Arizona Territory, 1908. Statehood is coming, the telephones are ringing in ranger headquarters, and men in offices think the frontier is finished. On the ground, Arizona Ranger Owen P. Jones knows better.
Escorting a condemned rustler to Yuma, Jones hears a final confession: a rancher’s wife and young daughter were taken across the line into Mexico, raped, murdered, and buried in a hidden grave along the Rio Sonora. Their killers—an Apache–Mexican gunman known as the Breed, a sadistic drifter named Mitchell, and their crew—rode on under the quiet command of a man called Spence, a brilliant swindler who robs railroads and foreign mining companies with ledgers, bonds, and payroll schemes as efficiently as any gun.
On the riverbank where the MacDuff women lie, Jones makes a private vow: he will find every man who had a hand in the crime—those who watched as well as those who struck—and see that none of them escape justice, badge or no badge, on either side of the border.
The hunt pulls him into an uneasy alliance with Mexico’s rurales, into the marble banks and back rooms of Hermosillo, and into the orbit of Catalina Gallegos de San Martin, a widowed rancher whose land and loyalties straddle old Mexico and the new century. As politicians in Phoenix move to abolish the Rangers entirely, Jones is forced to choose between the law he serves and the promise that now defines him.
Sweeping from New Orleans orphanages to Yuma Prison, from Sonoran canyons to the birth of modern corporate power in the West, Rio Sonora is a taut, deeply human Western about the last days of the ranger era—and a man who refuses to let time, or progress, bury the dead.