The Badger's Revenge

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The Badger's Revenge Page 20

by Larry D. Sweazy


  Josiah stepped back, putting up both of his own hands, flat out, as if to fend, or warn, off an impending attack. He didn’t want to fight Feders here—or anywhere for that matter. “I have only become acquainted with Pearl Fikes since we returned to Austin in the spring with Captain Fikes’s body. I’m in no position to court a woman like Pearl. You know that. I have a son to raise, and I have chosen my life as a Ranger. That leaves me little time to seek stature or a fortune, one that would entice a woman already of means. Besides that, I don’t know that I can ever love another woman like I did my boy’s mother.”

  It was an unusually open confession for Josiah, but he knew he needed to disarm Feders, convince him that a fight wouldn’t solve anything, wouldn’t make Pearl accept his marriage proposal, or make what had just happened in the dining hall disappear from everyone’s mind.

  Feders glared at Josiah, his teeth clenched hard, then he drew a deep breath and looked away quickly. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “That’s your right.” Josiah drew a deep breath of his own, preparing to take a chance. “You’ve known me for a long time, Pete. I’ve never double-crossed you or anybody else before, why would I start now?”

  Feders narrowed his eyes. “There aren’t too many women in this world that are as beautiful and smart as Pearl Fikes. She is a gracious prize. One worth losing everything to gain, or dying for, as far as I am concerned.”

  Josiah wasn’t going to agree or disagree. “Maybe you’re tryin’ too hard, Pete.”

  Feders exhaled loudly, then kicked the dirt, sending a heavy clump sailing into the darkness, soiling the shine on his boot. “I lose sight of myself every time I get within a mile of her.”

  “I felt that way about Lily. I just had to give her some room. If you smother the sunlight from a bluebonnet, it’s not going to bloom, now is it?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Silence fell between the two men. They had a history together. Time spent riding together as Rangers before the Frontier Battalion was formed, and after, both of them devoted to Hiram Fikes. He’d known Feders while Lily and the girls were alive, when the whole world for Josiah existed on a small piece of acreage in East Texas.

  He ached to return to that little piece of Heaven every minute he was out riding with Fikes and Feders—still did as far as that went.

  Josiah and Feders had never been friends, but he trusted his back to Pete then—and he had ever since he joined up with the Frontier Battalion. It had only been recently—ever since Pete took on being a captain—that Josiah began to doubt the man, or at least doubted his leadership capabilities. Pete led by his mood, not his brain like Captain Fikes had. That changed everything.

  “I have some news for you, Wolfe,” Feders said. “You have been resolved of any wrongdoing or crime in Comanche. I want you to know that. I want you to know what I did for you, putting my neck on the line and saving yours from the rope. Those folks got a taste of revenge when they hung John Wesley Hardin’s kin, and you’re just a lucky man we showed up when we did or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Your belly wouldn’t be full of good wine and beefsteak.”

  Josiah didn’t show the sigh of relief he felt upon hearing the news and the fact that Feders had seemed to finally stand down.

  The wine had made Josiah a little unruly inside the house, but he had not lost a lick of his senses when it came to seeing a fight heading his way.

  “I appreciate that, Captain,” Josiah said, noting the stiff difference in Feders’s stance and tone.

  “I’m sure you do. That was a fine mess you created.”

  “I was just trying to stay alive.”

  Feders let his fists fall open. “I probably wouldn’t go that way again for some time, if I were you.”

  Josiah agreed silently with a nod. “How’d you know to find me in Comanche in the first place?” It was not a question that had occurred to Josiah previously, but when he thought about the arrival of Feders and the company in Comanche as lucky, the timing seemed almost too perfect. The release made him feel emboldened enough to ask.

  “Where else would you have been, Wolfe?” There was a crack in Feders’s voice, and he looked away, then back directly at Josiah with a hard, accusatory glare. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing. Just asking a question.” Josiah felt odd, like he had just verbally attacked his father, with no reason, no cause for suspicion, just curiosity. Pete’s reaction only made matters worse, but all things considered, Josiah chose not to pursue the question any further.

  “I regret the loss of Red Overmeyer. He was a good man,” Josiah said, changing the subject. “I failed him.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Feders was still stiff, but he appeared to relax a bit. He drew a deep breath and took a step back, away from Josiah.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had some concerns about Overmeyer’s allegiance. He was always a little mysterious and unpredictable when it came to Indians,” Feders said.

  Josiah was curious and uncertain about Feders’s doubt regarding Red. It was the first he’d heard tell of any question of the man’s character. There was never any doubt in Josiah’s mind that Overmeyer was a fine Ranger, any more than Pete was a fine captain—albeit unpredictable. Now he was starting to doubt everything he’d ever believed.

  “He stood and fought with us in Lost Valley against the Comanche and Kiowa,” Josiah said. “I’m not sure that you’re making sense to me, Captain.”

  “He was out scouting at the start. It never crossed your mind that the whole troop went down in that valley and the mass of savages suddenly appeared out of nowhere? He gave the all clear to Jones, if I am not mistaken.”

  “Jones led us into the valley. It was his decision.” Josiah was getting defensive, and a little annoyed. Feders was not at the Lost Valley fight; he had stayed back at the Ranger camp along the Red River because of a conflict with Major Jones. Josiah didn’t think much about it at the time.

  “A scout worth his salt would have figured out it was a trap,” Feders said with a snarl.

  “What are you saying? That Red Overmeyer was a spy for the Indians?” Josiah asked, incredulous. “That he intentionally sent innocent men to their deaths? I saw a man die in the worst way, captured and mutilated by the Kiowa like he was nothing more than a rabbit. I spent time with Overmeyer; he never gave me one reason to question his desire to be a Ranger.”

  There was, though, perhaps some truth to what Feders was saying—at least enough to hear him out.

  It was always obvious that Overmeyer had spent plenty of time among the Indians—mostly friendlies on the plains. But being a spy just didn’t make sense—or Josiah didn’t want to believe it. He had trusted Red Overmeyer.

  What would there have been to gain by betraying his fellow Rangers in the Lost Valley? Nothing that Josiah could see. Still, there was no question that Overmeyer’s past was dim. He could have known some of the Indians or, at the very least, known how to trade with them.

  “Maybe he was a spy for the Indians,” Feders said. “Or maybe he was a spy for Liam O’Reilly. Perhaps he intended to give you up all along. Collect O’Reilly’s bounty for himself. Maybe those two Comanche and him had a deal. You ever think of that?”

  Josiah felt the air go out of his chest.

  He had questioned how the Indians knew his name, how they knew he was going to be out along the San Sabine scouting with just Scrap and Overmeyer and no troop to back them up.

  “If what you’re saying is true, then the Comanches would have had a reason to see Red Overmeyer dead,” Josiah said, coming to a conclusion he didn’t like, but was starting to make sense in a roundabout kind of way.

  He still didn’t feel absolved of Overmeyer’s death. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

  Feders nodded. “They were going to keep the bounty on your head for themselves.”

  “Which kind of explains why they left Elliot to live on the tree.”

  “It could. Killing a tr
aitor and a competitor was one thing. Killing a Ranger was totally another. Not that I believe for a second that those two Comanche didn’t have it in them to slit Elliot’s throat. I think they had orders not to draw any more attention to themselves than necessary, since they rode right into Comanche with no worry about riling the town. It’s you that O’Reilly was after. Still is, as far as that goes.”

  “My aim is to take care of that right away,” Josiah said, squaring his shoulders, preparing to head to the barn to retrieve Clipper and go home.

  “We’re not done yet, Wolfe,” Feders said, sternly.

  “What else is there?”

  “You do realize that you’ve been relieved from the Battalion?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Are you not off on a journey with Juan Carlos at the request of Captain McNelly?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “You’re one of McNelly’s men now, Wolfe. Our association is formally over as of this moment. You have no reason to be here or in my company ever again. Is that clear, Wolfe? We are done. Any problem you have with Liam O’ Reilly is now yours and yours alone.”

  Feders didn’t give Josiah a second to protest, to question anything about what came next, nothing. He spun on the heel of his boot and walked straight into the Fikes mansion like he already owned the place, slamming the door solidly behind him.

  Josiah stood motionless, feeling like he had just been sucker punched by an old adversary—knowing full well he should have seen something coming.

  The lights in the mansion began to go out one by one, window by window. The glow that had been so bright and welcoming earlier was now quickly becoming cold and dark, the entrance barred, forbidden, and the night uncertain and full of unfamiliar shadows.

  CHAPTER 32

  A torch stood burning outside of the barn.

  The orange flame was waning, but a steady stream of thin black smoke spiraled upward. Shadows played on the wall of the barn; a slow dance of unknown images since there was little breeze. A towering live oak stood near the entrance of the barn, offering a canopy of shade in the hot summers to the stable of fine horses the Fikes place continued to house.

  Josiah had been in the barn before, in the spring, after returning the captain’s body to the family. There was a bunkhouse attached to the back of the barn, fully equipped with an area set aside for baths and cleaning up after a long day’s work. But Josiah had no desire for a bath, or a moment of ease. All he wanted was to get as far away from the estate as possible, as fast as he could. He wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed one more night before leaving with Juan Carlos.

  He hoped to never return to the estate. Without the presence of Captain Fikes, it was a foreign country whose citizens spoke with angry and unknown tongues—with the exception of Pearl.

  The light from the torch was bright enough to see clearly inside the barn, to the stall that housed Clipper.

  When Josiah walked inside, the horse looked up, flipped his ears in recognition, then went back to eating a mouthful of first-class oats that half filled a narrow trough. It seemed they both were going to get their belly filled with tasty food one last time before hitting the trail again.

  “Better enjoy that, old friend,” Josiah said, entering the stable. His saddle was not in sight. Surely it was in the tack room.

  Clipper snorted and looked up again, but past Josiah, out into the darkness, deep into the barn. His ears pricked up, getting Josiah’s immediate attention.

  He’d learned to trust the horse’s announcements a long time ago. They’d saved his hide more than once.

  “What is it, fella?” Josiah whispered, rubbing the Appaloosa’s sturdy neck with one hand, unlatching the snap on his holster with the other.

  He sure did miss wearing the swivel rig that he used with the Peacemaker he’d lost to Little Shirt, but he had gotten as used to Charlie Webb’s Colt Frontier and its holster as he could.

  He eased the Colt out of the holster, then stepped quickly and quietly against the wall, into a deep shadow. There was no use taking any chances. Not once he heard footsteps coming his way.

  Feders might have changed his mind about a last-minute fistfight . . . Or it could have been someone else, a foe set on him by Liam O’Reilly, come to collect in an unsuspected place. They’d think he’d have his guard down here, and trailing him to the big to-do at the Fikes estate wouldn’t have taken much effort. He wasn’t safe anywhere, not even in Austin, and he couldn’t forget that. Not for one second—or he’d end up a dead man.

  It was beginning to become tiring, looking over his shoulder all the time. The journey with Juan Carlos couldn’t come soon enough. Being a frightened rabbit was no way to live.

  Josiah put his thumb on the hammer and eased his finger onto the trigger of the Colt.

  He could see a figure emerging out of the darkness, and his eyes fixed on it, just like Clipper’s were.

  The night was silent, cool temperatures sending every living creature searching out a bit of warmth left over from the day. A lone cricket rubbed its legs together somewhere in the barn, but nothing answered back. Rats and mice might have been watching from a distance, but Josiah doubted it. His presence had sent them scattering. Too bad that only worked on rodents.

  He put as much pressure on the trigger as he could, raising the gun up from his waist. Fanning a shot was something he only did in practice. He had never faced a man, or Indian, with that kind of action, nor did he ever think he would. If he was to take a shot, he wanted it to be sure. A kill with one bullet was always his aim. He only killed if he had to . . . and always replayed the event more times than he could count afterward, his soul aching for a better solution than dealing a man sudden death. Bill Clarmont’s death still played heavily on his mind.

  The figure held a steady pace, entering the barn unconcerned with being seen.

  It only took Josiah a second to recognize Pearl. Seeing her again made his throat dry up all over, and his chest lurched, like his body was warning him to leave as soon as he could, before it was too late, before he did or said something he might regret.

  “Josiah, is that you?”

  He slid the Colt back into the holster and walked out of the stall, stopping at the gate. “Yes, it’s me.”

  Pearl was standing just inside the open double barn doors, the torch burning behind her, silhouetting her body so that all of her features were hard to see. But it was obvious she had shed her formal dress after running out of the dining hall. Now she was wearing a simple white linen dress, her feet bare, her silky yellow hair falling over her shoulders.

  “Are you alone?” Pearl whispered.

  “I am,” Josiah said.

  Pearl did not hesitate then, and ran to Josiah, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close without hesitation or invitation.

  Josiah stiffened and held his hands at his side, for a moment. He wasn’t expecting her to rush to him.

  Pearl buried her face in his chest, and held him tight, like they had not seen each other in years. Her pain was obvious and disconcerting.

  Josiah could tell she had been crying for a long time.

  “I’m sorry,” Pearl said.

  Josiah exhaled, looked up into the darkness of the rafters, then let his eyes wander all around the barn. The last thing he needed was for Feders to walk in and find Pearl Fikes wrapped around him in an embrace—even if he hadn’t initiated it. He knew how it would look after what Feders had just said to him.

  “Is something wrong?” Pearl angled her face up at Josiah. She looked like an angel with a broken heart. The torch made her hair look even more golden, her skin alabaster, and her blue eyes twinkled with wetness.

  He had not welcomed her touch, or returned the warmth and press she offered him. It was hard not to. Her skin was soft, velvet, and made his fingers burn with the want of more of her touch . . . but he resisted.

  “No,” Josiah said, stepping back away from her a couple of steps, pulling from her embrace, de
termined to jump on Clipper as quickly as he could and ride away as fast as he could. “I was just leaving.”

  Clipper snorted, pawed at the straw, then returned to eating the oats luxuriously. Josiah stood back a foot or two from Pearl, unmoving.

  Pearl wiped the tears from her eyes. For a brief second, Josiah thought he saw a flash of anger cross her face but decided it must have been a shadow when she looked at him square on.

  “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” Pearl asked.

  “Why would I be angry with you?”

  “Peter. I didn’t know he was going to be here. My mother arranged for him to be at the dinner without my knowledge.”

  “She was the reason I didn’t want to accept your invitation in the first place,” Josiah said.

  “I know. I thought I could handle her. But she is dead set on me marrying Peter Feders.”

  Josiah nodded his head. “He’s a fine man, Pearl. You could do worse than being courted by a man like Pete. I’ve seen his courage and bravery more times than I can count.”

  “You surely can’t mean that, Josiah.”

  “I owe him my neck.”

  Pearl took a step toward him then. “He’ll never have my heart.”

  Josiah looked away. He could see the outline of her body, the curves and the mystery of it, because of the dancing flame behind her. Heat begin to rise from his toes—the coolness of the night hardly a concern now that she was near.

  “I will never, ever marry Peter Feders, Josiah. You know that as well as I do—and you know why. I don’t care what trick my mother tries to play on me, what social obligation she tries to enforce, he is not the man for me.”

  A flowery scent hit Josiah’s nostrils—springtime perfume, but he couldn’t pinpoint the fragrance, it wasn’t something he had ever encountered before. It mixed with his own musky smell, and the voice in the back of his head screamed at him to get out of the barn and run away from Pearl Fikes as quick as he could—before he lost control of all of his senses, control of parts of himself that he had forced to lie dormant for a long, long time.

 

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