The Rattlesnake Season

by Larry D. Sweazy

  The drink had a finer taste to it than the whiskey he’d swigged down in Fat Susie’s saloon the night before, but the taste was still an acquired one, and his palate still heartily rejected the expensive brandy. He coughed and shook his head, but welcomed the warming and easing effect of alcohol.

  He was tempted to pour himself another, but he restrained himself, certain that he needed to keep his head about him.

  Major Jones had been stopped on the way into the captain’s library by Mrs. Fikes. Josiah had had no desire to eavesdrop—he wanted to escape the widow’s hateful sneer as quickly as possible.

  The major entered the library shortly after Josiah sat the empty glass down from where it came. Another man followed Jones into the room and closed the door heavily behind him.

  It was Pete Feders. He, too, was shiny and adorned properly for the funeral. He stopped a foot from Josiah, staring at him eye to eye. Being near the same age and build allowed them a certain natural comfort with each other, but the fact remained that Josiah knew very little about Feders, and had learned more about him since arriving in Austin than he might have wanted: that he was a favored suitor, according to Pearl’s mother, but Pearl did not seem so keen on the Ranger’s affection.

  “Wolfe,” Feders said, extending his hand. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to meet up with you, but I’ve barely seen you since I arrived.”

  Josiah shook Feders’s hand, not looking away, holding his gaze for a second longer than he probably should have, his own gaze fixed on the thin scar that ran from the corner of Pete’s right eye to his ear. He’d never heard Feders tell how that scar came about, either. It occurred to Josiah, again, that he knew very little of the men he rode with. Hopefully now that the Rangers were re-formed, the Frontier Battalion a true entity, he would gain some familiarity with Feders and the rest of the company, after they gathered together at the Red River camp.

  “Is something the matter, Wolfe?” Feders asked, pulling his hand away from Josiah’s grasp.

  Major Jones had made his way to the brandy, and poured himself a glass. He did not make an offer to the other two, and stood with his back to both Josiah and Feders, lost in thought.

  “No, not at all. I’m glad to see you, too. Tell me of your chase after Charlie Langdon, and of Sam Willis’s welfare.”

  “Langdon is still on the loose. Willis is still on his trail. They were heading northeast. I doubled back, thought my presence would be required here.”

  Josiah nodded. “I figured as much. I was jumped by two of Langdon’s men this morning. One of them was killed, a Negro. The other fled, but approached me just earlier.”

  Major Jones cleared his throat. “Sheriff Farnsworth has some questions about that Negro’s death. If it’s the same one that turned up on the banks of the river.”

  “I can answer them,” Josiah said. “I was protecting my own life.”

  “I’m sure that will be all he needs to hear.”

  “I hope so.” Josiah thought about Juan Carlos, about the trouble the captain’s half brother had gotten himself into by saving him. He’s wasn’t about to put Suzanne, Fat Susie, in the same perilous position, so his intent was to leave her out of the story. It sounded like the Negro had been removed and deposited as far away as possible from the saloon the way it was, so there was no need to raise the subject of his indiscretion if it could be avoided.

  “Did you recognize this second man?” Feders asked.

  “I did. He was a tracker who rode with Sheriff Patterson’s posse. The one we met up with the afternoon before the captain was murdered, and we were ambushed.”

  “We were tricked,” Feders sneered, “by that traitor McClure.”

  Josiah chose not to argue his point or submit his doubts about the Scot’s guilt at the moment. It was a small point to make, when his son’s life was at stake. “Langdon sent a message. Says I should return home to settle our score if I want to see my son alive ever again.”

  “It’s personal, then?” Major Jones said, pouring himself another glass of brandy.

  Josiah nodded, gritting his teeth. “It is. We served in the war together. We have a history.” He paused and looked at Feders, who was staring off in the distance. “He told me to come alone or I’d regret it, and I believe he means it. We should make sure no one else knows of our plan, Captain. I fear my son’s life if Charlie Langdon knows we are coming his way with the full force of the Texas Rangers.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The sky had begun to clear overhead, and the rain had finally stopped its unrelenting gush. Lightning still flashed in the distance, east, toward home. The late afternoon air had a cool tinge to it, but Josiah could hardly feel a thing. He was anxious to be away from Austin.

  He was loading his saddlebags onto Clipper, behind the carriage house, when he heard a recognizable female voice, followed quickly by a man’s voice. They obviously thought they were alone, just around the corner, out of sight. Josiah had no interest in slowing his departure by making himself known, but he couldn’t help but cock an ear toward the discussion.

  “Peter, now is not the time.”

  “Really, Pearl, if not now, then when?”

  “I just buried my father today. Does this have to happen now? Of all days?”

  “I’m leaving within the hour.”

  “Then this can wait until you return.”

  The man did not answer immediately. Thunder rumbled distantly, a low growl that seemed harmless. “So you will at least think about it?” he asked.

  Pearl sighed heavily. “Yes, Peter, I will think about your proposal. But I don’t mean to encourage you.”

  “That’s all I can ask for.”

  Josiah edged to the side of the carriage house and peered around the corner just in time to see Pete Feders stand up off a bent knee.

  Josiah stepped back and molded himself against the building once he realized that his shadow fell across the ground as the sun peaked through the clouds behind him. It only took a second to hear footsteps tromping off toward the house.

  Josiah relaxed and returned to Clipper, who snorted with disagreement when Josiah tightened down the saddlebags a little too hard.

  “You heard, didn’t you?”

  Josiah spun around and met Pearl’s gaze.

  She had changed out of her formal mourning dress into a simpler black dress that reached to the ground. Her hair fell freely over her shoulders, and her face, though still pale, had a little luster, or life, to it as she looked at him. He decided the luster was frustration or anger, then nodded. “Yes, I apologize.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I just wish . . .” She stopped mid-sentence and glanced up to the sky.

  “That your father were here.”

  “Yes. It seems like he was never here when I really needed to speak with him. And now he is gone forever. Lost. And what for?”

  “All the wishing in the world won’t change how things are.”

  “You sound like you would know how that goes, Josiah.”

  “I do.”

  “May I be so bold as to ask why? How you know grief so well that the tone of your voice offers some comfort, even when you hardly dare to look at me?”

  “I need to take my leave, ma’am. I need to vacate before the rest of the Rangers, and I must thank your mother for her hospitality before I do.”

  “Have I offended you somehow, Josiah?”

  Words caught in his throat as he fumbled with Clipper’s reins. He shook his head no.

  Now he felt trapped. The truth was far more despicable than he thought she was capable of hearing, or he capable of telling.

  It would have been irrelevant if she would have looked at him like she had Feders, with ire and disregard. But that was hardly what he was seeing. She stared at him anxiously, like she wanted nothing more than for him to sweep her off her feet and flee as far from the house as possible . . . for him to take her with him on the journey he prepared for. That could never happen. Not now. Not ever.


  “Please, Pearl, I . . .” He had turned to face her, to look her in the face to tell her good-bye, that it had been a true pleasure meeting her, the only highlight of his day.

  Instead, she pushed herself into his chest and his arms opened unconsciously, pulling her closer as she began to sob.

  He could smell the sweet scent of her silky blond hair, his nose buried on top her head, feel her trembling body against his, needing him to hold her, protect her. And so he did, holding on to her as tightly as he could, unwilling as she was to let go.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Pearl stopped sobbing, pulled her head out from Josiah’s chest, and angled her face to him.

  This time, they kissed with intent, with unyielding passion that had been building in both their souls from the moment they had seen each other.

  Pedro stood next to Mrs. Fikes in front of the main entrance to the house. There was a curious look in the Mexican’s eyes, like there was something he wanted to say but found that he couldn’t.

  Josiah imagined the Mexican found himself in that position quite a lot.

  Mrs. Fikes, on the other hand, stood sternly with her shoulders square, looking like there was a myriad of other duties she would like to be standing in charge of other than seeing off a Ranger she held in low esteem.

  As Josiah dismounted Clipper, Pearl walked out of the front doors. Feders was not far behind her. It was the surliest, most tense, and most unusual quartet of people Josiah could ever remember gathering for his benefit.

  “Well, then, Ranger Wolfe, I hope you have safe travels.” It was Mrs. Fikes who’d spoken first.

  Josiah didn’t quite know what to do—bow, shake the woman’s hand, or what—so he did nothing but nod, and said, “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate the hospitality of the bath and the comfort of the carriage house.”

  Mrs. Fikes let out a sound that sounded like “Humf” and looked away from Josiah, her nose pointed directly in the air.

  Josiah tried not to let the spurn show, since the captain’s wife’s attitude didn’t surprise him, or catch him off guard. It was more of a surprise that she had even come out to see him off in the first place.

  “Again,” Josiah said, “please accept my condolences on the loss of your husband. He called on me when I suppose I needed it the most. I will be forever in his, and your, debt. Please don’t hesitate to call in that marker anytime.”

  “Hank made questionable decisions at times,” Mrs. Fikes said. “Bear that in mind with your memories of him.”

  “I understand, ma’am, thank you.”

  Josiah had said one thing but thought another. He knew that if he thought about it long enough, he could probably come to understand why Mrs. Fikes begrudged the captain for living the way he did, but he didn’t want to think that long about it. He knew what it felt like to lose someone who shared your bed, and Mrs. Fikes was in no way acting like a stricken woman. She wore her widow’s weeds far more comfortably than she should have as far as he was concerned.

  Feders stepped past Pearl, who had not taken her eyes off Josiah since exiting the house.

  “Keep your wits about you, Wolfe.” Feders extended his hand, and both men shook with equal pressure.

  One of Josiah’s regrets was the fact that he had not had a chance to talk to Feders one-on-one. He still had some questions about what happened when the captain was killed that he hoped Feders could clear up.

  Josiah was still not convinced that Scrap’s story was accurate, but it had become the standard line, and the Scot’s reputation in death was burdened with an act of senseless murder and treason. Perhaps that’s the way it should be. In the end, Josiah’s quest to know the truth was not about finding out what happened anyway. It was about alleviating his own guilt because he had not seen the ambush coming.

  He had played the captain’s death, and what came after, over and over again in his head.

  The last time he had seen Captain Fikes alive, the captain was sitting with Pete Feders and Sam Willis, huddled together in a semicircle in front of the fire, talking in a hushed conversation. Charlie Langdon sat on the opposite side of the fire, his hands bound in the metal bracelets, his legs pulled together by a tightly drawn rope. He had a conversation with Vi McClure, and some of the best rabbit stew he’d ever eaten, then relieved Scrap from his watch.

  Scrap had told him that he’d heard something at the bottom of the hill, probably a critter of some sort—or maybe a member of Charlie Langdon’s gang. Regretfully, Josiah had not taken the kid seriously. That, in his mind, was his first mistake, his first ounce of earned responsibility for what was to come.

  Just before dawn, he heard voices rising from camp. He was certain the captain was waking up the men—until he heard the first gunshot. Then the camp erupted into a gun battle, and shots came at Josiah from an unseen shooter who had scouted out his position.

  Josiah had eased down the trail, returning fire, hitting the shooter—at least he thought it was his shot that killed the unknown man.

  As quickly as the gunfire had begun, it ended. Josiah found Scrap in the camp, in a stupor. The kid had pulled his gun on Josiah at first sight, then relented quickly upon recognizing him. Scrap had been grazed by a bullet, but telling him the captain had been shot, he took Josiah up near the corral, to where Feders had covered the captain with a blanket, and where they watched him die.

  Scrap said that McClure had let Charlie loose, that he saw them talking, and that the Scot had shot the captain square in the chest, then fled. The kid did not relent from his story, certain of what he had seen.

  Before bundling the captain in a blanket for the ride home, Josiah found the key to the metal bracelets in the captain’s shirt pocket. Which meant someone else had a key to set Charlie free. It was surmised by all who heard Scrap’s story that it was Vi McClure . . . who for some reason had fallen into allegiance with Charlie Langdon and, possibly, Sheriff Patterson and had played a convincing actor’s role in the whole setup.

  Josiah had not had the opportunity to talk to Feders, or Sam Willis for that matter, to clear some things up, since they’d left each other’s company.

  Feders had given him orders to return the captain to Austin, then followed after Willis, who had lit out after McClure, Langdon, and the gang who’d set him free. Josiah was certain Patterson was involved, that the ambush had something to do with an incident that had occurred in the recent past concerning the State Police, but he wasn’t sure how Charlie Langdon figured into that, either.

  When they regained custody of McClure, thanks to some Tonkawa Indians, McClure gave Josiah no more details, but fervently denied killing the captain. Josiah remembered the letter from Feders; it was stuffed in his saddlebag and had been forgotten until that moment. The first few lines were etched in Josiah’s memory: “If you are reading this letter, then Little Spots has been successful in finding you. Ranger McClure was left for dead, tied to a tree. He claims innocence.”

  Later, McClure told Josiah that Willis had taken up a position down the hill, away from camp, as was his custom. McClure said that before going to sleep, he thought he saw something lurking around behind the captain, and like Josiah, McClure had thought little of it, thought it was a critter—but it was probably the man Josiah shot on the trail—or thought he shot at the time.

  McClure then went on to tell him that he’d awakened to find Scrap talking to Charlie. Scrap interjected, calling McClure a liar. The kid always left out part of his story, which all along had bothered Josiah.

  McClure said Charlie Langdon was free, and McClure saw a man, probably the man on the trail Josiah thought he had shot, come up behind the captain. The big Scot claimed to have pulled his gun and shot at the man, but as he did, a shot came from behind at about the same time, hitting the captain square in the chest.

  There was no way to validate McClure’s claim about the shot from behind. It was certainly possible that it happened, but there was no proof. And Josiah was not certain, or c
ould not know, what Feders or Willis saw, or did, at this point.

  McClure did name Patterson as one of the men fleeing the ambush, which was no surprise. Josiah had given the information about the San Antonio sheriff to the social-climbing sheriff of Austin, Farnsworth, and had not heard anything further concerning Patterson. Even Major Jones had heard nothing, as they made their plans for Josiah to leave.

  What remained, much to Josiah’s disappointment as he prepared to leave for home, were more questions. He could not tell Pearl for sure what had happened to her father, nor could he truly discredit Scrap’s story, and restore McClure’s reputation. Perhaps, that was not his cause . . . but until he knew for certain, Josiah would always feel like he’d had a huge hand in the events that transpired, and would carry a large part of the responsibility for the captain’s death. It was a failure almost too heavy to bear.

  Feders’s voice rang in his head, “Keep your wits about you,” and Josiah realized that he had just been standing there, lost in thought, and had not replied.

  “Yes, thanks, I will.”

  “Our plans are certain, then?” Feders said.

  “Plans? What plans, Captain Feders, are those? I thought you were staying on for the foreseeable future,” Mrs. Fikes said.

  Josiah winced at the title. It was news to him that Feders had been raised in rank, but it really came as no surprise.

  “I am, ma’am. Ranger Wolfe and I will meet up soon at the Red River with the rest of my company.”

  “Oh good.”

  Pearl stepped forward. She had the same look in her eye as she did when Major Jones had her cornered after the funeral, a look that begged Josiah to rescue her. But there was nothing Josiah could do but look away.

  “I hope to see you again, Josiah.”

  Mrs. Fikes let out another “humf” of disapproval.

  Josiah glanced to Pearl quickly and said, “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”