June 10th, 1856
Barrett Ranch near Laredo, Texas
"Dammit." Another stretch of fence destroyed. Tyrence Barrett kicked at the red dust near the pile of splintered fence posts and barbed wire. One could look at the debris and think the bull got a hornet up his ass and plowed right on through it, but he knew better. There were clear signs of sabotage: boot prints in the dirt, the nub of a spent cigar, and the deep cuts and grooves only an ax could make. While he knew his bull could easily demolish a fence, he sure as hell couldn't swing an ax-or smoke a cigar. Ty kicked at the dust again, cursing under his breath.
"La Rosa Negra." His companion ground out. "No good. They're no good."
Ty squinted over at his head ranch hand and nodded. "You're damn right, Cinco." Even though the blistering
