The Savage Breed. Randy Denmon

been on the east coast with my aunt. I’m on my way to my father’s ranch in Laredo.”

      “A proud Mexican. That’s rare around here. What do you think of all the talk of war?”

      “There’s no talk in my family. We’re Mexican through and through. My father fought in the War of Independence. Mexico has rewarded him well. I just wish all the problems would go away…and I could meet a handsome, dashing Ranger who would sweep me off my feet.” Mercedes grinned mischievously and rolled her eyes.

      Travis stood speechless, staring at the woman like a man does when he thinks he might be looking at the right woman for the very first time. This one oozed a sort of smoldering passion that intrigued him. He turned and walked to a colonnade. He rested his shoulder on the stucco column and looked out from the palace to the limestone walls of the Alamo fortress, a quarter mile across the San Antonio River, its white face illuminated by lanterns. He turned to look at the other imposing structures of the town: the San Fernando Church and the Bexar Customs Exchange, an imposing monolith of stone, four stories tall. In the distance, he saw the other Spanish missions, all imposing edifices with tall spires and bell towers, marvelously lit and standing commandingly over the mass of rickety adobe shacks.

      “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Mercedes said, walking up beside him.

      “Yes.” Travis turned away from the town to look at Mercedes.

      She brushed her hair back and held her head up to face the cool breeze.

      “Does a few minutes on the patio with a handsome, dashing Ranger get your temperature up and juices flowing?”

      Mercedes bowed her head, trying to hide a laugh.

      “These parties aren’t really for me,” he said. “You want to go for a walk along the river?”

      “I don’t know. That might be a tad much. I only just met you. I don’t know if I’m ready for that—might overheat. Especially if you’re as chivalrous and quick-witted as the local papers make you out to be.”

      “Most of that is exaggerated, but not all of it.” Travis laughed, reaching out and grabbing Mercedes’s willing hand. He then stepped off into the darkness of the night.

      Chapter 2

      January 1836

      Travis sat up in bed, shivering, and pulled the wool blanket up to his neck. A cold winter wind heaved at the wooden door, rattling its rusty bolt as the firm gusts whistled through the diminutive adobe house, fraught with cracks. He wiped the sleep out of his foggy eyes and looked over at a small cast-iron stove beside the bed. Mercedes was stoking a fire, only a quilt over her firm body.

      “Come back to bed,” Travis mumbled. “I’ll go fetch some more firewood.”

      “I’d love to, but I have to get up and get going. I have to go to Mass with my family today,” Mercedes replied, continuing to stir the fire. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at Travis. “I must ask for forgiveness for all my transgressions with you.”

      “I’ve got to go see your father today myself. And then I have to go back to San Antonio.” Travis looked out the window at the gloomy, uninviting day, aglow with thick, white clouds whose bright glare stung his eyes.

      “Do you have to go so soon?” Mercedes turned and kissed Travis on the lips before slowly crawling back into the warm bed. “Do you want me to draw you a bath?”

      “No.”

      “All this war talk scares me. I worry about you and my family. What will happen? Can’t we just go to Saltillo? There’s no war there. I’m sure my father could ensure you get a good post with the Regulares.”

      “It’s not that simple, love. I’m a Texan. If Texas declares independence, I’ll be with Texas. After all, I am a Texas Ranger. And if I went to Mexico, I would be disgraced. I could never be a Regulare; they might force me to take up arms against the Rangers and Texans. I could never do that.”

      “Why is all this happening? And you’re not a Texan, you’re a Mexican.”

      “I was once an American, like most Texans. We came here while Mexico was a republic. Now it’s not. Santa Anna rules. The Anglos, myself included, will never tolerate that, or being forced to conform to Catholicism, or put up with these Mexican soldiers trampling on our rights, or any more of his tyrannical rules.”

      Mercedes put her soft hand on Travis’s chest and began to gently massage his ribs. She looked up at Travis, a few silent tears forming in her deep, piercing eyes. “I am scared. I may never see you again. I cannot accept the thought of you fighting my family—or of something happening to you.”

      Travis took in a deep breath and looked down at Mercedes’s long, feminine fingers stroking his chest. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Santa Anna shouldn’t have invaded Texas. But don’t worry so much. This all may turn out to be nothing. And if there is a fight, it will be against Santa Anna. Texans and Mexicans don’t want to fight each other. Texas has no animosity toward Mexicans—only the current Mexican government, which most Mexicans hate anyway.”

      Travis grabbed Mercedes’s hand, and the two made eye contact. He sensed that his words carried little solace for her, and he reached over and ran his hands through her hair a few times, almost feeling the anxiety in her warm, tense scalp. “Don’t worry. I’ll never do anything to harm you. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can get married.”

      Mercedes sniffled a few times, and wiped a tear from her faultless, pale cheek with the palm of her hand. She started to murmur a reply, but a loud bang on the door startled the two.

      Travis’s heart skipped a beat as he sat up alertly, reaching over for his revolver, hanging holstered on the bedpost. “Who is it?” he yelled.

      “It’s just me,” a muffled voice said through the door.

      “Well, come in,” Travis said, relaxing and leaning back in bed as he watched the door open and Chase, bundled in a long overcoat, casually come into the room. “I wasn’t expecting you for a few more days.”

      “Your week-long siesta’s over. Major Williamson is rallying the company in San Antonio the day after tomorrow,” Chase said bluntly. He removed his hat briefly and held it to his chest in deference to the young lady, then squatted by the stove to warm his hands. “You ready to go?”

      “Don’t I look ready?” Travis answered, reaching over to the small table beside the bed and picking up his brass pocket watch. “I guess I don’t have any choice. Let me say my good-byes to the well-heeled señorita, and I’ll meet you at the old mission in an hour.”

      “Make it thirty minutes,” Chase said, and stood. He walked over to the bed and put the back of his hand on the cheek of the still-troubled Mercedes. “Too damn cold out there to hang around an hour…where in the hell did you ever find a beautiful, blond Mexican out here in the middle of nowhere? Much less get her to crawl in bed with you. She must have bad eyes.”

      “Aw, I don’t know. Found her on the trail somewhere. Not sure she’s worth all the trouble. But her eyes are fine.” Travis stirred Mercedes’s hair playfully.

      Chase smiled and looked down at Mercedes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him get into any trouble that he can’t get out of. We’d both probably feel a lot better if you’d go back to Mexico where you’ll be safe.”

      “Go on and get out of here,” Travis retorted loudly. “I need to get started. You know how difficult it is for women to say good-bye to me.”

      Mercedes laughed, but tears again filled her glorious eyes. “Get him out of here before he keeps misbehaving and I banish him for good,” she said.

      An hour later, Travis rode within sight of the small Agustin Mission, just outside of the almost deserted pueblo of Laredo. Ahead, beyond the town, lay the harsh chaparral and brush country of the Rio Grande Plain, destitute of water and