Cougar's Prey (9781101544846) (28 page)

Goliad came into view not long after noon. Josiah and Scrap broke off the trail along the San Antonio River and made their way over to the road that led into town. One of the first things they saw was the Presidio La Bahia, a dark gray stone fortress with thick walls and a church tower, adorned with a simple cross, rising into the clear sky. The building stretched on for a good city block, the shadows falling full on Josiah and Scrap, offering a dose of gloom that didn't need encouragement. Quietness surrounded them as they trotted by.

“A lot of blood on the ground here,” Josiah said.

Scrap was riding alongside him. “I don't see anything.”

Josiah shook his head. “No, in the past. A lot of men lost their lives fighting the Revolution. The first Declaration of Independence of the Republic of Texas was signed here.”

“But it's a church.”

“It is and has been here for well on over a hundred years.”

“How come people are always fightin' in the house of the Lord, Wolfe?”

“Don't know. Probably because people think God needs a big building to live in.”

“That's the silliest thing I ever heard.”

“You asked. I answered.”

“If you say so.

“I do.”

Scrap eased Missy's pace to a slow gait and removed his hat in honor as they came to the far corner of the Presidio La Bahia. He didn't say another word until they were out of the shadow of the building. “I would've fought them Mexicans.”

“From the look of things, we still are,” Josiah said, looking over his shoulder at the fortress. “Maybe someday that war will be over.”

“I doubt it.”

“Me, too.”

The main street of Goliad was not that much different than any other South Texas town. A row of buildings—mostly wood frame, though a few were constructed of brick—lined both sides of the street. The majority were two storeys, but a few were one, like the telegraph office just inside the proper entrance of the town.

“I'm going to stop here,” Josiah said. “You go on up to the marshal's office and check in there, see if there's been any sign of McNelly, or any word from him. I'll join you when I'm done here.”

“You ever stop to think that fella was makin' up the story about Lyle bein' sick?”

“Hughes? Why would he do that? And more to the point, how did he know about Lyle in the first place if he was making it up?”

“I don't know. Things haven't felt right since we left Corpus, if'n you go an' ask me. I was just wonderin', that's all. I'm not much for Mexicans, but I can't get those dead men's faces out of my mind, Wolfe.”

“Well, we're a day's ride away, what would it have accomplished?”

“Coulda been nothin' more than a cause to get us away from those stampede strays so he could have 'em to himself. Lot of money there.”

Josiah scrunched his shoulders. “I don't know, that doesn't make much sense to me, Elliot, but I suppose you could be right. We'll find out soon enough, once we land in Austin.”

“What if we're not really supposed to go to Austin, and we're really supposed to meet up with McNelly like we planned? And we don't? That could be the end of my Rangerin' days.”

“You're taking orders from me, right?”

“Suppose so.”

“Then it'll be my ignorance that's the cause of falling for Hughes's trick—if it is that at all—not yours. You worry too much about losing your job.”

“It's all I got.”

“I don't believe that at all, Elliot. Not for a minute.”

Silence fell between the two men. Josiah was heartened that Scrap had thought there might be something amiss with Hughes showing up and delivering the news about Lyle. But he doubted Scrap was right.

“We need to re-stock,” Scrap finally said. “I'm plumb out of beans and coffee. I wasn't expectin' to be away from the chuck wagon so long.”

Josiah nodded. “We're not going to get too comfortable here. We've still got about a hundred and thirty miles or so to travel.”

“Fair enough.” With that, Scrap flipped Missy's reins a bit, then turned and headed up the street to the marshal's office.

Josiah waited a second, then dismounted from Clipper and walked inside the telegraph office.

The telegraph operator was a burly man with white pork chop sideburns and a clean-shaven face. He had suspicious eyes and looked Josiah up and down before saying hello.

“Need to send a telegraph,” Josiah said, “and make sure there aren't any messages for me.”

“What's the name?”

“Wolfe. Josiah Wolfe.”

The operator thumbed through some papers lying in front of him. His desk was neatly organized, and the inside of the office was as clean as a freshly swept pen. “No, don't see anything here.”

“You're sure?”

“If there was something here with the name of Wolfe on it, I'd sure as heck know, mister.” The man was dressed in a typical black operator uniform with a black-billed hat, freshly starched white shirt, and a string tie. He spoke with as much authority as he looked like he carried. “I'll have you know I've been the operator here since the office opened. I know my job.”

Josiah put up both hands, as if to fend the man off, even though he hadn't moved an inch or threatened to stand up. “No need to get all riled up, I'm just asking.”

The operator studied Josiah's face, obviously looking for a sign that he was telling the truth, then bit the corner of his lip. “Who you expecting a telegraph from?”

Josiah sighed. He had spent the last four months of his life pretending to be someone else; it was hard to state his own business. “Might be something from Captain Leander McNelly. At least, I was hoping there was.”

“The Ranger?”

“One and the same.”

“You a Ranger?”

Josiah hesitated. “That I am.”

“This official?”

“No, sir, it's personal.”

The operator exhaled loudly through his nose and pulled the telegraph machine to him, an ancient Morse model. It looked to be an original, making it nearly forty years old. “Who you sending this to?”

“Ofelia Martinez in Austin.”

“Address?”

“Sixth and Pecan.”

“Go on,” the telegraph operator ordered.

“Aware of Lyle's illness. On my way home. Day after tomorrow.” Josiah stopped, looked down at his muddy boots, then back to the operator. “That's all,” he said.

“You're sure?”

“I said that's all.”

“Have it your way, mister. That'll be three bits.”

“Three bits?”

“Four if you want to leave a message for Captain McNelly.”

“I'm sure our paths will cross on the trail,” Josiah said, digging in his pocket. He pulled out a handful of coins and tossed the telegraph operator three of them, just like he'd been instructed.

Arguing about money was the last thing he was going to do—or tell a stranger that he loved his son. The boy knew that was true. Josiah was sure of it.

At least, he hoped he was.

Josiah and Scrap left Goliad with a couple hours of daylight left to travel in. Weather, horses, and Scrap's attitude cooperated, making the departure quick and trouble-free. They'd gotten everything they'd come for: enough supplies to last until they reached Austin, and a telegraph sent ahead to let Ofelia know they were on their way home. The expectation, and hope, of making contact with Captain McNelly, did not materialize.

Josiah held more than a little quiet concern about not finding the captain in Goliad.

It was difficult not to let Scrap's doubt about Hughes enter his mind, but he continued to push his fears away. There was no reason to suspect Hughes of any wrongdoing, at least as far as Josiah knew. Maybe Scrap wasn't telling him everything he knew—which would be even more unusual. Still, it was rare for Scrap to have insight so deep into a situation and offer it up for consideration. Maybe the time in Corpus Christi, left to his own devices, had been good for Scrap, matured him in a way that Josiah hadn't thought possible.

If only Josiah could see, or feel, a positive outcome from his own experience in Corpus, then he might be in a different spot.

Missing McNelly gnawed at Josiah, caused him to worry more than normal, but they'd arrived early in Goliad, off schedule. Surely, Josiah reasoned silently to himself, they'd meet up with the captain, and the company, who were on their way to Corpus Christi to quell the uprising of Cortina's men and settle the minute groups who were set on killing any Mexican, good or bad, that they encountered. Even if there was something amiss, something foul about Hughes's intentions, the captain's assignment was true, either way. And rushing home was the only choice Josiah had.

He was glad to have Scrap along with him for once.

Cuero was the next town they'd come to, some thirty miles north of Goliad. There was no way they were going to make the town before nightfall, so they would have to camp along the way—which didn't matter as much to Josiah as when they'd first started out.

He felt a little more relaxed as Clipper pushed north as fast as he could. There was nothing left for Josiah to do but ride, after sending word to Ofelia that he was on his way home.

The rhythm of the ride was a comfort, the knowledge fully settled in Josiah's mind that he was finally heading north, finally leaving the tragedy of his time near the ocean behind him. If that was possible. His heart still ached for the death of Maria Villareal, and he still could not fully accept that Juan Carlos was no longer his friend, that the old Mexican would not show himself in the difficult times ahead. And, of course, Josiah could not even imagine the sickness that had stricken Lyle. He knew nothing of the details. Perhaps it was the fevers that had taken Lily and his daughters and had come to take his son away, too. Or maybe the sickness was something else, something that could be cured by medicine and knowledge. Maybe being in the city would help create a different outcome than when they'd been so far out by themselves, as they had been in Seerville. Josiah held on to that hope for as long as he could, that this sickness was different. That Lyle would still be alive when he reached Austin.

Miles passed, and night eased out before them as Scrap and Josiah rode straight into darkness.

The sun was quick to fall from the sky, and the moon was hesitant to show itself. Shadows, cast down from the hills, made the trail hard to see, and finally Josiah called to Scrap, bringing Clipper to a slow, easy stop. It was time to make camp as far as he was concerned.

Scrap agreed, even as the moon began to rise into the sky, struggling up from the distant horizon, like a flame hesitant to burn. The moon was almost full, offering a little more light as it broke free of whatever held it down on the other side of the earth. But the day was done, regardless of how much light fell on the trail.

Josiah took care of getting both the horses settled in, roping off a small corral, and offering them a hearty helping of oats that they'd picked up in Goliad. Scrap began to collect wood for a fire, his role as certain and unspoken as Josiah's. When it was just the two of them, cooking duties fell to Scrap. He was much better at it than Josiah was, which wasn't saying a whole lot.

Before long, everything was in place, the horses content, the fire rising and falling lazily under a pot of beans with a touch of fresh bacon. Both men sat before the fire, allowing the day to come to a quiet end.

“There's a creek that runs off the river, not too far to the west,” Scrap finally said. “Be a good spot for a bath and a shave in the mornin', if we got time.”

“I was thinking the same thing, if there's a spot where the water's not running too fast and swift,” Josiah said, sipping a cup of Scrap's still-too-weak coffee. “I sure don't feel much like myself.”

“That's 'cause you've been goin' around tellin' people your name's Zeb Teter.”

“I'm done with that.”

“You sure?”

“As soon as I see McNelly, I am.”

“You're quittin'?”

Josiah shook his head no. “I don't know what I'm doing, not for sure. I have to get home first before I make any more plans, see how things are with Lyle. But I'm going to tell McNelly that this spy business isn't for me.”

“That makes two of us.”

“There's men, like Juan Carlos, who're better suited to the kind of duty we were asked to do.”

“If I were you,” Scrap said, “I'd forget what that damned Mexican is better suited to. He threatened to kill you.”