Several weeks after Will shot himself, the ranch had a number of curious visitors. A man with a marshall’s badge and a shock of white hair rode into the ranch with two Indian men. The marshall addressed the ranch hands in Spanish, telling them that they were there on friendly business, and asking for the owner of the ranch. One of the children went running for Elizabeth.
“Who does he say he is, Felipe?” she asked, as she and Will followed the child back to the main ranch house. “Has he said what he wants?”
“No, Tía,” Felipe answered. “Just that they were here on business and wanted to see you.”
When they got to the main ranch house, Elizabeth asked Will to wait in one of the side rooms. She worried that an injured American in her home might make the marshall suspicious and even aggressive, and she didn’t want to take any chances. Better to find out what the man wanted on her own. She ran her hands quickly through her hair and along her clothing, and made her way into the main room, holding her hand out in greeting.
“Hello gentlemen, I am Elizabeth Arroyo, the manager and co-owner of Rancho Arroyo. What can I do for you?”
The man with the white hair stepped forward, surprise written on his face. “An American woman? You are the manager of this ranch?” he asked.
Elizabeth nodded, raising one eyebrow. “I am, yes. What can I do for you, sir?”
The man cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude. I don’t expect to see Americans this far south of the border. Let me introduce myself. My name is Marshall Rick Rainey from the town of Rio Grande City, in Texas, and these men are Victor and Martin Longoria. They are Comecrudos, also from Texas. My friends and I are looking for two of our associates. We tracked them into your small woodland, where we found remnants of an old campfire, shell casings, several hasty graves, and wagon tracks leading this way. None of these graves belonged to our friends, though, and we wonder if you might have some news for us.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “I believe I may, Marshall. Who exactly are you looking for?”
“Their names are Sheriff Will Austin and Deputy Roy Blackford, both of Roma, Texas.”
Elizabeth’s smile grew larger. “Will Austin has been here for several weeks. He was involved in a gunfight with some outlaws in my woodland, and nearly died. He had lost much blood when my children found him. I’m afraid his deputy was not so lucky; he is buried in our graveyard, behind the main house.” She turned to the child standing next to her. “Felipe, will you go get Will, por favor(italics)? These men are his friends, and would like to see him.”
The boy ran out of the room and returned within minutes, towing Will behind him. Elizabeth smiled, noting that the stubborn man had left his cane behind in his rush to see his friends. He was limping, but walking much better than she could have imagined. His face broke into a smile when he saw the three men behind her.
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