"No, man seems straight enough. If his story isn't true and he is a spy, he's going about this a mite odd."
Colorado rode off north. Ranson had Valentine walk ahead of him to an old roadside stop on the southbound side of the interstate. It seemed like any other decayed husk of the Old World, save for a ladder up to an empty platform where a gasoline sign once stood. Valentine decided it must give a commanding view, day or night-if the moon was out. He smelled water.
"Colorado will be back in a couple hours. Let me go up and take a look around. Do me a favor and walk my horse, would you? A few times around the building will be fine."
Valentine complied, as Ranson made a slow climb to the perch for a long look-round. When the Ranger returned Valentine handed the reins over.
"In the mood for some coffee, Sergeant?"
Ranson's lean face lit up. "You have coffee out of Mexico?"
"Better. Jamaican."
"Holy Moses, why didn't you say so? I ain't had coffee from anywhere east of Padre Island in years. There's a mortar and pestle we use for corn inside, and a coffeepot."
In three-quarters of an hour, they were sharing the coffee, the Jamaican beans campfire-toasted and stone-ground.
"Lord, that's good," Ranson said, sipping appreciatively. He was lean as a winter wolf and sat in an old wooden chair with long legs stretched across a pile of cordwood.
"You aren't worried I drugged it?"
"Naw. I'd kill you before it got me. Besides, you drank first, and I poured. So you've been to sea."
"Yes."
"I didn't want to say anything to Colorado, but a few of us have been told to keep an eye out for a stranger calling himself Ghost. Seems to me you're mighty overdue."
"It wasn't a pleasure cruise."
"Delays beyond your control. I know what you mean. I was on a patrol once on the Rio Grande. It was supposed to last a month. They ended up chasing us west - we didn't make it back till Christmas, five months overdue. My wife was collecting death pension already."
"So the Kurians have the river?" Valentine asked.
"The whole damned valley. Mexican Kurians, they call 'em the Alcaldes, like they was old aristocracy or something. Good farm land, some of the best in the world. The folks there smuggle us out what they can. How are things up north? We don't get news unless it comes roundabout."
"Hard, but Southern Command is holding out."
"And what were you out for? Intelligence?"
"I'll be happy to tell you if your colonel or Mr. Fields okays it."
Ranson winked with one whole side of his face. " 'Loose lips,' whatever that means. My dad used to say it when he was playing his cards close to the chest. Personally, I like a set of loose lips. 'Specially if they're attached to a genuine redhead."
Two more riders arrived with Colorado at the dawn. "Sergeant Hughes says we're supposed to cut our patrol short and see this man back to the Academy."
"Kind of him," Ranson said. "Switch to the relief horse. I expect they want him there pronto. Wish we had a spare for you, young man."
"I expect he can run some more," Colorado said. "He did pretty well there at the end on the road. I'd like to see that trick again."
While the sergeant passed on his report on the patrol, Colorado readied the horses, placing the saddlebags and rifle sheaths on the patient animals. Ranson mounted, still chewing on a snatched breakfast.
They set off, Colorado in the lead and moving his horse at a brisk walk, quickly enough so Valentine had to force himself to hurry at a pace just below a jog, which he found increasingly annoying.
"I'm going to run, it's easier than walking like this," he said, breaking into a trot.
Colorado kicked his horse to a trot, and Ranson followed. The sergeant smiled at some inner joke. Valentine set his jaw, and ran faster, passing the trotting horse at a steady lope.
"What the hell?" Colorado said. He touched his heels to the horse's flanks, and it broke into a canter.