The Badger's Revenge (32 page)

“Nothin'.”

“We've been in a situation like this before,” Josiah said.

“That's not what I was thinkin' about, Wolfe,” Scrap said. “I was thinkin' it's a long ride to the Strip, and this ain't startin' out so well.”

Juan Carlos shook his head and picked up his pace, leading his horse a little to the south as he climbed down toward the creek bed.

The blackness in the sky had nearly reached them, and Josiah felt the first raindrop hit his face. A lightning strike burst out of the sky a good distance away, hot white fingers hungrily reaching for the earth. Thunder rumbled a few seconds later, giving Clipper a noticeable start.

“Why do you say that?” Josiah asked, reining the horse back, quickly calming him.

“Just like usual, I'm bringin' up the rear, and I ain't got a clue as to what's goin' on.”

Josiah eyed Scrap, raising an eyebrow in frustration. “We trust you with our backs, isn't that enough?” With that, he kneed Clipper, catching up quickly with Juan Carlos, leaving Scrap to think about what he'd just said.

Another clap of thunder spurred Scrap and Missy to join Josiah and Juan Carlos under the overhang.

 

 

The fire was small, and on occasion, Juan Carlos
flapped his hat over it, dispelling the rise of smoke so they wouldn't draw any attention to their location. The storm was fully overhead now, and the trio was safely tucked under the overhang. It was dry and cool next to the limestone, nearly like being in a cave, except there was a sheer wall, facing southwest, that helped keep most of the wind and rain away from the three men.

Juan Carlos had a full complement of jerky for the long ride, and there'd been time to get some fresh water for a pot of coffee. The aroma of Arbuckle's filled the air, along with the smell of some johnnycakes frying in a small skillet.

The horses were not so lucky, tied to a line just outside the overhang. Still, there were some tall sycamores that helped to protect them from the weather.

“We're gonna lose half a day's ride,” Scrap said.

“That is not my worry,” Juan Carlos answered, staring out into the storm, at nothing in particular.

“What is?” Josiah asked. He was sitting with his back propped up against the wall, his Winchester at his side, cleaning the Colt Frontier.

“It will be much easier for us to be tracked when we leave.” Juan Carlos walked to the very edge of the overhang, stuck his hand out, made it into a cup, and let it fill with water that was draining off from above. “If O'Reilly has already met up with Cortina, their plans made, then he will know we are coming.”

“How would he know that?” Scrap asked.

Juan Carlos shook his head. “I do not know. O'Reilly has eyes everywhere. I think he will be on the lookout for us, either way. The Badger is wary of everything and everyone.”

“The only way he would know we are coming is if those eyes were Ranger eyes,” Josiah said.

“Perhaps.” Juan Carlos drank the water from his cupped hand, then angled over to the fire, standing over it for some warmth. “That is not entirely out of the realm of possibility, but I have not been able to discover who those eyes belong to, if that is true.”

“Well don't look at me. I ain't no rat,” Scrap said.

Josiah stopped cleaning the Colt and put it away . . . within reach. “If we thought that, you'd be a dead rat.”

“No worry,” Juan Carlos said. “I have ways of finding these things out. I have my own set of eyes in places Cortina or O'Reilly would not suspect.”

Fort Clark stood on the horizon, a twenty-acre
complex of wood frame and limestone buildings, some still under construction. The fort had originated in 1852 as a guard post for the San Antonio–El Paso Road. When Texas seceded from the Union, the fort was taken over by the Second Texas Mounted Rifles and used as a hospital. Josiah knew some men who'd served with that outfit, or at least they'd claimed to, but for himself, this was his first visit to Clark and the outlying town of Brackett. The construction was a result of a rebuilding project after years of overuse and neglect.

The trio of men stood with their horses lined nose to nose at the crest of a thousand-foot rise. As they looked west, it seemed like they could see forever as dusk started to settle into night before them.

The ride had been long, hard, and fast, the three of them fair enough horsemen to keep up with one another and make solid time. Almost four days had passed, constantly on the lookout for an ambush, for trackers, for a posse of O'Reilly's men on their tail—but there had been nothing, not one single threat.

The ride to Fort Clark had been almost too easy as far as Josiah was concerned.

“More to worry about here,” Juan Carlos said, looking explicitly at Scrap, who was in the middle. “Kickapoo. Lipan Apache. Rustlers. Outlaws. Some Comanche.
Bandidos
crossing back and forth across the river selling off stolen cattle. It is
una tierra hostil
, a hostile land. Cortina knows every rock, every bad man's heart, and every good man's weakness within a thousand miles. You cannot let your fears get the best of you, or we could all die.”

“I can handle myself,” Scrap said.

Juan Carlos gripped the reins tighter, holding his horse steady. “Watch yourself in the fort, if we have need to make a visit. Colonel Mackenzie employs a fine group of Negro Seminole scouts. We may have need of their services.”

“I ain't no slouch,” Scrap said.

“I know how you feel about Mexicans.
Usted no puede ocultar su perjuicio
.”

Josiah sat on Clipper on the other side of Scrap, listening, looking over the land in front of him, barely paying attention to the two men's conversation.

His eyes were fixed on the town of Brackett, the lamps starting to burn inside the houses, the residents preparing for the coming night. He let his thoughts wander to Lyle, then Pearl, hoping their safety and comfort were not a concern, knowing that there was nothing he could do, so far away, other than look out for himself, Scrap, and Juan Carlos and accomplish his own mission as well as the one Captain McNelly had set for them: Stop Liam O'Reilly at any cost.

“You know I can't speak Mexican,” Scrap protested.

“It is just as well,” Juan Carlos said.

“You have a plan?” Josiah asked.

Juan Carlos nodded. “We will stay in town.”

Josiah stared at the old Mexican, questioning him with his eyes first. “If O'Reilly or Cortina have men here, they will be on the lookout for us. They'll know we're here if what you say is true.”

“That is the plan,” Juan Carlos said. “Cortina will find it very interesting that I have ridden into Brackett with two Rangers.”

“He knows you?”

Juan Carlos smiled. “Of course he knows me.”

“Well, that's the stupidest thing I ever heard of,” Scrap said.

“Do you think that the three of us are going to sneak up on O'Reilly, or Cortina in the land that he calls home? That is
estupidez
. Foolish, as you say.”

“You really want them to know we're here?” Scrap continued.

Juan Carlos nodded. “We are safe in Brackett. It is once we leave the protection of the fort that we will be in danger. The men there will not cast a shadow on us.”

“And your plan extends beyond that?” Josiah asked.

“
Sí
.”

“That's good enough for me,” Josiah said.

“Well, it ain't for me,” Scrap said.

“Fine,” Josiah said. “Stay here.”

 

 

Brackett was the Kinney County seat, and the jail
sat right across the street from the county courthouse. Like in Fort Clark, the buildings in Brackett were made of ash-layered limestone and were of recent construction.

There was a quarry, not far out of town, that supplied all of the limestone. The towering mountains and deep canyons supplied an unlimited source of materials to accommodate the growth of Brackett and the rebuilding of Fort Clark.

Juan Carlos tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the jail. It was a small building, single level, about eight hundred square feet at the most, nothing like the county jail in Austin. The jail was as nice-looking a building as Josiah had ever seen for housing outlaws.

“Wait here. The sheriff is
un viejo amigo
, an old friend. I want to say
hola
, let him know we are here,” Juan Carlos said.

Josiah nodded, stayed in his saddle, and watched Juan Carlos disappear inside the building.

Scrap grunted, then fished into a pocket and pulled out a quirlie he'd pre-rolled and lit it. The air immediately smelled of tobacco, and though Josiah did not smoke, the smell was a comfort to him. It meant they were in a moment of relief and relaxation.

Light burned brightly from inside, and Josiah wondered if there were gas lamps in the jail like there were in the Fikes estate. The glow was intense, almost white, as it cut through the windows and into the darkness outside. It was easy to see moving shadows through the window next to the door and hear loud, welcoming voices. The curtains were drawn so he could not see any one man in particular, just their outlines. There was more than one man.

“I feel like a sittin' duck,” Scrap said, exhaling a lung full of smoke.

“You're going to have to trust Juan Carlos.”

“Not likely to happen anytime soon.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Orders. I want to keep on bein' a Ranger.”

“Obviously Juan Carlos has McNelly's trust.”

Scrap shrugged. “Don't matter. I'll do what I'm told, you know that, Wolfe. But I ain't gonna take no orders from a Mexican or a half-breed Indian, especially a half-breed Negro Indian. Nobody said they were equal to a Ranger, now did they?”

Josiah shook his head no. “Juan Carlos works for himself as far as I know. I don't know what his relationship with McNelly is, but I figure they've known each other for a long time. Can't see McNelly sending anyone on a special assignment without trusting him.”

“So you're sayin' Juan Carlos is a spy?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I ain't takin' orders from no spy.”

Josiah said nothing in response to Scrap's announcement. There was no use arguing with the thick-headed boy. He took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. It looked the same as the night sky that covered the ceiling of Austin, even though they were two hundred miles from home.

There were some men who could navigate by the night sky, knew the stories about warriors doing battle above them with great beasts like bears and lions, but Josiah didn't know any of those stories.

He knew the Big Dipper when he saw it, the Little Dipper, too, but beyond that the night sky was a mystery to him. Just like the streets of Brackett, which were mostly quiet now. He had no idea where he was at.

The street a couple of blocks over, however, held a line of saloons and hotels, and Josiah supposed the nightly entertainment was just starting there, especially considering the fort wasn't that far out of town, offering bored and well-moneyed soldiers plenty of opportunities to while away the time and spend their monthly allotments.

“I don't imagine you'll have to take orders from anybody, except for maybe me,” Josiah finally said. “You're a fine shot, Elliot, and one of the best horsemen I've ever met. I just wish you had as much talent with your mouth as you do your trigger finger.”

“Well, thanks,” Scrap said. “I think.”

The door to the jail opened, and Juan Carlos walked outside, a smile on his face. He stopped, hitched up his pants like he was prone to do since he was so skinny, and was about to say something to Josiah when the first shot rang out.

Juan Carlos didn't have time to react.

The bullet, which came from behind Josiah and Scrap, caught the Mexican solidly in the shoulder, knocking him back against the hard wall of the jail.

The second shot dropped Juan Carlos to his knees.

He fell flat on his face before Josiah or Scrap could reach for their guns and return fire.