“Is there a way out?” Josiah asked, forcing his thoughts back into the moment. Not losing sight of where they were when there were men who wanted to see them dead—or Josiah at least—was extremely important.
They were riding three abreast at a slow pace. Scrap shot Josiah an angry look because of the question but held his tongue. The Lost Valley fight was still a rub between Josiah and Scrap, neither of them daring to bring up the subject.
Juan Carlos nodded. “There is. To the best of my knowledge, we have not been followed. But that does not mean someone is not waiting for us.”
“That makes me feel better,” Josiah said.
“Just the truth,” Juan Carlos answered. “What is the matter, Elliot?”
“Nothin’.”
“We’ve been in a situation like this before,” Josiah said.
“That’s not what I was thinkin’ about, Wolfe,” Scrap said. “I was thinkin’ it’s a long ride to the Strip, and this ain’t startin’ out so well.”
Juan Carlos shook his head and picked up his pace, leading his horse a little to the south as he climbed down toward the creek bed.
The blackness in the sky had nearly reached them, and Josiah felt the first raindrop hit his face. A lightning strike burst out of the sky a good distance away, hot white fingers hungrily reaching for the earth. Thunder rumbled a few seconds later, giving Clipper a noticeable start.
“Why do you say that?” Josiah asked, reining the horse back, quickly calming him.
“Just like usual, I’m bringin’ up the rear, and I ain’t got a clue as to what’s goin’ on.”
Josiah eyed Scrap, raising an eyebrow in frustration. “We trust you with our backs, isn’t that enough?” With that, he kneed Clipper, catching up quickly with Juan Carlos, leaving Scrap to think about what he’d just said.
Another clap of thunder spurred Scrap and Missy to join Josiah and Juan Carlos under the overhang.
The fire was small, and on occasion, Juan Carlos flapped his hat over it, dispelling the rise of smoke so they wouldn’t draw any attention to their location. The storm was fully overhead now, and the trio was safely tucked under the overhang. It was dry and cool next to the limestone, nearly like being in a cave, except there was a sheer wall, facing southwest, that helped keep most of the wind and rain away from the three men.
Juan Carlos had a full complement of jerky for the long ride, and there’d been time to get some fresh water for a pot of coffee. The aroma of Arbuckle’s filled the air, along with the smell of some johnnycakes frying in a small skillet.
The horses were not so lucky, tied to a line just outside the overhang. Still, there were some tall sycamores that helped to protect them from the weather.
“We’re gonna lose half a day’s ride,” Scrap said.
“That is not my worry,” Juan Carlos answered, staring out into the storm, at nothing in particular.
“What is?” Josiah asked. He was sitting with his back propped up against the wall, his Winchester at his side, cleaning the Colt Frontier.
“It will be much easier for us to be tracked when we leave.” Juan Carlos walked to the very edge of the overhang, stuck his hand out, made it into a cup, and let it fill with water that was draining off from above. “If O’Reilly has already met up with Cortina, their plans made, then he will know we are coming.”
“How would he know that?” Scrap asked.
Juan Carlos shook his head. “I do not know. O’Reilly has eyes everywhere. I think he will be on the lookout for us, either way. The Badger is wary of everything and everyone.”
“The only way he would know we are coming is if those eyes were Ranger eyes,” Josiah said.
“Perhaps.” Juan Carlos drank the water from his cupped hand, then angled over to the fire, standing over it for some warmth. “That is not entirely out of the realm of possibility, but I have not been able to discover who those eyes belong to, if that is true.”
“Well don’t look at me. I ain’t no rat,” Scrap said.
Josiah stopped cleaning the Colt and put it away . . . within reach. “If we thought that, you’d be a dead rat.”
“No worry,” Juan Carlos said. “I have ways of finding these things out. I have my own set of eyes in places Cortina or O’Reilly would not suspect.”
CHAPTER 36
Fort Clark stood on the horizon, a twenty-acre complex of wood frame and limestone buildings, some still under construction. The fort had originated in 1852 as a guard post for the San Antonio–El Paso Road. When Texas seceded from the Union, the fort was taken over by the Second Texas Mounted Rifles and used as a hospital. Josiah knew some men who’d served with that outfit, or at least they’d claimed to, but for himself, this was his first visit to Clark and the outlying town of Brackett. The construction was a result of a rebuilding project after years of overuse and neglect.
The trio of men stood with their horses lined nose to nose at the crest of a thousand-foot rise. As they looked west, it seemed like they could see forever as dusk started to settle into night before them.
The ride had been long, hard, and fast, the three of them fair enough horsemen to keep up with one another and make solid time. Almost four days had passed, constantly on the lookout for an ambush, for trackers, for a posse of O’Reilly’s men on their tail—but there had been nothing, not one single threat.
The ride to Fort Clark had been almost too easy as far as Josiah was concerned.
“More to worry about here,” Juan Carlos said, looking explicitly at Scrap, who was in the middle. “Kickapoo. Lipan Apache. Rustlers. Outlaws. Some Comanche.
“I can handle myself,” Scrap said.
Juan Carlos gripped the reins tighter, holding his horse steady. “Watch yourself in the fort, if we have need to make a visit. Colonel Mackenzie employs a fine group of Negro Seminole scouts. We may have need of their services.”
“I ain’t no slouch,” Scrap said.
“I know how you feel about Mexicans.
Josiah sat on Clipper on the other side of Scrap, listening, looking over the land in front of him, barely paying attention to the two men’s conversation.
His eyes were fixed on the town of Brackett, the lamps starting to burn inside the houses, the residents preparing for the coming night. He let his thoughts wander to Lyle, then Pearl, hoping their safety and comfort were not a concern, knowing that there was nothing he could do, so far away, other than look out for himself, Scrap, and Juan Carlos and accomplish his own mission as well as the one Captain McNelly had set for them: Stop Liam O’Reilly at any cost.
“You know I can’t speak Mexican,” Scrap protested.
“It is just as well,” Juan Carlos said.
“You have a plan?” Josiah asked.
Juan Carlos nodded. “We will stay in town.”
Josiah stared at the old Mexican, questioning him with his eyes first. “If O’Reilly or Cortina have men here, they will be on the lookout for us. They’ll know we’re here if what you say is true.”
“That is the plan,” Juan Carlos said. “Cortina will find it very interesting that I have ridden into Brackett with two Rangers.”
“He knows you?”
