“Which kind of explains why they left Elliot to live on the tree.”
“It could. Killing a traitor and a competitor was one thing. Killing a Ranger was totally another. Not that I believe for a second that those two Comanche didn’t have it in them to slit Elliot’s throat. I think they had orders not to draw any more attention to themselves than necessary, since they rode right into Comanche with no worry about riling the town. It’s you that O’Reilly was after. Still is, as far as that goes.”
“My aim is to take care of that right away,” Josiah said, squaring his shoulders, preparing to head to the barn to retrieve Clipper and go home.
“We’re not done yet, Wolfe,” Feders said, sternly.
“What else is there?”
“You do realize that you’ve been relieved from the Battalion?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you not off on a journey with Juan Carlos at the request of Captain McNelly?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“You’re one of McNelly’s men now, Wolfe. Our association is formally over as of this moment. You have no reason to be here or in my company ever again. Is that clear, Wolfe? We are done. Any problem you have with Liam O’ Reilly is now yours and yours alone.”
Feders didn’t give Josiah a second to protest, to question anything about what came next, nothing. He spun on the heel of his boot and walked straight into the Fikes mansion like he already owned the place, slamming the door solidly behind him.
Josiah stood motionless, feeling like he had just been sucker punched by an old adversary—knowing full well he should have seen something coming.
The lights in the mansion began to go out one by one, window by window. The glow that had been so bright and welcoming earlier was now quickly becoming cold and dark, the entrance barred, forbidden, and the night uncertain and full of unfamiliar shadows.
CHAPTER 32
A torch stood burning outside of the barn.
The orange flame was waning, but a steady stream of thin black smoke spiraled upward. Shadows played on the wall of the barn; a slow dance of unknown images since there was little breeze. A towering live oak stood near the entrance of the barn, offering a canopy of shade in the hot summers to the stable of fine horses the Fikes place continued to house.
Josiah had been in the barn before, in the spring, after returning the captain’s body to the family. There was a bunkhouse attached to the back of the barn, fully equipped with an area set aside for baths and cleaning up after a long day’s work. But Josiah had no desire for a bath, or a moment of ease. All he wanted was to get as far away from the estate as possible, as fast as he could. He wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed one more night before leaving with Juan Carlos.
He hoped to never return to the estate. Without the presence of Captain Fikes, it was a foreign country whose citizens spoke with angry and unknown tongues—with the exception of Pearl.
The light from the torch was bright enough to see clearly inside the barn, to the stall that housed Clipper.
When Josiah walked inside, the horse looked up, flipped his ears in recognition, then went back to eating a mouthful of first-class oats that half filled a narrow trough. It seemed they both were going to get their belly filled with tasty food one last time before hitting the trail again.
“Better enjoy that, old friend,” Josiah said, entering the stable. His saddle was not in sight. Surely it was in the tack room.
Clipper snorted and looked up again, but past Josiah, out into the darkness, deep into the barn. His ears pricked up, getting Josiah’s immediate attention.
He’d learned to trust the horse’s announcements a long time ago. They’d saved his hide more than once.
“What is it, fella?” Josiah whispered, rubbing the Appaloosa’s sturdy neck with one hand, unlatching the snap on his holster with the other.
He sure did miss wearing the swivel rig that he used with the Peacemaker he’d lost to Little Shirt, but he had gotten as used to Charlie Webb’s Colt Frontier and its holster as he could.
He eased the Colt out of the holster, then stepped quickly and quietly against the wall, into a deep shadow. There was no use taking any chances. Not once he heard footsteps coming his way.
Feders might have changed his mind about a last-minute fistfight . . . Or it could have been someone else, a foe set on him by Liam O’Reilly, come to collect in an unsuspected place. They’d think he’d have his guard down here, and trailing him to the big to-do at the Fikes estate wouldn’t have taken much effort. He wasn’t safe anywhere, not even in Austin, and he couldn’t forget that. Not for one second—or he’d end up a dead man.
It was beginning to become tiring, looking over his shoulder all the time. The journey with Juan Carlos couldn’t come soon enough. Being a frightened rabbit was no way to live.
Josiah put his thumb on the hammer and eased his finger onto the trigger of the Colt.
He could see a figure emerging out of the darkness, and his eyes fixed on it, just like Clipper’s were.
The night was silent, cool temperatures sending every living creature searching out a bit of warmth left over from the day. A lone cricket rubbed its legs together somewhere in the barn, but nothing answered back. Rats and mice might have been watching from a distance, but Josiah doubted it. His presence had sent them scattering. Too bad that only worked on rodents.
He put as much pressure on the trigger as he could, raising the gun up from his waist. Fanning a shot was something he only did in practice. He had never faced a man, or Indian, with that kind of action, nor did he ever think he would. If he was to take a shot, he wanted it to be sure. A kill with one bullet was always his aim. He only killed if he had to . . . and always replayed the event more times than he could count afterward, his soul aching for a better solution than dealing a man sudden death. Bill Clarmont’s death still played heavily on his mind.
The figure held a steady pace, entering the barn unconcerned with being seen.
It only took Josiah a second to recognize Pearl. Seeing her again made his throat dry up all over, and his chest lurched, like his body was warning him to leave as soon as he could, before it was too late, before he did or said something he might regret.
“Josiah, is that you?”
He slid the Colt back into the holster and walked out of the stall, stopping at the gate. “Yes, it’s me.”
Pearl was standing just inside the open double barn doors, the torch burning behind her, silhouetting her body so that all of her features were hard to see. But it was obvious she had shed her formal dress after running out of the dining hall. Now she was wearing a simple white linen dress, her feet bare, her silky yellow hair falling over her shoulders.
“Are you alone?” Pearl whispered.
“I am,” Josiah said.
Pearl did not hesitate then, and ran to Josiah, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close without hesitation or invitation.
Josiah stiffened and held his hands at his side, for a moment. He wasn’t expecting her to rush to him.
Pearl buried her face in his chest, and held him tight, like they had not seen each other in years. Her pain was obvious and disconcerting.
Josiah could tell she had been crying for a long time.
“I’m sorry,” Pearl said.
Josiah exhaled, looked up into the darkness of the rafters, then let his eyes wander all around the barn. The last thing he needed was for Feders to walk in and find Pearl Fikes wrapped around him in an embrace—even if he hadn’t initiated it. He knew how it would look after what Feders had just said to him.