Luckily, the wispy clouds of the evening had pushed on, and the sky was full of pinprick stars, tiny silver orbs twinkling overhead. Half of the moon was hidden. It would be another week or two before it would show itself completely. Still, even with half of its brightness, there was light to navigate by and plenty of moon shadows to be leery of.
Both men dismounted as quietly as possible. They couldn’t see a fire, but Josiah could smell it, and he was sure Scrap could, too. O’Reilly and the other rider were close. Hidden, but close.
There was nothing to hear, no crackle of a fire or voices on the wind. Even far-off coyotes, yipping only minutes before, had gone silent.
“We need to stick together,” Josiah whispered to Scrap. He put his index finger to his lips.
Scrap nodded and motioned for Josiah to take the lead. Both men had their six-shooter in one hand and their rifle in the other. As Scrap passed by Missy, he rubbed her rump quickly and gave her an open-handed tap. There were few times Josiah had witnessed Scrap showing the horse affection, but the boy cared deeply about his horse and was always nervous about leaving her behind—especially since his capture by Big Shirt and Little Shirt.
Josiah smiled briefly at this demonstration, then carefully made his way forward, edging along a tall stone face that still held heat from the day.
This was not how he had hoped to come upon O’Reilly, but there was no choice now but to follow the scent of the fire and surprise the two men. Good thing was, Josiah had seen them both from far enough away to know they were riding alone—most likely, considering the direction, heading to Mexico to make contact with Cortina. That, of course, was all supposition on Josiah’s part, but he couldn’t figure out anything else, or know the whys and hows of what was going on. All he knew was that he intended to put a stop to O’Reilly once and for all. So he would be safe. So Lyle would be safe. So Pearl would be safe.
He had tried to think little of Pearl since he’d left Austin, but every time he closed his eyes, she was fully in his mind’s eye, begging him to come back home.
It was a nice feeling to have, a welcome development over the pull of loneliness and grief that he had held tight for so long after Lily and his three little girls had died. It was far too soon to make too much out of his intimate moment with Pearl . . . but Josiah wanted nothing more than to complete his assignment and personal mission so he could return home to those he cared about.
The rock curved, and Josiah edged along slowly, a tiny glimmer of firelight reflecting off the side of the mountain. He stopped and took a deep breath, then looked over his shoulder and nodded to Scrap, indicating that they were on the right trail.
O’Reilly’s camp was just ahead, he was certain of it.
Rounds chambered, guns at the ready, Josiah’s heart remained steady. He held no fear, did not sweat . . . until he heard the pull of a hammer and a familiar Irish voice.
“Move one more step, Wolfe, and I’ll blow your head clean off.”
CHAPTER 42
Everything stopped. There was no wind, no animal sounds, nothing but silence and a beating heart. O’Reilly’s voice came from directly in front of Josiah, but he couldn’t see a thing, not a shadow, not an outline of a man, nothing but the black of night.
“You, too, there, Elliot. Both of you drop your guns to the ground,” O’Reilly yelled out. He was close, a couple of feet away, between a tall boulder and the campfire, hidden so well it was almost like he was invisible.
Josiah knew there were two men, but didn’t know who the other man was or where he was. Could be with O’Reilly or behind them. It didn’t matter. All Josiah knew was he wasn’t about to be captured again, was not going to leave his fate in luck’s hand, or the Irishman’s either, for that matter.
“I’m not foolin’ around with either of you,” O’Reilly said.
“You might as well shoot me now, O’Reilly. If I’m a dead man, I’d just as soon get it over with,” Josiah answered. He felt around with his boot and touched a small rock. He kicked it toward O’Reilly’s voice, hoping to create a distraction, bouncing it off a boulder, then dropping his body to the ground as quickly and in as swift a motion as he could. He hoped Scrap had the sense to do the same thing, or something else to save himself.
O’Reilly fired into the darkness, the flash exposing his position, missing Josiah by several feet.
The shot had come from a steep buttress of rock. O’Reilly must have been hiding about ten feet up, on a slight ridge, just off the path Josiah and Scrap were sneaking along, toward the campfire. The shot ricocheted off a tight collection of rocks, sending sparks sizzling in every direction.
Josiah rolled on the ground, came to a stop in a prone position against a boulder, and fired back in O’Reilly’s direction.
The first shot had been directed at Josiah, giving Scrap time to dive into the darkness. Josiah heard him move, saw his silhouette disappearing, was tempted to ask if he was all right, but didn’t have time—and didn’t want to give away his position.
“You’re a dead man, Wolfe,” O’Reilly shouted.
Josiah answered back with a quick blast of three shots. One hit the buttress on the edge, sparking slightly. The other two shots disappeared into the darkness.
“I’m not dead yet,” Josiah said.
A flurry of shots erupted from behind Josiah, the percussion loud and deafening.
“Neither am I,” Scrap yelled out.
For a moment, no one said anything. A cloud of gun smoke wafted past Josiah, and he sighed silently, relieved and glad that Scrap was all right.
Josiah knew there was another man out there somewhere, knew he was still exposed, but hoped like hell Scrap had his back covered. There didn’t seem to be a way to ease closer to O’Reilly without putting himself more out in the open.
“You should have stayed in Austin, Wolfe,” O’Reilly said, the lilt in his voice measured with anger.
Josiah fired a round. Hit the rock. “I’d rather be where I am right now.”
“If you were a better shot, I would have never made it out of Comanche alive.”
“I got what mattered. I’m sure that bank’s got a bounty out on your head and a rope waiting for you for killing the sheriff.”
“Wasn’t much of a sheriff, was he?”
“Should have sent you packing with that kin of Hardin’s.”
“More to be made runnin’ a town than robbin’ a bank, Wolfe. That’s always the last bit of business before movin’ on. You ought to know that.”
“You’re stopped now. And you haven’t reached Cortina yet. One of us isn’t getting out of here alive. That’s all I care about.”
O’Reilly shot back, the repercussion echoing off into the night, the bullet about a foot off from the imaginary target on the center of Josiah’s forehead. “You don’t know what I’ve reached, Wolfe.”
Scrap jumped up, pumped a full load of six shots in O’Reilly’s direction. “You’ve reached the end of the road. That’s what you’ve reached!”
O’Reilly fired back, and the shadow that was Scrap jumped back into the darkness just in time.
A second later, a pebble pinged Josiah in the leg. He looked over his shoulder. He could barely see Scrap, who was motioning his head in the opposite direction, then pointing his finger up. He was obviously willing to take a chance and wanted to circle around to the other side of the rock, find a way at O’Reilly that the outlaw wasn’t expecting. Josiah nodded his head yes.
“That boy’s gonna be your death, Wolfe. You need to find a better riding partner.”