“Not our people; our land.”
Steeldust Jack thought of the rows of cornstalks he’d passed when he rode in. Nothing about the reservation that particularly stood out besides that.
“Which brings us back to who those boys are working for,” he said. “Think I’ll have a talk with him, make sure none of these other fellas end up like the one got himself torn to bits.”
Isa-tai’s expression tightened, his gaze suddenly so cold and resolute that Steeldust Jack could feel the chill all the way to his bones.
“There are some things, Ranger, that no one can control.”
22
BALCONES CANYONLANDS, TEXAS
“I’ve heard of Curly Bill Brocius,” Dylan said, when the present-day White Eagle stopped his tale there. “He shot Tombstone’s town marshal in 1880 and was involved in the killing of Morgan Earp. Wyatt himself returned the favor, a couple years after the infamous gunfight at the OK Corral.”
“You know your history,” the old man said, as if he wasn’t impressed at all.
“I know my gunmen.” Dylan realized Ela was holding his hand, but he couldn’t recall exactly when she’d taken it again. “And that boy named Jimmy, who threatened Steeldust Jack, could’ve been James ‘Killing Jim’ Miller. He earned that nickname for good reason, since he supposedly murdered his own grandparents and shot his sister’s husband in the face with a shotgun.”
“I’ve heard of him, too,” Ela chimed in. “I believe he went on to become a Texas Ranger.”
“A man dies as he lives, boy,” White Eagle said, before Dylan could respond. “Even I will die someday, once my granddaughter here is ready to assume her rightful place—two centuries is enough for any man. But there is one more battle to fight first.”
“So, who did send those gunmen in 1874?” Dylan asked him. “Who were they really working for?”
The old man lumbered to his feet, pushing off Dylan’s shoulder and accepting Ela’s help.
“Time for you to leave,” White Eagle told both of them. “The night has given all it has to give.”
“What happens now?” Dylan asked, rising and brushing the dirt and brush off his jeans, glancing toward the shed, where he was sure he’d heard something again. That made him think of the flickering shadow he’d spotted in the mouth of one of the caves overlooking White Eagle’s property, but when he looked back it was gone.
“Nature has a way of setting things right. Like it did here, all those years ago.” The old man hesitated, seeming to sniff the air. “Like it will again today. Nature knows no time. Go now, boy, and don’t come back until someone smarter wears your shoes.” White Eagle’s eyes locked on Ela, piercing in their intensity, as she finally succeeded in dragging Dylan away. “Make sure he doesn’t trip in the woods.”
23
AUSTIN, TEXAS
Daniel Cross sat on a bench in the grassy courtyard section of the Domain, a mall in north Austin, feeling the heat bleed out of the air as night settled in. He was hungry, but all the food places he could afford were still too crowded to risk standing in line. Since he couldn’t return to his apartment, Saflin and Zurif had given him money for some clothes and a motel room. He’d found some jeans and shirts on sale in one of the clothing stores and sat now with a pair of bags on either side of him so nobody could share the bench, while he watched the crowd some more before checking into the motel. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do right now, and he kind of enjoyed watching people coming and going from the more upscale stores he’d never set foot in.
If only they knew …
Cross was particularly enjoying himself tonight, given that this snippet of humanity reminded him so much of the kids who’d made his youth a living hell, all grown up. The kids who’d giggled and whispered as he passed, or pulled his shorts down in gym, or drew caricatures of him on the blackboard, with blotches dotting his long, narrow, cartoonish face. The kids who’d christened him Diaper Dan.
He’d have his revenge on each and every one of them now. Make their lives a living hell, just like they’d made his.
Because what they didn’t know was that Daniel Cross had an IQ pushing one hundred sixty. That he was smarter than any of his science teachers by the time he hit tenth grade, already bored out of his mind. That reality instilled in Cross a smug self-assurance that made him feel superior to the faceless trolls who came and went through the doors of the assorted stores around him. His tormenters all grown up, with no conception of the power he held over them.