How did a simple expedition to scout out Indian cattle rustlers turn into a trail of confusion, leading to the death of a good, solid Ranger like Red Overmeyer?
Josiah exhaled. Just thinking about all of it made him weak, and he decided that there was no place to go at the moment. What he needed most was more rest. Hopefully, there would be plenty of time to get his answers once the sun broke over the horizon.
The first question: Was Scrap Elliot still alive?
If he could get free of the town of Comanche, then Josiah knew he had no choice but to head straight back to that tree and see what had become of Scrap—and Red.
CHAPTER 8
Nobody likes to wake up with a gun barrel firmly lodged against their lips.
“You move one muscle, mister, and I’ll blow your fool head off.”
Josiah flickered his eyes open.
His vision was blurry, and he was weak—but not stupid. He restrained himself. He was not going to move an inch, but instead, he would do as he was told, and not search out the Spencer that had fallen from his grip sometime during the night. Josiah still wasn’t sure if he was awake or in the midst of one of his common nightmares.
“What the hell are you doin’ in my barn?”
Josiah started to answer the question, but stopped when the barrel of the rifle at his lips was pushed just a little harder. This person meant business. Josiah was fully awake now.
“Don’t answer that. I know why you’re here. You’re that Ranger that the sheriff’s lookin’ for, ain’t you?”
Josiah didn’t move, just blinked his eyes, clearing his vision. He saw his accuser clearly now, at the other end of the rifle, a .50 carbine, and was a little surprised.
The gun was held by a girl, well not quite a girl, a young woman, maybe twenty years old.
Tangled brown hair fell over her shoulders, and she was dressed in a blue cotton dress that matched the color of her eyes, topped with an oversized woolen, four-button man’s sack coat. The color of the coat had nearly bled out of it, and it was as gray as the coming winter sky. The girl’s eyes were cold, hard as the metal of the rifle in her hands, not showing fear but outright anger and indignation.
The dress would have been loose-fitting at any time, but now she looked to be in the late stages of pregnancy. Her belly was full and rounded, dropped low at the waist, protruding like she’d stuffed two full-grown pumpkins up under the dress. Her breasts protruded, full and ripe obviously, the cleavage deep, but thankfully hidden mostly by the pull of the simple sack coat. Her feet were bare and dirty.
“Well? You are, ain’t you? You’re that Ranger everybody’s lookin’ for?” the girl demanded, pulling the rifle away from Josiah’s dry mouth about an inch. “You best answer me, mister. I’m in a foul mood the way it is, lackin’ sleep like I am.”
Josiah nodded yes. “I am.”
“Now what in hell’s tarnation does the sheriff want with a man like you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What you mean you don’t know?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I ain’t got the time nor the patience for long stories or tall tales at the moment. Stand up.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Do I look like I care? You’re in my barn, causing me grief and they’re certain to come back once they figure where you done hid the night out. Ain’t that enough?”
“I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“I said stand up.” The girl bounced the barrel of the carbine, motioning for him to move sooner rather than later.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Why’s that?”
“Got a wound. A flesh wound I think.”
The girl stared at Josiah for a long, hard second, running her eyes up and down the mound of hay he’d buried himself in. There was a dried puddle of blood at his feet.
“Now all of this is about to cause me to scream. This is the last damn thing I need right now. Can’t you see I’m about to birth a baby?”
“I can see that,” Josiah said, looking away.
There was no way the girl could understand his sadness at the sight. The emotion trumped his fear, but only for a moment. He knew he had to push away any thought of his lost family and his living son if he wanted to get out of the barn, and Comanche, alive.
Dull morning light filtered into the barn. The double doors were open, and it looked to be a rainy day outside. The coolness of the night had yet to fade, overtaken by the wind of the day, running due west from one side of the barn to the other, droplets of rain pushing in through the cracks. It was easy to tell it was going to be an uncertain November day, the chill hanging on every breath of air like a bad memory.
The rain was steady—and from what Josiah had seen on the ride the day before, the town looked like it needed a big drink of water. But as far as he was concerned, the change in weather couldn’t have come at a worse moment.
If it were possible for him to flee, to escape unseen, then his footprints would be even easier to track in the fresh mud.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder clapped.
The girl looked over her shoulder and shook her head. “Ain’t liking that. Doc Foley don’t like coming out in a storm. His horse spooks easy the way it is.”
The barn smelled heavily of manure. Mixed with the natural rot of the hay, it added to Josiah’s sense that the barn hadn’t seen the work of human hands anytime in recent memory. There were no horses or other animals living in the barn. Maybe they were outside.
“My rifle is to my right. I’m going to move away from it,” Josiah said.
“Good idea.”
“Where’s your husband?”
“You need to mind your own damn business, you understand, Mr. Ranger?”
Josiah nodded again. “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend you. Just looks like you’re in a delicate condition. You got pains?”
She stared at him, bit her lip, then nodded yes.
“Pretty close together?”
“Close enough. Baby’ll be early by a month if it comes anytime soon.”
“I don’t know that I can help you.”
A cloud crossed the girl’s face. Something caused her concern, and her mood went right back to where it had started; foul and mad.
“You just need to shut the hell up right now and stand up and do what I tell you.” The girl looked over her shoulder quickly, like she’d heard a sound that Josiah didn’t. “Or you’re gonna be a dead man if you don’t do as I say and hide.”
It was then that Josiah heard the thunder of horse hooves, rounding the rear of the barn, heading right toward the open doors.
The girl stood squarely in the center of the open double doors, the rifle resting across her left forearm, her finger hovering over the trigger. Beyond her, three men sat on horses. Two of them Josiah didn’t recognize, the other one he did.
The man was Liam O’Reilly, there was no mistaking that. His hat had fallen back off his head, held by the string around his neck. His thick red hair glistened, soaked with rain but still bright as a redbird strutting around in full breeding feathers, trying to entice a female. O’Reilly’s hair was as tousled as the girl’s, and he looked like he’d been riding all night. His clothes were muddy, and the other feature that stuck out to Josiah from his position, hiding in the hay mound—where the girl had instructed him to go just moments before the riders arrived—was that O’Reilly didn’t wear a badge now, while the other two men did.
“Morning, Billie,” the man in the lead said.