Page 55 of Battle Mountain

“Who were those guys?” Geronimo asked with amazement.

“Amateurs,” Nate said. “Two of ’em didn’t know which end of the rifle to point at you.”

“How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Nate said. “They looked more like unemployed graduate students than people Axel would recruit.”

He turned and checked out the license plates of the two vehicles before he could no longer see them. “Colorado and New Mexico,” Nate said. “Not locals.”

“Well, how are we going to find out who they are?” Geronimo asked, then corrected himself to say, “Were.”

“We can’t,” Nate said. “We left three bodies in the middle of a public road in broad daylight. We can’t stick around to check IDs.” Then: “How did our birds fare?”

“No injuries, thanks to the bulletproof glass. That includes me, by the way.”

Geronimo gestured toward the west at the Snowy Range mountains that stretched across the horizon.

“On to Warm Springs?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Nate said. “We’ve got to make another stop first.”

B-Lazy-U Ranch Interlude

The Guests

The new waitressapproached the server station at the side of the bar in the saloon and told the bartender, “Dirty gin martini, up, Hendrick’s; a glass of chardonnay; a double Maker’s Mark on the rocks with water on the side; and a vodka soda with a lime.”

When the bartender raised his eyebrows she quickly added, “Tito’s.” With that, the bartender shot her a thumbs-up and slid down the bar to start the cocktails.

The din in the room was rising in volume as Centurions and their spouses arrived for the opening cocktail reception. Most of the men were in their sixties or seventies, she guessed, with a few young fit men with short haircuts and earnest faces among them, listening intently to what the older men said. The wives generally split from their spouses after ordering drinks, and they quickly found each other. Their conversations were largely about which activities they’d signed up for in the coming days and if the fall weather would hold up enough for them to ride horses, fly-fish, do goat yoga, or hike.

The new waitress wore her uniform, along with a red bandannato keep her hair in place. The jeans she’d been assigned were so tight they felt painted on, which she assumed was the idea.

Most of the guests wore Western clothing as well, or at least their interpretation of it: jeans, belts with silver buckles, cowboy boots, and all manner of cowboy hats. The mood was energetic and a little raucous as Centurions greeted their colleagues and fellow members they hadn’t seen since the last Centurions Week at the B-Lazy-U.

The new waitress marveled at the genuine enthusiasm the guests showed when they encountered Peaches Tyrell, who was also taking cocktail orders.

“Oh my God, it’s Peaches!” one of the women cried out. “How are you doing, girl?”

Peaches, to her credit, greeted every guest by name and never stopped smiling. The new waitress was stunned by Peaches’s effortless recall and hospitality.

—

The new waitressstepped to the side to let Peaches approach the bar and call out drink orders to the bartender.

“Everyone knows you,” the new waitress said.

“This is my fortieth year serving the Centurions,” Peaches said. “A few of ’em have been here every year, but there are always a couple of new faces and names to learn.”

“Are all the Centurions men?”

“Almost all. They let a lady general in a few years ago and some defense industry biggie, but I think they felt they had to. But yes, the rest of them are men. I don’t judge—that’s not my job.”

“You’re kind of amazing.”

Peaches shrugged. “Not really. This is much easier than it was when I started with this group. This is a walk in the park.”

“Meaning…”

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