The Sons of Grady Rourke by Douglas Savage Page A

shining black hair, white shoulders, and sparkling blue eyes. In the moment when he had ridden past her and she had looked up and turned away, Patrick had seen eyes full of sunlight and a distant blind terror that haunted her memory. Each morning, as he lay there remembering the fleeting glance of pain in the comers of those violet eyes, he tried not to imagine that skin and that face screaming under a dozen brown bodies taking her, one at a time. For eight years, she had not used that voice again.
    The only way to shake the last vision was to climb out of his blankets and let the deathlike cold of the floor snap his mind back to the business at hand. So Patrick had rubbed his eyes and grimaced when his stocking feet touched the floor. He built a fire and now sipped hot coffee at the small table in his dead mother’s kitchen.
    Rummaging through the old house, Patrick had found a loose board in the floor of his parents’ bedroom. Investigating further, he saw that the timber was not nailed to the framing underneath. When he lifted the plank to inspect for rot or termites, he discovered a rusted, metal box no larger than a loaf of bread. Inside were gold and silver coins, just under one hundred fifty dollars. Within the treasure was a yellowed citation naming Master Sergeant Grady Sean Rourke a brave soldier at the battle of Chapultepec, Mexico, September 12, 1847. The citation was signed by Brevet Lt. Colonel Robert E. Lee and countersigned by Winfield Scott, General of the Army. The long-hand signature at the very bottom belonged to James K. Polk, President of the United States.
    Patrick had counted the coins into neat piles on the kitchen table, kept twenty-five dollars, and put everything else back into its place under the bedroom floor. The little box and a few hundred dollars under Grady’s name at Tunstall’s bank were all of Grady’s life savings. The money, the rundown ranch, and a Presidential citation were all Grady Rourke had in the world-that, and three sons should Liam still be alive.
    By the sixth day, Patrick knew that he could not repair and manage the ranch alone and that Grady’s hidden money would not last long. To keep the ranch, he would need either a brother or a hired hand. That would require renting the pasture to Chisum’s herd—up to the front porch, if necessary. And since Grady’s estate could not be released until Liam returned or was declared dead by the Army, Patrick knew that he needed a job.
    So on this cold and bright Monday, Patrick saddled his horse and rode again into Lincoln.
    â€œRun out of sourdough already?” Billy Bonney asked cheerfully from behind the counter.
    â€œNo. I would like to see Mr. Shield, please.”
    â€œHe”s gone for at least a week."
    â€œGone?”
    â€œYep. Went down to Mesilla to see about getting Mr. McSween loose.”
    â€œWhat about Mr. Tunstall?”
    â€œHe’s in the back. You can go on in, I suppose.”
    â€œThanks.”
    John Tunstall stood up when Patrick knocked on the door frame of the open door.
    â€œGood morning, Patrick. Have a seat.”
    â€œThanks.” Patrick sat down and set his hat on his lap. He opened his fur trailcoat wide in the room warmed by the fireplace.
    â€œIs Billy getting more supplies for you?”
    â€œNo. I come in to ask for work. Seems I can’t get at Pa’s account in your bank till our other brother musters out of the cavalry. I can’t get by just on the ranch. I don’t even know what the cattle rents are.”
    â€œChisum’s herd?”
    â€œYes. I suppose I could go down to his place. Maybe he needs another hand?”
    The Englishman put his paperwork aside to give his guest his full attention.
    â€œJohn Chisum’s ranch is South Spring River, fifty-five miles east of here where the Rio Hondo meets the Pecos River. It’s a long haul if you’re also running your father’s spread alone. The cattle are