Four black horses galloped their way across the plain. The riders of the horses were dressed in worn riding clothing. A limp body was wrapped in a black cloth and tied loosely to the back of one of the horses. As the horse jostled its way forwards, the body flopped around, its head banging against the side of the horse. As the horse surged forwards and jumped over a low creek, a slip of fabric slid sideways across the body’s head and a single lock of blond hair spilled out and was instantly torn backwards by the speed of the air rushing past the horse. The animal snorted and jerked its head violently against the reins. The rider swore violently at the beast in Spanish, before kicking the animal hard in the side. The horse straightened itself out and plunged onwards across the plain.

Comanche, Texas

Wednesday, October 9th, 1850

“I’m telling you, John, we can’t just let those damn Mexicans come stormin’ into our town and be stealin’ our women every other night! We’ve got to do something about it!”

“I hear ya, Curtis, but listen to me when I tell that I just don’t have the manpower. There’s not way I can have a detail guarding the station, keep the town idiots in line, and chase a bunch of Mexicans across the desert! We just don’t have enough deputies.”

Sheriff John Carnes shifted uncomfortably in his seat. For weeks now, one or two Mexican criminals had been sneaking into Comanche, kidnapping a local woman, and dragging her off into the desert. Within a week, her body, scalped and mutilated, would be dropped off on the porch of the local bar. The attacks had been occurring for about a month, and the Sheriff knew that there wasn’t a single woman in the town who wondering if she wouldn’t be the next to be dragged screaming into the night. It burned every fiber of John’s being that there was nothing he could do about the kidnappings, but there was simply no way he could discharge his other responsibilities while staking out every house in the town. Thoughts whirled through his head. His urgently dispatched requests for help from local towns of Dublin and Early Brownwood had gone unanswered. He had already attempted to recruit additional deputies from the town, but no one had stepped up. John’s own wife slept alone most nights because he was pulling some greenhorn-level patrol duty. The town of Comanche simply did not have enough law enforcement to meet its requirements. John pulled his feet forwards off his desk and sat up in his chair.