Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
EPILOGUE
Titles by Larry D. Sweazy
Praise for
THE SCORPION TRAIL
“Larry D. Sweazy’s Josiah Wolfe books promise to stand among the great Western series. Think The Rifleman in the deft hands of a Larry McMurtry or a Cormac McCarthy.”
—Loren D. Estleman, Spur Award–winning author of
The Book of Murdock
“Larry D. Sweazy takes you on a fierce ride . . . This crisp, well-written story returns you to the West as it really was—and you’ll like being there.”
—Cotton Smith, author of Ride for Rule Cordell and
past president of Western Writers of America
“Larry D. Sweazy writes a lively blend of mystery, action, and historical realism.”
—John D. Nesbitt, Spur Award–winning author of
Gather My Horses
Praise for
THE RATTLESNAKE SEASON
“Combines the slam-bang action of a good Western with the sensitivity of style and depth of character that used to be the hallmark of literary fiction.”
—Loren D. Estleman
“A character-rich story about a Texas Ranger haunted by dark memories, on the hunt for a former comrade-in-arms turned killer.”
—Elmer Kelton, seven-time Spur Award–winning author
“There’s a new fresh voice in the pages of Western fiction . . . His powerful, authentic voice rings steel tough . . . A must read for the Western fan.”
—Dusty Richards, Spur Award–winning author of Wulf’s Tracks
“Larry D. Sweazy’s novel is a fast-paced, hard to put down book, chock-full of unforgettable characters you will be glad you met . . . a page-turner.”
—Robert J. Conley, author of The Cherokee Nation and
vice president of Western Writers of America
Titles by Larry D. Sweazy
Josiah Wolfe, Texas Ranger Series
THE RATTLESNAKE SEASON
THE SCORPION TRAIL
THE BADGER’S REVENGE
THE COUGAR’S PREY
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE COUGAR’S PREY
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley edition / October 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Larry D. Sweazy.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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ISBN : 978-1-101-54484-6
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This book is dedicated to Ron Clark,
a bright, shining example
of a public school teacher
who lit the way.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The adventure of writing a novel may start in a dimly lit room, alone at a desk, but there is no question that the adventure quickly turns into a bright journey filled with new friends, acquaintances, and happy accidents. I offer my humble thanks to the people who helped me along the way as I wrote this novel.
I greatly appreciate the time Bob and Kathy Muller took to introduce me to Tim and Patty Redmond, and their herd of longhorns. It was a fine summer day that I won’t soon forget.
Jim Friedt taught me the art of net casting, and standing knee-deep in the ocean on another perfect day (and evening) greatly contributed to my understanding of saltwater fishing.
Special thanks, as always, goes to John Duncklee, for his help with the Spanish language, and his constant encouragement. Gracias, mi amigo. Any mistakes are my own.
I enjoyed a day of research with fellow writers Phil Dunlap, and William “Lavista Bill” Bell, at the Pleasant Valley SASS (Single Action Shooting Society) meet. Special thanks to all of the members of the Pleasant Valley Renegades, and Jerry “Nomore Slim” West, for welcoming us and sharing their knowledge and enthusiasm about the guns of the West. Any mistakes concerning firearms are my own.
I am extremely lucky to have a talented group of friends and colleagues who offer encouragement and help in every phase of writing the Josiah Wolfe novels. Thanks to Jeff; Liz and Chris; my agent, Cherry Weiner; my editor, Faith Black; and the entire Berkley production team, for all that you do to make my novels an enjoyab
le experience for the readers of this series.
Finally, there is no way I could ever thank my wife, Rose, enough, for her sharp eyes and ears. She is my first reader, and we have loads of fun talking about the characters in my books like they are members of our family. Not only am I a better writer for her presence, I am a better human being because of her of love. Thank you . . .
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Josiah Wolfe books are a continuing work of western fiction, set against historical events that often include historical characters. Accuracy of research is something I strive for in each book. But this is fiction, after all, and sometimes the story or a timeline of actual events dictates a little interference on my part to serve a more dramatic, or storytelling, purpose.
For historical works concerning the Texas Rangers and the Frontier Battalion, the following books may be of interest to the readers of this series and have served me well as I conducted my continuing research: Lone Star Justice: The First Century of the Texas Rangers by Robert M. Utley (Berkley, 2002); The Texas Rangers: Wearing the Cinco Peso, 1821–1900 by Mike Cox (Forge, 2008); Six Years with the Texas Rangers, 1875–1881 by James B. Gillet (Bison Books, 1976).
Online resources such as www.texas.gov, the Handbook of Texas, and the Texas Ranger Dispatch magazine, have also been helpful in portraying the Texas Rangers as historically accurate, and as honorably, as possible.
PROLOGUE
May 1862
The Virginia highlands looked like the bellies of sleeping giants to Josiah Wolfe. Every day for the last six months had been a new adventure, one more foot set outside of the boundaries of everything he had known and understood all his life. Until he had mustered in Tyler and joined the Texas Brigade, specifically the First Infantry, Josiah had never once set foot outside the state of Texas.
He had barely been out of the confines of Tyler and Seerville, the small town just miles from his father’s farm that had been his home from the day of his birth. But now, after months of military training, marching, and train rides, the smell of battle was in the air just outside of Eltham’s Landing in Virginia.
Wood smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of a spring morning; thousands of white, yellow, and purple wildflowers coated the ground, and Josiah hardly knew any of the names of the flowers. Not like home. The alien flowers made him miss the bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush, and the fresh smell of the piney forest not far from his cabin.
He knew the early wildflower season was nearly over now that it was May in Texas. Thinking of home was a frequent exercise for him, but he pushed the sad thoughts away by staying busy or remembering his anger at his father for not seeing him off to war. But that was the past. There was no need to fret over things that couldn’t be changed, not with the certainty of a real fight coming any moment.
Josiah was numbed by duty, by the marching and drills, the regularity of soldiering life. So far, he found life in the army suited him. He liked every minute of the day, filled by someone else’s orders, and the camaraderie was a welcome change in his life, since he had been an only child, raised alone with no brothers, sisters, or even nearby cousins.
His stomach was full. There’d been a mess of bacon, beans, and biscuits to start the day. The musket he’d been assigned was cleaned and ready to go, empty of a load, since the command had yet to be given. If anything was lacking in his preparedness, it may have been the courage that was hiding deep in Josiah’s spirit.
He was most certainly afraid of what was coming, but he didn’t dare show it to any of the fellas around him. They were afraid, too. Josiah could smell the aroma of fear in the air through the smoke.
Killing had never come easily to him, even when it was a squirrel, though he’d gotten used to that pretty quickly. But killing another man was something else—even without a strong basis of religion like some of the boys that had joined up in Tyler—killing would be a hard task to face. But he knew he’d have to kill a Yankee, whether he truly believed in the cause or not. Politics were left to smarter men than him, and though he said nothing, Josiah was not sure he completely understood, or condoned, the reasons for war. But . . . he was a son of Texas, and he had chosen to stand and fight with the side the politicians had decided on.
A few days before, General Joseph E. Johnston had unexpectedly withdrawn his Confederate troops from the Warwick Line during the night, at a battle in Yorktown. The move caught the Union by surprise, and they couldn’t mount a pursuit quick enough. Johnston was headed toward Richmond, by way of West Point, traveling up the York River. He stopped to regroup in Barhamsville. The Yankees had caught up, coming ashore on light pontoon boats. They’d even built a long wharf that floated, bringing in heavy artillery.
But still there’d been some small rounds of fire from the pickets set up on the bluffs, shooting down at the Yankees as they prepared for battle.
Josiah served under General John Bell Hood.
Hood’s reputation as a brave man was unequaled, and he was aggressive to the point of recklessness, as far as some of the men were concerned. Not Josiah. He’d watched the general and found his style of leadership inspiring. Hood knew the area around the small town they’d lit into; he’d studied at West Point, nearby, albeit with a modest record, according to the gossip Josiah had been privy to. Hood was a tall, slender man, with a chest-length beard, a high forehead, and a thick head of dark brown hair, and he rode a horse of the same color, sitting high in the saddle, a proud, stiff man, certain in his rank and manners.
The call to assembly came quickly after the sun broke over the bluffs. A brigade had been sent up to protect the road into Barhamsville, but the Texas Brigade was being sent to the skirmish line on the north side of the landing road.
Hood rode up and down the line, his horse prancing in front of the troops. “I don’t want a man to load his weapon until the command is given, is that understood?”
“Yes sir!” the troops said resoundingly.
Josiah was three rows back, craning his neck, as subtly as he could, so he could clearly see what was going on.
“Ain’t that crazy.”
Josiah glanced over and saw standing next to him an unusually skinny boy of no more than eighteen, who spit and then scowled at the general. “Why’s that?” Josiah whispered.
“General’s afeared of a man taking a shot at one of his own across the way. You’s can see the gray caps clear as a candlelight in a cave. I’m already loaded.”
Josiah looked to the woods. It was full of brush and bramble, covered by a tall canopy of tender new leaves that barely let any sunlight hit the ground. He felt a cold chill run up his spine. The boy, John Deal, was a corporal just like him, and he was openly disobeying General Hood’s order.
“I’d load up, too, Wolfe, if’n I was you.”
Josiah shook his head no. He understood Hood’s order, knew how hard it was to see in the woods on a calm day. He couldn’t imagine the difficulty of seeing the right target during a battle.
“Suit yourself then,” Deal said. “I ain’t gonna die today.”
Hood gave the command to march, and the brigade headed into the woods.
Marching came easy to Josiah, his musket in hand, ready to load. His hand was sweating, making the gun slick in his grip, and his heart was beating so loudly he thought everyone within earshot could hear it. There was no turning back now.
About fifteen paces into the woods, they encountered an enemy picket line.
A Yankee jumped up and drew General Hood into his bead as he advanced. John Deal must have seen the gunman, because he pushed through the rank, stepped firm once he was clear, and fired at the Yankee just in time, killing him with one sure shot.
General Hood could hardly scold the boy since he’d just saved his life. The command to load was quickly given, and the infantry prepared to engage the Yankees.
Josiah couldn’t believe what he was seeing. If John Deal hadn’t disobeyed orders, the general would have been dead before the battle even began. It w
as something he wouldn’t soon forget.
The air was quickly full of gunpowder, and the clear sky reverberated with the thunder of firing shots. He realized then that he could die at any second. And life at any rate would never be the same.
Josiah followed the general’s order, loaded his musket, then took his position.
It was only a matter of seconds before he sighted a target, a blue cap easing along the picket, a glimmer off the Union bayonet giving away his position.
Josiah eased his finger onto the trigger, took a deep breath, waited, then waited another second, until he saw flesh, the blink of a blue eye and a forehead, then pulled the trigger with all his might.
He did not wait to see if the shot was successful. He knew it was. The Yankee was dead, or dying, and Josiah Wolfe had fully joined the War Between the States.
CHAPTER 1
March 1875
Josiah Wolfe sat outside the cantina on a hardwood chair, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
The smell of the cigarette didn’t entice Josiah, since he’d never acquired a taste for tobacco. Beer either, as far as that went. But at the moment, what enticed Josiah Wolfe didn’t matter, nor did the taste or implication of vices that he’d never picked up—but he held them in his hands and touched them to his lips anyway.
Nobody in the cantina, or in all of Corpus Christi for that matter, knew him as Josiah Wolfe. To everyone he encountered, Josiah was a lowly hide trader named Zeb Teter, a man who had a quick reputation for his inability to hold his liquor but knew how to cut a deal with the Mexicans like the hard bargainer he professed to be.
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