When Texas seceded from the Union and joined in the fight with the War Between the States, Cortina invaded Zapata County, starting the Second Cortina War, siding with the Union. He was defeated by Captain Santos Benavides and, once again, was driven back into Mexico. But Cortina continued making trouble, on both sides of the border, offering aid to the Union since Benavides was a Confederate. Cortina eventually became a general in the Mexican Army, and after the end of the War Between the States, he was considered a Union criminal of Texas, even though a pardon had been presented, but failed in the legislature.
It was only natural that the fortunes being made in cattle would catch Cortina’s attention. He knew the Nueces Strip better than anyone. It was rumored by everyone that he had a large faction of rustlers that stole from the ranches and rounded up the wild longhorn as well. But recently, the ranchers had started to make some noise about the rustling and had been heard all the way in Austin. Cortina was becoming more and more powerful, more and more brazen, and the ranchers were losing a lot of cattle that weren’t being shipped up north.
To Josiah, it sounded like Liam O’Reilly needed Juan Cortina far more than Cortina needed O’Reilly—but then again, what did he know of the ways of outlaws? Maybe there was a deal hatched with skills that O’Reilly held that Josiah was unaware of. That was entirely possible, making the charge to stop O’Reilly a larger matter.
But for Josiah, the nuances of the relationship didn’t really matter. The trip to the Nueces Strip was personal for him.
He wanted to see the Irishman dead and buried.
They eased their pace as Onion Creek came into view. The uplands stretched out before them, and the ground was dry, eerily similar to the San Saba, but lacking in alkali and biting flies.
Mesquites were sparse, junipers were healthy, and off in the distance, the creek was lined with cypress, sycamore, and pecan trees. Josiah’s hunger kicked in, as well as his instinct, and he knew the spot would be a good place to hunt for white-tailed deer or fox squirrels.
The trees were mostly bare, and there was little bird life. On a perfect day there would be all kinds of songbirds singing and fluttering about, but the roiling sky overhead and a steady wind had driven away any signs of life, leaving the trees in silence.
The red sky of the morning had turned to an angry black in the west. Wind was starting to kick up, and the smell of a fierce rain was too strong to ignore.
The storm clouds reminded Josiah of Comanche, of Billie Webb. No matter what had happened since his return to Austin, even last night in Pearl’s arms, he could not get the girl out of his mind. He worried about her welfare and was certain that that was the only reason her memory would not leave him alone.
“There is a shelter not far from here, an overhang that will protect us from the weather,” Juan Carlos said.
Josiah looked at the limestone toward the outcroppings, and for a moment held the memory of Lost Valley, of being trapped under a similar outcropping by an angry band of Kiowa. It was not a good memory.
Scrap had nearly gotten them killed, and there was a question whether or not the boy’s impetuousness had caused the knife attack that left Josiah wounded. The scar was still tender, but he had decided long ago not to blame Scrap. Still, the outcropping made him nervous.
“Is there a way out?” Josiah asked, forcing his thoughts back into the moment. Not losing sight of where they were when there were men who wanted to see them dead—or Josiah at least—was extremely important.
They were riding three abreast at a slow pace. Scrap shot Josiah an angry look because of the question but held his tongue. The Lost Valley fight was still a rub between Josiah and Scrap, neither of them daring to bring up the subject.
Juan Carlos nodded. “There is. To the best of my knowledge, we have not been followed. But that does not mean someone is not waiting for us.”
“That makes me feel better,” Josiah said.
“Just the truth,” Juan Carlos answered. “What is the matter, Elliot?”
“Nothin’.”
“We’ve been in a situation like this before,” Josiah said.
“That’s not what I was thinkin’ about, Wolfe,” Scrap said. “I was thinkin’ it’s a long ride to the Strip, and this ain’t startin’ out so well.”
Juan Carlos shook his head and picked up his pace, leading his horse a little to the south as he climbed down toward the creek bed.
The blackness in the sky had nearly reached them, and Josiah felt the first raindrop hit his face. A lightning strike burst out of the sky a good distance away, hot white fingers hungrily reaching for the earth. Thunder rumbled a few seconds later, giving Clipper a noticeable start.
“Why do you say that?” Josiah asked, reining the horse back, quickly calming him.
“Just like usual, I’m bringin’ up the rear, and I ain’t got a clue as to what’s goin’ on.”
Josiah eyed Scrap, raising an eyebrow in frustration. “We trust you with our backs, isn’t that enough?” With that, he kneed Clipper, catching up quickly with Juan Carlos, leaving Scrap to think about what he’d just said.
Another clap of thunder spurred Scrap and Missy to join Josiah and Juan Carlos under the overhang.
The fire was small, and on occasion, Juan Carlos flapped his hat over it, dispelling the rise of smoke so they wouldn’t draw any attention to their location. The storm was fully overhead now, and the trio was safely tucked under the overhang. It was dry and cool next to the limestone, nearly like being in a cave, except there was a sheer wall, facing southwest, that helped keep most of the wind and rain away from the three men.
Juan Carlos had a full complement of jerky for the long ride, and there’d been time to get some fresh water for a pot of coffee. The aroma of Arbuckle’s filled the air, along with the smell of some johnnycakes frying in a small skillet.
The horses were not so lucky, tied to a line just outside the overhang. Still, there were some tall sycamores that helped to protect them from the weather.
“We’re gonna lose half a day’s ride,” Scrap said.
“That is not my worry,” Juan Carlos answered, staring out into the storm, at nothing in particular.
“What is?” Josiah asked. He was sitting with his back propped up against the wall, his Winchester at his side, cleaning the Colt Frontier.
“It will be much easier for us to be tracked when we leave.” Juan Carlos walked to the very edge of the overhang, stuck his hand out, made it into a cup, and let it fill with water that was draining off from above. “If O’Reilly has already met up with Cortina, their plans made, then he will know we are coming.”
“How would he know that?” Scrap asked.
Juan Carlos shook his head. “I do not know. O’Reilly has eyes everywhere. I think he will be on the lookout for us, either way. The Badger is wary of everything and everyone.”
“The only way he would know we are coming is if those eyes were Ranger eyes,” Josiah said.
“Perhaps.” Juan Carlos drank the water from his cupped hand, then angled over to the fire, standing over it for some warmth. “That is not entirely out of the realm of possibility, but I have not been able to discover who those eyes belong to, if that is true.”