigarette in his mouth.

He shook his head. He didn’t like the odds, but he liked the payoff.

“Did you bring your map?” he asked Tyler.

The man nodded. “Want to see it?”

“Yes. I would to find the best route. I would like to go unnoticed, but I’m not sure we can do that with a herd.”

Tyler nodded. “We have to move as fast as possible. Alas, gunfire can spook any herd. We might lose the herd if they spook and stampede. We need to see if we can avoid gunfire on this trip.”

“I don’t think that will be possible,” Barrett said.

“Maybe we can avoid any deaths on the trip,” Bedlow said. “If so, it will be a successful journey.”

Jennifer Capri rode to the meeting place with her foreman, a man named Clay Hollister. Hollister had worked with her father a dozen years and had agreed to stay on as foreman when Jennifer took over. He wasn’t that old, only thirty-five.  Even so, Jennifer wondered if he would work for and accept a woman as his boss. But it didn’t bother him at all. She was only twenty-five, but he had known her since she was twelve. He had watched her grow and mature, and he trusted her judgment. Plus, she treated him with respect and courtesy, which he reciprocated.  When she had asked him if he would object to a woman boss, he had smiled and said, “No, ma’am. I worked for a couple of men who were dumb as a jackass. After that, I just want a good and fair boss, whether it’s a man or a woman.” Hollister would also accompany her down to Mexico with the herd. He was a good drover and was good with a gun.

Jennifer knew that most people in the West would take a double or triple look at a woman running a ranch. But she grew up on her Bar C and knew about cattle ranching. She had also inherited her father’s intelligence and common sense. The Bar C had prospered since she took over. Now she saw a chance to make an enormous profit and felt she had to take it, even if it came with an element of danger.

She was a five-five brunette with black eyes and, at times, an unnerving stare.  Men three times her size, with pistols on their waists had been known to back away a step or two when she turned that stare on them. She was attractive enough to have her fair share of suitors, but none of them had impressed her.

She was also an accomplished horsewoman who could race with the best. But she wasn’t racing this morning, rather riding at a normal pace. Since she was heading for a town, she was surprised when she saw Tyler on a horse in the road. She slowed and stopped.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said.

“Morning, Bill. Weren’t we supposed to meet in a town?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. But the town had a few men who didn’t seem to like Americans. So I thought I’d meet you on the road. Our two other partners are down the road a bit. I can take you to them, and we can talk business.”

“Fine. Bill, this is Clay Hollister, my foreman. He’ll be going on the trip with us.”

Tyler nodded. “Mr. Hollister, good to meet you.”

Hollister touched his hat in reply.

“Follow me. It’s not far.”

At the campsite, Tyler made the introductions then spread out his map.  As Barrett and Bedlow held opposite ends, Tyler pointed to a spot just inside the Mexican border. “This is about where we are. Now three miles from here, there’s a large ranch owned by Enrique Diego. Diego is a friend, and he has a large area of land that we can temporarily use. He has also told me I’m a dang fool for attempting this, but I hope to prove him wrong. My plan is we all drive our cattle to Diego’s land. Then we head for the French headquarters. They have established a military camp near Monterey and a place to hold and slaughter beef. It is about a hundred and twenty, maybe thirty miles from here.”

“That’s not too far,” Jennifer said. “I’ve been to Mexico a few times when my father was alive. The land around here is basically flat. That’s to our advantage.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barrett said. “But it’s hostile land. That’s to our disadvantage.”

She smiled. “True, but you, Mr. Barrett, look like the type of man who can take care of hostiles.”

He chuckled. “If there are not too many of them, ma’am.”

Tyler ignored the banter. “We may have one more advantage. When we get, say, twenty or thirty miles from Monterey, the French might send troops to help us the rest of the way. The French want our beef as much as we want to sell it to them. They might send a patrol to protect them.”

“If I were the commander, I would,” Barrett said. “If I had a herd that close, I’d want to make sure it got to me.”

“So we might have only about eighty miles we’d have to go alone.”

Hollister nodded. “Glad to hear that, but a lot can happen in eighty miles. Especially in hostile territory.”

“That’s the chance we have to take,” Tyler said. “But if anyone wants to back out, now is the time. Once we start, we’re in.”

“I’m in,” Jennifer said. “I have three hundred and seventeen cattle, and we’re heading to Mexico. Yes, it’s risky, but we’d never get a price like this in the States. This is truly a once-in-a-lifetime deal. We need to take advantage of it.”

“I agree,” Barrett said. “But once in a lifetime deals rarely come with guarantees.”

“True, you have to fight for them,” Bedlow said. He slapped his holster. “That’s why we bring guns.”

Tyler looked around. “So I assume no one is going to pack up and leave?”

“No, when do we start?” Jennifer said.

“As soon as we get all the cattle to Diego’s land. We can keep them there a few days if needed. How long will it take you to drive your cattle here?”

“I can get mine to Mr. Diego’s land in two days,” Jennifer said.

“We can do that too,” Barrett said.

“OK, then we will see one another again in two days and thank Diego for his kindness. Then the next day, we take off for Monterey. May we have a pleasant journey. A pleasant and profitable journey,” Tyler said. “I’ve got three drovers coming with me. They’re all making double their usual pay for driving the herd to Mexico. Miss Capri has two drovers coming.”

“Plus, my foreman,” she said.

“That gives us six. With Barrett and Bedlow and me, that’s nine. Will that be enough?”

“That’s a big herd,” Barrett said. “We have Adam with us, but he’s not going to be helping with the cattle. He’ll be scouting. Think we can use one more man. I think I can find a man back in Texas and bring him with us.”

Tyler nodded. “Good. Then that’s settled. Anything else we need to chat about?”

Silence was the only reply.

“Then I will see you in two days. On the third day, we begin.”

“Vaya con Dios,” Hollister said.

“Let’s hope so. If not, we’ll never make it back alive,” Barrett said. But he said it with a smile, indicating he thought the Almighty would be riding with them.

---

“Riders on a Dark Trail” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

After two years of fighting in the Civil War, partners Wade Barrett and Pete Bedlow travel back to Texas to become ranchers. Their peaceful life will be disrupted though when a fellow rancher presents them with an incredibly risky proposal; to make a long and hazardous trail drive to Mexico to sell cattle to the French army. This job could either make them rich or put them in the ground due to the grave dangers lurking around every corner.

A trial that will bring out the best and worst in men…

To everyone’s surprise, Jenny Capri, a female rancher who has taken over her father’s ranch after his death, decides to join the men on the long and rough trail. As the drive goes deeper into Mexico, Wade will find Jenna to be a truly admirable and attractive woman. On the flip side, Wade knows that the odds to survive this undertaking, let alone dreaming of a life by Jenny’s side, are low.

Sometimes pulling the trigger is the only choice that they have…

Death and violence will be riding the Mexican trail, with greed being also added into the mix. When the fearless team thinks that everything is under control, only one wrong move can turn everything upside down. Will the daring trio beat the odds and return to Texas alive, or will they never manage to step foot on home soil again?

A pulse-pounding drama, which will make you turn the pages with bated breath until the very last word. A must-read for fans of Western action and romance.

“Riders on a Dark Trail” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 60,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

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