“We’ve fought a lot of battles together, men,” Franchard went on. “We’ve taken on holdout renegades, warring Indians, Comancheros, and too many gangs of murderers, outlaws, and rustlers to remember. This battle is going to be different.”

The room was silent as the veteran Ranger spoke. “We’re facing a well-armed force of hardened ex-military men, all experienced guerrilla fighters, more’n twice our size. We already know they’re seasoned killers, and they’re being led by a bloodthirsty madman who’s the worst killer of ’em all. They’re coming back to Magdalena, not just to take the silver they believe they were denied, but to punish the town for holding out.”

The nervousness in some of the women began giving way to fear. A few bit nails. Others put their faces in their hands. One began silently praying, Franchard noticed.

“Up till now,” he said, “Major Stiles and his fearsome gang of outlaws have enjoyed pretty fair success back-shootin’ unarmed bank clerks, killing idle train passengers, burying defenseless miners, and abusing unprotected women.”

Franchard paused and scanned the faces riveted on his own. “Their luck’s about to change,” he said.

“When Major Dalton Stiles and his pack of cowards come ridin’ back in, they ain’t gonna be greeted by the same women they met during their last visit. They’re gonna be welcomed by the finest, bravest, and most determined gals in all of the New Mexico Territory.”

A grin spread slowly across Franchard’s face. “And they’re gonna be meetin’ some Texans.”

The saloon erupted in rebel yells, as more than twenty Rangers leaped to their feet with their hats and fists in the air.

“It’s whiskey tonight,” Franchard said when the roars died down, “and work tomorrow. You all know what the plan is, and what we have to do. We begin at dawn.”

Chapter 42

Chapter 42

When the sun rose over Magdalena the next morning, the Rangers assembled as ordered. Many of them were bleary-eyed, and as they emerged from the various cottages and homes in town they were escorted by smiling women. Up until the previous night, the Texans had been billeted in the livery and the saloon.

Last night, however, except for Pritchard and a couple of married Rangers, every Ranger found alternative lodgings. One of the Rangers who came out of a private domicile, a house that happened to belong to Maggie Chase, was Captain Tom Franchard. Both were grinning when they appeared.

The Rangers were fed a hearty breakfast and commenced their assigned tasks. Under Franchard’s command, and Sergeant Finley’s gruff supervision, they spent every moment of daylight during the next two days working as if their lives, and the lives of the people of Magdalena, depended on it.