Page 42 of Rangers Last Promise

Not because he ordered me to, but because his entire body has gone rigid.

“What is it?”

“Someone tried to force the lock.”

Sheriff Tate comes through the alley with Trigger behind him. Both men wear gloves.

“Fresh marks?” Tate asks.

“They weren’t there when I left Fort Worth.”

“Could they have been made in front of the tavern?”

Doc scans the alley.

“Most likely during the shooting.”

“The shots may have been a distraction,” I say.

“So someone could get to the box,” Trigger adds.

Doc looks at me. “Where’s the key?”

“In my pocket.”

“I meant the truck key.”

“I know. I wanted to see how you liked answering unnecessary questions.”

“Check your pocket.”

Trigger coughs to cover another laugh.

Doc pulls the key from his pocket and unlocks the door. The interior light comes on.

Nothing appears disturbed.

He reaches behind the passenger seat and removes a black duffel. The zipper remains closed.

“Check it before opening,” Sheriff Tate says.

Doc lowers the bag to the wet pavement. He runs his hands along the outside, then opens each compartment carefully.

Clothes.

A medical kit.

A box of ammunition.

Finally, he removes a black metal case about the size of an old cigar box.

“This is what Grant gave you?” I ask.

“Part of it.”

Doc opens his shirt collar and removes a chain from beneath the fabric.

Two military dog tags hang from it.