The Gila Wars (26 page)

CHAPTER 49

Josiah stopped the wagon at the crossroad that led to
Arroyo.

The ride had been silent and calm, with Tom Darkson leading the way and Scrap bringing up the rear. Nothing had changed in the sky, hidden by the persistent gray blanket of clouds. The change in weather had been a nice reprieve from the beating sun of the last few days, and there was a coolness to the air, offering some much needed comfort.

It would take Josiah a while to adjust to the wagon's seat instead of a saddle, but the hardest part of the journey—starting—was behind them all. There was no lightness in any of their moods. Their cargo and purpose prevented that. Still, it felt as if the farther away from camp they got, the more comfortable the idea of the trip became.

Scrap stopped a couple of horse-lengths behind Josiah, keeping quiet, eyeing the road to Arroyo with disdain. It would have served Josiah to feel the same way, but he didn't, couldn't find it in himself to feel anything but a moment of desire and regret.

Tom Darkson doubled back and came to an easy stop next to the wagon. “Somethin' the matter, Wolfe?”

Josiah shook his head no. “Everything's fine, Tom. Don't you worry.”

“Then why we stoppin'?” Darkson asked. He eased his hand down to his sidearm, a Colt Peacemaker, the same model as Josiah's, even newer, with nary a scratch on the grips.

“Just thinking some things through. Give me a minute. We'll be on our way shortly,” Josiah said. “There's no threat, so you can relax those fingers.”

Tom Darkson started to say something, then obviously thought better of it because of the serious look on Josiah's face. He spun his horse around and galloped about fifty yards up the road that led to Austin, and stopped. His head darting about like one of those ground owls', on the lookout for anything that might attack.

Josiah sighed. There was no way he could explain to Darkson the choices he was faced with. Fact was, he didn't want to. He didn't even want to face the decisions himself, but he knew he had to.

What he faced was simple, really. He could ride into Arroyo and do his best to sweep Francesca off her feet, and never leave. It would be easy enough to send for Lyle and all of his earthly belongings, pull up stakes in the capital city, and plant new roots in the desolation of Arroyo. If Ofelia chose to come, that would be fine. But she was free to go on with her life if Arroyo didn't appeal to her. The move to Austin had been a big enough upheaval for her; expecting her to follow him to South Texas so soon would be a bit much to ask.

Josiah considered that, and then the idea progressed further—if he were a dishonest man, knowing full well that there was no accounting of Juan Carlos's entire wealth, he knew he could live comfortably for a long time. Pearl would never be the wiser about her inheritance and the amazing fortune that her uncle had amassed and carried with him. She would never know what was to come to her from her uncle's death. Josiah could feel the letter from Pearl stuffed in his pocket—it felt like fire to his heart as he thought about deceiving her.

And then he considered the manner of Juan Carlos's death, matched as it would be with Josiah's sudden wealth if he chose to carry out the scheme. Some people might eventually construe that the death was purposeful, that Josiah had set Juan Carlos up to die so he could get access to his money.

The farther away from the truth the tale got, the more it could grow, and Josiah could easily find himself on the wrong side of the law. He'd be more than a thief—especially with his history of violence taken into consideration—he'd be a greedy, murdering outlaw.

Josiah sighed again and focused on the distant buildings at the end of the road. He could not bring more trouble to Francesca than he already had. Her heart was tender, and needful, as it was.

Truth was, Josiah didn't feel any love for her. Just desire. Just the want of her body next to his in a more acceptable location. His needs were carnal and natural, but hardly worth changing his life for, or tossing his morals to the wind. He'd known that before he stopped the wagon, but he also knew he would have to make the choice one last time.

Francesca was a beautiful woman, hard to resist, easy on the eyes, but even if he did love her, he didn't know if it would be enough to overcome what the world would inflict on them, what with him being Anglo and her a Mexican. Life would be made ugly for them both, but even more so for Lyle.

And that was the stopping point, that and the idea of taking something that didn't belong to him. No matter how he felt about being spurned by Pearl, putting Lyle into a situation that could lead to trouble, or worse, and being a dishonest man just didn't sit well with Josiah. No matter the beauty of a woman, Mexican or otherwise, and the amount of money at hand. Nothing was free, and Josiah knew that wasn't going to change now. He'd pay a hefty price for the theft of Juan Carlos's fortune, and the love of a brown-skinned woman. But the decisions were separate, not dependent on each other. Still, it was also one big decision, and there was no question which one Josiah had to make.

Regretfully, he flipped the reins to the horse and urged it to move on as quickly as it could.

A cloud of dust kicked up behind him, rising on the steady breeze, trailing into the sky and obscuring anything behind that might be worth a second look. Scrap pushed Missy into a hard run, passing Josiah without saying a word, catching up with Darkson, then running faster still, until he, too, was almost out of sight.

CHAPTER 50

Night fell comfortably around the three men in a shallow
limestone canyon. The place was foreign to all three of them, but the look of it had appealed to them. There was a stream cutting through the land, offering a decent spot for watering, resting the horses and themselves. Wildlife seemed plentiful. The surrounding trees were full of birds, the chatter only quieting briefly as the trio of Rangers set up camp. A few squirrels scolded them for interrupting their tranquility.

Scrap had gone out and shot two skinny jackrabbits. Both had been cleaned and stuffed on a makeshift spit and were now cooking over a healthy fire. Mesquite smoke streamed upward into the sky, filling the air with the smell of cooking meat, and the comfort of camp.

The clouds had started to break up, previewing a starry black sky. The promise of rain throughout the day had never been fulfilled, which was just as well as far as Josiah was concerned. All that remained of the day's weather was the steady breeze, pushing up from the south, bringing a slight taste of ocean salt to the tongue.

They were still close to the edge of land and the beginning of the ocean, but by late tomorrow, they would be far enough away from it for it to be just a memory, out of range of the senses. Whether that memory would be bad or good was yet to be determined, but Josiah was leaning toward bad.

He would never forget Juan Carlos falling to the sand, with the sound of the waves crashing behind him so loudly that the surrounding screams, yells, and gunshots could hardly be heard. There was no way he would find joy in remembering the ocean. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“I think when we get to San Antonio, I'm gonna get me a bath, sleep in a nice soft feather bed at the Menger Hotel, and chase me down some fine soiled dove for a little entertainment,” Tom Darkson said. He was sitting next to Josiah, watching the jackrabbits roast over the fire. The skin was getting crispy, and occasionally, a bit of fat would drip into the flames, causing them to flare up.

Scrap was on the other side of the fire, smoking a quirlie, paying neither man any mind at all. He was quiet, more so than usual, but Josiah knew that wouldn't last. Something would get in Scrap's craw, and he'd go off on some sort of rant. Or out of the blue, he'd start talking endlessly about nothing at all, just to hear his own voice. Tom Darkson was like that, too. Only not as quiet and brooding as Scrap. Still, he was turning out to be a decent traveling companion, and Josiah was glad for his presence on the trip.

“We're not stopping in San Antonio,” Josiah said.

“What do you mean we're not stopping?”

“Exactly what I said. I don't care what Doc Tinker did to preserve that body, you think it's going to last forever?”

Darkson shrugged his shoulders, then looked deep into the fire. “I don't care to think about such things.”

“None of us do,” Josiah said. “But it's a fact of life. We need to get that body to Austin and in the ground as soon as we can.” He titled his head to the south.

“What's the matter?” Darkson asked.

Scrap stood up, staring off in the same direction that Josiah was listening. He'd heard something that alarmed him, too.

A coyote howled not far off in the distance. It yipped three times, grew silent, then yipped three more times.

“Sounds odd, Wolfe,” Scrap said. “A little too close for my liking.”

“Mine, too.” Josiah nodded as he stood up and glanced over to Clipper. The horse was tethered to a line between two cottonwoods with the other two horses. All of the gear had been removed from their backs, including the scabbards that held the rifles. At the moment, Josiah cursed himself for getting too comfortable too quick.

“Scrap, grab your rifle and scout the north. Darkson, you need to dash the fire. Don't kill the coals just yet, in case I'm wrong,” Josiah ordered.

“Wrong about what?” Darkson asked, the color of his face growing pale, even in the bright firelight.

“Apache, you idiot,” Scrap said. “Me and Wolfe both have crossed paths with 'em comin' and goin' this close to Mexico. Or it could be some of Cortina's men, tracking after us for a dose of revenge.”

“Oh,” Darkson said. “What do I do if it is Apache, after I put the fire out?”

“Shoot first and ask questions later,” Josiah said.

* * *

The blackness of night was like a heavy veil away from
the campfire. Josiah crawled on his belly to the top of the limestone embankment that overlooked the canyon they had taken refuge in. It was difficult to see very far. He had barely seen the patch of prickly pear, coming up the game trail that led to the top. He'd hoped not to disturb a rattlesnake, or a nest of scorpions on the way, too.

The coyote had gone silent. Just the three calls, followed by three more. Josiah had learned the hard way not to trust his ears, especially when it came to the Apache or Mexicans. They favored raiding camps at night. The Indians were ruthless fighters, and though he doubted they would find much value in Juan Carlos's papers, the gold coins would be enough to justify the attack. Cortina's men would be after a bounty of a different kind.

The dead body, on the other hand, might be enough to ward off the Apache. Regardless of their reputation, Josiah had never heard of any Indian that favored being around dead bodies. There was a good chance that if they had been scouted, the coffin had been a bad sign, sending the Apache on their way, into the night, searching for something else to attack and steal.

The vista that stretched out in front of Josiah was amazing, even in the darkness. The land toward Austin grew flat, but Josiah knew that wouldn't last. There were more canyons to the south of San Antonio, and the hill country to the north of it. Luckily, the trails through both were reasonably easy to traverse with a wagon—unless it rained.

Josiah brought to his eye the spyglass that he'd carried with him and scanned the outlying land. He saw nothing moving. Not man or beast. He hadn't really expected to. Apache and coyotes both seemed to have some kind of magical control over the shadows of night. Still, he had hoped for some kind of sign to prove himself right, or allow him to relax.

After several long minutes, he withdrew the spyglass and collapsed it back down, then made his way back down the embankment the same way he'd come up—on his belly.

Trusting his eyes, and taking his sight for granted, had been stupid. McNelly had warned him of the Apache's existence in these parts, and he knew of it himself—just like he knew that Cortina might well be on the lookout for revenge, like Scrap had said. Still, he had lit a blazing fire and set to cooking like he was in the big Ranger camp, protected by the presence of men just like himself and an armed perimeter to keep them all safe.

If it had just been a coyote he'd heard, this would be a lesson quickly learned. A reminder that they were in the wilds of South Texas with no protection but their wits and the guns they carried. There was no one near to come to their rescue.

The trip down the limestone embankment was easier than getting up it. Knowing where the holes and prickly pear were helped Josiah navigate it easily.

Once at the base, he stood up and came face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. He had to blink to make sure it wasn't Darkson or Scrap mistaking him for an intruder. It wasn't. There was no mistaking that the man was a Mexican. And that could only mean that he was one of Cortina's men or a threat of some kind; perhaps the lone rider Josiah had spied on the hill after the company had gone back to camp after the battle. Josiah's mouth went dry. For all he knew, the man could be Cortina himself.

“One move, señor, and you are a dead man. And do not think to call out for your
amigos
, do you understand?”

A cold chill traveled up Josiah's spine. The man had not shot, had not taken the opportunity to kill him when he easily could have. “Who are you?” Josiah asked.

“It makes no difference,” the Mexican said. He was nearly as tall as Josiah, and he had obviously been riding for days without a bath. He smelled like a dead possum that had been baking in the sun. “Cortina wishes to kill you himself.” He pressed the gun, an older Colt, but still a viable gun, against Josiah's forehead. “Now, when I say so, turn around, and don't make a sound.
Entiendes?
Understand?”

“My boys will come looking for me.”

“We will be long gone. Now, turn around slowly.” The Mexican pulled the gun away cautiously. The sight of it almost disappeared completely in the darkness of the night.

Josiah knew the farther away from camp he was, the greater chance that he would die, either by Cortina's hand or his captor's. He had no choice but to fight, with the hope that Scrap and Darkson would come to his rescue.

Instead of turning, Josiah stood still, refused the order.

“I said move, now!” The Mexican pushed him in the chest with his other hand, and with as much quickness as Josiah could muster, he grabbed the man's wrist, pulled it toward him, bringing the man's chin directly into contact with his rising elbow. The Mexican screamed out, and the old Colt tumbled from his grasp, landing on the ground, just out of his reach. But Josiah wasn't done. He brought his knee up, catching the man's groin with enough force to knock the lungs out of a longhorn. The Mexican screamed and tumbled backward.

Josiah didn't hesitate. He pulled his gun and fired without thinking of the consequences, unloading all six shots on the Mexican. There was enough information to know what to do. Shoot first and ask questions later; follow his own advice. Only Josiah knew the most important answer. Cortina was coming for him. The day would come when they would face each other, but as far as Josiah was concerned, today was not that day. Scrap and Tom Darkson came running, coming to a stop next to Josiah as he kneeled down and began to strip the dead Mexican of his knives and bullets.

“Hot damn, Wolfe,” Tom Darkson said, “what the heck happened?”

“He was waiting for me, looking to take to me to Cortina.”

“Looks like you sent him to hell,” Scrap said.

Josiah shrugged. “Just saved my own skin.”

“Cortina ain't gonna give up,” Darkson said.

“He will someday,” Josiah said. “Either him and me will face down, or something else will stop the man. He can't dodge every bullet that comes his way. But we need to keep a sharper eye out. This might have been the man I saw on the hill, following after us, or there might be more, set on stopping us from reaching Austin to finish the mission McNelly assigned us.”

Both Scrap and Darkson nodded in agreement.

“You gonna bury him?” Scrap asked.

Josiah shook his head no. “The coyotes can have him.”