The Rattlesnake Season

by Larry D. Sweazy

  He headed then for Clipper, but was stopped midway by another command.

  “Ranger Wolfe,” Mrs. Fikes demanded.

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you completed the task I asked of you concerning the captain’s horse.”

  Josiah nodded his head, then made his way to his saddlebag, dug out a small object wrapped in a fancy white handkerchief, a gift from Suzanne del Toro, and offered it to Mrs. Fikes with a steady hand.

  “What is this?”

  “Proof,” Josiah said, looking directly at Pedro—who seemed entirely relieved when Mrs. Fikes opened the handkerchief and found the severed ear of a chestnut mare in the center of it.

  CHAPTER 28

  Scrap called out for Josiah as he made his way past the carriage house. Josiah was settling in on the back of Clipper, about to urge the horse to pick up speed, to break into a run toward home, but instead he pulled the reins and came to a stop. “Whoa, Clipper,” he said. “We better take care of this.”

  “Where you going, Wolfe?” Scrap stood a few feet from Josiah, shielding his eyes against the bright afternoon sun.

  The only remaining evidence of the morning storm was the muddy road that led out of the captain’s estate, and the puddles that dotted it that still overflowed, seeking the pull of gravity to deliver a fresh gush of water to the pond. The bench was empty.

  “I’ve got business to attend to,” Josiah answered.

  “Looks like you’re going to be gone for a while.”

  “I’ll meet up with the rest of the company. It won’t be too long.” Josiah was a little surprised Scrap cared about his departure.

  “You get orders from Feders?”

  “Our new captain?” Josiah nodded. “I did.”

  “He can’t fill those boots, can he?”

  “I can’t rightly say. I knew Captain Fikes for a long time. Feders? Not near as long. Not my call. It was Major Jones who saw fit to promote him.”

  “You don’t feel slighted?” Scrap asked.

  “Why would I? I have no ambition beyond getting through the day, and seeing to the care and safety of my son. Feders will do fine. If he’s not for you, you can transfer to another company . . . or opt out of the Rangers entirely. I have the same option.”

  “Then what would I do?”

  “I don’t know. Not for me to say.”

  Clipper shifted anxiously as Scrap stepped toward him and dropped his arm, his hand dangling within inches of his gun. “I don’t trust Feders,” Scrap whispered, after looking around to make sure they were alone.

  “Why’s that?”

  “He rode with the State Police before joinin’ up with the captain again.”

  Josiah squinted his eyes, trying to remember if he’d known that or not. He couldn’t remember, but thought it was odd for Scrap to bring it up now. “So?”

  “I don’t know. Those fellas kind of made up the law as they went, did some things that was questionable. The captain didn’t take to that too well, why he didn’t ride with them long. Told me that hisself.”

  “Is there something you need to tell me? Did you see something the morning the captain was killed that you haven’t told anybody?” Josiah had lowered his voice, too, a reaction to his own deeply considered suspicions.

  Scrap shook his head no. “I know what I saw. McClure fired that shot as sure as I’m standin’ here.”

  “Where was Feders?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember? Was he in the camp when the shooting started?”

  Scrap shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t remember seeing him till after we found him with the captain. Things are a little blurry on that account.”

  “Except for McClure taking the shot?”

  “Yeah, uh huh. I done told you that a hundred times.”

  “All right. I’ve got to get going. But if there’s anything you need to tell me, don’t send word through Feders, wait until you see me next if you can.”

  “You don’t trust him, either, do you?”

  “I don’t know who to trust. All I know is that I need to get going. I’m losing daylight.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “You can’t,” Josiah said. “I have to do this alone.”

  Austin faded quickly behind Josiah. The Chisolm Trail was easy enough to find. A good wind had picked up the stink of cows and carried it for miles.

  There were a lot of entry points onto the trail, fingers that led off ranches and other trails in between, and since spring was the time when most cattle drives started, the route was busy and noisy. A half million cattle making their way north was not out of the question during the year.

  Josiah was glad that a sea of longhorns was heading north. He could ride alongside some of the cattle and the cowboys, drovers, and chuck wagons, mixing in, so he wouldn’t be a target if Charlie Langdon had set a trap for him.

  He knew full well, though, that there were other dangers on the trail. Anything could start a stampede; a loud fart or a boom of thunder in the distance could set off a reaction uncontrollable by the best flankers and drag men around.

  He’d be lucky to make Round Rock before dark, but he wanted to get as far away from the Fikes estate as quick as he could. He wanted nothing more than to leave his time there behind him, vanquish it from his memory. But Pearl was not going to be easy to forget . . . nor was Suzanne del Toro, or his newfound suspicion of Pete Feders.

  It was difficult for Josiah to consider that Feders could very well be responsible for the captain’s death, could be the shooter himself.

  It was entirely possible, and it more than made sense . . . even with the fractured information Josiah counted as viable. Feders was ambitious. But was he ambitious enough to commit murder? Or was Feders really just greedy, seeing a way into the wealth the captain held? Was Feders really in love with Pearl? Or was he using her to get her widowed mother’s purse?

  Josiah didn’t know.

  Scrap had told him Feders rode with the State Police.

  Pearl told him that something happened between Juan Carlos and the State Police that caused him to become a shadow. Add in Patterson’s reference to the State Police, and the San Antonio sheriff’s presence, according to McClure, in the gang that fled after the captain was killed . . . and there was something valid that could be added to the whole idea. Feders had cause, a reason, and could have been the shooter who fired from behind McClure. Feders could be a cold-blooded killer . . . and Josiah had left him behind, unquestioned, chasing after Pearl’s heart.

  Josiah could only shudder at the thought of what might happen to the captain’s daughter if Feders was the killer— and didn’t get his way, didn’t get her hand in marriage like he had asked.

  The thought was almost demanding enough for him to turn back, but he couldn’t. Lyle was all that remained of his previous life, of Lily, of the life he so desperately wanted back. He couldn’t bring himself to sacrifice his son for a woman he barely knew. No matter how frightening and selfish that proposition seemed at the moment.

  By the time night fell, Josiah was past the towns of Round Rock and Brushy Creek, and the large circular limestone rock that marked the most favorable crossing point. Even though it had been a little treacherous considering the spring season and the afternoon rain.

  A herd of cattle was settling in a shallow valley, glad, it seemed, like Josiah, to rest after a long, hard day. He’d found the trail boss and told him of his presence upwind of the herd. He’d declined a meal, though the chili and biscuits made his stomach waken and disagree with his decision to spend the night away from the comfort of a chuck wagon, and the chatter of strangers.

  He had no idea who those strangers were, and the less he exposed himself to unknowns, or put himself in a position to tell his story, the better. It was too much of a risk to hope that Charlie Langdon wouldn’t have men looking for him from Round Rock to Tyler.

  That night, Josiah settled in on his bedroll, hidden between two bull-siz
ed boulders. Like every night, he kissed his dead children good night, allowed their memory to comfort him, and promised Lyle that he would be home soon.

  He did not sleep well at all, stirring at every sound, at every coyote yip and owl’s hoot.

  He was wide awake as the gray dawn cut the night away. He gathered his belongings and packed his saddlebags, glad the darkness had passed without incident.

  As day broke, he was well on his way toward Belton, a favorite stopping-off point for a lot of cowboys. There were plenty of merchants to restock, plenty of saloons that offered entertainment of the kind Josiah had once thought he would never partake in again, but now had.

  Fat Susie had visited him in his dreams, and he’d been unable to send her packing from his head. There was more to the woman than how she lived her life every day. Regardless, Josiah was certain that he wouldn’t stop in Belton. If he did, it’d only be for a brief respite, to water Clipper, and then he’d get back on the trail.

  He rode hard, his eyes constantly searching the horizon, his surroundings, for any sign of ambush, any sign of Charlie Langdon’s gang. So far, there had been no sign of any threat. But Josiah did not let down his guard, did not get comfortable with the assumption that they were not lying in wait for him. Not this time.

  Belton came and went. He would avoid the toll on the Chisolm Trail to cross the suspension bridge in Waco, avoid the herds of cattle backed up to cross the Brazos River. This time of year would be dramatic, the clank and tapping of longhorns heard for miles in every direction, the stench almost unbearable. Instead of paying the toll, Josiah would slow his pace and go directly through Waco.

  He was able to get lost in the crowds of Waco, a brief bit of comfort from being out in the open for so long—even though he was annoyed at being slowed—but he did not let the memory of O’Reilly putting a gun to his back in the funeral crowd stray too far from his mind.

  It had been a long, hard ride, and Josiah finally gave in to his physical needs. He stopped to water Clipper, and to restore himself, grab a bit of food and fresh water. His senses were strained, as he tried to take in every sight, sound, and smell possible in Waco, trying to see Charlie Langdon or his men before they saw him. He was glad there were no uniform or badge requirements for Texas Rangers.

  He escaped Waco unseen, and caught up with another herd of cattle. He stayed alongside the cattle for as long as possible, then headed on to Fort Parker, to see if there was any word waiting for him from Feders or Major Jones.

  That was part of the plan to outwit Charlie and his gang.

  If there were no new orders, news that Charlie Langdon had been captured, then he was to proceed forward, to home, and play out the rest of the plan to bring Charlie Langdon to justice, once and for all.

  Josiah’s father had always called Fort Parker by another name, Fort Sterling. His father was not a big believer in the Parker story, the captive Cynthia who went back to live with the Indians after she was rescued. There was a lot of anger among the men who’d fought in the Indian Wars, prejudice that would not die. Josiah, however, had inherited a contrary bit of rationale from his mother and always questioned both sides of the fence, even Cynthia Parker’s right to live as she chose. It caused a lot of conflict between father and son in the early years, but they eventually came to see eye to eye on most things in life.

  War changes a boy into a different kind of a man.

  His father would be enraged that Quanah Parker, Cynthia’s half-breed son, had grown into such a powerful leader, Josiah’s father’s point proven right that Cynthia should have been treated like the savage she had become, and killed upon sight.

  That was a disagreement that was never settled. Josiah called the fort by its popular and more known name, Fort Parker, and he was glad to see the gates standing open in welcome as he approached.

  He was close to home now, the memory of his father cast aside, his hope about his son’s well-being far more important than an old battle that could not be won.

  The land was beginning to transform from hard limestone outcroppings situated among grassy meadows, properly suited for grazing cattle, to the hilly, deep-ravine pine forests he knew so well. Josiah was heartened by the familiar greening landscape, glad to hear a blue jay chatter in the distance, glad to be riding Clipper on soil he understood.

  At a slow, comfortable trot, looking forward to a moment’s rest before completing the last leg of his journey, he entered the fort, which was just a scattering of cabins built haphazardly, surrounded by a tall fence.

  The first thing he did was check in with the post commander, a rotund man with balding silver hair, Colonel Leonard Gibbon.

  Gibbon, who looked like a no-nonsense kind of commander, gave him the bad news that there was no news. Charlie Langdon had not been caught, and there was not word of Lyle’s whereabouts, no missives from Feders or Major Jones.

  There had been no mail at all given to the fort commander to hold for Josiah.

  He was slightly disheartened, his hope tarnished a little, but only because he was tired, because he had not slowed one bit in his effort to get home as quickly as possible. There was still a plan to follow.

  Clipper had not complained on the trip from Austin to Fort Parker. The horse had not hesitated once, and had run as fast and hard as Josiah could push him. But when Josiah walked out of the commander’s cabin, he noticed that the horse was beginning to look weary. Clipper needed a fresh stall, some oats, a good scrubbing, and some serious rest. Thankfully, there was a livery across the compound, just inside the back gate.

  Josiah led his horse to the livery, tied Clipper to the post next to another horse, and stood there for a minute. The other horse looked familiar, the saddle even more familiar. It was a solid black stallion, a white star on its narrow nose, with a hand-tooled Mexican saddle appointed with silver buckles and studs tightened across its back, the likes of which were rare in these parts. Josiah could only remember seeing a similar saddle once before . . . recently . . . on a horse just like this one.

  “Is that you, Wolfe?” someone shouted from the darker reaches of the livery, a stall Josiah could not see clearly into.

  A man walked out into the center of the livery, toward him, and Josiah nodded, relaxing the hand that had dropped to his side and gripped the Peacemaker when he heard his name called out.

  “I heard you were coming this way, and I’ve been looking for you day and night,” Sam Willis said.

  Willis put his skillet-sized hand on Josiah’s shoulder, looked at him woefully, and said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  CHAPTER 29

  There was no time to give Clipper the proper amount of rest that he was so obviously in need of.

  The cabin was half a day’s ride from Fort Parker, and the horse would just have to make the trip . . . or die trying, because there was no way Josiah was going to spend another minute at the fort once Sam Willis confirmed his worst fears: Charlie Langdon was holed up in the cabin outside of Seerville, with Ofelia and Lyle held hostage inside.

  Before hitting the trail, Josiah sent word to Austin, asking Major Jones to send more Rangers than they had initially planned on needing. Feders and a handful of men were supposed to be behind him by half a day, not too close and taking a different route—just in case Charlie had spotters set along the trails leading to Fort Parker. They wanted it to look like Josiah was riding alone, just like Charlie had told him to. Only problem now was, there was no way to get word to Feders, no way to warn him except to leave a message with Colonel Gibbon, which Josiah did, before tearing out of the fort and heading north on Moscoso’s Trail as fast as he could.

  There was no time to lose. No time for Josiah to reexamine Feders’s role in the captain’s death . . . He’d just have to hope he was wrong, that Feders was a model Ranger, doing his job this very minute.

  The wind rushed at Josiah’s face as he and Clipper left the fort. He was pushing the horse harder than he could ever remember pushing him. The weath
er was not of consequence, other than that it wasn’t storming, raining. It could have been the most perfect spring day, and Josiah wouldn’t have noticed once he got on the trail and headed toward home.

  Moscoso’s Trail dated back to the early expeditions of Hernando de Soto, the first European to discover the Mississippi River. It was not as widely used by cattle drivers as the Chisolm, but it was used by stagecoaches. The narrow, weedy trail connected South Texas with the Labahia Road and, north into Arkansas, with Trammel’s Trace. Josiah had ridden the Moscoso’s hundreds of times, knew it well enough to travel it blindfolded, which was a good thing . . . since his eyes were glazed with anger and dread, dosed with tears—which he attributed to the wind.

  Sam Willis could hardly keep up with Josiah. His black horse frothed at the mouth, and its hard muscles glistened with sweat. Sam, who was a big man, nearly as big as McClure, was bent forward, riding as hard as he could, pushing the horse just as hard as Josiah pushed Clipper.

  They had little time to talk. Josiah was not interested in much of anything else other than the news he’d been given, but Willis did tell him that he had followed Charlie and his gang north, lost them a few times, because they had split apart around Austin, which made sense to Josiah, considering his own encounters with O’Reilly and the Negro. Willis found Charlie’s tracks again just south of Round Rock, and followed them to Seerville, keeping a good distance, not willing to stop and send word for fear of losing them again.

  By the time Willis realized the gang had settled at the cabin, it was too late to help Ofelia protect Lyle. Willis was outmanned six to one. His trip to Fort Parker, along with searching for Josiah, was to get some help and make it known to others where Charlie Langdon was and what he was up to.

  Charlie knew the lay of the land in and around Tyler and Seerville just as well as Josiah did. He knew where the cabin was, and knew Josiah would not have thought to worry about the Mexican midwife needing to protect herself and Lyle with anything other than the shotgun that sat just inside the front door.