Josiah knew that Bullis was the commander of the scouts and knew the lieutenant was well respected by all of the Negro-Seminoles, but he had never met the man to personally know his character.
Mackenzie was a character in and of himself, since he had led raids into Mexico, punishing renegade Indians for the theft of cattle and other crimes they’d committed. Both men were reviled and hated by the Indians, and the shadows of their deeds fell over all white men, linking them with the rage that continued to fuel all of the tribes of Indians that were trying to hold on to the land in South Texas, and the Strip, as their own.
Scrap eased Missy up alongside Josiah so both of their horses were neck to neck, trotting along at an easy gait.
“Seems to me the only one of us that’s gonna alert the savages to our presence is that one there,” Scrap said in a whisper.
“Heard that there, young one,” Dixie Jim said. “You’d be best to carry a rifle and not a bout of foolishness with your tongue, sayin’ things you know nothin’ about. I may like the taste of whiskey, but this land speaks to me in ways you can never understand. The land owns me. You hear?”
“I don’t hear nothin,’ ” Scrap said.
“That there is exactly my point.”
With most of their traveling done at night, the following two days were spent resting in the shadows of canyons, sometimes in well-used caves that Dixie Jim seemed to know where to find in the places they were staying, like he knew in a town where a hotel was, without asking. Other times they camped under ledges of rock so high it would take the legs of a lizard to climb to the top. But they never camped out in the open, never burned a fire big enough to reveal their location.
Dixie Jim rarely slept, or if he did, he did so away from Josiah and Scrap. Once camp had been made, Dixie Jim would wander off, surprisingly silent with his one foot and crutch, urging both men to rest. He would be the watch, offering no break for himself, or a shift for Josiah and Scrap.
There had been no signs of any Lipan Apache, Feders and the nine other Rangers, or Liam O’Reilly. They had not seen or heard anyone, and the lack of confrontation was a relief to Josiah, but he was starting to question his trust in Dixie Jim. They could be anywhere as far as Josiah knew—riding in circles in the middle of nowhere. All of the wild longhorns, circling buzzards, and hawks looked the same to him.
It was late in the afternoon, and rest had come, though fitfully, for Josiah. They were safe from the beaming sun in one of the caves that Dixie Jim knew, a hole in the wall of a thousand-foot mountain. It was cool inside and light enough to see your own two feet, the ground nothing but soft red dirt, the air dry and still. There was no depth to the cave, no long tunnel deep into the ground or the mountain. It was a wide open mouth of rock that bore no life other than an insect here or there, waiting in the shadows for the Rangers to drop a crumb of food.
Josiah was heating the coffeepot. Scrap had wandered outside to get a breath of fresh air and relieve himself. He had a frustrated look on his face when he returned to the cave.
“I’m gettin’ tired of waitin’ around for that half-breed,” Scrap said. “Ain’t nothin’ like it was with Red Overmeyer out and about.”
The mention of Red stopped Josiah, almost caused his heart to skip a beat. He still felt responsible for the man’s death.
Josiah looked up at Scrap, offered him a cup of Arbuckle’s. “Did Feders ever mention to you that he doubted Red Overmeyer’s allegiance to the Rangers?”
“What do you mean allegiance?”
“Feders seemed to think that Red was more loyal to Indians than us, that he had a deal with those two Comanche that we encountered up at the San Saba.”
“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. Red Overmeyer was a Ranger through and through,” Scrap said.
“That’s what I thought, but Feders made a solid case for it before we left Austin. Said he thought Overmeyer had a deal with the Comanche so they knew we were coming that way. He thought Overmeyer was a spy for Indians or O’Reilly.”
“If Feders was here right now, I’d punch him in the nose for sayin’ such a thing. That’s not the kind of thing you can say about a man who ain’t around to defend his own self.”
“He thought Overmeyer was going to split the bounty on my head with the Comanche, but they decided to keep the money for themselves. Which was why they killed him and not you.”
“I guess that makes sense, if Red was that type of fella. Didn’t even gamble or bet a horse when me and the boys ran ’em up at the camp. Funny thing is, Wolfe, Feders and the boys knew where to find me. Do you think that’s just a lucky find, or is there somethin’ more to it?”
“I’m starting to think it was more than luck, too. I wondered how Feders knew to find me in Comanche. Rode in just at the right time. And now it sure seems odd that Feders was close by when Juan Carlos was shot, then disappeared south. I didn’t even know he was supposed to be involved in this plan of McNelly’s. Juan Carlos was tight-lipped about it all. It’s almost like he knew everything that was going to happen before it did, and that doesn’t make a lot of sense.” Josiah said.
Scrap started to say something, then did not allow a word to escape from his lips—which was unusual for him.
Josiah nodded. “Unless Pete Feders was in on all of this for some reason.”
“That’d be a surprise.”
“It would be a crime worse than any I could imagine, working with that scoundrel, O’Reilly. For what?”
Scrap took a drink of his coffee, looking over the rim of the cup. “You and Feders have always been doin’ a hat dance around each other, and the captain’s daughter is right in the middle of it all.”
Josiah stood straight up, his body tense and tight at the mention of Pearl. “You leave Pearl out of this.”
“I’m just sayin’ maybe Pete Feders was trying to shift the blame on Red Overmeyer for a reason.”
“And what reason would that be?”
“To take the attention off himself,” Scrap said. “Maybe he’s the spy for O’Reilly—or Cortina. Maybe he wants you to be taken in a bad light. Or dead and out of the way.”
Josiah took a deep breath and relaxed. He was surprised that Scrap had said aloud what he had been thinking, what Juan Carlos had warned him of.
He knew that Feders had a reason to get Josiah out of Austin, out of Pearl’s life. Even more so now that he and Pearl had spent the night in the barn together. Pearl would never agree to marry Pete Feders. Feders didn’t know about Josiah’s tryst with Pearl as far as Josiah knew, but maybe he suspected it would happen. Pearl had always been less than secretive about her feelings for Josiah—she showed her desire in plain sight of everyone.
Before Josiah could say anything to Scrap, Dixie Jim hobbled into the cave, sweat glistening from his deep brown brow, his eyes wide open and white with the exception of a fully engaged blue pupil. “Set me a nip of whiskey there, Wolfe. I found a fresh trail.”
“You found the company of Rangers?” Josiah asked.
Dixie Jim nodded yes. “They broke off about three miles from here and headed south.”
“Broke off from what?” Scrap asked.
“Two horses, heading west.”
Josiah sighed deeply, walked over to his saddlebag that he’d taken into the cave, dug out Dixie Jim’s bottle of whiskey, and handed it to the scout. “Just one nip, and then we head west.”
CHAPTER 41
Dixie Jim proved to be a wise scout, though nearly any man could have found the horse tracks leading due west, since there didn’t look to have been any effort made by the riders to hide them. The question remained who the tracks belonged to, but according to Dixie Jim, who was on his knees studying a new set of tracks in the soft, loamy dirt, they were gaining ground on the riders since they didn’t seem to be in a hurry of
