“Well don’t look at me. I ain’t no rat,” Scrap said.
Josiah stopped cleaning the Colt and put it away . . . within reach. “If we thought that, you’d be a dead rat.”
“No worry,” Juan Carlos said. “I have ways of finding these things out. I have my own set of eyes in places Cortina or O’Reilly would not suspect.”
CHAPTER 36
Fort Clark stood on the horizon, a twenty-acre complex of wood frame and limestone buildings, some still under construction. The fort had originated in 1852 as a guard post for the San Antonio–El Paso Road. When Texas seceded from the Union, the fort was taken over by the Second Texas Mounted Rifles and used as a hospital. Josiah knew some men who’d served with that outfit, or at least they’d claimed to, but for himself, this was his first visit to Clark and the outlying town of Brackett. The construction was a result of a rebuilding project after years of overuse and neglect.
The trio of men stood with their horses lined nose to nose at the crest of a thousand-foot rise. As they looked west, it seemed like they could see forever as dusk started to settle into night before them.
The ride had been long, hard, and fast, the three of them fair enough horsemen to keep up with one another and make solid time. Almost four days had passed, constantly on the lookout for an ambush, for trackers, for a posse of O’Reilly’s men on their tail—but there had been nothing, not one single threat.
The ride to Fort Clark had been almost too easy as far as Josiah was concerned.
“More to worry about here,” Juan Carlos said, looking explicitly at Scrap, who was in the middle. “Kickapoo. Lipan Apache. Rustlers. Outlaws. Some Comanche. Bandidos crossing back and forth across the river selling off stolen cattle. It is una tierra hostil, a hostile land. Cortina knows every rock, every bad man’s heart, and every good man’s weakness within a thousand miles. You cannot let your fears get the best of you, or we could all die.”
“I can handle myself,” Scrap said.
Juan Carlos gripped the reins tighter, holding his horse steady. “Watch yourself in the fort, if we have need to make a visit. Colonel Mackenzie employs a fine group of Negro Seminole scouts. We may have need of their services.”
“I ain’t no slouch,” Scrap said.
“I know how you feel about Mexicans. Usted no puede ocultar su perjuicio.”
Josiah sat on Clipper on the other side of Scrap, listening, looking over the land in front of him, barely paying attention to the two men’s conversation.
His eyes were fixed on the town of Brackett, the lamps starting to burn inside the houses, the residents preparing for the coming night. He let his thoughts wander to Lyle, then Pearl, hoping their safety and comfort were not a concern, knowing that there was nothing he could do, so far away, other than look out for himself, Scrap, and Juan Carlos and accomplish his own mission as well as the one Captain McNelly had set for them: Stop Liam O’Reilly at any cost.
“You know I can’t speak Mexican,” Scrap protested.
“It is just as well,” Juan Carlos said.
“You have a plan?” Josiah asked.
Juan Carlos nodded. “We will stay in town.”
Josiah stared at the old Mexican, questioning him with his eyes first. “If O’Reilly or Cortina have men here, they will be on the lookout for us. They’ll know we’re here if what you say is true.”
“That is the plan,” Juan Carlos said. “Cortina will find it very interesting that I have ridden into Brackett with two Rangers.”
“He knows you?”
Juan Carlos smiled. “Of course he knows me.”
“Well, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard of,” Scrap said.
“Do you think that the three of us are going to sneak up on O’Reilly, or Cortina in the land that he calls home? That is estupidez. Foolish, as you say.”
“You really want them to know we’re here?” Scrap continued.
Juan Carlos nodded. “We are safe in Brackett. It is once we leave the protection of the fort that we will be in danger. The men there will not cast a shadow on us.”
“And your plan extends beyond that?” Josiah asked.
“Sí.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Josiah said.
“Well, it ain’t for me,” Scrap said.
“Fine,” Josiah said. “Stay here.”
Brackett was the Kinney County seat, and the jail sat right across the street from the county courthouse. Like in Fort Clark, the buildings in Brackett were made of ash-layered limestone and were of recent construction.
There was a quarry, not far out of town, that supplied all of the limestone. The towering mountains and deep canyons supplied an unlimited source of materials to accommodate the growth of Brackett and the rebuilding of Fort Clark.
Juan Carlos tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the jail. It was a small building, single level, about eight hundred square feet at the most, nothing like the county jail in Austin. The jail was as nice-looking a building as Josiah had ever seen for housing outlaws.
“Wait here. The sheriff is un viejo amigo, an old friend. I want to say hola, let him know we are here,” Juan Carlos said.
Josiah nodded, stayed in his saddle, and watched Juan Carlos disappear inside the building.
Scrap grunted, then fished into a pocket and pulled out a quirlie he’d pre-rolled and lit it. The air immediately smelled of tobacco, and though Josiah did not smoke, the smell was a comfort to him. It meant they were in a moment of relief and relaxation.
Light burned brightly from inside, and Josiah wondered if there were gas lamps in the jail like there were in the Fikes estate. The glow was intense, almost white, as it cut through the windows and into the darkness outside. It was easy to see moving shadows through the window next to the door and hear loud, welcoming voices. The curtains were drawn so he could not see any one man in particular, just their outlines. There was more than one man.
“I feel like a sittin’ duck,” Scrap said, exhaling a lung full of smoke.
“You’re going to have to trust Juan Carlos.”
“Not likely to happen anytime soon.”
“Then why did you come?”
“Orders. I want to keep on bein’ a Ranger.”
“Obviously Juan Carlos has McNelly’s trust.”
Scrap shrugged. “Don’t matter. I’ll do what I’m told, you know that, Wolfe. But I ain’t gonna take no orders from a Mexican or a half-breed Indian, especially a half-breed Negro Indian. Nobody said they were equal to a Ranger, now did they?”
Josiah shook his head no. “Juan Carlos works for himself as far as I know. I don’t know what his relationship with McNelly is, but I figure they’ve known each other for a long time. Can’t see McNelly sending anyone on a special assignment without trusting him.”
“So you’re sayin’ Juan Carlos is a spy?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I ain’t takin’ orders from no spy.”
Josiah said nothing in response to Scrap’s announcement. There was no use arguing with the thick-headed boy. He took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. It looked the same as the night sky that covered the ceiling of Austin, even though they were two hundred miles from home.
There were some men who could navigate by the night sky, knew the stories about warriors doing battle above them with great beasts like bears and lions, but Josiah didn’t know any of those stories.
He knew the Big Dipper when he saw it, the Little Dipper, too, but beyond that the night sky was a mystery to him. Just like the streets of Brackett, which were mostly quiet now. He had no idea where he was at.