The familiarity of the land, of the trail, of the knowledge he held deep in his memory about everything that surrounded him, gave Josiah little comfort. He could only hope that he wasn’t too late to save Lyle, and ultimately, he was grateful that he wasn’t riding alone . . . no matter the risk.
Vultures circled just over the next ridge. Seven or eight ugly redheaded eaters of sour, dead flesh, they also served as a signal, a sign, that at some point, somewhere, a struggle had taken place and a life had been taken. How often did a badger or a deer die of old age? Nature didn’t work like that, and Josiah knew it.
Thankfully, they weren’t close enough to the cabin for the object of the vulture’s desire to be there. But they weren’t far, about four miles now.
Clipper didn’t slow. Willis and his horse lagged behind, running as fast as they could. It was as if Clipper could sense Josiah’s panic, his need to get home as quickly as possible.
Josiah kept his eyes peeled for any sign of movement, any shadow that might turn out to be one of Langdon’s men, hiding, ready to take a shot at him, but he could only worry for so long about being shot out of the blue. Each mile he rode was a mile closer to Lyle.
He crested the ridge, and looked up and saw that more vultures had joined the kettle. When he looked back to the trail he saw why.
A man, naked from the waist up, vacant of socks and boots, dangled from the limb of a towering southern red oak tree.
The tree was nearly eighty feet tall, its trunk three feet around, and the man had been placed so he was hanging square in the middle of the trail. He wasn’t moving; he was as still as a dead moth caught in a spider’s web.
A vulture was sitting on the dead man’s shoulder, tearing a piece of flesh from his cheek, helping itself to an easy meal. The big bird flushed upon seeing Josiah, lifting off silently with one graceful thrust of its wings.
Josiah brought Clipper to a stop about fifteen feet from the man. He was tempted to shoot at the bird, to run off the lot of them, but he knew it would be no use. They would soar in the sky until the man was six feet under, his scent buried, and then they’d be off, scavenging for some other victim of unfortunate circumstances.
Josiah recognized the man then, saw that he’d known him when he was living, and had questioned more than once what side of the law he truly stood on. That question wasn’t going to be answered anytime soon, but it was puzzling why the sheriff of San Antonio, J. T. Patterson himself, had been hanged on the Moscoso’s Trail, only a few miles from Seerville. The sheriff was a long way from home, but pretty darn close to where Charlie Langdon and his gang were holed up.
Willis eased up alongside Josiah. “Looks like he’s been there for a while, but I was just through here a day ago and didn’t see a thing then.”
Patterson’s face was gray, his head hung limply to the side, victim of a perfectly coiled rope. His bare chest and arms were covered with shallow slits in the skin from a sharp knife. Josiah had seen this before.
The wounds on his chest were not caused by the seekers of carrion. Slow cutting was a technique Charlie Langdon used in the war to get information out of a prisoner about troop movements, the inner workings of the ranks, or anything else he thought was relevant to win the next battle.
The technique was effective, and one that Charlie obviously still used to find out what he needed to know to survive.
The cuts had congealed . . . blood had stopped pumping through the sheriff’s heart after a quick snap of the neck. It had probably been a relief, the torture finally over.
Josiah exhaled deeply. “I expect we ought to cut him down.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Willis answered.
Josiah started to object, and turned to Willis, curious why he would protest such a thing. But he swallowed his question.
He was staring into the barrel of a Colt revolver, and he noticed at that moment that Willis’s eyes were black as a storm cloud, and held no emotion at all, other than cold, hard hate.
Josiah reluctantly dismounted from Clipper, his hands high above his head, realizing he had been tricked into leaving Fort Parker.
This was the third time in recent memory that he’d been at the barrel end of a gun, and he didn’t like the thought of it. Juan Carlos had saved his life at the Menger Hotel, and Suzanne del Toro had put a knife in the Negro’s chest outside of the saloon.
But there was no one to come to his aid on the Moscoso’s Trail. He was on his own and knew deep in his heart that he was as close to his own death as he’d ever been. His skin tingled, and his eyes were focused on Willis, waiting for him to make one small mistake. Like Charlie Langdon, Josiah had perfected a set of survival skills in the war.
“Now slowly unbuckle your belt and ease your gun to the ground,” Willis said.
Josiah did as he was told, quickly eyeing Clipper, and the Sharps carbine sticking out of the sheath. He was five feet from his horse, and the carbine was on the opposite side of the saddle. Willis could probably get at least one shot off, more than likely two, if Josiah rolled under Clipper to retrieve the Sharps. He was too far away. At the moment.
“Now,” Willis continued, aiming his Colt at Josiah and pulling his own rifle from its sheath, “take off your boots. Just in case you think you’re going to get a chance at me with a knife or a derringer.”
“Why are you doing this, Willis?”
Sam Willis squinted, his forehead pulsing with ribs of fatty skin. “Don’t go asking a lot of questions, Wolfe. We’re short on time. Charlie knows there’s a company of Rangers ridin’ in your shadow.”
Josiah nodded, acknowledging Willis’s confirmation that he was working with Charlie Langdon. He tried not to show any surprise that Langdon had somehow figured out the plan he and Feders had hatched back in Austin. They’d hoped to rescue Lyle with a swarm of men. Now it looked like Josiah might have to face down his former deputy one on one.
“You’re on the wrong side of things, Willis. It’s not too late to change that.” He pulled off a boot, and his Bowie knife fell on the ground.
Willis laughed. “It’s way too late for me to change anything. Kick the knife over to me.” He was still sitting on his horse.
Josiah thought back to the night the captain was shot. McClure told him that Willis slept away from the camp, like he always did. Scrap didn’t say anything about the man in the camp, but said Willis had gone after Charlie and McClure by the time Josiah had reached the captain.
He kicked the knife toward the black horse. “Your friend died with a murder on his shoulders. But I never thought he shot the captain. I think you shot the captain, killed him in cold blood. I just don’t know why you would do such a thing. Kill Hiram Fikes, then betray your best friend.”
“I ought to shoot you here and now, just get it over with,” Willis said.
“Why don’t you?”
“Charlie ordered me not to. I’m supposed to deliver you to him.”
“That’s a risky proposition.”
Willis rocked his rifle up and down in an urgent nod. “Take off the other boot, Wolfe.”
“All right.” Josiah leaned down, grabbed the toe of his boot, and tugged a little, but not hard enough to pull it off his foot. “Why’d you do it, Sam?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“I’d been off the trail awhile before the captain called me down to San Antonio.” The boot came off his foot, but he held on to it, not emptying it like he’d had the other one.
“Me and McClure and Patterson rode with Fikes and Feders in the State Police. For a short while things was fine. But there was always this Mexican with Fikes, and Patterson don’t like Mexicans, thought they all were liars and thieves, didn’t trust the one Fikes was so fond of one bit. Anyway, one night we was playing cards in a saloon down in Refugio. There’d been rumors that Charlie Langdon was out and about, but they didn’t pay much mind to the rumor. We’d heard it before and it turned out to be false. I did, though. I knew Charlie in the war, knew he
’d come back and tried to live the straight and narrow, being a deputy of some sort, but he couldn’t quite live that way. A lot of us had that problem, adjusting back to the laws of ordinary men. War gives certain people a taste for things that never goes away.”
Josiah stared at Willis and tried to remember if he’d served in the Brigade, but he was certain that he hadn’t. Josiah would have recognized him long before now. McClure said he was from Kentucky, and Willis probably was, too. Brigades mixed, met up at different times. It was entirely possible that Willis knew Langdon and would not have known Josiah.
“So, Patterson,” Willis continued, “wouldn’t sit at the same table with the Mexican. ’Bout that time, ole Charlie Langdon pulls off a bank robbery across the street from the saloon in Refugio, and everybody heads out after him. We were State Police after all, no matter what anybody thought of us. Anyway, Charlie got away, mainly ’cause I let him, once I realized it was him, after cornering him behind the saloon by myself. When we headed back to the saloon, all the money from our table was missin’. Patterson blamed the Mexican, got into a big row with Fikes, and that pretty much set the stage for their feud, since the captain always took the Mexican’s side.”
There was a reason the captain trusted the Mexican; they were blood, and the captain knew Juan Carlos was no thief. Josiah wasn’t going to tell Sam Willis that, though. “But the Mexican, Juan Carlos, didn’t steal Patterson’s money, did he?”
Willis shook his head no. “You ever drive cattle, Wolfe? Spend day after day downwind of those foul creatures, knowin’ your life ain’t going to get any better? I joined up with the State Police, and it wasn’t much better, and didn’t pay worth a darn. Besides, once I met up with Charlie again, he thought it was a good idea to have a man inside, and I could make twice the money. Especially after Fikes tapped McClure and me to join up with the Rangers.”
“You were a traitor.”
“Not the only one. A fellow named O’Reilly was a deputy for Patterson. That’s how I got the key to let Charlie loose. There was more than him, too. Fellas that served with Charlie one way or another.”
“What about McClure?” Josiah asked.
“McClure? He didn’t know nothin’. Nothin’ except he was startin’ to question what I was up to. McClure always had high ideals, big dreams. I suppose it was because of how he was raised, but money never seemed to matter to him like it did to me.”
“So the shot that killed the captain came from your gun?”
“Yes. I didn’t plan for McClure to take the blame, but when I saw it happen that way, I thought it was perfect to let that snot-nosed Elliot scream after everybody that McClure had killed Fikes. Now, if you don’t want to be joinin’ your captain in the great beyond, I’d suggest you toss that boot to the ground and put your hands behind your head. We need to get you to Charlie so you two can reminisce about old times.”
Josiah dropped the boot softly. It landed on its heel and stayed standing up. “Why is Patterson dead?”
“He was with a posse of men who were more loyal to Charlie Langdon than they were to him. I guess Charlie got tired of carrying him around. Found out everything he wanted to know.”
“What’s that?”
“Hell if I know. You can ask him yourself, but I wouldn’t count on gettin’ an answer.”
Josiah stared at Sam Willis and exhaled loudly. McClure was innocent, and Josiah had even questioned if a man like Pete Feders could be guilty of murder. Maybe he wanted him to be . . . so Feders would leave Pearl to herself, to him, if he survived. Rage boiled from the tips of his fingers all the way to his toes, and he knew that if he was going to save himself, it was now or never.
CHAPTER 30
Josiah did not break eye contact with Sam Willis as he grabbed up the boot, dove to the muddy ground in a roll, and caught the knife Suzanne del Toro had given him, wrapped in her white handkerchief as a parting gift, as it fell from inside the boot.
Clipper reared up when Sam fired a shot. The bullet thudded into the wet ground inches from Josiah’s feet. The horse then spun around and effectively put itself in between Josiah and Sam, just long enough for Josiah to get a solid grip on the knife, aim it, and throw it at Sam as hard and directly as he could.
The knife spiraled through the air and hit its target dead-on, the blade piercing Sam’s pant leg just under his knee. A loud yell was followed by another shot from Sam’s gun, this one going wild, straight up in the air, as he reacted to being stabbed just under the kneecap.
Clipper hustled out of the way, the gunshots sending the horse skittering off, until it came to a stop just beyond the southern red oak.
The carbine was more than thirty yards from Josiah’s grasp.
He quickly scanned the ground for his Peacemaker. He was standing ten feet from it and ten feet from Sam Willis, who was still sitting on his horse, grabbing his knee and in the process of pulling the knife, cussing like the wounded soldier that he was.
Josiah had about ten seconds to decide what to do next. It didn’t take him that long. He ran as fast as he could toward Sam and dove sideways, slamming his body as hard as he could against Sam’s wounded leg.
Willis was either too flustered or in too much pain to get off a decent shot. Another wild shot exploded from his gun, close to Josiah’s ear, and Josiah suddenly felt like he was in a deep well; he could hardly hear anything, and he could smell only gunpowder and carbon.
He bounced off the horse, tumbling to the ground in a thud, and Sam Willis toppled off the side, screaming, yelling, cussing. Neither man moved for a second or two, but Josiah was up first, and grabbed his Peacemaker, cocked the hammer, and aimed the gun at Sam Willis.
Willis had lost his grip, and his gun lay half a foot from his grasp.
“Leave it,” Josiah commanded, shielding himself at the rear of Willis’s horse. “Or you’re a dead man.”
“You ain’t got the guts to shoot me, Wolfe. Charlie said you was soft, and he’s usually right about things like that.” Willis grimaced, stretching his hand for his gun, ignoring Josiah.
“I’m serious, Willis.”
Willis grabbed the butt of his gun, pulled it into his grip, and then in a sudden burst of energy swung the barrel toward Josiah, pulled the trigger, and fanned the hammer.
Josiah saw what was coming and reacted. The first bullet hit Willis just above the belt, square in the stomach. The second bullet hit Willis in the chest just under the heart. The man bounced on the muddy ground, a combination of convulsions caused by being shot and his body finishing out the motion of shooting at Josiah. The third and final shot caught Willis just under his right eye. An explosion of blood and bone and a quick, final gasp were followed by the stillness of the swift hand of death.
Josiah walked over to Sam Willis, and the reality of his actions was quickly apparent. “I’ll only kill a man when I have to, Sam. I bet Charlie Langdon forgot to tell you that part of the story about me,” he said, rolling the man over with a solid push of his foot, so he wouldn’t have to see his face ever again.
Horse hooves approached from behind Josiah, coming up the trail at great speed. He didn’t have time to hide in the bushes, and turned around just in time to see two horses coming around the bend. He relaxed his finger on the trigger of the Peacemaker. It was Feders and Elliot.
“Wolfe,” Feders said, bringing his horse to a halting stop in front of Josiah. “We heard shooting and feared the worst.”
Scrap Elliot brought his horse to a stop next to Feders. “Damn, Wolfe. Is that Patterson?”
“It is,” Josiah answered. “And that’s Sam Willis there. He’s the one that shot the captain.”
Feders nodded. “I’m not surprised. There’s no time for recounting things, Wolfe. We need to get back to the cabin. We got there before you and took out two of Charlie Langdon’s lookouts. We’ve got the cabin surrounded with six Rangers from our company that we gathered up in Austin. Charlie’s inside with three other men, claims if we come one step closer
he’s going to shoot the boy and the Mexican woman.”
“He will,” Josiah said. His hands trembled at the thought. “You were supposed to wait for me.”
“Come on, Wolfe. That’s your son in there. Your emotions could have sparked a showdown and left all of us dead. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I was always going to get here ahead of you,” Feders said. “But I do have another plan.”
Josiah stared up at Feders. He looked no different than he had riding out of San Antonio at the side of Captain Hiram Fikes. Same hat, same horse, same riding clothes, as far as Josiah could tell. Rangers wore no insignia to set themselves apart in rank. You just knew who was who, and what was what.
“That’s good to hear, Captain Feders,” Josiah said, locking eyes with Feders, a slight smile flashing on both men’s faces. “Because I’m about all wrung out.”
The cabin sat in a slight valley. A two-stall barn sat off to the north, about twenty yards from the front door. A weedy, unplowed field and meadow sat behind the barn, rolling down to a creek that was skirted by a shallow bayou and piney woods. Josiah could see his entire plot of land from the vantage point he, Feders, and Elliot were crouched upon. It took all Josiah had in him to ignore the cemetery edged up along the woods.
“You’re sure you’re up to this, Wolfe?” Feders asked.
Josiah nodded that he was, staring at the cabin, not seeing anything moving inside.
A thin coil of smoke rising into the air from the chimney was the only sign of life. The pine smoke smelled good, reminding Josiah, along with all of the smells of the land, that he was finally home.
“There’s a man in the barn. One behind the wood stack. One there in the field, lying prone.” Feders pointed to the right of the cabin. It took Josiah a minute to see the man, but he did.
The Rattlesnake Season Page 24
