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  “Justin assures me that it was only self-defense, and from what he heard, the prototype simply ran off because it got scared.”

  Walfred looked concerned. “But if they are programmed mechanicals, how can they get scared?”

  “That was one of the flaws in the original,” Dabinshire replied quickly. “He made it too lifelike. It was almost like it had emotions. The current models aren’t like that. They are much more reliable and more stable.”

  “They better be, if you want me to be investing two thousand a piece on them,” Walfred snapped. “Now, how soon can he have a hundred of these metal men ready?” One of the other men handed Walfred a piece of paper. “Okay, make that four hundred. If they can work as fast as what we are seeing here today, we could get four separate rails laid across the mountains in a matter of months, connecting both coasts at four different points. Then, of course, we would need to start working on lines going north and south.”

  Dabinshire looked out to the west, where the metal men were continuing to lay track and McNair and the others were walking along behind them, inspecting their work. “We’ll need to discuss that with McNair when he returns. He’s the one who handles all the production.”

  Walfred made another pass across his forehead with his handkerchief. “Why don’t we meet for dinner in town tonight? I think I need to retire for a bit. I’ll contact my bank and see how quickly they can arrange for funds, should we come up with a production schedule that meets my needs. Bring your daughter along. Her beauty will brighten up the room.” He offered his hand to Dabinshire but looked at the young woman.

  The rancher accepted the hand. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll talk to Justin and make sure he’s there.”

  “Very good.” Walfred rose and waddled off the platform. He stumbled on the second step. Sarah dropped Gray Talon and reached up to help steady the railroad man.

  “Here, sir, let me help you,” she said. She’d added a bit of Southern lilt to her voice.

  “Thank you,” he replied, taking her hand for balance.

  She deftly slipped her arm in his as he reached the ground. “So can I help you to your carriage, sir?”

  He looked at her, and a warm smile spread across his heavy face. “My dear, you can help me to wherever your heart desires you to help me.”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked as they walked away from the platform. Gray Talon fell into step with them, wondering why she was flirting with Walfred when she had said she was going after Dabinshire.

  “Strictly business today, and yourself?”

  “Oh, traveling with my brother. He’s looking for ranch work. I….” She touched her chest dramatically. “I just lost my husband to outlaws.”

  “That’s horrible.” He patted her hand. “Between you and me, that’s one of the reasons I stay mostly in the east. Out here in the west, you never know what kind of ruffians might be about.”

  Gray Talon kept up alongside them, just like an obedient dog would, still wondering why the woman was changing the plan. She had to have some reason for it.

  20

  TREY STOPPED at the main gate leading through the wall surrounding the Dabinshire ranch. The rock wall spread out for miles in both directions. The gate itself was constructed of huge timbers that had been carefully bound together with iron bands. It looked more like the gate to a fort than the entrance to a ranch. Twin stone towers stood at the side of the gate. Guards looked down on him.

  “What can we do you for?” the guard on the south tower shouted down to him.

  “I heard there was work out here,” Trey shouted back. The brown horse he rode shifted nervously under him. Even on the short ride from their camp to the ranch, he missed Spot. This horse was a rougher ride and didn’t trust him the same way his paint did. But they all agreed that the paint would stand out too much, and he needed to blend in as much as possible.

  “Could be,” the guard shouted back. “What are you looking fer?”

  “I’m good with critters, cattle mostly.”

  “You’ll need to talk to Martin. Give me a sec to let you in.” Then the man disappeared from the window.

  Boots scuffed stone. A couple of minutes later, the massive gate creaked open, and the man smiled up at him from the opening.

  “It’s a bit of a ride,” he explained. “Houses and barns are all in the center of the property. Stay on this road.” He gestured to the well-traveled dirt path heading east. “It’s going to take about another hour of riding. Don’t get off the path. Martin will explain why, if you get hired on.”

  “Thanks.” Trey pushed his heels into the horse’s ribs. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “Tell Martin that Clay sent you.”

  “How will I know Martin?” He reined the horse in after a couple of steps. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw a huge clockwork pulley system that controlled the gate. There were actually two parts, one to open each side of the massive thing. It was an impressive piece of work.

  “If he’s not the first guy you see, ask for him, but he’s the fattest guy on the ranch. He can also be a real son of a bitch, so watch what you say.”

  “Thanks, Clay.” He urged the horse on down the trail toward some softly rolling hills in the distance. As he rode he wondered if Martin was the same Martin he’d seen in the general store weeks before, and if so, would the man remember him? For a moment he wondered if he should recreate the illusion he’d used the previous night in the bar. It would take a fair amount of energy to keep it going for days on end, and he’d rather not do it if he could help it. Sarah had assured him that she didn’t need his magic to appear different from day to day.

  For a cattle ranch, it surprised Trey that there weren’t more cows. Sure, it was fall and the last of the drives had headed out to Kansas City already, but there should still be some stock there. He only saw a small herd of about twenty-five cows on his ride. It was also disturbing that there weren’t any deer or antelope along the way. Then he realized that with the huge wall around the place for years, the farmhands had time to kill off all the game. There weren’t even any rabbits or prairie dogs to be seen.

  As he rode farther along the straight and narrow road, the energies he’d noticed the previous day became more muddled. Building the wall had only been the start of the disruptions to the natural order of things. Every so often he would pass near a spot that cried out as if huge parts of the land had been torn away. One time he stopped the horse for a moment and looked over the cattle-ravaged prairie. Nothing caught his eye as amiss, but the disturbing energies there begged to differ. Something wasn’t right, and he suspected that the something was Rockwall McNair.

  Trey had never encountered another white man with any measurable level of magic, but then, he rarely encountered whites in his travels with the Comanche. Is all this disruption caused by the way whites use magic? He knew from the wholesale slaughter of the buffalo that whites didn’t understand the delicate balance of nature, but he presumed their mages at least had some idea how things should be. A cold shiver went through him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to meet someone with magical knowledge who felt this little care for the world around him. He wanted to go explore one of the disrupted areas but remembered Clay’s warning to stay on the road.

  Nearly an hour after leaving the gate, Trey topped the first of the low hills and spotted the ranch buildings sitting in the bottom of the next valley. A huge patch of green grass covered most of the valley floor, and more cows grazed here, accompanied by a large herd of horses. Even from a distance, he saw the small figures of humans moving from time to time among the buildings. He was still at least a mile from the closest structure.

  As he pointed the horse down the hill, he studied the land laid out before him. Several barns were to the west of the house, and to the north, what might be a garden between the house and several large statues that gleamed in the late-morning sun. A low metal fence stood around the house proper, and wooden fences divided up the
pastures. The house itself was one of the largest Trey had even seen. White paint covered the three stories, complete with massive steps leading up to the porch encircling the building. Large white pillars held up the roof while tall windows let the people inside see everything that was going on around it.

  “Hey there,” a man in a brown cowboy hat hollered as Trey rode into the area of the nearest barn. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for Martin,” he replied. From Clay’s description, this man was much too slender to be the foreman. “Clay said I’d find him up here.”

  The man pointed to a small house close to the main one. It had similar architecture and color but was only a single story. “He’s in his office over there. If you’re looking for work, it’s the right day. The big guy’s in a good mood. Just mind your manners.”

  “Thanks, I will,” Trey said and rode over to the hitching post in front of the house.

  He knocked on the door and waited to be called in. He at least presumed that whites worked the same way as the People in the privacy of their homes. Moments later came the response.

  “Well, git on in here!” someone bellowed from the depths of the house.

  Trey gently turned the doorknob. The door opened without a sound, and he stepped into the short foyer. There wasn’t anyone there. He couldn’t see beyond the empty hallway. It reminded him of the bank, a little too clean and shiny for a place someone might live.

  “Did you come in or not?” the voice shouted again from the first room on the right. It sounded like the man at the general store who’d worn the strange leather-strapped lenses.

  Trey followed the voice. The doors to that room stood open, and he walked up to them. Sitting behind a cluttered desk was the man from the general store. This time his head was bare, other than a few brown hairs that failed to amply cover it. A gray beard added coldness to his ice-colored eyes, visible without the lenses.

  “Well, what do you want?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for some work, sir.” Trey walked into the room. He suddenly wished there was some other way they could complete the quest set out to them, but knew he needed to do this. “Clay at the gate said to come talk to you, that is, if you’re Martin.”

  “Yep, I’m Martin.” He pulled out a cigar from a box, cut the tip, and lit it. “Drives are done for the year. What kind of work are you looking for?”

  “I’m good at any ranch work, sir.” Trey resisted the urge to sneeze as the cigar smoke curled near him. It wasn’t a pleasant tobacco like he was used to in pipe ceremonies. This was a harsh, pungent weed. “Particularly good with critters. I can drive cattle but can also help birth them, brand them, anything you might be needing. I’ve also broken a number of horses.”

  The foreman blew a thick roll of smoke at Trey but gave no indication of recognizing him from the general store. “Where’ve you worked before, and why aren’t you still there?”

  “Down on the King Ranch in Texas and the XO Ranch there too,” he replied, not bothering to add that most of his experience at the King Ranch had been with Comanche raiding parties that were acquiring horses from the ranch. The XO foreman was friendly with the Comanche, and they had good relations there since it bordered a good section of the tribe’s wintering grounds.

  “We’re a long way from Texas. What brings you up this way?”

  “My sister and her husband were homesteading up in the mountains. He was killed by outlaws. I told her I’d stick around if I could find work so I could help her out.” He and Sarah had worked out the story and kept it fairly close to the truth so they could remember it better. They didn’t need anyone digging out too much from any inconsistencies.

  “Let’s see how well you ride, boy,” Martin said, hefting himself up from his chair. “You say you can break horses. I’ve got a couple down in the corral that we just brought in. Caught them between the ranch and Cheyenne before they could make too big a nuisance. Some good-looking ’stangs.”

  Trey’s heart beat a little faster. He knew he could ride any horse he sat. It was one of the benefits of being adopted by the Comanche. “Sure thing, sir. Just point me toward the horse you’d like to have ridden.”

  They moved outside.

  “Josh, get Charlie. We’re going to see if this boy can ride.” Martin stopped and looked over at Trey. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Trey, sir, Trey McAlister,” he replied.

  “Well, Trey, Martin Clemmons. Glad to meet you.”

  “Clemmons—any relation to Smiley Clemmons of the Front Range Gang?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  “A distant cousin.”

  “Wow, you know we’ve heard of Smiley and the Front Range Gang all the way down in Texas.” Trey tried to cover his interest quickly and believably.

  “I’d heard he’d developed a reputation,” Martin said as they reached the corral. Five horses stood inside. They were strong, wild beasts. Majestic power flowed from them even as they stood as far away from the humans as they could get. Four mares, ranging from bay to gray to black, stood there. The fifth looked young but was still a stallion. Trey figured him to be about three years old. He was magnificent. A paint, more gray than black like Spot, his long mane hung past the lower edge of his bulging neck. He placed himself between the mares and the humans as if daring any of the men who gathered on the fence to come close enough to take his small herd from him.

  “Want me to lasso one, boss?” asked the cowboy who’d pointed out Martin’s office to Trey.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to handle it myself,” Trey said. “If I could borrow a lasso?”

  “Josh, go get the boy a lasso,” Martin ordered. Another cowboy, younger and shorter than the first, with pale yellow hair peeking out from his cowboy hat, ran off to the barn.

  Trey looked over the corral more closely while he waited for the man to return. A post stood in the center, its surface marred with cuts and scrapes. The fence under his hands was sturdy enough. The rest of it looked about the same. A good many hooves had torn up the sandy ground, but he had no doubt it would still be hard if he managed to be thrown. A couple of saddles waited on the top rail, like someone had been planning on doing a bit of breaking today. Several halters hung there too, all with heavy, savage bits.

  “You have any hackamores?” he asked.

  Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Hacks, you say. I think there might be a couple in the tack room, but most of our horses have to accept a bit.”

  Trey held back a retort. He hated putting bits in horses’ mouths. Most of the Comanche horses used halters with a lead rope and nothing more. They didn’t normally use saddles, but he knew he’d need to use one today to prove he could do the job he needed to get. He spotted a worn halter lying next to one of the saddles and scooped it up.

  “I’ll start with this.” He jumped up on the fence and waited a second as Josh came back with the lasso. He took several deep breaths, willing himself to relax just like he would before doing any magic. In its own way, gentling a horse was a kind of magic. If he dared to use his abilities in front of these men, he could’ve walked up to the stallion, jumped on, and ridden him around the corral with no stress to either of them. Trey couldn’t risk them finding out about his powers; it would ruin everything. They wouldn’t be able to find the dragon’s daughter, and without Gray Talon close by, he might not even get out alive. If he didn’t return, the odds were Gray Talon would be killed trying to invade the ranch to find him. He had to play it like any other cowboy would.

  “Thanks,” he said as Josh handed him the lasso. The waxed rope felt strange in his hand, but he knew how to use it. Trey dropped a loop as he landed in the corral. The stallion whinnied to the mares and pushed them farther to the side. Trey locked eyes with the horse. Oddly, the stallion’s eyes were different colors. On the right, where the horse’s face was white, the eye was blue; on the left, surrounded by gray, a golden eye gleamed in the sunlight. He’d never seen a horse with golden e
yes before. He knew that most of the People who had two forms had golden eyes. Could this horse be magical?

  “It’s okay, big boy,” he said, just loud enough for the horse to hear. “This might not be much fun, but it’s something we need to do.” Trey stopped about halfway across the corral, just on the other side of the scarred post, the lasso held down at his side.

  Gray ears flicked toward his voice. The stallion stood there, its nostrils flared as it scented the air. The mismatched eyes focused on Trey. It pawed the ground.

  He wouldn’t be able to stand there and talk for too long, or Martin and the cowboys might start to think he was scared of the horse. “When this is over, you’re going to be just fine.” He swung the lasso slowly as he stepped nearer. The closer he could be to the stallion when he roped it, the less chance there would be of the big horse hurting either himself or any of the mares in an attempt to get away. Keeping the center pole in his peripheral vision, Trey tossed the lasso into the air. From the way the horse moved, he knew where its head was going to be, and the loop settled easily around the multicolored neck.

  An angry equine scream rang out as the stallion reared up to try to get away from Trey. Trey scurried backward and got the rope around the center post. The mares scattered away from the captured stallion. The horse landed on stiff legs. Knowing what he was about to do, Trey prepared to shorten the rope.

  The stallion charged at him. Trey pulled the rope and wrapped it around the post. Somehow the paint figured out what was going on and stopped. It was now only six feet from the post. Stiff-legged and white-eyed, it watched Trey, trying to figure out what the human was going to do next.

  “It’s okay, big fella.” Trey kept his voice soft and gentle. “It’s going to be fine.” He took a mental note of the direction the rope wrapped around the post. He’d seen this done many times. It tore at his heart to have to stress the magnificent stallion like this when he could’ve used his magic and made friends with the beast. With the rope secure on the pole, he started walking toward the horse. He approached it so that as the paint moved away, it would end up wrapping itself tightly to the pole.