The Badger's Revenge

The blue roan mare tore off down the street like there was a trophy and a huge payout involved in the run. Gunshots didn’t spook that horse one bit.

Josiah whistled and Clipper quickly followed after Scrap’s horse.

Scrap found a spot between the jail and a barn that probably held the sheriff’s horses, and started firing upward to the roofline of the courthouse where Josiah had seen the shadows move.

Josiah grabbed Juan Carlos by the wrists and started to drag him back into the darkness created by the overhang of the jail’s roof.

A bullet hit the dirt a couple of inches to the left of Josiah’s boot. That motivated him to struggle even harder to move Juan Carlos as quickly as he could.

He left any concern of hurting Juan Carlos behind. He pushed his legs as deep and as fast as he could, yanking the man’s limp body behind him into the darkness as fast as he could. He came to a stop next to the jail, on the opposite side of the building from Scrap, securely in the shadows, hidden from the shooters on the roof—or at least he hoped so.

There were still shots being exchanged, but it was more a volley now than a shoot-out and a shower of bullets. It seemed like there was only one gun on top of the courthouse taking shots at them. Josiah didn’t know if one of the shooters had been taken out, or if they had escaped and were planning an attack from another hidden spot.

It didn’t take long for Josiah’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.

There were no windows on this side of the jail, and whatever lay beyond was of little concern. All that mattered was that the building helped hide him and Juan Carlos.

Josiah quickly felt Juan Carlos’s neck, searching for a pulse. He found a faint but steady rhythm that gave him immediate hope that his friend had a chance of surviving. He was more than glad the Mexican was still alive.

Juan Carlos groaned, then his eyes flickered open.

“Take it easy there, friend,” Josiah said.

“I underestimated O’Reilly,” Juan Carlos whispered. His voice was weak and cracking with pain.

“Don’t worry about it. Save your strength. Where’d they hit you?”

“In the shoulder,” Juan Carlos coughed weakly, clutching his stomach at the same time, “and in the belly.”

Josiah exhaled, knowing full well the gut shot might yet prove to be fatal. “Hang on.”

“If I don’t make it,” Juan Carlos said, “find a scout in the fort by the name of Dixie Jim. He will know what to do without me. He will take you into the Strip where you need to go to find Cortina.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Juan Carlos licked his dry lips, his eyes wide open, the pain he was feeling certain. He struggled to say something but couldn’t find—or say—the words.

Josiah looked over his shoulder for a source of water. He thought he could see the outline of a well and water pump just behind the jail. He started to get up and go find out, but Juan Carlos reached up and pulled him back.

“You have to know that Pearl’s fate and heart are in your hands,” Juan Carlos said so softly now that Josiah had to lean down next to his mouth to hear him speak.

Josiah pulled back. “What do you mean?”

“She is mucho valuable. The man who marries her stands to become wealthy beyond belief. You must know that.”

Josiah had assumed as much, knew that Pearl’s station in life was way beyond his own—and he thought then, as he did now, that giving into his strongest desire was a mistake for him . . . and her, but he couldn’t help himself. There was no time for regret now.

“You are in the way,” Juan Carlos whispered. “And I can’t help you.”

“In the way of what?” Although Josiah knew the answer to that question—at least he thought he did. He was in Pete Feders’s way. Especially now, considering what had happened before he left Austin.

It made no sense to Josiah why Juan Carlos was bringing up the subject, other than his own fondness and love for his niece. There was no question Pearl was the apple of Juan Carlos’s eye, the only reason, now that his half brother was dead, that he tolerated the Widow Fikes. As far as Josiah knew, Pearl was the only living relative that Juan Carlos had.

“If you love her, you have to save her . . . Save her from him . . .” Juan Carlos whispered. His eyes fluttered, he licked his lips deeply again, and then lost consciousness before he could finish the sentence.

Josiah’s heart sank at the sight and at the thought of losing Juan Carlos. He wanted to scream out: Save her from what? From who? But he knew better than to draw the bullets to him. If there was any hope of keeping his friend alive, of saving him, then he had to get him help, fast, and not get him shot again.

The gunfire had awakened Brackett. A small crowd had gathered about a block south of the jail. A torch burned brightly, showing the faces of a curious crowd, probably drawn out of the nearest saloon.

The shooting had stopped, though it remained to be seen if this was a good thing or not. There hadn’t been a shot fired in the last five minutes.

Josiah eased away from Juan Carlos, over to the column where one of the men from the sheriff’s office had perched.

“I need to get help for Juan Carlos,” Josiah said.

Sweat was running down the man’s face. It was hard to make out many of his features in the dark, but there was a glint of light reflecting off the star on his chest.

“Doc’s got a place a half block over. Once it’s safe, I’ll send word to get him down here. How bad is Juan Carlos?”

“Gut-shot and took another to the shoulder,” Josiah answered.

“Damn.”

“I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last.”

“Your partner over there is a keen shot,” the man said.

“Elliot’s pretty good. You think he got the shooter?”

“Hard to say.” The man looked away from Josiah, up to the top of the courthouse. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and it was easy to see wisps of thin, white hair, balding on top. “I’m Bill Gamit, Kinney County sheriff, by the way. I’ve known Juan Carlos for as long as I can remember. He’s a good man to have on your side.”

“Good to meet you, Sheriff.”

“Call me Bill.”

Josiah nodded. The man had a gentle but firm voice and a twinkle in his eye. He immediately put Josiah at ease.

“Luke, take yourself up to the roof up there. It’s been quiet for a little too long. Take Ranger Wolfe’s partner with you,” Bill Gamit said to the other man, behind the opposite column.

The man, obviously a deputy since he wore a silver star on his chest, too, nodded, then disappeared into the shadows, off in Scrap’s direction.

Josiah wanted to protest that Scrap wasn’t his partner, just a fellow Ranger, but he let it go. For all intents and purposes, Scrap was his partner on this mission, whether he liked it or not.

“You got any idea who might be shooting at Juan Carlos?” Gamit asked.

“My guess is O’Reilly’s in on it. I questioned whether Juan Carlos was making a mistake coming into town so boldly,” Josiah said. “But if you’ve known him for a long time, then you know how he is.”

Gamit nodded. “O’Reilly? That’s odd. I heard scuttlebutt about some Irish outlaw hookin’ up with Cortina, but if that’s the case, you’re in the wrong place, mister.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, if Cortina was close by, I would know it. Last I heard he was about two hundred miles from here, holed up in a little spot outside of Nuevo Laredo.”

“Then why did Juan Carlos bring us here?” Josiah said, suddenly exasperated.