finally stand down.
The wine had made Josiah a little unruly inside the house, but he had not lost a lick of his senses when it came to seeing a fight heading his way.
“I appreciate that, Captain,” Josiah said, noting the stiff difference in Feders’s stance and tone.
“I’m sure you do. That was a fine mess you created.”
“I was just trying to stay alive.”
Feders let his fists fall open. “I probably wouldn’t go that way again for some time, if I were you.”
Josiah agreed silently with a nod. “How’d you know to find me in Comanche in the first place?” It was not a question that had occurred to Josiah previously, but when he thought about the arrival of Feders and the company in Comanche as lucky, the timing seemed almost too perfect. The release made him feel emboldened enough to ask.
“Where else would you have been, Wolfe?” There was a crack in Feders’s voice, and he looked away, then back directly at Josiah with a hard, accusatory glare. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing. Just asking a question.” Josiah felt odd, like he had just verbally attacked his father, with no reason, no cause for suspicion, just curiosity. Pete’s reaction only made matters worse, but all things considered, Josiah chose not to pursue the question any further.
“I regret the loss of Red Overmeyer. He was a good man,” Josiah said, changing the subject. “I failed him.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Feders was still stiff, but he appeared to relax a bit. He drew a deep breath and took a step back, away from Josiah.
“What do you mean?”
“I had some concerns about Overmeyer’s allegiance. He was always a little mysterious and unpredictable when it came to Indians,” Feders said.
Josiah was curious and uncertain about Feders’s doubt regarding Red. It was the first he’d heard tell of any question of the man’s character. There was never any doubt in Josiah’s mind that Overmeyer was a fine Ranger, any more than Pete was a fine captain—albeit unpredictable. Now he was starting to doubt everything he’d ever believed.
“He stood and fought with us in Lost Valley against the Comanche and Kiowa,” Josiah said. “I’m not sure that you’re making sense to me, Captain.”
“He was out scouting at the start. It never crossed your mind that the whole troop went down in that valley and the mass of savages suddenly appeared out of nowhere? He gave the all clear to Jones, if I am not mistaken.”
“Jones led us into the valley. It was his decision.” Josiah was getting defensive, and a little annoyed. Feders was not at the Lost Valley fight; he had stayed back at the Ranger camp along the Red River because of a conflict with Major Jones. Josiah didn’t think much about it at the time.
“A scout worth his salt would have figured out it was a trap,” Feders said with a snarl.
“What are you saying? That Red Overmeyer was a spy for the Indians?” Josiah asked, incredulous. “That he intentionally sent innocent men to their deaths? I saw a man die in the worst way, captured and mutilated by the Kiowa like he was nothing more than a rabbit. I spent time with Overmeyer; he never gave me one reason to question his desire to be a Ranger.”
There was, though, perhaps some truth to what Feders was saying—at least enough to hear him out.
It was always obvious that Overmeyer had spent plenty of time among the Indians—mostly friendlies on the plains. But being a spy just didn’t make sense—or Josiah didn’t want to believe it. He had trusted Red Overmeyer.
What would there have been to gain by betraying his fellow Rangers in the Lost Valley? Nothing that Josiah could see. Still, there was no question that Overmeyer’s past was dim. He could have known some of the Indians or, at the very least, known how to trade with them.
“Maybe he was a spy for the Indians,” Feders said. “Or maybe he was a spy for Liam O’Reilly. Perhaps he intended to give you up all along. Collect O’Reilly’s bounty for himself. Maybe those two Comanche and him had a deal. You ever think of that?”
Josiah felt the air go out of his chest.
He had questioned how the Indians knew his name, how they knew he was going to be out along the San Sabine scouting with just Scrap and Overmeyer and no troop to back them up.
“If what you’re saying is true, then the Comanches would have had a reason to see Red Overmeyer dead,” Josiah said, coming to a conclusion he didn’t like, but was starting to make sense in a roundabout kind of way.
He still didn’t feel absolved of Overmeyer’s death. He wasn’t sure he ever would.
Feders nodded. “They were going to keep the bounty on your head for themselves.”
“Which kind of explains why they left Elliot to live on the tree.”
“It could. Killing a traitor and a competitor was one thing. Killing a Ranger was totally another. Not that I believe for a second that those two Comanche didn’t have it in them to slit Elliot’s throat. I think they had orders not to draw any more attention to themselves than necessary, since they rode right into Comanche with no worry about riling the town. It’s you that O’Reilly was after. Still is, as far as that goes.”
“My aim is to take care of that right away,” Josiah said, squaring his shoulders, preparing to head to the barn to retrieve Clipper and go home.
“We’re not done yet, Wolfe,” Feders said, sternly.
“What else is there?”
“You do realize that you’ve been relieved from the Battalion?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you not off on a journey with Juan Carlos at the request of Captain McNelly?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“You’re one of McNelly’s men now, Wolfe. Our association is formally over as of this moment. You have no reason to be here or in my company ever again. Is that clear, Wolfe? We are done. Any problem you have with Liam O’ Reilly is now yours and yours alone.”
Feders didn’t give Josiah a second to protest, to question anything about what came next, nothing. He spun on the heel of his boot and walked straight into the Fikes mansion like he already owned the place, slamming the door solidly behind him.
Josiah stood motionless, feeling like he had just been sucker punched by an old adversary—knowing full well he should have seen
The lights in the mansion began to go out one by one, window by window. The glow that had been so bright and welcoming earlier was now quickly becoming cold and dark, the entrance barred, forbidden, and the night uncertain and full of unfamiliar shadows.
CHAPTER 32
A torch stood burning outside of the barn.
The orange flame was waning, but a steady stream of thin black smoke spiraled upward. Shadows played on the wall of the barn; a slow dance of unknown images since there was little breeze. A towering live oak stood near the entrance of the barn, offering a canopy of shade in the hot summers to the stable of fine horses the Fikes place continued to house.
Josiah had been in the barn before, in the spring, after returning the captain’s body to the family. There was a bunkhouse attached to the back of the barn, fully equipped with an area set aside for baths and cleaning up after a long day’s work. But Josiah had no desire for a bath, or a moment of ease. All he wanted was to get as far away from the estate as possible, as fast as he could. He wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed one more night before leaving with Juan Carlos.
He hoped to never return to the estate. Without the presence of Captain Fikes, it was a foreign country whose citizens spoke with angry and unknown tongues—with the exception of Pearl.
