The Gila Wars

by Larry D. Sweazy

  Josiah looked away from the dead bodies, bent motionless over the horses’ backs, and dropped his gaze to the ground. “You didn’t ride with Captain Fikes, did you?”

  Tinker shook his head no. “The Frontier Battalion? No. I’ve ridden with Captain McNelly from the start of this new incarnation of the Ranger organization. I knew little of Fikes. Only what I heard of him when he was killed, and then I didn’t know what to believe was true or a legend birthing itself. You know how things get started.”

  “I do.”

  “So what’s all of this have to do with Captain Fikes? He died a year ago, or longer, if I remember right.”

  “One of the men killed today was his half brother.”

  “Howerson?”

  “No, Juan Carlos Montegné.”

  “The Mexican?”

  Josiah nodded yes.

  Tinker stuck the cigarette in his mouth, fished a match out of his pocket, and lit it with a deep, thoughtful draw. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, exhaling a cloud of thin blue smoke after a long second.

  “Not a lot of people were aware of the connection,” Josiah said. “It was a secret that was uncomfortable even for Juan Carlos. I always got the impression that he wasn’t much welcome in Mexican circles, as much as he wasn’t welcome in the Anglo world. I saw him act as a servant in his own brother’s house on one occasion, and there was no acknowledgment from anyone in the house that he was anything but just that, a servant. I think he was treated poorly in that house after his brother was killed, at least by everyone but his niece, Pearl, the captain’s daughter.”

  The air seemed to disappear inside Josiah’s chest as he spoke Pearl’s name. He had not considered, until that very moment, how she would react to the news of Juan Carlos’s death. He had tried as hard as he could to put her out of his mind.

  Obviously, Captain McNelly intended to have Juan Carlos’s body returned to Austin. The thought of it, all that such a journey entailed, left Josiah’s throat dry, all things considered. He hoped McNelly had other plans. Plans that did not include him, for one thing. Even though leaving Juan Carlos with a stranger at this point didn’t seem right.

  Tinker drew in on the cigarette, causing the tip to glow brightly. The glow met with the torches that had fully taken hold, causing Josiah to look away.

  The torches flickered casually, reacting to the breeze that came and went, offering more light around the tent, as if to announce that the doc was still open for business.

  “I don’t imagine it was an easy life,” Tinker said. “I know little of Juan Carlos. He was like a shadow, always lurking about, gone before you could have a decent conversation with him. He was a spy for McNelly and the whole of the Rangers, I know that much, but little else. His legend will mesh with Captain Fikes’s now.”

  “If the world is to know they were brothers.”

  “Sad that it might not.”

  “Juan Carlos had been a spy long before the Frontier Battalion came into existence. He was pretty much Captain Fikes’s shadow, even back to the State Police days. He was good at blending in, not being seen. I always wished I had his talent and instinct, but I didn’t get to know him until I started riding with the Rangers. Now I think he was one of the closest friends I’ve come to have,” Josiah said.

  “That would explain Captain McNelly’s decision then.” Tinker puffed on the cigarette one last time, then tamped it out on the bottom of his boot. “I better get started if I’m going to see the sack before midnight.”

  “You sure you don’t want my help?”

  “No, you’ve done enough on this day. The lifting will do you no good, only harm. The sight of embalming is not pleasant. I know you’ve seen worse things, but this is your friend. You don’t need that memory.”

  Josiah started to insist, but let his words fall back down his throat. Tinker was right. “All right. I’ll take care with the saddlebag and the horses, then.”

  “Good. Wait here. I’ll be back with help in two shakes.”

  Josiah watched as Tinker lumbered off in the direction of a small collection of dog tents. In the grayness of the light, Tinker looked old and haggard, like a man who had slaved about all his life in one job or another. Which was odd, because just a few minutes before, he’d seemed lively and warm, full of compassion. Maybe it was the healer in him—or maybe it was what Josiah needed to see, or feel. Either way, he liked the man, and was glad for his skills and presence. His shoulder felt better than it had in days. All he needed now was a good bath and a warm plate of food. But they would have to wait.

  CHAPTER 44

  The shaggy black horse didn’t flinch when Josiah walked up alongside it. Clipper, on the other hand, snorted and shook his head. For some reason the Appaloosa was annoyed, or seemed to be. He was probably hungry and tired, too, Josiah decided, as he made his way to the saddlebag on the other horse.

  Once Tinker returned, he’d get the horses settled for the night, then get on with his own quest to put the battle behind him. Clipper was usually pretty easygoing, but it had been an unusual day—battle had its price on a beast, too.

  With light bright enough from the torches to see clearly, Josiah made his way to Juan Carlos’s saddlebag. He approached the man’s horse as gently as possible, touching it with his fingertips, never breaking eye contact with it. “Easy there, fella. Easy,” he whispered.

  It was all he could to do since there was very little he knew about the horse’s temperament. The last thing he needed was to get kicked. Of course, the horse looked like it barely had enough energy to stand up, much less kick, but Josiah wasn’t taking any chances.

  Someone laughed in the distance, reminding Josiah that the camp was probably going to get even more lively as darkness came on. The fiddle music played on, and luckily, it looked like the night would be clear of weather. There was little to stand in the way of a calm evening, outside of the possibility of retaliation from Cortina. That was always a possibility, but unlikely.

  McNelly had chosen the spot for the camp carefully, making sure it was naturally fortified by the cut of the land. Watch had most likely been doubled with the expectation that something might suddenly happen, as opposed to nothing—which is what Josiah was hoping for.

  Certain now that the horse was calm, he unbuckled the saddlebag and opened it slowly, like it was a forbidden act or like he was opening a tomb of some sort.

  Josiah had ignored the wrapped body tied over the saddle, tried not to consider that it was Juan Carlos wrapped inside the blanket. But he could not ignore the feeling that he was invading a man’s privacy as he glanced over the contents of the saddlebag. He had yet to come face-to-face with his regret for his part in Juan Carlos’s death, but that moment was coming.

  The inside of the saddlebag looked to hold all of Juan Carlos’s earthly belongings. There was a change of clothes, some extra ammunition, a packet of Arbuckle’s coffee, and a satchel that looked to hold some papers and coins.

  Josiah hesitated and looked around to make sure he was still alone, before he dove deeper into the satchel. There was no one to be seen, but he expected Tinker back at any moment.

  The contents of the satchel were enough to make an honest man consider the prospect that he was the only person in the world who knew they were there. Josiah was no thief. He instantly knew that the money, and the full contents of the satchel, were not his property, but Pearl’s—unless there were instructions, somewhere, that directed him otherwise.

  After Captain Fikes had been killed, running the estate and managing all of his holdings fell to Pearl’s mother, who was incapable in the ways of money management. And of timing. The financial markets had collapsed in 1873 because of a high degree of speculation in the railroad business and beyond. Pearl and her mother had previously lived a life of privilege, occupying a social status that brought the governor to their home, on more than one occasion, for dinner. Pearl he
rself was a debutante, raised with all of the fineries a young woman of wealth could expect in Austin.

  As far as Josiah knew, Pearl was the only kin that Juan Carlos had. If the old Mexican had children, they were unknown. But then, Juan Carlos was a private man. It wasn’t that long ago that Josiah had learned about Maria Villareal, the woman Juan Carlos loved.

  There were bank notes in the satchel. Papers that had more zeros on them than Josiah could put together and come up with a sum—even though he was a good one with math and ciphers.

  He heard footsteps coming up behind him, and hurriedly stuffed the papers back in the satchel, then closed it up, followed quickly by the saddlebag, which he pulled off the back of the shaggy black horse.

  He wasn’t sure if he understood what he had read, what he had seen, but if his hunch was true, Juan Carlos had been a very wealthy man. Wealthy enough to restore Pearl Fikes to her previous station in society, if she really was the sole beneficiary of the saddlebag.

  CHAPTER 45

  Verlyn Tinker stood back and supervised as two young Rangers pulled Pip Howerson’s body off Clipper’s back.

  Neither of Tinker’s helpers made eye contact with or said a word to Josiah. They ignored him, acted like he didn’t exist. One of the boys, Ned Johannsen, a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed fella, had raced against Pip many times—and lost, like everyone else. But Josiah had had little association with him, or the other Ranger, an older man, DuLane Smith, who helped around the chuck wagon and could stir up a decent batch of gravy if he was called on to do so.

  Josiah watched them alongside Tinker, holding Juan Carlos’s saddlebag securely in his hand. He hadn’t said anything to Tinker about the contents and doubted that he would.

  At the moment, the amount of money in the satchel was his secret to carry, a burden that he was glad to keep. What Juan Carlos would want done with the money was certain in Josiah’s mind, if there were no further instructions to be found.

  “Once we get the bodies inside, the boys can take the horses down to the corral and have them cared for, if that’s all right with you?” Tinker said.

  Josiah glanced at Clipper. There was nothing in his own saddlebag that warranted as watchful an eye as Juan Carlos’s, so he nodded, giving silent permission. “I don’t know what’ll become of that old horse. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Up to the captain, I suppose.” Tinker stood stiffly as Smith and Johannsen eased their way past, carrying Pip’s body to the tent. The wrapping had held tight, but there was no mistaking that they were carrying a body. “He might just let it wander off instead of taking on the expense of feeding it. Doesn’t look like it’d be much use, other than flavoring a stew.”

  Josiah twitched and cast a punitive glance at Tinker, but held his tongue. Whatever became of the horse had been of little concern to him up until that moment. He decided right then that it would be treated as property, just like the satchel. “I’ll speak to the captain about it,” he said.

  “That Juan Carlos’s saddlebag?”

  “Yes, I think I best hang on to it, too. I know his niece and aim to see to it that she gets it once I return to Austin. I figure it might be proper for her to decide the fate of that horse, too.”

  “I suppose you’re the best person for that.”

  “I’m not so sure of that, but I think I might be the only man in camp to take on the task.”

  Tinker shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.”

  Silence fell between the two men then. The noise of the camp was hardly deafening, but it had a pulse, between the rhythm of fiddle music and men coming and going from the tent that had been set up with the washtubs.

  The flames at the entrance of Tinker’s tent flickered and burned consistently, matching with other torches and campfires that had been set in preparation for the coming of night.

  Josiah hesitated as he tried to control his breathing. Leaving Juan Carlos behind was going to be much more difficult than he had thought.

  Tinker must have been able to read the hesitation on Josiah’s face. He put a hand gently on his shoulder and said, “There’s nothing else you can do.”

  “I know, it’s just that . . .”

  “Blame is a horrible thing to experience, Wolfe. I’m sure you did the best you could for your friend. No matter what you believe, whether there’s an afterlife, or a greater beyond, the man’s suffering is over. I will treat his remains like he was a member of my own family. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Thank you,” Josiah said. He tightened his grip on the saddlebag, squared his shoulders, then reached out and touched the blanket that held Juan Carlos’s body and said his silent good-byes.

  The return of Johannsen and Smith encouraged Josiah to turn and leave. Tinker was right; there was nothing left for him to do here.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Tinker said, as Josiah walked away from Juan Carlos.

  “Easy for you to say,” Josiah answered over his shoulder. “Easy for you to say what was my fault and what wasn’t.”

  Tinker said nothing in return, but DuLane Smith coughed loudly as he made his way to Juan Carlos.

  Josiah tried to ignore the cough, hoping that it was nothing more than it seemed, and not a note of doubt. If it was truly doubt, then that attitude would spread through the Ranger camp like a sickness, tainting everything he said or did. His rank of sergeant would be in title only, any respect withheld and lost, because Juan Carlos died as a result of the decisions he had made.

  * * *

  The campfire was raging, with flames almost two feet above the ground, reaching into the sky hungrily. A grate and an empty coffeepot sat off to the right of the fire, waiting for the flames to die out and the coals to burn orange as a cooking source. There were a few bedrolls scattered about, but there was no sign of any man in the spot Josiah had previously staked out as his own.

  There had been five or six of them that had chosen to sleep out in the open, instead of pitching tents. Including Scrap, whose gear and bedroll were nowhere to be seen. It was like he had vanished, disappeared in the outer realm of the living, just like Juan Carlos had. But Josiah knew better. Scrap was avoiding him, was still angry. And Josiah couldn’t blame him. He was still angry at himself for losing control.

  He sat the saddlebag down and took a deep breath. All of the energy drained out of him then. The day took its toll, and he nearly collapsed to the ground. He sat as easily as he could, landing on his open bedroll.

  He still held the saddlebag tightly, but he let it go, let it slide out of his grasp, then folded his knees up to his chest and rested his head face down on them.

  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Clearing his mind, restraining his emotion, and tolerating the natural pain from the battle were his only goals. It must have been a while later when the shuffle of movement got his attention.

  The fire had died down, and the grayness of the evening sky had turned to black. Orange coals pulsed, and the fiddle music had stopped completely. Enthusiasm from the day’s events had settled down. Most likely, the baths and the meals had been completed, and the company was settling down to rest.

  When Josiah looked up, the sight of Scrap Elliot standing before him, his arms folded and a cross look on his face, was the last thing he expected to see.

  CHAPTER 46

  The black eye Scrap was sporting could not be missed, not even in the declining light. Nor could the anger that had settled on his hard-set jaw.

  Once Josiah got his breath back, he decided to stay sitting. Putting himself face-to-face with Scrap, on even footing, didn’t seem right. Besides, he just didn’t have it in him to stand up for another fight. Enough was enough. “I didn’t figure on seeing you too soon,” he said. There was a hint of exasperation in his voice, but he let that pass, too.

  Scrap, on the other hand, had his fists balled, and he looked tight as a guitar string about to
be strummed. “You figured wrong one more time, Wolfe. We got business to settle.”

  There was no use putting off the inevitable. Josiah knew apologizing was the right thing to do—and obviously, the sooner the better for them both. “I’m sorry, Elliot,” he said, looking up, “I lost control of myself. The pain of my injuries and the exhaustion from the day just got the best of me. But I don’t regret not letting you shoot that man. He was surrendering. I had to believe him. But I shouldn’t have hit you, simple as that.”

  “You don’t give a damn that he killed the Mexican? I thought he was your friend.”

  “I do care. But this isn’t about Juan Carlos.”

  “The hell it ain’t. He’s dead ’cause of you and your thick head.”

  “I’m sorry, Scrap. That’s all I can say to you. I was wrong in what I did, and I regret it. What else can I say?”

  “Sometimes sorry ain’t enough.” Scrap rubbed his cheek gingerly under the bruise. It looked like he’d stuck his eye in black axle grease.

  “I suppose you’re right. But fighting with me isn’t going to change things. Like you said, Juan Carlos is dead. Doc Tinker is seeing to it that his body is taken care of. And that shiner is going to work itself out on its own. I don’t have any hope that you’ll just up and forgive me. I’ve known you too long not to know that you won’t do that, but I can’t offer you anything else but a promise that it will never happen again. You should be able to judge from my actions in the past that I aim to honor my word. Your anger can’t take that away if you’re being honest.”

  “That’s it then? You ain’t gonna stand up and see this through? Fight me man-to-man? Let me have my chance at you?”

  “See what through?”

  “I deserve my chance to coldcock you. An eye for an eye. This here is biblical as far as I’m concerned. You owe me a grudge match.”