to their daily lives—if they dared.
A few wagons appeared on the main street of town, the passengers and drivers dressed in full black attire, even though the day was more suited for something lighter, something that would denote more of a celebration. The riders in the wagon looked leery of the assemblage of Rangers.
Just as Josiah had heard the toll of the funeral bells, the mourners had surely heard the gunshots and the ruckus caused by O’Reilly. And seeing a troop of men, all dressed differently, not in military garb, with no markings to distinguish them as Rangers, probably brought more fear than curiosity.
Comanche had seen its fair share of vigilantes; lawless mobs that had wreaked havoc on those that followed the straight and narrow, living quiet, law-abiding lives.
The sun had risen high into a cloudless sky. The color of it was a solid blue, strong, not fragile like some November skies tended to be. It could have been a perfect summer day instead of a day drawing nearer and nearer to a brief winter. The wind was warm, pushing up from the south, and even in the center of town there was a flavor of salt and humidity to the air.
But Josiah’s throat was dry. He stood over the dead Comanche, Little Shirt, uncertain of what to do next. The rest of the boys—Josiah’s term, and most every other Ranger’s term for the company—had followed him to the scene in the street, all mounted on their horses, ready for the next order from Captain Feders. B. D. Donley had followed behind Josiah, along with Feders.
“How come you were a-limpin’?” B. D. Donley asked.
“Caught a graze. I’m all right,” Josiah said. In all of the commotion, the pain was a distant irritation, but there was no question that it still hurt and was open to the possibility of infection.
“You takin’ the honors of the scalp?” Donley said, stepping past Josiah. Donley was a short fellow with a scratchy voice, a ruddy face, and a set of eyes that could have belonged to a crow; all black and beady.
Josiah shook his head no. He’d never scalped a dead Indian, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“What’s the matter,” Donley continued, chiding Josiah and completely ignoring Pete Feders, “ain’t you got the stomach for it?”
“I didn’t kill this man for a trophy,” Josiah said. “I killed him because I had to.”
“Don’t look like you’re in a position to be all righteous, Wolfe,” Donley said, his skinny chest puffing out, looking past Little Shirt at the gathering crowd.
“That’s enough, Donley,” Feders said. “You’ll not make an exhibition of this.”
“Ain’t right, Captain,” Donley said. He pulled his lips tight, till they almost disappeared. “This Comanch would scalp a live child. I know, I’ve seen it done. Ain’t a purty sight, I tell you. Rots in your dreams so you can’t make the bad pictures go away.”
“This is not the place,” Feders said, lowering his voice. “This town isn’t anything but a powder keg waiting to blow. I want you to take two other men and go north after Liam O’Reilly. Track him as far as you can. Kill him if you get the chance, but don’t stay out past three days.”
“That it, Captain?” Donley said, a wide smile growing across his face.
“From you it is. Wolfe, I want you and Elliot to get out of here as quickly as you can. Head on to Austin and wait for word from me. Rangers or not, I don’t think we’ll be able to save Wolfe here from the rope once the crowd sees that the sheriff is dead and there’s no law presiding over the town.”
“I’m not running,” Josiah said, stepping up past Donley, nearly knocking him off balance. “Don’t even think about sending me out of here, Pete. I aim to finish what I started.”
“It looks like you did. Now go. That’s an order.” Feders held Josiah’s gaze. There was no question he meant business. The stare was cold and hard, and the scar on Feders’s face pulsed bright red. “I don’t mean to repeat myself, Wolfe. You need me and the boys right now, so I would take the opportunity to depart as quickly as you can before someone gets the idea that you don’t need
Josiah sighed heavily and started to turn away, but Feders stopped him with a quick grab of the shoulder.
“You call me Pete one more time, Wolfe, and you won’t have to worry about me being your captain. Is that understood, Sergeant?”
Josiah nodded. “Yes, sir.” He ignored the growing crowd around Little Shirt, kicked his boot into the muddy road, and headed for Lady Mead. “This isn’t over,” he said quietly, under his breath. “It’s far from over, Pete.”
CHAPTER 16
Josiah and Scrap rode south, out of town, both of them pushing their horses to a full run as soon as they had settled into their saddles.
Scrap took the lead, pushing his trusted blue roan mare, Missy, as hard as he could. Josiah let him have a couple of full horse lengths before urging Lady Mead to keep up.
He was glad to be heading south, toward home, toward Austin—but he slowed as they broke free of Comanche, hoping to catch sight of Billie Webb’s house.
He silently hoped to see Billie outside, maybe hanging diapers to dry in the bright sun, or tending to what chickens of her flock remained. But he didn’t see her. Only smoke rising lazily out of the chimney, casting a thin veil of black against an otherwise perfect blue afternoon sky.
For a moment, Josiah thought about pulling away from Scrap and taking Charlie Webb’s palomino back to his widow, leaving her with something of value, at least to sell or trade when the need arose. But that would have to wait for another day. Pete Feders was unyielding with his orders: Go straight to Austin and wait there. No stops that weren’t necessary. Get far away from Comanche as quickly as possible.
Josiah understood the reasoning and knew that if he didn’t leave then, there might be more force in the town than the boys could handle or overcome. If all of Comanche had gone vigilante on John Wesley Hardin’s kin, then challenging a troop of Rangers wasn’t out of the question.
Seeing Billie and returning Lady Mead was not meant to be, and Josiah felt odd, full of regret at the thought. There was no way he was going to forget what she had done for him. Somehow, he was going to make things right, even though she didn’t expect him to.
If it wasn’t for Josiah, she would have had to birth her child alone, and that prospect was not lost on either one of them. Still, Josiah Wolfe was not the kind of man who rode away on another man’s horse, or wore his clothes for that matter, without offering something of like value. But he was doing so now—for the first time in his life, at least that he could remember.
It seemed the only way to change any of that was to do as he was told and return to Austin.
He did feel like less of a Ranger, though—less of a man really—not staying to face the consequences of his actions head-on, but he silently agreed that Feders would have a better chance at quelling any disputes if Josiah wasn’t there. Having Pete Feders act as his mouthpiece sure didn’t feel right . . . but orders were orders.
There would be consequences to face, regardless of what happened in Comanche. Josiah was certain of that—knew that once they reached Austin, he would have to clear himself, and the reputation of the Rangers, directly to Major Jones, if not to Governor Coke himself.
He wasn’t sure which group would be the toughest to face—the officers in the Frontier Battalion or the raging mad citizens of Comanche, Texas. Either way, he knew he’d face whatever came. Right now he just had a bullet graze in the leg. He hoped that would be the only scar from this incident.
Lady Mead seemed glad to be running, angling to keep up with Missy and Scrap. Josiah let the mare have her head, let her go, and was surprised that she was as comfortable a steed as his own horse, Clipper. Scrap remained silent, distant, and that was just fine with Josiah. The last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment was the high spirits of Scrap Elliot. There were stories to swap between the two of them, there was no doubt about that—but neither man seemed in a hurry to chew the fat and recount recent events.
They skirted a town, Priddy, causing them to head due west for a few miles.
Well away from the town, or any other ranches or human habitation, a creek rose up out of the soft ground
