The Gila Wars

by Larry D. Sweazy

  The sheriff sported a finely waxed mustache and wore a black bowler hat that matched the color of his fancy suit. The silver star on his chest remained highly polished and properly positioned, offering no clue to any shame, or lack of authority, that he might have carried.

  Scrap and Tom Darkson stopped alongside the wagon, but both of them held silent, instinctively leaving Josiah to the business of handling the sheriff.

  “This doesn’t concern you, Rory,” Josiah said, through gritted teeth. “Unless you’ve found yourself in a new profession as an undertaker,” he added with a penetrating glare.

  Without thinking, Farnsworth thrust his chest out and boosted his chin at the sky. “I am still the sheriff of this county, thank you very much. Now, tell me, what is this coffin you carry, and who occupies it?”

  “A dead body, Rory. What the hell do you think I’m carting around, a treasure box full of gold?”

  “There’s no cause to get snide with me.”

  Josiah broke his gaze with the sheriff and looked past him, to Pearl. She looked mortified and terrified at the same time. If that were possible. “I think there is plenty of reason to be snide, Rory. Plenty . . .”

  Farnsworth looked over his shoulder, then back to Josiah just as quickly. “Your connection, and business, with Miss Fikes has come to an end from what I understand.”

  Josiah sighed. “Not quite yet, Rory. I come to town bearing bad news.”

  He hadn’t taken his eyes off Pearl. She was as beautiful as ever. She was dressed in clothes Josiah had seen before, when she had worn them on an outing to the riverside on a lazy Sunday afternoon—not too long ago. Though it seemed forever since he had been in her company.

  Pearl had long flowing locks of blond hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and she was wearing a boater hat with blue satin ribbons flowing off the back. The ribbons matched the color of her dress that highlighted her hourglass figure perfectly. Josiah knew from experience that her undergarments only accented a nearly perfectly shaped body—she needed little help from tight bindings. She had on her best kid-and-cloth shoes, but they were starting to show some wear. All of her clothes were worn, though from a distance she looked like the proper belle of the ball that she had been in the past. Since her father’s death, when her fortunes had changed dramatically, the local dressmaker would not even extend her a line of credit.

  Pearl slowly walked toward the wagon. Her fingers were trembling. Sweat was forming on her brow. She looked extremely uncomfortable, like she was weakening from some unseen sickness.

  There was no wind, and the heat of the day seemed to press in around them from all sides. People walking the boardwalk and driving the street, whether in buggies or on horses, had started to slow, noticing the coffin and the presence of the sheriff.

  “Josiah,” Pearl whispered, looking to the ground as she stopped next to Farnsworth. They were touching elbows. “What pray tell have you brought to Austin?” Her voice was weak, trembling to match her fingers. “I have seen you driving a similar task, and my life has not been the same since.”

  Josiah drew in a deep breath. “I’m afraid this time is no different, Pearl. It is Juan Carlos I have brought home to bury. I’m sorry, your uncle is dead.”

  Pearl gasped, whimpered, brought her hand to her forehead, and promptly fainted. Luckily, Rory Farnsworth looked to have experience for such moments and caught her handily, embracing her like he’d been waiting for such a moment to prove his worth and value.

  CHAPTER 54

  After seeing to Pearl, then standing back and letting Farnsworth see her safely to a bench that sat in front of Sampson & Hendrik’s, Josiah instructed Scrap and Tom Darkson to take the wagon to the undertaker.

  Scrap hesitated. “What then?”

  “Take the horses to the livery like I said. If I’m not there shortly, go ahead and get yourself settled in. I’ll be at my house in a little while. This won’t take long, and besides,” Josiah said, “I’m anxious to see Lyle now that I’m back in Austin. I keep looking for him and Ofelia.”

  “I bet you are,” Scrap said. The condescending tone Scrap usually took toward Ofelia was not evident in his voice. He almost sounded respectful.

  “I am.” Josiah stared at the boy’s black eye. It had fully blossomed over the trip back to Austin. It looked as if a fading purple chrysanthemum was stuck on his face. “I’m glad to be back in Austin.”

  “Home?” Scrap said.

  “This city’s never much felt like home to me, and Cortina knows to find me here, now.” Josiah looked over his shoulder at Pearl. Farnsworth was fanning her with his handkerchief, whispering words Josiah couldn’t hear. He rolled his eyes and then turned back to Scrap. “Go on now, I got some business to tend to before I’m free to do as I please.”

  Scrap nodded, climbed aboard the wagon, and grabbed up the reins. Before he could say anything, or get completely settled, Josiah put his hand up, stopping him from going on any farther.

  “Hold on,” Josiah said. He walked around to the back of the wagon, climbed up gently, and made his way to the ammunition box, trying not to touch the coffin—but that was impossible. He opened the box and grabbed up Juan Carlos’s satchel with the letters in it. “All right,” he said, climbing down. “You and Darkson take care to stay out of trouble, and I’ll meet up with you later.”

  Scrap nodded, and so did Darkson. The boy had a confused look on his face; he had no idea what was going on, what the past and present circumstances meant to the sheriff, Pearl, or Josiah, but Scrap sure did.

  Darkson plodded off alongside the wagon without offering any words—like a good solider should.

  Josiah stood and watched them disappear around the corner, then turned his attention back to Pearl and Rory Farnsworth.

  He stepped up on the boardwalk and stared the sheriff directly in the eye. “Can we go to your office, Rory? I’d like to finish up some business with Miss Fikes, if you don’t mind. There’s too many ears and eyes about in the open, and what I have to say is not knowledge I want gossiped about or passed on around town.”

  Farnsworth looked to Pearl for approval. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and nodded silently. “That would be fine, Josiah. Tell me, though, did Juan Carlos die a hero?”

  The question surprised Josiah. “Yes,” he said, softly, after thinking about his answer. “He died protecting me, Scrap, and the rest of the boys.”

  “So the Rangers have taken another man I loved?”

  “I suppose so. Yes, they have,” Josiah said.

  * * *

  The inside of Rory Farnsworth’s office was cool and comfortable. The walls were made of whitewashed stone and beaded with perspiration. A fan circled overhead, offering a nice reprieve from outside. Two simple chairs sat in front of the ornately carved desk that Farnsworth usually sat behind, and one wall was lined with locked cabinets full of rifles, guns, and ammunition.

  The most noticeable thing, at least for Josiah, was the bare spot on the wall where a picture once hung. The whitewash around it was fresher, whiter, suggesting the picture had been removed recently.

  Farnsworth noticed Josiah looking at the spot where the picture of the sheriff’s father had once hung. “That newspaperman of yours is set on seeing my father hang.”

  “Paul Hoagland is not a friend, but he’s not an enemy, either,” Josiah said. He pulled out one of the chairs for Pearl to sit in.

  “You could have fooled me,” Farnsworth said. “I’ve moved my father to Tarrant County until the next trial convenes. Three down. One to go.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be glad when this is all over with, Rory,” Josiah said, respectfully. He felt some sadness for the man. Being the sheriff and having your father being tried as a murderer had to be difficult.

  “Out of sight, out of mind. You know how that goes.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware of the strategy.”
>
  Pearl exhaled slightly, drawing Farnsworth’s attention to her. “Can I get you a glass of water, Pearl?”

  “Please,” she answered.

  Josiah had remained standing. “If you could give us a few minutes in private, Rory, I would appreciate it. What I have to share with Pearl will not take long, then I’d like to see my son.”

  Pearl cast Josiah a quick, disturbed glance, then looked away. “We’ll be fine, Rory. Josiah Wolfe is an honorable man. You know that.”

  “If you insist,” Farnsworth nodded.

  Pearl nodded, and the sheriff turned, exited the office, and closed the door behind him with more than a gentle pull.

  Josiah ignored Farnsworth’s annoyed exit and put the satchel on the desk in front of Pearl. “Really, Pearl, Rory Farnsworth? You broke off our courting to take up with him?”

  “It’s not like that, Josiah. That didn’t come about until after I had sent you that letter.”

  “I have to believe that, don’t I?”

  “It makes no difference to me what you believe,” Pearl said. “And besides, why not Rory Farnsworth? We have a lot in common. The places we once ventured no longer welcome us. We have fallen from grace according to polite society. Me for my mother’s instability and poor financial dealings and Rory for his father’s misdeeds. He is the only man in this city who has shown me any decency at all.”

  “Murders. His father murdered those girls. They were not misdeeds.”

  “Call them what you want. Rory has been around me most all of my life, but we have never gotten to know each other very well. The turn of events brought us closer together. But if Juan Carlos’s death does not demonstrate what I meant in that letter, then nothing will. I could not bear to wait for your body to be paraded into town, dead from a Ranger’s mission like my father and uncle. It is even more apparent now, at least to me, that I made the right decision. No matter how much I loved you, I could not send you off and then wait for you to be killed. And I will not expect you to change. You walk the streets in Austin like they are ill-fitting clothes. You do not belong here, Josiah. We could never be happy.”

  “It wouldn’t matter who you were with,” Josiah whispered. He didn’t finish the sentence. But he continued the thought silently to himself: I would not be able to bear seeing you on the arm of another man. He knew then that she was right, and what he had to do once he got the matters at hand settled.

  “I beg your pardon?” Pearl said. She looked away from Josiah to the satchel.

  He ignored her question. Their relationship was over. It had been the moment the letter arrived in camp, and most definitely soon after, the first time he laid eyes on Francesca. “That was Juan Carlos’s. I took the liberty of going through it. It seems,” Josiah said, picking up the satchel and handing it to Pearl, “that you’re now a very wealthy woman.”

  Pearl accepted the satchel. “I’m sorry?”

  “There are gold coins, deeds, bank notes, and more documents that I don’t understand. But it seems to me that when you add them all together, your days of pursuing an education to become a schoolteacher are over if you want them to be. I’m sure once the ears belonging to high society hear of this, they will welcome you back with open arms.”

  “That sounded spiteful, Josiah.”

  He didn’t offer to defend himself. “I’m sorry, Pearl, for what happened to Juan Carlos. He was a good friend to me, and I will mourn his death for the rest of my life.” He started to head for the door.

  Pearl stood up, clutching the satchel tightly, with tears growing in her eyes. Josiah couldn’t tell if they were from happiness or sadness. “And we are done? Just like that? There’s no hope for us now? This money could change your life, too.”

  “Money suddenly changed your heart?” Josiah scowled.

  Pearl just glared at Josiah, all of her beauty gone for him. She looked like nothing more than the gossiping, heartless women she proclaimed to hate.

  Josiah stopped at the door. “You’re best off to stay with Rory. He’ll know how to navigate the streets of Austin alongside you and get you where you want to go.”

  “Where are you going, Josiah? What’s going to happen to you?”

  “I’m going home, Pearl,” he said, opening the door, coming face-to-face with Rory Farnsworth. “I’m going home.”

  EPILOGUE

  There was very little furniture to load up, but the wagon was full of all the belongings that Josiah had brought with him to Austin. He sat with the reins in his hands, with Lyle next to him, and Ofelia, happily on the other side of the little boy.

  Clipper had been relegated to the rear of the wagon again and remained aloof, and annoyed, at the prospect of being pulled somewhere else—instead of having the lead, and the freedom of his head going whichever direction he wanted.

  A crate full of chickens sat in the back of the wagon, and they clucked nervously, as Josiah prepared to leave.

  Scrap stood next to the wagon, staring at the ground. “You really think this is a good idea, Wolfe?”

  “I told you after Juan Carlos’s funeral that this was what I thought was best, not just for me, but for Lyle and Ofelia. We need to go home, to Seerville, where we belong. This city is only going to get bigger and louder. It sets my teeth astride now. I can never relax. I miss the piney woods, the places I know. I came here looking for a new life, but I was running away from the pain of my old life, too. None of that seems to matter now. It would just be too hard to live here for the rest of my life. Seems there’s bad memories everywhere I turn, and I might as well be in the comfort of familiarity and a slower pace, if that’s truly the case. Besides, I want to know my family’s safe from the likes of Cortina and his men. It’ll be easier in Seerville than here to see to that.”

  “I understand,” Scrap said. “But we got orders to return to the company once we’re all healed up. McNelly needs us to fight on against Cortina.”

  “I said nothing about leaving the Rangers, Scrap. Where’d you get that fool idea?”

  “I don’t know. I just figured you was done with everything.”

  “No, I’m going home and get settled. Once this shoulder is better, then I’ll ride back south and join up with McNelly. He’s a fine captain. You’ll be fine here with Darkson, I ’spect.”

  Scrap scrunched his shoulders. “He’s not actin’ like them broken ribs hurt him much. He’s carousin’ around like a tomcat, and that just leads to trouble, if you ask me. At least it did for me.”

  Josiah smiled as Lyle squirmed next to him. “Let’s go, Papa,” the little boy said.

  Josiah peered around Lyle and said to Ofelia, “We have everything, right?”

  She nodded. “Sí, Señor Josiah. I have double-checked and double-checked. I do not believe I have even left one speck of dust for the next peoples to come.”

  “Well, that’s it then,” Josiah said. “You know, Elliot, you can always come with us. There’s a tack room in the barn. We can put a bed in it. There’s room for you in Seerville. There’s not much to carouse there.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother,” Scrap said.

  “Where else are you going to go? Your Aunt Callie’s in Dallas? It’s almost as far a ride to Seerville.”

  “No, I don’t want to impose on you. I’ll stay here, and figure things out for myself.”

  “All right, suit yourself, but you’re always welcome.”

  “Thanks, Wolfe, that means a lot.”

  Josiah nodded. “Well, we’re going to go. I’ll see you down the trail, I suppose.”

  “I hope so,” Scrap said. “I sure hope so.”

  With that, Josiah flipped the reins, and the horse that had brought them from the Arroyo Colorado headed out, kicking up a bit of dust, pulling the wagon down the street in no hurry, but obviously glad, like Josiah, to be leaving the city.

  Lyle stood up and started wa
ving to Scrap. “Bye-bye, Mr. Scrap. Bye-bye, Mr. Scrap,” he yelled.

  Josiah was tempted to look back, hoping all along that Scrap had changed his mind and was trailing after them, but he didn’t. He just kept his eyes forward, looking straight ahead, watching happily, as Austin slowly disappeared behind him.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Larry D. Sweazy (www.larrydsweazy.com) won the WWA Spur Award for Best Short Fiction in 2005, and the 2011 and the 2012 Will Rogers Medallion Award for Western Fiction for novels in the Josiah Wolfe, Texas Ranger series—The Scorpion Trail (Berkley, 2010) and The Cougar’s Prey (Berkley, 2011). He was nominated for a Derringer Award by the Short Mystery Fiction Society in 2007 and was a finalist in the Best Books of Indiana literary competition in 2010 for The Rattlesnake Season (Berkley, 2009). Larry won the Best Books of Indiana literary competition in 2011 with The Scorpion Trail (Berkley, 2010), making the novel the first Western to ever win the award. Larry is also the author of a modern-day thriller, The Devil’s Bone (Five Star, 2012). He has also written, and published, more than fifty nonfiction articles and short stories, which have appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine; The Adventure of the Missing Detective: And 25 of the Year’s Finest Crime and Mystery Stories; Boys’ Life; Hardboiled; Amazon Shorts; and several other publications and anthologies. He is member of MWA (Mystery Writers of America), WWA (Western Writers of America), and WF (Western Fictioneers).

  He lives in Indiana, with his wife, Rose; two dogs, Rhodesian ridgebacks, Brodi and Sunny; and a black cat, Nigel.