Cougar's Prey (9781101544846)

by Sweazy, Larry D.

  Juan Carlos pulled the stick away. “As you wish.”

  It had been several hours since Maria had been taken away. Mostly, the two men had sat in silence, staring off into the darkness. The moon had not shown itself yet, so the sky and the water, beyond the firelight, were all one sheet of blackness. Josiah questioned silently whether the moon would show itself or not. Any possibility of light on a night like this seemed remote to him.

  “It is good to spend some time with you,” Josiah finally said. “It has been a while.”

  “Since we rode together to stop Cortina and Liam O’Reilly’s bond,” Juan Carlos said.

  “I stopped that.”

  “I heard.”

  “I should have kept riding into Laredo and put an end to Cortina, as well.”

  “It would not have been as easy as you think, señor.”

  “I don’t imagine so, but I had Elliot with me, and that Negro Seminole scout until we found our lead, then he disappeared. Still, Elliot’s a fine shot. I regret not finishing the job.”

  Juan Carlos chuckled. “Dixie Jim is a good man, too.”

  “The scout helped us find O’Reilly. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

  “And your captain.”

  “Yes, sadly, we found Pete Feders ready to join a nest of men no better than snakes.”

  “I never did trust that gringo,” Juan Carlos said, taking a bite of the mackerel and spitting a bone into the fire.

  “Feders rode with us all for a long time,” Josiah said. “I thought he was a good soldier, a man I could trust with my life. I thought I knew his intentions.”

  “Money and love came in between you and him, between the right and wrong of his heart—and it cost him his life. Diós lo bendiga su alma. God rest his soul.”

  The breeze rose up over Josiah’s back, then dropped down, swirling around his feet, fueling the embers in the fire enough to flame up along a thin piece of remaining driftwood. He still had not settled within himself what had happened between him and Pete Feders, and the final confrontation continued to haunt his dreams and sometimes his waking hours, as well. The whiskey and beer he’d tasted daily, pretending to be another man, Zeb Teter, in the cantina, had the potential to be the tonic to his ills—though he constantly resisted the pull. Many more days away from himself, from his true identity, and those that he really loved and cared about, could have been even more dangerous than facing Cortina’s men. The liquor was becoming a habit that Josiah was losing the desire to control. It numbed his fears and his nightmares. He could use a taste right now.

  Juan Carlos nibbled on the piece of fish, then looked over his shoulder to the shack. “Regret is not something you should carry around for the rest of your life. Especially for this action. It was not your fault, amigo. You should not feel responsible about anything that has happened.”

  “You mean Feders or Maria?”

  “Both.”

  “I wish it were that easy,” Josiah said.

  “You are an honorable man, Josiah Wolfe. Doubt does not suit you. Do you love my niece? Do you love Pearl enough to tell her the truth?”

  Josiah shrugged. “I tried to avoid her when I was in Austin. But she is persistent. She knows enough of the details to understand the situation as I saw it. Still, I have a hard time being in her presence.”

  “Which is why you took this assignment from McNelly. To flee Austin.”

  “I had no choice but to take this assignment. The newspaper was ready to see me hanged. Once the higher-ups were certain that I was innocent of any wrongdoing, they felt it best that I leave town until things calmed down for everybody involved. But with Pearl’s mother fanning the flames, I think that will take a while.” Josiah could not lie to Juan Carlos even if he wanted to.

  “There are other reasons why you avoid my niece?”

  “I cannot support her in the way she is accustomed, you know that.”

  “You would make a wonderful gentleman. I fear my brother’s estate will vanish from Pearl’s grasp. Her mother is a criatura codiciosos, a greedy creature. I do not know what my brother saw in her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t think I am suited for that kind of life,” Josiah said. He looked out to the sea, to the blackness that was making it one with the sky, so he wouldn’t have to look his friend in the eye.

  “Is there someone else, another woman that you care about?”

  Josiah took a deep breath, then faced Juan Carlos. “I never thought I would care about the welfare of another woman after my Lily died.”

  “But your son needs a mamá.”

  “One day Ofelia will need a life of her own.”

  “She has a life with you. With Lyle.”

  “Maybe.” Josiah could feel a tremble in his voice, in his chest

  “But now you think you are listo para el amor, ready for love?” Juan Carlos asked.

  “I don’t know that anyone is ever ready for that,” Josiah answered. “I just know what I am not ready for.”

  Juan Carlos nodded, then glanced over to the shack. “I understand, señor. I will not fault your heart if you cannot love my niece. It is a selfish desire of my own that you do. I see how she looks at you—and you her. Time will tell for each of you.”

  Silence fell between them, the waves crashing gently on the shore.

  “Where is the little gnat, Elliot?” Juan Carlos finally asked, changing the subject.

  Josiah was relieved and chuckled silently at Juan Carlos’s description of Scrap. There was no love lost between the two men. “In Corpus, too. On the other side of town. His assignment was the same as mine, be a spy and report back to Captain McNelly. It seems we both failed to detect an attack. McNelly will not be pleased with either of us, I’m sure.”

  Juan Carlos chuckled. “Scrap Elliot has a difficult enough time being himself. Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. If things got bad, we were supposed to meet up north of town. That was until this man, Miguel, that you sent, found me.”

  “Ah, Miguel, what has become of him?”

  “We left him at the cantina.”

  A distressed look crossed Juan Carlos’s face, but he said nothing further about Miguel. “I can send a man to find Elliot, at least, and make sure he made it out of the attacks alive.”

  Josiah nodded. “He needs to know where I am. McNelly will need to be informed of the incursion by Cortina’s men.”

  “Trust me, señor, he will know soon enough.”

  Josiah was curious about the information Miguel had given him. “Do you think I was sent here to be killed?”

  “Who would make you think such a thing?”

  “Miguel.”

  “Do not trust a guitar player with a hunger for power of his own. He did not tell you everything he knew. He was just satisfying a debt.”

  “A debt to who?”

  “To me,” Juan Carlos said. “I saved his life once.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Molly Flanagan exited the shack with a grave look on her face. The woman was large, shaped like a topheavy whiskey barrel, and wore a simple linen sack dress. Her feet were bare, and in the light cast off by a rise in the flames of the fire, there was little left to the imagination about what lay underneath the dress. Josiah looked away and craned an ear to listen to the hushed conversation she started with Juan Carlos.

  “ ’Tis not good, she has lost a lot of blood,” Molly Flanagan said. Her accent was unmistakably Irish, her tongue thick and lilting, hard for Josiah to understand even under the best circumstances.

  “Will she live?” Juan Carlos asked.

  “Hard to say. ’Tis in the Lord’s hands, now, ’tis. We dug the bullets out of her shoulder, cleaned dem the best we could, and sewed her up. I ain’t no doctor, but I’ve seen enough blood and wounds in this life to know what’s in me hands and what’s not.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Wait,” Molly Flanagan said. “Wait and pray. Matilda will stay the night, keep her
comfortable. Nothin’ else but that can be done.”

  “Can I see her?” Juan Carlos asked.

  “She’s a-sleepin’ now. Best wait till mornin’, or if Matilda hollers out for you.”

  “I’ll just look in on her then.” Juan Carlos pushed by Molly and, without an ounce of hesitation, stepped inside the shack, closing the door softly behind him.

  “That man will be the death of us all,” the woman said. She was staring directly at Josiah. “Who are you?”

  “Josiah Wolfe. I’m a friend of Juan Carlos.”

  “Don’t be thinkin’ that’ll impress me none.”

  Josiah stepped around the fire, so that he could face the woman. “He’s a good man.”

  Molly shrugged. “Been a blight on the happiness of this here community, if’n you ask me. Walked in here like he belonged, and here you are, bringin’ us trouble and a fine lady, double shot and nearly dead. How’d that happen, anyway?”

  “Cortina’s men attacked the city.”

  “Likely story, that is.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Makes no difference to me. We just want left alone. Who’s who and who’s in charge ain’t nothin’ to us. The bounty of the ocean is our landlord, and our dear, sweet Lord Jesus continues to be the hand that guides us through our daily troubles.”

  Josiah took a deep breath, and noticed the waves crashing into the shore with more force. He felt compelled to remain silent. Molly Flanagan unnerved him.

  The moon was showing itself after all, rising on the horizon. It was almost full, just a sliver of a fingernail from being completely round. Night was going to be bright. Whether that was a help or a hindrance to what came next was hard to say. The presence of the moon did nothing to lighten Josiah’s mood.

  “It’s been a pleasure talking with you, ma’am. I appreciate everything you’ve done for Maria. And if you’re worried about Juan Carlos bringing you trouble, don’t. He’s like a possum. He never stays in one place too long.”

  “That’s what you say.”

  Josiah shrugged his shoulders. “Thank you for being here to help. I’m in your debt.”

  “ ’Tis the thing to do. Now, where are you going?” Molly asked as Josiah turned to walk away.

  “Tell Juan Carlos I went back into Corpus to look for an old friend. He’ll understand.”

  Josiah eased back into town on the same trail he had left on, only this time there was no dire sense of urgency, no life at stake but his own—and now that concern seemed distant.

  His shirt still carried the stain of Maria’s blood; he did not have the luxury of a change of clothes, having departed his post in the cantina as hurriedly as he had.

  The blood had dried, but he could still smell the metallic stink of the senseless injury. It was a smell that he was certain he would never get accustomed to, but one he had experienced far too many times in his life. War, it seemed, was going to be a companion, in one form or another, for the rest of Josiah’s life.

  The ride was short. The streets were quiet now that night had fully taken its hold, though the moon was casting a good deal of light onto the street, emanating down from the cloudless sky. Time and reality seemed all twisted around, and Josiah was feeling the weight of uncertain emotions, as well as the uncertainty of what had happened since the start of the day.

  He had barely seen one man on the streets since reentering Corpus.

  Either Cortina’s incursion was over, short-lived and fizzled out, or the citizens of the seaside community were arming themselves and planning for battle again tomorrow. For some reason, Josiah doubted that—there wasn’t that recognizable feeling in the air that usually accompanied a long, dug-in battle. Maybe Cortina had been routed out of town and the fighting was over with.

  Victory would be a surprise, just as the attack had been, but Josiah knew that nothing was settled, at least as long as Cortina still lived to rise up another day. If the past was a predictor of the future, Cortina would continue the assaults on Texas until he was unable to do so any longer. It seemed the man was focused, persistent, and totally intent on claiming ground that he still believed was owned by the country of his birth and blood: Mexico.

  Either way, no matter how things had turned out since the raid, Josiah needed to locate his fellow Ranger and fellow spy Scrap Elliot and find out what was really going on. It had been nearly a week since the two of them had met discreetly and traded information . . . at that time neither of them had stumbled on plans of any kind for incursion by Cortina.

  There was no reason to believe that McNelly would send Josiah to Corpus for punishment, to be killed or captured by Cortina, or for revenge, as Miguel had suggested in the room above the cantina. It made no sense to Josiah—and the fact that Miguel had now, essentially, disappeared, his debt repaid to Juan Carlos, didn’t add to the story’s believability—but he wanted to find out if Scrap had heard anything similar.

  McNelly had returned home after the meeting in Austin and was operating now from his ranch in Burton, directing his league of spies to keep track of the cattle rustlers in south Texas. The relationship Josiah held with McNelly, especially after their face-to-face meeting, was less than accommodating, but still Josiah was having a hard time even considering the idea that the man meant him harm.

  Somewhere in the distance, Josiah heard a gunshot. South, near the shore.

  He turned down the nearest street—Lawrence, he thought it was. He was certain that the street ended at a long pier that stretched pretty far out into the water, the horizon and whatever lay beyond a mystery that he could not imagine.

  Josiah urged on Clipper, who gladly responded, nearing a full run but holding back until the reins were let loose.

  Beyond the gunshot, Josiah started to hear the murmur of what he thought was a crowd.

  As he rushed down the street, even from the distance away that he still was, the growing ruckus sounded like a gathering swarm of insects, bees maybe, with the hive under threat. The rumble of anger was rising into the night air like a familiar song.

  The thing was, though, Josiah didn’t know what he was riding into—and still the street was vacant, like all of the town’s inhabitants had fled. Or worse, like he had ridden into a ghost town, anybody living having been plucked from the beds, barber chairs, and saloons a long time ago.

  He eased back on Clipper, and the Appaloosa came to a steady, decisive stop.

  The stallion stood waiting for its next instruction, next command. The loyalty of the horse was a great comfort to Josiah, even when he didn’t recognize, or express, the feeling consciously.

  He did now, though, knowing full well that he had left Maria Villareal in harm’s way because of Clipper, because he refused to leave the horse behind. How could anyone know why he had done such a thing? Even Josiah couldn’t fully explain his action, leaving a woman behind to defend herself, no matter how capable she appeared to be. But he had lost Clipper once before, had been stripped of everything he owned, and it wasn’t going to happen to him again. Josiah had made that promise to himself when he had been lucky enough to get the horse back, along with nearly everything else he’d lost.

  Josiah was surprised that he had acted almost as impetuously as Scrap Elliot. Perhaps he had come under the spell of his own guise, acting as he thought Zeb Teter would. Still, that thought did not absolve Josiah of any wrongs, and he knew he would have to face the consequences of his actions sooner or later. Hopefully, all that would amount to would be a grand apology to a healing and healthy Maria Villareal.

  He was close enough to the buzzing crowd to see the glow of a large fire shimmering over a few of the single-storey buildings that stood along the shore.

  The smell of wood smoke was different than that of the burning house earlier in the day. This smelled like pure wood—very similar to the driftwood fire he had shared with Juan Carlos outside of the fishing shacks.

  Josiah dismounted, pulled his Winchester out of the scabbard, then grabbed Clipper’s reins and m
ade his way toward the noise and light.

  Just across an intersection, Josiah could see the silhouette of a deep crowd, gray images transforming into a mass of well-dressed and stricken people alike, pushing and gouging to move forward, to get a better view of . . . something.

  He picked up his pace, tightening his grip on Clipper’s reins, until he was close enough to see clearly over the heads of hundreds of people. The street sloped down toward the bay, providing a wide view as the buildings fell away and the road ended at the pier.

  A gallows had been erected—or stood permanently, Josiah didn’t know which—at the point on the land before sand completely took over the beach. A large bonfire burned brightly behind the simple stand of wood, and only one hangman’s noose dangled in the breeze.

  Three men stood on the gallows. One was a lawman of some note, since he wore a silver star on his chest, probably the marshal or county sheriff. Josiah had met neither man, deciding to keep his identity as much a secret as possible.

  The man next to the lawman was a short Mexican, hands bound behind him, feet shackled. Most likely the cause of the gathering.

  Josiah wondered if the man was Cortina himself, since he had no earthly idea what the Mexican outlaw and cattle rustler looked like.

  He would find out quickly enough, as it were, since the man standing on the other side of the doomed Mexican was Scrap Elliot himself, egging on the crowd, enjoying being the center of attention, getting the population of Corpus Christi all lathered up for the impending hanging.

  CHAPTER 16

  Josiah could not reach Scrap Elliot before the noose was slipped around the Mexican’s quivering neck. Pushing through the crowd was proving to be nearly an impossible feat. Every inch of ground had been claimed by a man, woman, or child, pulled from the comfort of his or her home to view a spectacle that obviously could not wait until morning.

  Clipper had been tied to a hitching post just beyond the start of the pier, along with a collection of other mounts, hosted by a young boy eager to take a bit to keep an eye on the horses. Josiah was leery of trusting the boy, a shaghaired waif of no more than ten, but felt like he had little choice.