How far O’Reilly’s shadow and orders fell was never in question. The scoundrel had picked up right where Charlie Langdon had left off, creating a gang of followers who, for some reason, were more than happy to do his bidding.
There was no doubt O’Reilly was capable of meanness and madness, violent acts that would make even the most experienced Ranger wince and look away, but it had never appeared to Josiah that the Irishman had the gift of persuasion—other than with a six-shooter and a knife. There had to be more to the man’s power than he knew.
The trail narrowed through another thick grove of trees, and Josiah continued to lead the way.
Buildings on the outskirts of the city were easily within a half a mile’s ride, in sudden view once they broke out of the trees. Josiah was not planning on slowing down until he reached the house he called home, but he was surprised to see a familiar horse standing idle in the middle of the trail about fifty yards up.
Juan Carlos was waiting, sitting on his nameless chestnut stallion, a hard look on his face.
Josiah pushed Clipper a little harder, rushing to Juan Carlos, then eased the Appaloosa back, coming to a quick stop. Scrap followed suit and stopped Missy beside Josiah, with a concerned look on his face.
“Whoa, there, Clipper,” Josiah said, patting the horse’s sweaty neck. “I expected to find you at the house,” he said to Juan Carlos.
“I am here.”
“I can see that. Something is wrong.” Josiah squinted knowingly, it wasn’t a question.
“Sí, there is. Two men are watching the house, waiting for your return. They are well armed and unfamiliar. I am sure they do not intend to look out for your best interests.”
Josiah felt a burning sensation in his chest. “I was afraid that might happen.” He flipped the reins, but Juan Carlos eased his horse in front of Clipper, gently grabbing the bridle, not allowing Josiah to pass.
“You cannot go home, señor. They will kill you and your son.”
“They will anyway. I have to protect him.”
A slight smile slipped across Juan Carlos’s leathery brown face. “Señor Lyle is not there. Nor is Ofelia.”
“Where are they?”
“Safe in Little Mexico.”
“You’re sure?”
“That’s the first place they’ll look,” Scrap interjected. “Everybody knows Wolfe favors Mexicans.” He waited a second, then nodded. “No offense to you, Juan Carlos,” he added.
Scrap’s tone was conciliatory, which was as uncommon as a pure white hawk flying overhead. The gesture surprised Josiah, but he didn’t care at the moment to find out what had changed between the two men. Perhaps it had something to do with McNelly, or maybe not.
“If those men go after el niño, they will not leave there alive.” The look in Juan Carlos’s eye was as unmistakable as the certainty in his voice.
Scrap just shrugged. “We’re gonna have to have our eyes peeled then.” He looked at the sky, then said, “It’d be easier to travel at night, but I got a feelin’ there’s bad weather comin’ along. Pink skies ain’t for fairy tales. Saw a tornado once in the afternoon after seein’ a mornin’ sky like this one here.”
“You cannot go home, Señor Josiah. I have packed as much of your gear into my bags as I could.”
Josiah exhaled loudly. “If you think it’s best.”
“I do.”
“I would have liked to have seen Lyle before I left.”
A gentle, knowing look crossed Juan Carlos’s face. “It is a good thing you did not come home last night, señor. There may have been more trouble than we could have handled. Leaving this way has, perhaps, saved some shooting and fear that the boy would remember. Trust me, this way is better.” He paused, then allowed himself to smile, broadly. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
Josiah felt his face flush. It was most certainly the color of the sky, but he said nothing, gave no indication of what had happened or would happen. Juan Carlos knew somehow, though. That wasn’t a big surprise.
“Yeah, Wolfe, come to think of it, what in tarnation was you doin’ out so late at the Fikes place?”
“That’s none of your business, now, is it?” Josiah snapped.
Juan Carlos started to laugh. It was a tiny laugh just in the bottom of his throat at first, then it dropped to his thin, almost invisible belly, and he laughed deeper.
“What did I say?” Scrap said.
“Nothing,” Juan Carlos said in between laughs. “I just have not seen Señor Josiah look so young and foolish in a very long time. It is a nice thing to see.”
“If you say so.” A perplexed look crossed Scrap’s face. It didn’t appear that he found anything funny about the situation.
“Thank you, Juan Carlos, you’re a true friend,” Josiah said, the note of sarcasm in his voice high—which of course, made Juan Carlos laugh even harder.
“I think we had better go,” Scrap said. “Are you comin’, old man, or are you gonna sit here hee-hawin’ all day, drawin’ all kinds of notice right to us?”
“Usted tiene el humor de una chiva,” Juan Carlos said to Scrap, grabbing his stomach, forcing himself to stop laughing.
“What did he say, Wolfe?”
“How in the heck would I know?”
“You live with a Mexican.”
“That doesn’t mean I speak Mexican.”
“He called me a name, didn’t he?”
Josiah rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your feathers all in a ruffle, Elliot, I’m sure he didn’t call you any names, did you, Juan Carlos?”
“I said you have the humor of a goat,” Juan Carlos said, trying to catch his breath.
For some reason, Josiah found that funny, and he started to laugh, too. Juan Carlos joined him, leaving Scrap to sit on Missy with his arms crossed, a petulant look on his face, unsure of what to do next—fight or flee.
CHAPTER 35
Austin disappeared behind the trio as they headed south, and the hill country rose up to greet them.
It was a long ride to the Nueces Strip, and since Juan Carlos was in the lead, with no specific and unspoken orders from Captain Leander McNelly, Josiah found himself in the odd position of following, unaware of what their true destination was or, for that matter, what their true mission was, other than to stop the unlikely union between Liam O’Reilly and Juan Cortina, if they could.
The Strip, a broad area between the Nueces River and the Rio Grande, was home to more than its fair share of ruthless outlaws, not only Cortina, but John King Fisher, too.
Wild longhorns roamed the countryside and locally brought only about two dollars a head at market, but the long trek up to Abilene raised the price to forty dollars a head, making cattle hunting and rustling an extremely lucrative occupation. Brand doctors abounded, and if they were caught out in the brush, they were hanged on the spot. In a city, at the stockyards, the branders were most often sent off to prison if they were foolish enough to show their faces.
Josiah was well aware of the potential for Liam O’Reilly to grow his band of outlaws into a full-fledged outfit with corrupt fingers stretching all over the state of Texas, if he was successful in the Strip.
O’Reilly had already demonstrated that power in Waco and Comanche, though he’d eventually lost influence in both towns. Not only was he a cold-blooded killer, but the Irishman was also an astute businessman who had a talent for wrangling the local power, taking control of entire towns. Obviously ambition was part of the outlaw’s makeup, too.
Cortina was an interesting choice for O’Reilly to try and side with. He had served in the Mexican War at a very young age, quickly becoming a folk hero to the people of Mexico. In the late 1850s, Cortina was outraged by the treatment of poor Mexicans living in Brownsville, gathered up eighty men, and took control of the town. It was called the First Cortina War. The people of Brownsville revolted, creating a militia of their own called the Brownsville Tigers. It wasn’t long before the Texas Rangers showed up, and later with Colonel Robert E. Lee, commander of the Eighth Military District, the army showed up, too. Cortina was defeated and driven back into Mexico.