Cougar's Prey (9781101544846) (37 page)

Only having six shots, Josiah had to make sure each one counted. As he came up, his finger on the trigger, another shot rang out—but this one came from behind him, catching Leathers just above the right knee.

Josiah fired, too, hitting Leathers square in the chest, just a half a second later. Unsure of who fired the shot from behind and what he was up against, Josiah fired again, hitting Leathers just at the base of the throat.

Josiah came to a full stop in a crouched position then, the Peacemaker aimed directly at Leathers. He was saving the remaining cartridges.

The ex-monk looked stunned and surprised as he stumbled backward, one of the guns falling to the ground with an audible thump. Blood exploded from all three wounds, the most visible being the final one from Josiah. He must have caught one of the man's main arteries. It looked like he had just been gutted, as blood spewed like a fountain from his throat.

Leathers fell to the ground on his back, the other gun popping out of his hand, far enough away for the man not to be an immediate threat.

Josiah spun around, yanking his Peacemaker out of the holster, his eyes searching for any movement. He wasn't sure if the shooter behind him was friend or foe, and he sure as hell wasn't taking any chances.

“Wait! Wait, señor! It is me, Miguel!” The short Mexican guitar player stood about ten feet beyond Josiah, just to the left of a collection of heavy bushes, his hands up in the air, his Walker Colt, with the fifteen-inch barrel, teetering heavily. The barrel was pointed toward the ground, not at Josiah. “Don't shoot. I am here to help. I swear.”

Josiah lowered the Peacemaker, then turned sideways, keeping Miguel in sight, as he edged over to Leathers.

The ex-monk was dead, his eyes fixed upward. Blood still drained out of his neck, but it was slowing. Josiah leaned down and took the man's pulse—there was none there.

He stood up and faced Miguel. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because McNelly said to trust no one, didn't he, señor?”

“He did say that. More than once.”

“Then you have to trust that I know the captain, that he said it to me, too. Would it surprise you that a Mexican could be on the payroll of the Texas Rangers?”

“You started a stampede, Miguel. Two men were killed.”

“
Sì
, señor, I shot down at the cows, but I saw what you didn't. The gringo, there, was about to shoot you. You couldn't see it. It was the only thing I could do to save you. I had nothing to do with the dead men.”

“Then the minute group must have killed them. I hope Scrap and McNelly find them and bring them to justice.”

Miguel nodded. “I cannot say for sure, but I stayed behind to keep an eye on the man, just in case I was wrong. He intended to start that stampede, señor, I am sure of it.”

“Leathers said as much.”

“We will never know for sure who killed those rustlers, but this Leathers was a very bad man, señor. I am glad he is dead.”

Josiah hesitated for a second before he said anything else. “McNelly put you in charge of looking after me?”

“Of looking after you all.”

“He killed Maria.”

“I know, I know. I failed.”

Josiah looked up and down the street, glad that their shots had not drawn any attention. At least not yet. “I failed, too, but Leathers put another woman in danger. We have to make sure she is all right.”

Before Miguel could say a word, Josiah rushed down the alley, into the shadows. All he could think about was seeing that Pearl was unharmed.

 

 

All of the lights were off in Miss Amelia Angle's Home for Girls. Josiah and Miguel eased around the house, looking for any sign of trouble, any sign of duress. Nothing looked out of place. There were no horses tied to the hitching posts in front of the house. Music from the nearby saloon still played on, and all of the doors and windows of Miss Amelia's were closed.

“What are you going to do, señor?” Miguel asked, as quietly as he could.

“Go in,” Josiah said.

“Go in?”

Josiah nodded. “Got any other ideas? Leathers said if he didn't show up here, then Pearl would be killed. I have to get upstairs without being heard.”

Miguel smiled. “Come with me, señor,” he said, digging into his pocket.

Josiah followed Miguel up onto the long porch that ran the length of the house. A board creaked as Josiah stepped up. They both stopped, looked around, and listened, to make sure no one had detected their presence.

Satisfied, Miguel walked up to the door and stuck a slender piece of metal in the keyhole. “All good spies are good thieves, too,” the Mexican whispered, as a click echoed and he eased the door open.

“Stay here,” Josiah ordered, entering the house, his Peacemaker in hand, ready to fire at the first suspicious thing that moved.

He stopped inside a wide, open foyer and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. A clock ticked not far off, probably in the parlor. There was a sweet smell in the air, a mix of perfumes and the fragrance from the spring flowers planted in the urns on the porch. A settee sat just inside the door, along with an umbrella butler and a tall coat stand. The stairways were straight in front of him, and Josiah made his way up one of them, as easily and quietly as he could.

He looked over his shoulder before turning up on the first landing, just to make sure Miguel was still in his place. He was.

Josiah headed upward, past the second floor, onward, up to the third floor. The only creature he saw was a red tabby cat that was sleeping on a windowsill. The cat opened its eyes, looked at Josiah curiously, flipped its tail, then closed its eyes as Josiah passed by, paying him no mind.

Once he got to the third floor, he had to stop and figure out what room was Pearl's.

He counted the doors and was certain that out of the four doors that faced the alleyway, the second to the last was the one that he had seen Pearl standing in.

He listened for any sign of life, heard a few light snores beyond the doors, then made his way to Pearl's room and stopped just on the outside of the door, his gun pointed straight up in the air.

It was then that he heard the scoot of a chair leg across the floor, and took it as a sign of duress.

Time had run out. Whoever was working with Leathers was about to do their deed.

Josiah jumped back, kicked the door in, and aimed his gun at a shadowy figure moving from a desk by the window to the bed.

A woman screamed. It wasn't Pearl.

“Pearl?” Josiah yelled out.

The woman screamed again. And a series of lights started popping on behind him, thanks to the wonderful installation of gas.

Standing before Josiah was an unknown woman, dressed for bed, obviously coming from the desk that sat in front of the window, with a closed diary on it.

She screamed again. Doors popped open. Feet scurried. And Josiah turned to flee the room, only to be met by a woman who looked like a boulder with a broad mop of gray hair stuck on top of it, covered in a flowery nightdress and carrying a big club angled up in the air.

“Don't!” came a familiar voice. The hallway was full of girls now, and Pearl pushed her way through the crowd. “Josiah Wolfe, what on earth are you doing here?”

Josiah lowered his gun. The woman, whose room he had broken into, screamed again.

“Maggie, would you please stop screaming. There's no danger here,” Pearl said.

Josiah looked at Pearl curiously, relieved. “You're sure. No danger?”

“Do you know this man, Miss Fikes?” the boulder-sized woman asked.

“Yes, Miss Angle, I do.”

“I thought you were in danger, Pearl. I'm sorry.” Leathers obviously
was
bluffing. “I need to go.” Josiah turned to the screaming woman and said, “Sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean you any harm.”

He made his way past Miss Angle and stopped in front of Pearl. “I'm sorry, I'll explain tomorrow.” He kissed her quickly on the check and hurried off, not looking behind him to see if she was blushing or angry. All he knew was that all of the girls were giggling hysterically, and their attention was focused on him, thankfully, rather than on a killer.

 

 

By the time he'd seen Miguel off, it was nearly midnight when Josiah returned home. Once again, he made his way as quietly as he could into the house. This time not looking for danger, but the sight of a recovering, happy little boy. He found him just where he'd thought he would, in bed, with no fever, completely unaware of the dangers of the world.

Ofelia was asleep on a mat on the floor, not willing to take the bed that was Josiah's when he was home.

Something would have to be done about that, he decided, as he left the room.

He was far from sleepy, too wound up to go right to bed himself, so he went back outside and sat on the porch, letting the night air wash over him and the silence of the city settle around him.

The first thought that came to Josiah's mind as he sat down, letting go of the events of the day, was simple, and one that surprised him:
It sure is good to be home.

 

Josiah welcomed the smell of the ocean as it touched his nose. He eased Clipper along the beach, riding just inside the surf, listening to the waves crashing, staring at the small fishing village in the distance. It was never a question whether he would ever return to Chipito, it was just a matter of when.

The blue-roofed shack came into view, and Josiah kneed Clipper gently, asking him silently to pick up the pace. The Appaloosa responded with a head shake, then he grunted, like he was enjoying himself and was hesitant to leave the easy gait anytime soon, but he obliged, kicking up sand and water as he sprinted toward the village.

It was midday, and a large fire burned in the center of Chipito. Thin black smoke rose gently into the air against the perfect azure sky. The fires were used to smoke fish, and the smell, mixed with ocean, was welcome. Josiah was hungry, but he had other things on his mind.

He and Clipper made it to the village quickly.

All of the boats were gone, out to sea for the day. A lone woman, one he did not recognize from his previous visit, was busy scrubbing some clothes in a tub outside her shack. The woman, her skin dark as leather, watched every move Josiah made with suspicious eyes, as they should have been.

He dismounted from Clipper as easily and nonthreateningly as possible, and instantly unsnapped his gun belt and tossed it over the saddle. He extended his arms straight out, showing the woman he wasn't armed, and walked over to her. The suspicious look on her face did not change.

“I'm looking for Juan Carlos. Is he still here?”

The woman nodded and pointed to her left, out to sea.

Josiah followed the tip of her finger and saw the figure of a man standing knee-deep in the water, about two hundred yards away. “Thanks,” he said, and walked away.

“You a friend of his?” the woman called out.

“I used to be.”

The woman nodded and went back to scrubbing her clothes. “He has no friends here. I doubt you'll be welcome, either.”

“I'll take my chances.”

Josiah walked slowly toward Juan Carlos. The old Mexican was net casting; tossing the net out, reeling it back in hand over hand, each time the catch empty. He seemed oblivious to anything around him. There was no bucket on the shore to contain his catch. It looked like he was just whiling away the time.

Sneaking up on a man like Juan Carlos was not wise, so Josiah stopped just short of the water, took off his boots, and rolled up his pants. “Hey,” he yelled loud enough to be heard over the crash of the surf.

Juan Carlos turned around. He looked even older and skinnier than the last time Josiah had seen him. It seemed to be difficult for him to stand against the taller waves, but the old man fought for a foothold, and won every time, though Josiah wasn't sure how. A good, stiff wind could have blown the man straight north to the Dakotas.

A tense, angry look fell across Juan Carlos's face as he recognized Josiah. “I told you I'd shoot you if you ever came back here.”

Neither the look nor the words slowed, or stopped, Josiah's approach. “I'm unarmed.”

“You don't think I've shot an unarmed man before, señor?”

“You might as well shoot me then.”

“I don't have a gun on me.” The net dangled from Juan Carlos's long fingers, his grip loose. “Why are you here?”

“To tell you how sorry I am for not being there for Maria Villareal. I made a bad decision, and I will pay for it for the rest of my life. Her death was my fault. I am sorry.”