The street a couple of blocks over, however, held a line of saloons and hotels, and Josiah supposed the nightly entertainment was just starting there, especially considering the fort wasn’t that far out of town, offering bored and well-moneyed soldiers plenty of opportunities to while away the time and spend their monthly allotments.
“I don’t imagine you’ll have to take orders from anybody, except for maybe me,” Josiah finally said. “You’re a fine shot, Elliot, and one of the best horsemen I’ve ever met. I just wish you had as much talent with your mouth as you do your trigger finger.”
“Well, thanks,” Scrap said. “I think.”
The door to the jail opened, and Juan Carlos walked outside, a smile on his face. He stopped, hitched up his pants like he was prone to do since he was so skinny, and was about to say something to Josiah when the first shot rang out.
Juan Carlos didn’t have time to react.
The bullet, which came from behind Josiah and Scrap, caught the Mexican solidly in the shoulder, knocking him back against the hard wall of the jail.
The second shot dropped Juan Carlos to his knees.
He fell flat on his face before Josiah or Scrap could reach for their guns and return fire.
CHAPTER 37
Scrap spun around and fired blindly into the darkness, quickly emptying his six-shooter.
Josiah jumped off Clipper and began shooting, too, hesitating only a second after seeing a shadow move along the roof of the two-storey courthouse across the street.
With his free hand, Josiah grabbed his Winchester out of the scabbard, readying himself to take aim when he ran out of bullets. He knew there was little chance of hitting anything, but like Scrap, he emptied his gun. He holstered it, and aimed the rifle upward, drawing a breath, gathering his thoughts, before pulling the trigger.
The light from the jail became even brighter as the door swung open and footsteps rushed out behind Josiah.
He looked over his shoulder, saw two men take up positions behind the limestone columns that held up the jail’s roof. They had rifles and joined in the shoot-out without any questions or direction. Josiah assumed it was the sheriff of Kinney County and a deputy, roused by the gunfire and come to help.
Scrap continued shooting, so Josiah dropped back, his concern less about his own safety than that of Juan Carlos.
The Mexican hadn’t moved a muscle that Josiah could tell—it was hard to say whether he was dead or alive.
Josiah crouched down next to Juan Carlos, just as a bullet pinged off the dirt about a foot from the Mexican’s head. He was going to see if he could find a pulse, see if Juan Carlos was still alive, but now all he wanted to do was get his friend out of harm’s way, regardless.
“There’s more than one,” Scrap yelled out as he slid off Missy, then smacked her on the rump, sending her out of the line of fire.
The blue roan mare tore off down the street like there was a trophy and a huge payout involved in the run. Gunshots didn’t spook that horse one bit.
Josiah whistled and Clipper quickly followed after Scrap’s horse.
Scrap found a spot between the jail and a barn that probably held the sheriff’s horses, and started firing upward to the roofline of the courthouse where Josiah had seen the shadows move.
Josiah grabbed Juan Carlos by the wrists and started to drag him back into the darkness created by the overhang of the jail’s roof.
A bullet hit the dirt a couple of inches to the left of Josiah’s boot. That motivated him to struggle even harder to move Juan Carlos as quickly as he could.
He left any concern of hurting Juan Carlos behind. He pushed his legs as deep and as fast as he could, yanking the man’s limp body behind him into the darkness as fast as he could. He came to a stop next to the jail, on the opposite side of the building from Scrap, securely in the shadows, hidden from the shooters on the roof—or at least he hoped so.
There were still shots being exchanged, but it was more a volley now than a shoot-out and a shower of bullets. It seemed like there was only one gun on top of the courthouse taking shots at them. Josiah didn’t know if one of the shooters had been taken out, or if they had escaped and were planning an attack from another hidden spot.
It didn’t take long for Josiah’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.
There were no windows on this side of the jail, and whatever lay beyond was of little concern. All that mattered was that the building helped hide him and Juan Carlos.
Josiah quickly felt Juan Carlos’s neck, searching for a pulse. He found a faint but steady rhythm that gave him immediate hope that his friend had a chance of surviving. He was more than glad the Mexican was still alive.
Juan Carlos groaned, then his eyes flickered open.
“Take it easy there, friend,” Josiah said.
“I underestimated O’Reilly,” Juan Carlos whispered. His voice was weak and cracking with pain.
“Don’t worry about it. Save your strength. Where’d they hit you?”
“In the shoulder,” Juan Carlos coughed weakly, clutching his stomach at the same time, “and in the belly.”
Josiah exhaled, knowing full well the gut shot might yet prove to be fatal. “Hang on.”
“If I don’t make it,” Juan Carlos said, “find a scout in the fort by the name of Dixie Jim. He will know what to do without me. He will take you into the Strip where you need to go to find Cortina.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Juan Carlos licked his dry lips, his eyes wide open, the pain he was feeling certain. He struggled to say something but couldn’t find—or say—the words.
Josiah looked over his shoulder for a source of water. He thought he could see the outline of a well and water pump just behind the jail. He started to get up and go find out, but Juan Carlos reached up and pulled him back.
“You have to know that Pearl’s fate and heart are in your hands,” Juan Carlos said so softly now that Josiah had to lean down next to his mouth to hear him speak.
Josiah pulled back. “What do you mean?”
“She is mucho valuable. The man who marries her stands to become wealthy beyond belief. You must know that.”
Josiah had assumed as much, knew that Pearl’s station in life was way beyond his own—and he thought then, as he did now, that giving into his strongest desire was a mistake for him . . . and her, but he couldn’t help himself. There was no time for regret now.
“You are in the way,” Juan Carlos whispered. “And I can’t help you.”
“In the way of what?” Although Josiah knew the answer to that question—at least he thought he did. He was in Pete Feders’s way. Especially now, considering what had happened before he left Austin.
It made no sense to Josiah why Juan Carlos was bringing up the subject, other than his own fondness and love for his niece. There was no question Pearl was the apple of Juan Carlos’s eye, the only reason, now that his half brother was dead, that he tolerated the Widow Fikes. As far as Josiah knew, Pearl was the only living relative that Juan Carlos had.
“If you love her, you have to save her . . . Save her from him . . .” Juan Carlos whispered. His eyes fluttered, he licked his lips deeply again, and then lost consciousness before he could finish the sentence.
Josiah’s heart sank at the sight and at the thought of losing Juan Carlos. He wanted to scream out: Save her from what? From who? But he knew better than to draw the bullets to him. If there was any hope of keeping his friend alive, of saving him, then he had to get him help, fast, and not get him shot again.