The road was nearly a trail, one that led into town over a steep hill and through a healthy grove of oaks and maples. A creek cut through at the dip, with pecan trees and junipers as thick as he had ever seen them.
He had traveled this trail before, but only at night, his senses lost in confusion as he had sought an escape from the estate, when he wanted to be as far away as he could be. That seemed like so long ago—he was a different man on the same trail.
He felt alive now, fully himself, surprised at how much life had changed in a matter of a few short months. Facing reality would come sooner rather than later, but for the moment, he still wanted to bask in the joy and pleasure of the previous night.
Clipper was moving along at an easy trot, the light certain now and the trail clear. The horse seemed to sense Josiah’s mood and mirrored it thoroughly and implicitly until the Appaloosa heard something ahead and stiffened, piquing his ears.
Josiah heard the same thing as the horse, at about the same time. He pulled back on the reins, bringing Clipper to a stop, his hand automatically easing onto the grip of the Colt.
It only took a second for the rider to appear, pushing full out. To Josiah’s relief, it was Scrap Elliot.
Clipper relaxed as Josiah loosened his hold on the reins. They both sat there waiting.
Scrap saw Josiah just as soon as he cleared a bend in the trail, braking Missy, the blue roan mare, hard, but gentle. “There you are,” he said.
“What are you up to, Scrap?”
Scrap looked at Josiah oddly, not accustomed to the happiness in his voice. “Come to gather you up, that’s all.”
“I’m on my way home now.”
“Best hurry that up.”
Josiah furrowed his brow, noticing the sweat on Scrap’s forehead, the full complement of bullets in his belt, and the stuffed saddlebag tied over the saddle. “Where’s the trouble?”
“Ain’t none yet, but Juan Carlos is madder than a hot pepper at your absence.”
“What do you know about Juan Carlos?”
“Tarnation, Wolfe. I’m goin’ with you. I’m one of McNelly’s boys now, too.”
CHAPTER 34
The noise from the hustle and bustle of Austin reached them long before they left the trail. Morning had fully broken, the edge of the sun a quarter of a hot red plate on the horizon.
Clouds that looked like narrow fingers stretched out overhead, the soft light coating the underside with warm tinges of pink. It was hard to tell if the sky was angry or happy. The combination of colors was confusing, especially against the sky that seemed to suck up the hues like a sponge. In some places it was blue, mostly off in the distance, to the west, and in others it was almost pure white, void of any perceptible weather or attitude.
The sky over Austin itself turned from pink to fire red, the color of a warning flag, but that did not deter Josiah. He pushed Clipper as hard as he could, rushing home, riding as fast as he could—just so he could leave again.
Scrap and Missy had no trouble keeping up, and there was no question that on a good day, the roan mare could outrun Clipper by a fast mile. Today was not that day though. There was no need for Scrap to make haste any more than he already was; the boy had already done his duty.
The thought of the boy riding along to the border with him and Juan Carlos was both an aggravation and a comfort to Josiah. He was glad Scrap was still a Ranger, even gladder that he hadn’t followed after Donley and fallen into bad graces with Governor Coke, but it felt like there was a rope tied to Josiah that always ended up being looped around Scrap. It was something to get used to, and mostly, Josiah didn’t want to be partnered with anyone, especially a hothead like Scrap Elliot. He liked riding alone or with the boys of the company, not just one man.
Little puffs of dust flew up behind the two horses each time a hoof landed heavily on the ground. There was no need to worry about hiding their destination, but Josiah was tense anyway, constantly looking for the next ambush, sure that O’Reilly would kill him sooner rather than later.
Regardless of Juan Carlos’s knowledge of the Irishman’s trek to the border and potential union with Cortina, there were enemies to be on the lookout for right in the heart of Austin.
How far O’Reilly’s shadow and orders fell was never in question. The scoundrel had picked up right where Charlie Langdon had left off, creating a gang of followers who, for some reason, were more than happy to do his bidding.
There was no doubt O’Reilly was capable of meanness and madness, violent acts that would make even the most experienced Ranger wince and look away, but it had never appeared to Josiah that the Irishman had the gift of persuasion—other than with a six-shooter and a knife. There had to be more to the man’s power than he knew.
The trail narrowed through another thick grove of trees, and Josiah continued to lead the way.
Buildings on the outskirts of the city were easily within a half a mile’s ride, in sudden view once they broke out of the trees. Josiah was not planning on slowing down until he reached the house he called home, but he was surprised to see a familiar horse standing idle in the middle of the trail about fifty yards up.
Juan Carlos was waiting, sitting on his nameless chestnut stallion, a hard look on his face.
Josiah pushed Clipper a little harder, rushing to Juan Carlos, then eased the Appaloosa back, coming to a quick stop. Scrap followed suit and stopped Missy beside Josiah, with a concerned look on his face.
“Whoa, there, Clipper,” Josiah said, patting the horse’s sweaty neck. “I expected to find you at the house,” he said to Juan Carlos.
“I am here.”
“I can see that. Something is wrong.” Josiah squinted knowingly, it wasn’t a question.
“
Josiah felt a burning sensation in his chest. “I was afraid that might happen.” He flipped the reins, but Juan Carlos eased his horse in front of Clipper, gently grabbing the bridle, not allowing Josiah to pass.
“You cannot go home, senor. They will kill you and your son.”
“They will anyway. I have to protect him.”
A slight smile slipped across Juan Carlos’s leathery brown face. “Senor Lyle is not there. Nor is Ofelia.”
“Where are they?”
“Safe in Little Mexico.”
“You’re sure?”
“That’s the first place they’ll look,” Scrap interjected. “Everybody knows Wolfe favors Mexicans.” He waited a second, then nodded. “No offense to you, Juan Carlos,” he added.
Scrap’s tone was conciliatory, which was as uncommon as a pure white hawk flying overhead. The gesture surprised Josiah, but he didn’t care at the moment to find out what had changed between the two men. Perhaps it had something to do with McNelly, or maybe not.
“If those men go after
Scrap just shrugged. “We’re gonna have to have our eyes peeled then.” He looked at the sky, then said, “It’d be easier to travel at night, but I got a feelin’ there’s bad weather comin’ along. Pink skies ain’t for fairy tales. Saw a tornado once in the afternoon after seein’ a mornin’ sky like this one here.”
“You cannot go home, Senor Josiah. I have packed as much of your gear into my bags as I could.”
Josiah exhaled loudly. “If you think it’s best.”
“I do.”
“I would have liked to have seen Lyle before I left.”
A gentle, knowing look crossed Juan Carlos’s face. “It is a good thing you did not come home last night, senor. There may have been more trouble than we could have handled. Leaving this way has, perhaps, saved some
