The Badger's Revenge

Juan Carlos smiled. “Of course he knows me.”

“Well, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard of,” Scrap said.

“Do you think that the three of us are going to sneak up on O’Reilly, or Cortina in the land that he calls home? That is estupidez. Foolish, as you say.”

“You really want them to know we’re here?” Scrap continued.

Juan Carlos nodded. “We are safe in Brackett. It is once we leave the protection of the fort that we will be in danger. The men there will not cast a shadow on us.”

“And your plan extends beyond that?” Josiah asked.

“Si.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Josiah said.

“Well, it ain’t for me,” Scrap said.

“Fine,” Josiah said. “Stay here.”

Brackett was the Kinney County seat, and the jail sat right across the street from the county courthouse. Like in Fort Clark, the buildings in Brackett were made of ash-layered limestone and were of recent construction.

There was a quarry, not far out of town, that supplied all of the limestone. The towering mountains and deep canyons supplied an unlimited source of materials to accommodate the growth of Brackett and the rebuilding of Fort Clark.

Juan Carlos tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the jail. It was a small building, single level, about eight hundred square feet at the most, nothing like the county jail in Austin. The jail was as nice-looking a building as Josiah had ever seen for housing outlaws.

“Wait here. The sheriff is un viejo amigo, an old friend. I want to say hola, let him know we are here,” Juan Carlos said.

Josiah nodded, stayed in his saddle, and watched Juan Carlos disappear inside the building.

Scrap grunted, then fished into a pocket and pulled out a quirlie he’d pre-rolled and lit it. The air immediately smelled of tobacco, and though Josiah did not smoke, the smell was a comfort to him. It meant they were in a moment of relief and relaxation.

Light burned brightly from inside, and Josiah wondered if there were gas lamps in the jail like there were in the Fikes estate. The glow was intense, almost white, as it cut through the windows and into the darkness outside. It was easy to see moving shadows through the window next to the door and hear loud, welcoming voices. The curtains were drawn so he could not see any one man in particular, just their outlines. There was more than one man.

“I feel like a sittin’ duck,” Scrap said, exhaling a lung full of smoke.

“You’re going to have to trust Juan Carlos.”

“Not likely to happen anytime soon.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Orders. I want to keep on bein’ a Ranger.”

“Obviously Juan Carlos has McNelly’s trust.”

Scrap shrugged. “Don’t matter. I’ll do what I’m told, you know that, Wolfe. But I ain’t gonna take no orders from a Mexican or a half-breed Indian, especially a half-breed Negro Indian. Nobody said they were equal to a Ranger, now did they?”

Josiah shook his head no. “Juan Carlos works for himself as far as I know. I don’t know what his relationship with McNelly is, but I figure they’ve known each other for a long time. Can’t see McNelly sending anyone on a special assignment without trusting him.”

“So you’re sayin’ Juan Carlos is a spy?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I ain’t takin’ orders from no spy.”

Josiah said nothing in response to Scrap’s announcement. There was no use arguing with the thick-headed boy. He took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. It looked the same as the night sky that covered the ceiling of Austin, even though they were two hundred miles from home.

There were some men who could navigate by the night sky, knew the stories about warriors doing battle above them with great beasts like bears and lions, but Josiah didn’t know any of those stories.

He knew the Big Dipper when he saw it, the Little Dipper, too, but beyond that the night sky was a mystery to him. Just like the streets of Brackett, which were mostly quiet now. He had no idea where he was at.

The street a couple of blocks over, however, held a line of saloons and hotels, and Josiah supposed the nightly entertainment was just starting there, especially considering the fort wasn’t that far out of town, offering bored and well-moneyed soldiers plenty of opportunities to while away the time and spend their monthly allotments.

“I don’t imagine you’ll have to take orders from anybody, except for maybe me,” Josiah finally said. “You’re a fine shot, Elliot, and one of the best horsemen I’ve ever met. I just wish you had as much talent with your mouth as you do your trigger finger.”

“Well, thanks,” Scrap said. “I think.”

The door to the jail opened, and Juan Carlos walked outside, a smile on his face. He stopped, hitched up his pants like he was prone to do since he was so skinny, and was about to say something to Josiah when the first shot rang out.

Juan Carlos didn’t have time to react.

The bullet, which came from behind Josiah and Scrap, caught the Mexican solidly in the shoulder, knocking him back against the hard wall of the jail.

The second shot dropped Juan Carlos to his knees.

He fell flat on his face before Josiah or Scrap could reach for their guns and return fire.

CHAPTER 37

Scrap spun around and fired blindly into the darkness, quickly emptying his six- shooter.

Josiah jumped off Clipper and began shooting, too, hesitating only a second after seeing a shadow move along the roof of the two-storey courthouse across the street.

With his free hand, Josiah grabbed his Winchester out of the scabbard, readying himself to take aim when he ran out of bullets. He knew there was little chance of hitting anything, but like Scrap, he emptied his gun. He holstered it, and aimed the rifle upward, drawing a breath, gathering his thoughts, before pulling the trigger.

The light from the jail became even brighter as the door swung open and footsteps rushed out behind Josiah.

He looked over his shoulder, saw two men take up positions behind the limestone columns that held up the jail’s roof. They had rifles and joined in the shoot-out without any questions or direction. Josiah assumed it was the sheriff of Kinney County and a deputy, roused by the gunfire and come to help.

Scrap continued shooting, so Josiah dropped back, his concern less about his own safety than that of Juan Carlos.

The Mexican hadn’t moved a muscle that Josiah could tell—it was hard to say whether he was dead or alive.

Josiah crouched down next to Juan Carlos, just as a bullet pinged off the dirt about a foot from the Mexican’s head. He was going to see if he could find a pulse, see if Juan Carlos was still alive, but now all he wanted to do was get his friend out of harm’s way, regardless.

“There’s more than one,” Scrap yelled out as he slid off Missy, then smacked her on the rump, sending her out of the line of fire.