“Do you have news of Ofelia?” Josiah said, getting up from the table to pour two cups of coffee.
“She is well. From what I understand, she is on her way back here,” Juan Carlos said.
“Her daughter has recovered?”
Juan Carlos shook his head no. “She is bringing her with her, along with the rest of the family that remained east. There is a place for them in Little Mexico and she wants to be close to your boy.”
“She’s moving her entire family here?”
“Sí. That is what I understand.”
Josiah poured the coffee and handed a steaming cup to Juan Carlos. “How do you know this?” he asked. He felt a moment of relief, but knowing that Ofelia was heading back to Austin changed nothing. Josiah knew now that he could not depend on her forever, not any longer.
The old Mexican stared at Josiah and smiled, taking the coffee, refusing to answer the question or reveal his source of knowledge.
“I am more concerned with your adventures,” Juan Carlos said, taking a silver flask from his pocket and emptying a healthy finger of whiskey into the coffee.
“I would not call the last few days an adventure.”
Juan Carlos had been eyeing Josiah carefully, watching every move he made. “You have a limp. Are you all right?”
“It’s just a graze. Happened in Comanche.”
Juan Carlos nodded and started to say something, but Josiah cut him off before he could get a word out of his mouth.
“I wish you would have left Pearl out of this,” Josiah said.
His tone was hard, harsh. He was in no mood to rehash the events of the last few days at the moment. He was still reeling from being in Pearl’s presence, from having her in his house, watching over Lyle, realizing that he had left his son in peril, in the company of strangers.
“I had no choice, señor. What was I to do? Take the boy with me? You were missing. I thought you were a dead man.”
Josiah glared at Juan Carlos. “Lyle doesn’t belong with Pearl.”
“Do not be angry at me. I was fearful. Pearl is my niece. I know her heart, how she longs for . . .” Juan Carlos stopped talking, drew his thin mouth tight, and looked away from Josiah.
“Where’d you have to go that was so important?” Josiah asked, changing the subject.
Again, a wise smile returned to Juan Carlos’s weathered face. “You should not be so angry about Pearl’s presence. She is quite taken with you. ¿No estás listo para el amor?”
“You know I don’t speak Mexican.”
“Perhaps it is time you learned.”
Josiah shrugged his shoulders. “I know enough to understand the floors that Pearl and I walk on are completely different. She is accustomed to a palace, not a simple house like this. I cannot give her the life she is accustomed to.”
Juan Carlos laughed. “Then you are ready for love?”
Josiah’s face turned red as he sat down at the table. After a long pause, he said, “I know you had no other choice but to leave Lyle with her. But please, don’t involve Pearl in my life again.”
“If that is your wish, mi amigo, then I will abide by it.”
“It is my wish.”
Silence settled between the two men, and they both allowed it to continue. The night outside was quiet now that it was fully dark. There was still a liveliness to Austin, but the activity of rowdy cowboys looking for a good time with drink and women was blocks away. Another world away, really, and that was just the way Josiah liked it. He only wished that he was farther away, out in the hills somewhere, or even better, home in East Texas, where the only rowdy occurrence that presented any hint of concern was the hunters that came out at night—foxes and coyotes mostly. But that was not to be—still, the street outside of the house was reasonably quiet, void of travelers at that time of night.
All Josiah could hear was the steady breath of his son sleeping comfortably in the other room, and that was enough for him. He took a sip of the Arbuckle’s and set the mug of coffee on the table.
“What of your travels, Juan Carlos? The last I saw of you was in that motte south of Dallas.”
Juan Carlos eyed Josiah carefully, then nodded. “I met up with an old friend, and headed south to the Nueces Strip.”
“A testy place, even for you, my friend,” Josiah said.
“I like it there.”
“The place is full of bandits and cattle thieves.”
Juan Carlos laughed. “Why do you think I was there?”
“I never know with you. Tell me of the mission, of your friend then.” Josiah wanted nothing more than to hear something else other than his own troubles, his own past.
“Ah, my amigo, señor, is a friend to us both, though you do not know it yet.”
“And who would that be?”
“McNelly. Leander McNelly,” Juan Carlos said.
Josiah was not surprised to hear the name. Once Richard Coke was elected to governor in 1873, he created the now financially troubled Frontier Battalion, but he also designated a special force of Rangers, financed mostly by ranchers, to quell the thievery and troubles along the Nueces Strip.
Captain John B. Jones, the commander of the Frontier Battalion, and potential suitor of Pearl Fikes, had recommended Josiah speak to McNelly after the Lost Valley incident that occurred the previous summer, about Josiah potentially taking up with the Special Forces, but Josiah declined, sure that the work along the strip would be even more dangerous than what the Battalion faced. He chose to stay within riding distance of Lyle at the time, and it looked like that had been a good decision.
“McNelly, uh?” Josiah said. “Why am I not surprised? I have always thought you would make a competent spy, Juan Carlos. Is that your mission?”
“You ask more questions than I can give answers to, señor, but I have done plenty of work for the captain that requires my tongue and appearance. Cortina is a fierce adversary and is committed to keeping his business pure and alive.”
“So Cortina is riled up in the south and the Comanche are fighting their last fight in the north?”
Juan Cortina had a long history of riling up Texas landowners near the border, most notably near Brownsville, where Cortina had maintained control over the town for a while, until he was ousted in 1859 by a group of men calling themselves the Brownsville Tigers and the early Texas Rangers, headed up by Rip Ford. Once the War Between the States started, Cortina gave up the attacks and went into politics, shoring up Mexico’s side with the Confederacy. Once the war was over, Cortina fell out of favor and went back to stealing cattle, which obviously, was still going well for him.
“I have been in Dewitt County, señor, along with forty men including Captain McNelly.”
“The Sutton-Taylor feud?”
Juan Carlos nodded. “The trial is over.”
“Where is McNelly off to now?”
“You must not speak of this . . . McNelly is ill, señor. I fear his time on this earth is short. Que Dios bendiga su alma. May God bless his soul.” Juan Carlos tapped his forehead, then his chest, making the sign of the cross.
Josiah had never seen Juan Carlos make any reference to a religion and was surprised by the show of it. “I was surprised when I met McNelly the first time.”
Juan Carlos nodded. “He is a short, wiry, tubercular man.”
“Consumption has most certainly taken its toll on him.”
“Sí, that is why his family moved to Texas in the first place.”
“He is ill again?”
“Still,” Juan Carlos said. “I think he is all worn out from watching over the feud.”
“So he’s back to Burton?”
“To the cotton farm, sí.”
“That leaves you free, then?” Josiah asked.
“I was never captured. Just serving a role, honoring my brother’s legacy.”
“I miss Captain Fikes, but I cannot imagine your loss.”
“We have all lost something. Y vamos a perder otra vez, sí tenemos la suerte
. And we will lose again, if we are fortunate . . .”
“. . . To live long enough,” Josiah finished the sentence. “Captain Fikes used to say that.”
“Sí, he did.” Silence filled the room again. Only it did not last as long as the last time. Juan Carlos stiffened, fidgeted in his chair. “I came back in hopes that all was well with you, mi amigo.”
“And so it is,” Josiah said.
“But I have to ask you to leave again.”
Josiah stood up. His coffee cup was empty. “I can’t leave. Not until I hear from Captain Feders. If then. They are cutting the size of the companies, and I fear I may be released from the Rangers.”
“For some reason, I do not believe that you see that as a bad thing.”
“You are right, my friend. Lyle needs me.”
“Captain McNelly needs you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I asked that you accompany me. I am sorry, señor.”
“Where?” Josiah’s jaw clenched, but he would not release his anger on his friend.
“To Mexico.”
“Why in the blue devil would I want to go to Mexico?”
“To stop Liam O’Reilly. El Tejón.”
“The Badger.”
“Sí,” Juan Carlos said, standing up, facing Josiah, looking him squarely in the eye. “I know of his bounty on your head. Have been offered it myself. You will never be safe as long as he lives.”
“Why is he in Mexico?”
“To negotiate an alliance with Juan Cortina. If that happens, you are surely a dead man, Josiah Wolfe, and there is nothing I can do to save you.”
CHAPTER 23
Josiah stood at the door and watched Juan Carlos disappear into the darkness. He was troubled by what he had learned from his friend. In no way, shape, or form did Josiah expect to be ready to leave for Mexico anytime soon. It would take two days at the least—to which Juan Carlos had reluctantly agreed—to make arrangements for Lyle’s care and safety, as well as prepare for the journey.
Juan Carlos had warned Josiah that each minute Liam O’Reilly lived as a free man was one more minute that both he and Lyle lived in the shadow of certain death. It was a warning Josiah was well aware of, took note of, but did not acknowledge vocally. Surely this was not the warning Pedro had meant to give . . . How would he know?
Fear in his own voice was not something Josiah wanted to hear, and he knew it would be there if he spoke. Juan Carlos would not look down on him, but still, Josiah had learned a long time ago that fear was worse than any kind of unseen sickness he had ever encountered. Once it was set free, it was deadly.
There was plenty to fear. Outlaws had came for Lyle once before, knew the boy was Josiah’s weak spot, and there was nothing stopping them from plotting and acting on a better-thought-out second attempt.
There was no question that Josiah understood the danger he was in in Austin, but at this late hour there was nothing he could do about any of it. Tomorrow would have to come first.
Josiah closed the door to the house and stood just inside, resting his back against the door.
He could still smell the coffee he’d shared with Juan Carlos, hear Lyle breathing in the next room. Somewhere in the distance a dog—not a coyote—barked lazily, once every minute or so, like it was bored, not alarmed. A train might shake the house in the middle of the night as it made its run through Austin and then on north, but for now, everything seemed quiet, like it should, in its place.
That realization didn’t calm Josiah. His mind was running furiously, like a pig that had slipped loose of the butcher, its neck just barely nicked. His whole body ached, including both new wounds and old. He felt sick and tired—the previous days had finally caught up with him, and now he had to think of leaving again.
His stomach lurched, and for the first time in a long time, he honestly didn’t know what he was going to do.
There was a time in his life when he’d found comfort on difficult days in the bed next to his wife, Lily, snuggled together in warmth, passion, and acceptance—but now, nearly three years after her death, he could barely hear her voice or see her face in his memory.
No matter how hard he had tried to keep Lily alive in his mind, her image kept fading away, slipping just out of his grasp, almost like she had never existed in the first place.
Lyle favored Lily, had her hair and her button nose. Sometimes, Josiah was sure Lyle had inherited Lily’s eyes, too, soft blue, the color of a pale summer day, but mostly he thought that it was just wishful thinking, hoping that Lily, maybe in some form or another, could watch him through their son’s eyes, watch out for all of them like an angel. But Josiah, in the wake of Lily’s death, was reluctant to believe in a greater life after death, or the existence of power, spirit, or hope. Lyle had Lyle’s eyes. Lily couldn’t see him any more than he could see her.
Loneliness enveloped Josiah then, adding to his physical pain, but he pushed away his grief as best he could, settling in for the night.
His senses were like exposed nerves.
Every sound seemed loud and dangerous. The creaking and settling of the house sounded like a series of odd unmatched footsteps, and the wind carried voices from far away—all plotting against him.
He knew he was letting his fear get to him, that he was overwhelmed.
He chided himself, screamed silently in his mind at his own weaknesses, because he had surely been in worse situations than being home alone with a sleeping two-year-old boy in the next room.
War and capture by the Comanche had been more uncertain—but then he never totally feared for his survival. He knew that the right opportunity would present itself so he could escape the Indians, or conquer the Northern Aggressors, and return home.
Now he was not so sure of victory—or what to do next.
He moved through the house quietly, each step taken like he was inches away from the enemy, fearful that he would wake Lyle.
Safe, he continued outside to the privy. Before stepping inside, he reached down and slid his Bowie out of his belt, then threw open the door, expecting Big Shirt or Liam O’Reilly to be staring back at him, his own Winchester in one of their hands.
It would only take one shot at close range to end everything. Josiah wasn’t taking any undue chances. Those voices on the wind might just be real.
There was nothing inside the privy except the normal stink after a warm day.
At any other time, Josiah would have laughed out loud at himself. But he didn’t. He took Juan Carlos’s warning seriously, knew firsthand what O’Reilly and the Comanche were capable of.
The city would not fend them off. Probably the opposite. Most likely, they had rat holes that they shared with other outlaws, escape routes throughout all of Austin, where they could flee, unseen. Josiah was sure of it.
His business complete, Josiah stepped back outside and stopped to make sure everything in the surrounding area remained as it should. His fingers tingled.
The sky was clear, the stars staring innocently down at him. The bored dog continued to bark at its regular interval. Way off in the distance, piano music tinkled upward into the air out of a saloon. The world continued on while Josiah was fighting with shadows and threats that were not real—at the moment.
From where he was standing, all Josiah could see was one roof after another, a line of houses in all four directions; no mountains in the distance, no piney forests, no broad vistas, just human life up close.
He felt like a bull locked in a stall so tight that he couldn’t move or breathe. He had to wonder again if making the move from Seerville to Austin had been worth it. If the risk and the sacrifice would give Lyle a better life after all or if he was just fooling himself.
Neither of them was any safer in the city than they had been in the country. Maybe less so.
Right now, he felt like a fool, defeated. And he knew he couldn’t let that feeling last . . . or he would drop his guard, overreact, and end up a dead man. Defeat—giving up—was jus
t as much a poison as fear was, and Josiah knew it.
Shaking off the negative blanket of thought, Josiah eased back into the house.
He checked on Lyle, who had not moved, then set about bringing darkness to the small house. Once the last hurricane lamp was extinguished, he stood in the center of the house and let his eyes adjust to the fullness of night.
He did not know the shadows very well in the little house, had spent little time there—and when he had been there, Ofelia was in charge.
Scrap was right, she was more like his wife than a wet nurse. Josiah wondered if Ofelia felt that way. She had never implied that she minded the way things were—they both had agreed that they would know when the day came to change things.
Maybe it was time, Josiah thought.
He headed into the room where Lyle was sleeping and checked on the boy one last time. He was lost in dreamland, eyes pinched shut, the thin blanket gripped in his tiny hand.
Josiah’s bed was on the other side of the room—in actuality only a few feet away from Lyle’s bed. He pulled off his clothes, not thinking a thing about it, letting them fall to the floor.
It wasn’t until he was completely out of the clothes that he realized—remembered—that the clothes didn’t belong to him. They were Charlie Webb’s clothes.
He bundled up the shirt and pants and set them next to the bed gently, thinking that he had to save them from harm, they did not belong to him, they were on loan. Someday he would take the opportunity to return them to Charlie’s widow.
Billie Webb had been kind and generous to him, and as he settled into bed, he stared up through the window at the moon and wondered if she was all right, safe from harm. He wondered what would become of her and her newborn baby. She was not that much different than he was now. Alone in the world with more responsibility than she should have had to handle. But something told Josiah that Billie could handle whatever came her way. Like him, she had no choice.
With images of Billie weighing heavily in his mind, Josiah quickly drifted off to sleep.
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