The Gila Wars

by Larry D. Sweazy

  Cortina’s men would show no regard for his life, any more than he would for theirs. The attack in Adolfo’s cantina was proof of that. Two men had met their end only because they had chosen the wrong allegiance, had decided to die for a cattle thief instead of living by the laws of the great state of Texas. Josiah felt little grief over the death of the two men. They had made their choices, had pulled their guns before any words of peace could be offered.

  Still, Josiah wondered if the fighting in his life would ever end. If killing and all of the blood and battles would ever become too much for him. It surprised him that he even thought of quitting, of laying down his guns and walking away from the fight. He wondered if it were even possible.

  Until a few days ago, the possibility of leading a normal life in Austin had seemed like a true hope for his future, no matter how distant that future really was. There would come a time when it would be right to leave the Rangers, maybe even remarry and start a new family.

  Spending every day with Lyle would be a nice change for him, even though he would have to figure out exactly what it meant to be a full-time father. Ofelia would most likely tire of having him underfoot, but she would adjust. Josiah knew he took the Mexican woman for granted, but how could he not? She loved Lyle like he was her own flesh and blood, and she had been there since the very beginning, when there had been no choice but to cut the boy out of his dead mother’s belly—Lily had died from the fevers before she could give birth to the boy.

  And then there was Pearl.

  Josiah had thought that they could work through their time apart, that his time with the Rangers wouldn’t conflict with their courting. Maybe things would have been different if he would have stayed in Austin and found another way to make a living. But being one of Sheriff Rory Farnsworth’s deputies held little attraction to him. There was little else, outside of being a lawman of one kind or another, that Josiah felt qualified for.

  Working as a deputy in the sheriff’s department was far more political than being a Ranger, considering it was an elected office and constantly in turmoil, and far more than he ever wanted to deal with. He had been an appointed marshal once, briefly in his earlier life, and that was enough for him. It seemed like he was always beholden to someone on the town board, or some businessman, for one thing or another. He couldn’t imagine the politics of a big city like Austin, especially considering all that had happened recently—the sheriff’s banker father having recently been accused of murder.

  He could follow Pearl’s example, if it came to that. Her life had changed dramatically. Once, she was the belle of the ball, a debutante—until her father was killed and her mother went crazy, mad as a stepped-on rattlesnake, and lost the family home. Pearl, with the help of Juan Carlos, had picked herself up and gotten back on her feet. She said she never again wanted to be dependent on anyone else in her life.

  Josiah respected her grit, her ambition, but he saw very little opportunity for himself other than riding with the Rangers. He was too old to go to some school to become something he didn’t know anything about.

  Starting over held little appeal to him. The move to Austin from Seerville had been enough of a change, one he wasn’t sure he was quite used to just yet the way it was. He still missed the comfort and familiarity of the piney woods of East Texas and preferred them over the bustling and constantly changing city.

  The thought of Juan Carlos had cost him even more sleep.

  Josiah feared that he had lost the man as his friend, because the Mexican knew nothing of Pearl’s letter. He hoped he would have a chance to explain himself to Juan Carlos at some point soon, but there was no guarantee that Josiah would ever see the man again. Especially if their friendship had ended.

  Regret was most definitely dangerous. A poison that would not go away, no matter how much Josiah tossed and turned.

  Finally, just before dawn, before the first light broke over the horizon, Josiah pulled himself up off the ground and put a fresh pot of Arbuckle’s on the fire.

  The other boys around the fire were still sleeping, mostly buried under their blankets. A cloudless sky had allowed the air to turn cool even though it was early summer. It was like that sometimes, so cold at night that a man thought it could turn up and snow. That surely would have been a sight and most certainly would have started the day on a much different foot than anyone expected.

  The weather, though, was of little concern. It would most likely be a clear, hot day—adding sweat and discomfort to the blood and violence that was almost a given.

  Josiah squatted before the fire, his eyes focused on the coffeepot, the blue glaze mostly blackened from years of daily use. He knew better than to try and hang on to the dreams and nightmares, if that’s what they were. Wrestling with his past, angels and demons, offered little aid or comfort for the coming battle.

  All he could hope for was to survive to fight another day, and return home as soon as he could . . . all in one piece.

  CHAPTER 24

  Something had changed in Captain McNelly’s demeanor. He sat on his horse stiffer, and his hard blue eyes were eagle-like, boring through the distance, searching for anything that moved. He had spoken very little since he’d exited the sanctuary of his tent, other than to organize the boys into two twenty-man units. One long line of men stood at the ready behind Clement Robinson, and the other line behind McNelly himself. Not a man said a word. The morning was quiet, solemn, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  It was common knowledge by now, with the capture of Rafael Salinas and Garcia, that the number of Cortina’s men was small. Sixteen in all, according to both men. That was very few men to rustle three hundred cattle and see them safely to a waiting steamer.

  As far as Josiah was concerned, it seemed highly possible that there were more men, perhaps that neither captive was aware of—or that neither was speaking of. Their stories were remarkably similar, which made them seem suspect, or like the truth—one or the other. It was hard to trust prisoners. But as far as Josiah knew, their stories had not strayed.

  Surely, Cortina didn’t think that the Kings, and other ranchers in South Texas, would not call on the governor, or General Steele, to supply a company of Rangers to patrol the area and put a stop to the thievery that was robbing them of their profits and filling Mexican coffers. Cortina had to know he was in Coke’s crosshairs, a thorn in the governor’s side.

  Josiah was sure Cortina wanted a fight and that there was a trap laid somewhere close—most likely inside their own camp if Josiah was a betting man, which he mostly wasn’t.

  With the horses lined up nose to tail, Josiah was two men back from McNelly. The men ahead of him were longtime riders with the captain, familiar to all of the boys who rode in the company.

  Joe Startman was a lanky cowboy-turned-Ranger who said little but was always the first man to step into a boxing match if one sprung up. He had a long reach and was a powerful inside fighter for a tall man. Josiah respected the man’s talents and dared not challenge him in any way.

  There had never been any official indication that Startman held any rank, but he was always close by the captain, always in the know, or consulted, about any plans, so that was all that needed to be said—he was afforded the same courtesies and respect that were expected regarding Lieutenant Robinson. As far as Josiah knew, Joe Startman had only lost one fight in the time he’d been riding with the Rangers, and that was because he’d been drunk the night before.

  Pip Howerson was settled in right behind Joe Startman, on a chestnut mare with legs made of lightning. The high-strung horse was a sure bet when the races were on.

  McNelly was tolerant of both horse racing and boxing matches only because they served as distractions. One of the worst things about Rangering was the time a man had to himself. It seemed like the company was always waiting on something. More information. Mail. Supplies. Word from Austin about where to go next. Someth
ing. It was always something coming or going. Rarely was the camp set up in, or near, a town. Trouble was easy enough to find without asking for it. Betting games seemed the lesser of any other evils encountered on the trail.

  Pip’s horse was a dandy. She was fast off the start and only got faster once Pip would give her her head and let the horse run full out. Somebody had told Josiah that she had a real wild streak in her, and that was easy to see. Josiah had never seen a horse that liked to run as much as Pip’s horse.

  To be fair, Scrap’s blue roan mare was a good runner, too. And Scrap was a fine horseman, but he was outmatched every time Pip Howerson edged his mare up to the starting line. Scrap hadn’t won one race against Pip and wasn’t likely to anytime soon. Needless to say, Scrap wasn’t too fond of Pip Howerson, a short man with a rodent-like face, but he was smart enough to be real careful of his mouth and opinions when he was around Joe Startman.

  Scrap was right behind Josiah, three men back from McNelly, up a good ways in the line.

  There wasn’t a Ranger in camp who didn’t know, or probably think to himself, that Scrap was where he was so Josiah could keep an eye on him, keep him in tow if things got ugly. Scrap’s position in the line wasn’t due to any promotion in rank, though it might have been a reward from the captain to Scrap for bringing Garcia in alive and in one piece.

  “Wolfe,” McNelly called out, waving his arm forward, motioning for Josiah to join him.

  Hearing his name didn’t register at first to Josiah. He was staring off over the horizon, trying to numb his mind to the coming day.

  After a long second, Scrap directed Missy to nudge Clipper. The Appaloosa stepped to the side, annoyed with a snort. “Wolfe,” Scrap demanded through clenched teeth. “The captain wants ya. Best get a move on.”

  The horizon was void of any clouds, and a thin pink line was fading away as the morning sun, already red and shimmering with heat, ascended into the sky. A steady breeze pushed out of the south, bringing with it the taste of salt and the realization that the ocean was near. Gulls and terns kited in the air in the distance, their black silhouettes indistinguishable but certain, like flies starting to swarm over a dead body.

  Josiah snapped out of his daze and answered, “Yes, sir?”

  “Come here,” McNelly bellowed. It was his turn to be annoyed.

  Josiah eased Clipper up alongside the captain and his horse, a tall black gelding with an old jagged scar shooting down its glossy neck. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  McNelly side-stepped his horse next to Josiah so they were almost touching, knee-to-knee. “Garcia was an advance man. They’re driving the beeves to the river and then down to the Gulf. There’s another motte closer to the river, a good place to hole up and hide from the drovers. I’ve got scouts at every point to locate them. I think they’ll be in the Laguna Madre if we have no word of them as of yet. Do you know of it?”

  Josiah shook his head no.

  McNelly sighed. “The lagoon extends inward from the Gulf. It’s a swampy prairie of short grasses, mesquite trees, and prickly pear. It’s a good place to graze the beeves before loading them on the steamer. There’s not many places to hide, and an open herd will be easy to spot. I don’t think Cortina will leave them there long, but it will do him no good to deliver a bunch of hungry cows to Cuba.”

  “You think Cortina has more men than we think?”

  “I am almost certain of it. Once we get to the motte, I want you to break off and head south toward the lagoon. Scout it out, see if I am right.”

  “Alone, sir?” Josiah asked.

  “You’re sure you’re up to it?”

  “There’s no worry. My wound has yet to seep, and the pain is tolerable. I don’t need a nursemaid, or an extra hand that could get in the way.”

  McNelly nodded and pushed off, moving away from Josiah, heading out with a single order, the sun glimmering on his back.

  Saddles squeaked and adjusted. The noise of movement met Josiah’s ears like a slow beat to the start of a hymn he’d heard more than once in the war. The procession started without any urgency, but a fine cloud of dust rose into the air as the Rangers headed out to find Cortina, leaving the safety and comfort of camp behind them.

  Josiah waited for his spot in the line, slid in behind Pip without any acknowledgment to Scrap, and joined the rest of the company as they moved toward the certainty of battle.

  CHAPTER 25

  The motte was like most others that Josiah had seen or spent time in. It was a grove of tall trees, pecan and oak, in the midst of a stand of grasses, offering shade and protection to any creature who claimed it as its own. Mostly there were squirrels and snakes, all scattered and hiding, roused by the heavy tramp of horse hooves on the ground. Sometimes, this far south, a motte could give den to a wildcat or a jaguar, depending on the structure of the rocks inside the oasis, but there was no sign of any predator, furry or otherwise.

  Even with nearly forty men under the canopy, the motte seemed huge, ten times larger than it needed to be for them all to be comfortable. It would have made a good base to fight from.

  Some of the boys set out to explore as soon as they jumped off their mounts, to see what kind of critters they could kick up for an easy meal. Most likely it would be rabbit stew for dinner, if the company stayed at the motte that long. Josiah had no idea the depths or details of McNelly’s plans.

  It was nearing two in the afternoon.

  Shade from the blazing sun was a welcome relief, and good water was easy to find. Any true rest would be short-lived. Josiah had his orders, and he planned on moving along quickly—as soon as Clipper was tended to and ready to hit the trail again. Long rides were easy for the Appaloosa. Easier for the horse than for Josiah at the moment. He felt tired and weak, like he needed a hearty dinner and a long sleep. But there was no bed in the offing.

  A slow-moving creek wound through the motte. The water was brown and brackish, but Clipper didn’t seem to mind. The ride to the motte had been hard and hot.

  Scrap let Missy drink right next to Clipper. The two horses didn’t mind each other’s company, since they’d spent plenty of time around each other. But there was no affection there, either. Clipper got giddy around Pip Howerson’s speedy mare, but Pip was nowhere close. He was up next to the captain, talking in hushed tones with Robinson and Joe Startman.

  “You look like the ride’s beat the hell out of you, Wolfe,” Scrap said.

  “It’s this wound.” Josiah tapped his shoulder gently. “Took more out of me than I thought.”

  “Your face is healin’ up fine. Gonna have a scar like a cat got a good scratch at ya.”

  “Been a better tale if that was the case, I ’spect.”

  Josiah fidgeted with Clipper’s reins, flipping them back and forth, glancing at Scrap, but keeping his attention focused on the captain as much as he could. Scrap noticed.

  “What’re you all nervous about, Wolfe?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

  Before Scrap could say anything else, Pip Howerson broke away from the captain, mounted his horse, and headed straight for Josiah.

  Clipper noticed and gave up the drink with a snort and a paw at the muddy bank of the stream.

  “Easy, there boy,” Josiah said. Clipper pulled to the right, opposite of Josiah, wanting to turn to the mare. Luckily, Josiah still held the reins securely in his hand. He pulled tight, flipped them a bit, and with a loud click of his tongue, got the horse’s attention. “Whoa, now, Clipper.”

  “Get you mount under control, Wolfe,” Pip Howerson ordered.

  Josiah cast the man a hateful glance. “Your mare coming into season, Pip?”

  The man shrugged. “Ain’t my fault you ain’t made a geldin’ out of that spotted boy if she is.”

  “Yeah, Wolfe,” Scrap interjected, “why ain’t you never had ’im cut?”

  �
��I guess I just never got around to it.”

  “Seems to me like you best think about it,” Pip said.

  “When the time’s right.”

  Pip Howerson nodded. “Captain changed his mind. He wants me to ride with you.”

  Scrap flinched and shot Josiah a curious glance, tinged with anger. “What’s he talkin’ about?”

  “Captain wants me to do another round of scouting.”

  “Last time didn’t turn out so well for you,” Scrap said.

  “That’s why the captain wants me to ride along,” Pip said.

  “Me and Wolfe ride together,” Scrap replied.

  “You want to tell the captain that, Elliot?”

  Josiah wrestled Clipper back under control, pulling him away from Pip’s mare as far as he could. Pain pulsed through Josiah’s right side, and he tried not to show any weakness. The last thing he wanted was the captain to think he couldn’t handle his duty, that he’d be an ill weight in the coming fight. Josiah wanted nothing more than to be ready to face Cortina, or Cortina’s men, however it came, with one hundred percent of his being, physically and emotionally.

  The injury threatened his very existence and those that rode alongside him. He was certain he could fight the good fight. There was no other alternative. Go to battle or ride back to Austin and face his life alone. He found it curious that his mind did not wander back to Arroyo, to Francesca, but it didn’t.

  “No,” Scrap said. “I ain’t tellin’ Captain McNelly nothin’.” He looked up at Josiah. “You be careful out there.”

  Josiah steadied himself, then climbed onto Clipper’s saddle. He had his back to Scrap, so he couldn’t see the boy’s face, but he could tell from the tone of his voice that he meant what he said. “Nothing’s going to happen to us,” he said. “Pip’s a good shot and a good rider.”