The Badger's Revenge (10 page)

“Morning, Billie,” the man in the lead said.

He sat comfortably on a black stallion. The man was wearing a tall black Stetson, a black vest with a five-point star pinned to it, muddy riding boots, and a slicker opened up over his shoulders.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“We're looking for a man.”

“Figured as much. That Ranger?”

Josiah stiffened. He still wasn't sure if he could trust the girl—Billie, he figured, since that was what the sheriff had called her. But she'd told him to hide, and hide he had. He had no choice. Running was out of the question.

The sheriff eased the horse up a step, and he looked past Billie, peering curiously into the barn. “You seen him?”

“I heard your men out searchin' last night. They stirred me out of my bed. Thought we was bein' attacked by Comanche.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“That's what you say. I just came out to check the barn. Ain't nothin' missin' or anybody around that I can see.”

O'Reilly pushed his horse up next to the sheriff's. “Come on, Roy, let's get on with it.”

“Billie deserves a moment.” The sheriff glared at O'Reilly. “Don't you know who she is?”

“I know who she is. Everybody in Comanche knows who she is. No offense there, little lady,” O'Reilly said, the Irish in his voice not a lyrical lilt, but hard, like a cold-edged Bowie knife, “but we don't have time for such niceties.”

“That Ranger killed Bill Clarmont last night. I lost another deputy,” the sheriff said.

“Something you're gettin' good at, Roy,” Billie snapped.

“Doc Foley's busy tending to some of the other men who were hurt. You need me to send him out?”

Liam O'Reilly slid off his horse, a tall chestnut mare, and walked up to Billie like he'd known her all his life. He stopped inches from her face.

“He's supposed to be out this way soon.” Billie didn't flinch, didn't seem to be intimidated by O'Reilly's glare.

“Easy there, man,” the sheriff said to O'Reilly.

Josiah's vantage point was partially obscured now, but he could still see the third man sitting on a horse next to the sheriff. The deputy was a brute of a fella, round like a big boulder, with a long, black beard, almost all covered up with a pommel slicker to protect himself from the rain. The man had access to his six-shooter on his hip, the rain shield open enough to expose the badge on his chest and any other weapons he'd equipped himself with. He held a Winchester, ready for anything out of the ordinary, or anything foolish enough to move. Whoever he was, the deputy didn't look familiar, nor did he appear to be a man who would hesitate if it came down to killing a Ranger.

Josiah was surprised that the Comanche brothers weren't riding alongside O'Reilly. It was a relief as well as a revelation. The Indians could have roused Josiah out of his hiding place, tracking him by sight and smell, far easier than the sheriff and his deputy.

O'Reilly glanced over his shoulder, scowled at the sheriff, then turned his attention back to Billie. “You got reason to hide a man in the barn, Billie Webb?”

“Not sure that it's any business of yours.”

“Against the law to harbor a fugitive of justice.”

“You ain't the law.”

O'Reilly laughed, then as if a curtain had fallen across his face, the muscles in his cheeks froze in anger.

He flipped up his gun from his swivel-rigged holster, a Peacemaker like Josiah's, only with fancy pearl white grips, and in rapid succession fired all six rounds blindly into the barn, taking aim at nothing in particular, but scanning the barn from one side to the other, each bullet piercing the hay mounds or a dark corner—where a man running from the law just might hide.

Billie stood in the doorway of the barn and watched
the three men ride away. When she turned to face the inside of the barn, it looked like all of the blood had drained from her face. She was white as a Christmas goose whose neck was being firmly held on the cutting block.

“You still alive in there, Ranger?” Her voice was a whisper, and she kept looking over her shoulder, still untrusting of the sheriff and his men, maybe uncertain about whether or not they'd left a spy behind, just waiting to call them back.

Josiah stirred in the hay, then sat up slowly, his rifle appearing before he did, clearing his face of the debris. O'Reilly's shots had missed him. He sighed deeply.

“I'm fine.”

Billie exhaled. “Good. I was afeared he got lucky and kilt you.”

“I got lucky.”

“Best not use all your luck up at once.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Are they gone?”

Billie eased back to the door, her right hand unconsciously massaging the crest of her massive stomach. “Looks like.”

Josiah stood up, teetered on his leg, grimaced as a shot of pain nearly toppled him over. He was weak from the loss of blood, but more than that, the long ride and chase the day before had left him weary, hungry, and feeling less capable than he'd felt in a long time.

“We need to get you inside the house,” Billie said, rushing over to Josiah.

Josiah shook his head. “I can't risk getting you in any kind of trouble. I've got to get on out of here.”

Billie slid underneath Josiah's arm, shoulder first, steadying him with all of her weight. She was nearly a head shorter than he was, but strong and hearty, given her current condition.

“It ain't but twenty feet to the house. Those fellas who are after you need to be locked up inside a jail cell them damn selves. Ain't a one of them worth an ounce of dirt. Especially that red-haired one.”

“O'Reilly,” Josiah said.

“You know him?”

“We have a history.”

“That figures. He's lower than a rat, and meaner than one, too.” Billie exhaled, then clenched her teeth, fighting off a pain.

“You all right?”

“Baby's lit my heart on fire, that's all.”

Josiah nodded, then pulled away from Billie, his feet a little more sure now that he'd had the chance to stand. The wound bled a little, but it wasn't going to stop him like he'd first thought it would. He walked to the barn door, limping noticeably, and peered out.

“All this excitement has got you riled. You need to forget about me and go on back in the house, take it easy till the doctor comes along,” Josiah said.

Billie Webb's head drew back like she'd been punched. Her face hardened as fast as hot gunmetal set in a cooling pot. It would have only taken a smidgen of imagination to see the steam blasting out of her ears.

“Just who in the hell do you think you are, Ranger, comin' in here and tellin' me what to do? You just go on, then. Go out there in broad daylight and get yourself kilt. See if I give a damn.”

With that, Billie stalked straight out of the barn, her eyes focused solely on the tiny clapboard house—but she stopped midway, turned, and surveyed the landscape, then walked back to the barn door. “You won't last for ten minutes outside of here. Now, come on, don't be a damn fool. I ain't gonna ask you again.”

The rain had continued to fall steadily in thick sheets. The entire world was cast in a blanket of grief, all blacks and grays. Even though it was morning, it looked like night was about to fall. A breeze had turned into a healthy wind, pushing up from the south. Rivulets of water ran down Billie's face, but she stood unmoving, her jaw set hard, giving Josiah the solid impression she was not going to take no for an answer and leave him to fend for himself.

“It's now or never, Ranger. Once this weather passes, the sheriff'll be back. You can count on that. Him or that ugly Mick.”

Josiah pushed off the door, sliding the Spencer up under his arm, his finger on the trigger. He knew Billie was right. O'Reilly would come back for certain, so there was nothing to do but take advantage of the rain or face the consequences.

Billie waited for him to catch up and then walked shoulder-to-shoulder with him to the door of the small house.

The grounds around the house were barren, save a towering live oak, reaching into the unruly sky like a giant pole as thick around as three whiskey barrels tied together. The gnarly branches looked like arms reaching up in need of something unseen. They, too, were thick and barely moving in the steady wind. The tree was not a threat, unless lightning took a liking to it, and would no doubt offer immense shade and comfort on a long, hot summer day. Pleasure of that type seemed a luxury at Billie Webb's house.

Mostly, though, Billie's place looked plain uncared for, neglected for some time. Goatbush and hackberry had about taken over the switchgrass beyond the barn. A gate to the pasture had come off its hinges, blocking entrance or exit for any creature, man or beast, and making it difficult to come and go. Even the barn itself was in need of serious repair. Most notably, the roof had holes, as big as a dog's head, peppered on both sides of the steep incline.

Josiah could not restrain himself from noticing the condition of the homestead. He had spent nearly all of his life on a similar piece of land in East Texas, just outside of Tyler, and he knew, firsthand, the trials of keeping up with one thing after another on a farm—especially when you were alone. And making that assumption about Billie didn't set well with him, considering her current physical condition and quick temper. There was more going on in her life than he knew . . . and he wasn't sure he was in much of a hurry to find out all of the details of her reality.

He had other things on his mind at the moment—but had no choice but to take refuge inside the small house.

Josiah stopped at the stoop and let Billie lead the way into the house. He scanned the gloomy horizon for any sign of the sheriff, O'Reilly, or any other riders, and saw nothing. Not even a cow or a horse. The weather wasn't welcoming for a duck, or bird of any kind, either.

Billie slid out of the oversized sack coat, hung it on a peg just inside the door, then made her way to the woodstove.

“I'll get that,” Josiah said, shaking off the rain.

He was soaked to the bone. If his boot had been full of blood earlier, then it certainly had washed away by now. Still, he felt cold and shriveled. The heat from a hot stove would be a welcome development.

Billie ignored Josiah's offer and slid a healthy piece of wood into the stove. Orange embers filled the bottom of the stove, and the heat rushed out into the small interior, filling it comfortably. The wood caught fire immediately, the crackle of it the first happy sound Josiah had heard in nearly a day.

“There's a trunk in the next room. You'll find some britches and socks there. Help yourself,” Billie said.

“I can just stand by the stove and dry out.”

“This ain't no time to be nice, Ranger,” Billie said, pausing, a curious look passing across her face. “What's your name, anyways?”

“Josiah. Josiah Wolfe.”

“I'm Billie.”

“Billie Webb,” Josiah said, nodding his head.

“Guess you already figured that out.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

A slight smile replaced the curious look on Billie's face. “Been a while since anyone's called me ma'am. I haven't been out much since Charlie . . .” She stopped, cut the sentence off with a tongue sharp as a knife, then turned away from Josiah and threw another log into the stove. “Well, go on now, don't just stand there like there's nothin' to do. Get out of those clothes so I can take a look at your leg. I don't figure we have much time to get you cared for.”

 

 

The inside of the two-room house was just as
unkempt as the outside. Clothes were tossed about on the floor like rugs kicked in fury, and the bed in the other room looked like Billie had just rolled out of it. The floor had not seen the touch of a broom in a good while, and cobwebs in the corners certainly held insect nests, they were so thick. It was a welcome environment for scorpions and spiders, among other creatures that could cause the girl harm.

The trunk Josiah had been instructed to open was easily found sitting in a corner undisturbed, and the inside was as neat as any military locker Josiah had ever seen.

For a matter of privacy, Josiah slid against the wall, propping himself up as he peeled off his wet clothes.

The wind outside found its way through the walls and wrapped itself around Josiah's ankles. A chill ran up his leg and didn't stop until it reached his ears.

His leg was bloody, and the wound was still seeping, the wetness preventing complete clotting. Josiah touched the graze, pressed it, and slid his finger around the upper edge just to make sure there wasn't any lead to be found inside. He didn't think so, even though it hurt like hell, almost as much as the stab wound in his shoulder.