The Gila Wars (27 page)

CHAPTER 51

Morning came and went without incident, or the sound
of another coyote yip. For all Josiah knew, it could have actually been one of the animals. But he still wasn't sure the Mexican was on his own.

He would be on the lookout for any sign that they were being tracked. If there were any Apache, too, which was always a worry in this country, then they would wait until the most opportune time to attack—and if that happened, Josiah was determined to be prepared. As much as possible, anyway. The three men combined, injured and fatigued as they all were, probably equaled one good man—against countless Apache, or more of Cortina's men. It would hardly be a fair fight, if another one came their way.

Scrap came off watch as the blazing red sun poked up over the horizon. The relief of weather from the day before was not going to be an ongoing gift. It was already growing warm and humid, and without any sign of clouds, the coming day would surely be a scorcher.

After a decent breakfast of hard biscuits, bacon, and coffee, supplied for the trip by Captain McNelly, the three men packed up silently and continued on toward San Antonio.

As with any long journey, they were falling into a routine. Tom Darkson took the lead without orders, and Scrap hung back, trailing behind the wagon about fifty yards. Josiah was as comfortable as he was going to be driving the wagon. He was determined to hold the reins of responsibility for Juan Carlos's body for as long as he could. There might be some point, though, when he would consider trading off with Scrap, putting his tired butt in the comfort of a saddle.

The only one of them who seemed to mind the arrangement was Clipper. The Appaloosa was none too happy about being tied behind the wagon, forced to tag along instead of ride at a hearty pace. Occasionally the horse would try to stop, or pull back with a whinny and a snort. A couple of times along the way, when they were stopped to water the horses and themselves, Clipper tried to kick Josiah. He just avoided the cross Appaloosa as much as possible, and tried to understand that being tied, instead of running free, would put any creature in a bad mood.

There was little to do on the trip other than keep an eye out for the Apache or Cortina's men. Any traveler was suspect when it came right down to it. But there were very few of them. Towns were sparse, too, and when the three men came across them, they just passed through. The coffin garnered some curiosity, but Josiah was accustomed to that. He'd experienced the same kind of scrutiny when he'd taken Captain Fikes back to Austin.

This trip didn't feel the same. Tom Darkson's presence changed things. But so did the fact that Captain Fikes had been murdered, and his killer had been on the loose during the entire trip back to Austin.

Josiah had plenty to be concerned about. Not Charlie Langdon or his gang, though. And hopefully the farther away from the Gulf of Mexico they got, the less he would have to worry about Juan Cortina.

He pushed on at the thought of his own safety, urging the nameless horse who pulled the wagon to speed up and get them out of range even quicker.

* * *

Much to Tom Darkson's disappointment, they did not
stop in San Antonio for the night. There would be no hot bath in the Menger, or some sordid connection made with a soiled dove. Darkson would have to restrain himself until they arrived in Austin. What he did then was up to him. Instead, they stopped briefly at a mercantile, stocked up on some coffee, which was the only supply they were running short on, and then stopped at the telegraph office to check and see if there were any messages. There weren't any.

Five days into the trip, they had not seen one Apache or a Mexican set on revenge. Any threat from the raid on Cortina seemed to have been left behind . . . the only thing remaining was the scars they all carried, and the cargo in the back of the wagon.

It was good to see the familiarity of the Hill Country as they made their way north of San Antonio. It was a trip Josiah had made more than once, so he knew the good places to stop, where to hunt, and what to expect.

New Braunfels, or Neu-Braunfels as the Germans called it and originally named it, was where they had stopped with Captain Fikes, where they had found an undertaker who deposited the body in a coffin. There would be no need for such a thing on this trip. But he might stop and pay his respects. It would be nice to see a new face.

Scrap and Tom Darkson seemed to have run out of things to talk about. The campfires in the evenings were quiet, almost despondent. Neither of them carried, or played, a musical instrument. There was just storytelling, and that had fallen flat from the lack of natural talent or lack of resources, because they, neither one, had a clue how to talk about anything other than themselves. The quiet was not necessarily objectionable to Josiah, but the trip had been long, and his own ailments and silent thinking had started to wear on him.

The undertaker in New Braunfels had moved on, and the marshal of the town had died suddenly, just sitting at his desk one day. According to the new marshal, a young man with a limp, not much older than Scrap, named Lester Wilson, the previous marshal just keeled over his plate of beans one evening and that was that.

Tom Darkson, of course, was hopeful of spending enough time in the town to seek a moment of female companionship, but not knowing anyone in New Braunfels left Josiah a little cold and anxious to get back on the trail north. Darkson took the lead in a huff, but Josiah didn't mind. He could almost smell Austin in the air.

San Marcos came and went, and there was little traffic to contend with, no heavy cattle drives pushing up to Dallas, or farther, to Abilene, so the driving was easy enough, especially on the parched trail. It had sprinkled a few times along the way, but there had been no rain to speak of. The land needed it, and so did the streams, but there was still green in the grasses and water in the creeks. That wouldn't last long though. A drought was settling in.

Scrap seemed a little anxious the final morning out. They had packed their gear but were in the process of clearing camp when Josiah noticed. “You all right, Elliot?” he asked.

“I'm fine.” Scrap kicked dirt over the waning coals of the fire.

“You sure don't act fine,” Josiah said.

Tom Darkson had learned to give Scrap a wide swath when he was in a mood. They'd almost come to blows a couple of times on the trip, but had backed off on their own, without any interference from Josiah. Tom stood next to his horse, waiting for the signal to mount.

“Guess I ain't lookin' forward to bein' back in Austin. I like bein' away.”

Josiah glanced to the north quickly. There was nothing but open country for as far as the eye could see, but he knew they were close. “I like it, too. But there's people for us both to see while we're there.”

“Not me,” Scrap said.

Josiah started to say something but noticed Scrap staring angrily at Tom Darkson. He knew then that he would have to have a talk with him, and warn him not to go to Blanche Dumont's house—or mention an intended visit to the soiled doves there, in front of Scrap. The last thing the boy needed to hear was that Darkson had taken up with Myra Lynn for an hour. There'd be a fight for sure.

“Well,” Josiah said, “maybe you'll change your mind.”

“I doubt it,” Scrap answered. “I sure do doubt it.”

CHAPTER 52

Austin rose up in the distance as if an image deep out of
Josiah's memory had come to life.

There had been times on the trip south when he was certain that he would never see the city again. That his death was as certain as the coffin that sat securely bound in the back of the wagon. But that had not happened. Josiah had survived. Not only the scouting trip to Arroyo, the battle with Cortina's men, but the fight with the lone Mexican on the journey back, as well.

Josiah stopped the wagon and waited for Scrap to catch up with him. “Let's ride in together, Elliot.”

“Suits me.” Scrap whistled, causing Tom Darkson to come to a stop and look back. Scrap motioned for him to stop, and he did.

Darkson waited for them to catch up, then the three of them headed north down a slight valley and across the slow-running Colorado River.

Surprisingly, the hustle and bustle of Congress Avenue, once they made it there, was music to Josiah's ears.

The sun was shining brightly, as expected on a late-June morning in the heart of Texas. The heat of the day had not fully set in, but it almost certainly would—there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Summer droned on, but the air was comfortable, with the wind easing down from the northwest, instead of flowing up from the south. Now that the city was a reality, the ocean, from where the wind usually came, was only a memory, best to be forgotten. If that were possible.

The business of the capital city was in full swing. Wagons and horses clogged the dry, dusty street. People walked three abreast on the boardwalk, coming and going from restaurants, shops, and lawyers' offices. A Butterfield stagecoach sat waiting in front of a hotel, and deep in the distance, a train whistled as it rumbled out of Austin, heading west for the Arizona Territory.

Scrap rode on the left side of the wagon, while Darkson took up the right. They kept an easy, even trot, and both men sat up straight in their saddles and kept their faces free of emotion. They were stoic and proud, yet respectful to the cargo they were escorting.

Josiah maintained the same posture, well aware that the coffin would draw attention the moment they'd headed up Congress Avenue.

He had thought about riding into town under the cover of darkness, knowing with certainty that he was recognizable, his face known by a lot of folks in Austin, and not held in high regard. The fact that he was carting home another dead man would set tongues a-wagging. His past reputation as a killer would be revisited. He was sure of it. But he knew that there was no avoiding the eventual outcome. It didn't matter whether he came into town in the dark or the light of day, he would have to answer some painful questions . . . at least from Pearl. He tried not to care what the rest of the city thought, but it was impossible not to when it affected those that he loved as well as himself.

“Where we headin'?” Tom Darkson asked.

“I figure the best thing we can do is take the coffin to the undertaker's, then you'll be free to go about your business,” Josiah said.

Scrap cast Darkson a slight look, then glanced down the street. His gaze settled on the capitol building. It's dome glimmered like it was a temple. And maybe it was, to democracy, but no God that Josiah knew of walked its halls. He was glad of that for the moment.

Darkson nodded. “That's a fine plan. But what comes after that? We're still Rangers, ain't we?”

“Sure we are,” Josiah said. “I've got some letters to deliver to General Steele. I'm sure he'll have orders for us, whether McNelly included them or not. You just need to let me know where to find you. We'll be back in the saddle, one way or another. This isn't the end of anything other than Juan Carlos's journey to the grave next to his brother.”

“I don't know much about Austin,” Darkson said.

Scrap cleared his throat. “There's a workingman's hotel just around the corner from the livery where Wolfe keeps his horse. I'll bunk there. Why don't you, too, so it's easy for Wolfe to find us when we head back to the boys?”

“If that's what we do,” Josiah said.

“Why wouldn't it be?” Scrap said.

“I don't know what McNelly or Steele has in mind for us.”

“I ain't gonna be a spy again, Wolfe. Look what happened to us this time. You barely made it out alive.”

“It's duty, Scrap.”

“I ain't enlisted in nothin'. You can't desert from the Rangers. You just quit.”

“You're free to walk away anytime,” Josiah said.

Scrap shrugged, and silently agreed with Josiah. At least that was what Josiah thought his silence meant.

“That workingman's hotel?” Darkson interrupted. “They got a bath?”

“No,” Scrap said. “But there's a barber, and a bathhouse around the corner.”

Tom Darkson smiled broadly. “Good, I'll be needin' both.”

It was Josiah's turn to toss a silent glance. He'd had a talk with Darkson about Scrap's sister, so there was no misunderstanding. Josiah wanted to be free of conflict between the two boys, drop the coffin off at the undertaker, seek out Pearl, and then head home to see his son, Lyle, before making his way to General Steele's office.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait too long to find Pearl Fikes.

He had just crossed the intersection of Congress and Pecan, when he looked up to see her walking out of the Sampson & Hendrik's Dry Goods store, arm in arm with Rory Farnsworth.