Cougar's Prey (9781101544846) (4 page)

Josiah did as he was told by Steele and closed the door, then returned to the chair and remained standing.

Steele looked over the papers, not giving any notice to anything but what was in front of him.

Jones and McNelly stared at Josiah coldly, not giving one hint of their inclination toward his innocence or guilt. If there was a shared brotherhood among the men in the room, Josiah was not feeling a part of it.

A clock ticked somewhere close by, maybe in the next room, but loud enough to be heard faintly.

Josiah tried to stand as still as he could, nearly at attention, his heels together, his arms stiff to his sides. He tried to look past the men, out the window. A crowd was assembling outside of the capitol building. They had been alerted to the meeting.

He felt a sudden urge to relieve himself but knew he could not move, could not run, even if he wanted to. There was no hiding from the moment he'd found himself in.

William Steele exhaled strongly enough to make the wild hairs of his beard tremble. “We have never met, have we, Ranger Wolfe?”

“No, sir, I don't believe we have.”

Steele looked Josiah over, trailing his gaze from head to toe, then waved his hand. “Sit down. This is not a formal trial.”

Josiah did as he was instructed, though he would have preferred to remain standing, would have preferred to hold some kind of advantage, height or otherwise, rather than having to face all three men at a lower level. He was at an extreme disadvantage as it was, three against one, his fate in the hands of ambitious men with their own political careers on the line.

“It should be a trial according to those waiting beyond the doors and out on the street,” Major Jones said.

“They're after nothing but more blood,” Steele answered. “I promised the governor we would put an end to this charade quickly, and that justice would be served, if it has not been already. Make no mistake, I answer to the governor, not to that mob out there, and certainly not to that rag that poses as a newspaper these days. You have an enemy in the press, Wolfe, and you are sorely at a disadvantage.”

There were no words that came to Josiah's mind that he could offer Steele in his own defense. The attacks in the newspaper had taken him aback, and being the simple man that he was, he had no idea how to combat the “vile creature” as Steele had called it.

McNelly did not move, did not say a word. He just stared past Josiah, at the door. Jones, on the other hand, fidgeted, looking like he had been admonished. His lips drew up tighter than a clam.

Josiah could hear each breath drawn in and forced out by McNelly, could tell that it was difficult for the captain to even sit there. There was a sadness about the man that was underlying every movement, in every blink of the eye. It was as if McNelly wondered at every moment what his life would have been if he had not contracted the tubercular disease that consumed him, and instead had the lungs of a normal man. Not that his accomplishments weren't notable, they were, especially for a man of his constitution, but still, the question was always there, though never spoken of by McNelly himself, or any of his men.

“Tell me about yourself, Wolfe,” Steele said.

Josiah was not prepared for the question. He expected to be asked to recount the events that had led up to Pete Feders's death. “I'm a Ranger,” he stuttered. “I hail from here in Austin.”

“Relax, Wolfe. I promise you there is no hangman's noose waiting for you at the end of this day. I am aware of your service to the Rangers. I can read what is on your papers: the date you joined, the company you were assigned to, what you are paid. But it says nothing of the man I am about to pass judgment on. I must consider whether you're a man of your word, or a troublemaker, an outlaw hiding behind the law who deserves a trial, a murder charge—to be thrown to the wolves waiting outside—not set free because you were just doing your duty and protecting your own life and the citizens of Texas. You may never have another chance like this again, Wolfe. Now, tell me about yourself, but do not, I warn you, lie to me, or embellish your tale, or I will snatch that chance away from you as quickly as it was offered, and your life will never be the same again. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir, you are.” Josiah tried to relax, tried to regulate his own breathing and slow his racing heart down. “I'm new to the city,” he said in an even tone as he quickly calmed himself down, comforted, in a way, by Steele's directness. “I grew up outside of Tyler in a tiny town called Seerville. The railroad came in too far away, and the town's pretty much died out now.”

“And that's why you've moved to Austin?” Steele asked.

Jones looked completely bored. He kept checking his watch and glaring out of the corner of his eye at Steele.

“No, sir,” Josiah said. “After I came back from the war, I took up being the marshal of Seerville. My folks were still alive, and I helped out on the farm as much as I could, too. It was a small farm, a couple head of cattle, a few goats, chickens, and a plot for corn and a decent-sized garden. It was a simple life that we had, and it was a comfortable place to return to after all that I saw in the East fighting with the First Brigade. There wasn't much to being a marshal, and it suited me pretty well, gave me a little income, since I was getting married and starting a family. I wanted nothing more than to put the War Between the States behind me, if you don't mind me saying so, sir.”

Steele nodded. “We've all been trying to do just that for the last ten years, son.”

Josiah forced a smile and continued, “One of my deputies, Charlie Langdon, and I fought together in the Brigade. We were first in, last out. Charlie got a taste for blood and no rules, and I didn't see it until it was too late. He went bad on me, took off on a killing spree and robbing banks as much as he could, whenever he could. I thought he was my friend, but I was wrong. He was nobody's friend.”

Major Jones scooted his chair back. “Really, General Steele, what does this have to do with a man killing his captain?”

“I asked Wolfe to tell me about himself, sir, or were you not listening?” The tone in Steele's voice was unmistakable, hard and cold. He came by his name honestly.

Jones ran his finger down the right side of his mustache. “I am late for an appointment.”

“That is your problem, Major Jones. We are not done here yet. We are just starting. Go on, Wolfe, pay this man no mind.”

Josiah moved to the edge of his seat. Instinct told him to prepare for a fight of some kind, coming from Jones's way. He drew in a deep breath. “About that time, after there was no need for a marshal in Seerville any longer, I began to ride with Captain Hiram Fikes, irregularly, as a Ranger. It was a much looser organization then, sir, as you well know, with little money to pay us, so men came and went, but Pete Feders was always there, riding alongside Captain Fikes. They seemed an odd team, the captain almost ignoring Feders at every move, but Pete never gave up trying to impress the captain, trying to get in his good graces. It always struck me as strange, but I didn't question his motives too much back then. Just noticed. I came to trust Pete. I thought he was a good man to have your back. I was never ambitious, didn't ever want to be a captain, so I wasn't a threat to him, I suppose. That came later, though even when the threat did come, I didn't understand it.”

Steele nodded, listening intently. “So you have known Peter Feders for a long time?”

“Yes, sir, before the reign of the State Police, and since the creation of the Frontier Battalion.”

“So, you rode with Fikes when he commanded a troop of State Police for the previous governor, as well?” Steele asked.

“Infrequently,” Josiah answered. “I had three daughters by then, and my folks had died. I was trying to make a go of the farm. I was never much good at being a farmer, but my wife, Lily, loved that life, and she was none too fond of me being away for long stretches at a time.”

“Then how is it you ride with the Rangers now?”

“My wife died, sir. The fevers took my three girls first. One after another. Slow. With the death of each one, I didn't think the pain could be any worse. But I was wrong. After my last girl died, Lily became pregnant again. We were infused with hope, thought that maybe we'd turned a corner, been given a second chance. If you believe in such things. But Lily died in childbirth. That was the worst of the pain, and I nearly went mad. The midwife and I were able to save the baby, a boy, named Lyle. He lived—is still alive—and is the only reason I am here today, standing before you as sane a man as I can be, I believe.”

Josiah's eyes had welled up with tears. He hadn't spoken of Lily's death in a very long time, and with all that had happened recently, his emotions were rawer than he realized. He missed his old life. It was just a faint memory now. He could barely hear Lily's voice in his mind. It was as if she had never existed in the first place.

Steele didn't say anything. He let Josiah's words fade away. Neither McNelly nor Jones seemed moved, or had changed his expression. Jones remained impatient, and McNelly remained uncommitted, void of any readable emotion. Both men were being forced to stay where they were, and judgment, for once, was not theirs to dole out.

Josiah wondered what their roles really were, why they were there at all, as he tried to regain his breath and force himself back into the reality of the moment.

Shouts could be heard outside, “Murderer! Murderer! Hang him! Hang him!” But no one acknowledged the mob, least of all Josiah. He had never been so uncomfortable in his life as the shouts became louder and the crowd swelled out into the street.

“I apologize that there are no curtains on the window. All privacy is lost to us these days,” Steele said.

“If I may beg your pardon, sir,” Major Jones said, scooting forward in his chair, preparing to stand.

Steele cut him off before he could say another word. “No, sir, you may not. I intend to hear this man out. The world outside of this room would string him up without one iota of a chance to explain himself. I have seen it done. We all have. The newspapers have already convicted him and are out for blood. Now, sit there, Major Jones, and give this man his due. He rode with you in the Lost Valley fight, did he not?”

“Yes, he did,” Jones said coldly.

“And did he not conduct himself with bravery and valor when you commanded your troops into that valley and were trapped by the Kiowa?”

Josiah remained quiet, but the conversation had garnered McNelly's attention. He leaned down and watched Jones very closely, restraining himself. Lost Valley was Jones's first Indian encounter as the commander of the Frontier Battalion, and it had gone poorly, left a Ranger dead, mutilated, and several others wounded—even though Jones boasted that it was a victory.

In many ways it
was
a public relations victory for the new Rangers, and they had needed that very much, at the time. Josiah had escaped with a knife wound, and the pain refused to go away, even now, months later. Jones escaped with his reputation intact, and the Kiowa, most notably Lone Wolf, left on the run. The
Austin Statesman
had been kind in its depiction of the encounter, painting all of the Rangers as heroes. Now a fall from grace was much more interesting.

“Of course,” Jones said to Steele. “We are not here to rehash my decisions that occurred in the past. We are here to discuss why Ranger Wolfe killed Captain Peter Feders.”

“Very well,” Steele said. “Ranger Wolfe, please tell us what happened after you suffered the loss of your family.”

Jones crossed his arms heavily, rolled his eyes, and slammed his shoulders against the back of the chair.

“I was left to raise my son, alone, after I buried Lily,” Josiah said. “After a couple of years of struggling, with the help of a midwife and wet nurse, I got word from Captain Fikes that he'd captured Charlie Langdon in San Antonio, and he offered me the chance to come down and escort Charlie to trial. And, if I was so inclined, the Frontier Battalion was forming, and the captain wanted me to ride with him again. He wanted me to be a fully employed Texas Ranger. He was offering me a new life, for which I will always be grateful.”

“And you said yes, of course,” Steele said.

“It was either that or die a very young man. I had lost my way, and Fikes knew it. He was more than a captain. He was a friend. When he was killed, it was my honor to escort his body home to Austin.”

McNelly finally interjected. “This is when Feders took over as captain?”

“Not officially, at that point,” Josiah answered, turning his attention to the captain. “But, yes, he was in charge. We made plans with Major Jones to capture Langdon, who had escaped after the captain was killed. He had gone back to Seerville and was holding my son hostage. Pete rode in at the end, and Ranger Elliot took the shot that put an end to the situation. Langdon eventually faced trial and was hanged, and I thought the bitterness of the past was behind me. I moved away from the farm, hoping city life in Austin wouldn't be so isolated for my boy when I was away.”