The Badger's Revenge

by Larry D. Sweazy

  “That doesn’t mean I speak Mexican.”

  “He called me a name, didn’t he?”

  Josiah rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your feathers all in a ruffle, Elliot, I’m sure he didn’t call you any names, did you, Juan Carlos?”

  “I said you have the humor of a goat,” Juan Carlos said, trying to catch his breath.

  For some reason, Josiah found that funny, and he started to laugh, too. Juan Carlos joined him, leaving Scrap to sit on Missy with his arms crossed, a petulant look on his face, unsure of what to do next—fight or flee.

  CHAPTER 35

  Austin disappeared behind the trio as they headed south, and the hill country rose up to greet them.

  It was a long ride to the Nueces Strip, and since Juan Carlos was in the lead, with no specific and unspoken orders from Captain Leander McNelly, Josiah found himself in the odd position of following, unaware of what their true destination was or, for that matter, what their true mission was, other than to stop the unlikely union between Liam O’Reilly and Juan Cortina, if they could.

  The Strip, a broad area between the Nueces River and the Rio Grande, was home to more than its fair share of ruthless outlaws, not only Cortina, but John King Fisher, too.

  Wild longhorns roamed the countryside and locally brought only about two dollars a head at market, but the long trek up to Abilene raised the price to forty dollars a head, making cattle hunting and rustling an extremely lucrative occupation. Brand doctors abounded, and if they were caught out in the brush, they were hanged on the spot. In a city, at the stockyards, the branders were most often sent off to prison if they were foolish enough to show their faces.

  Josiah was well aware of the potential for Liam O’Reilly to grow his band of outlaws into a full-fledged outfit with corrupt fingers stretching all over the state of Texas, if he was successful in the Strip.

  O’Reilly had already demonstrated that power in Waco and Comanche, though he’d eventually lost influence in both towns. Not only was he a cold-blooded killer, but the Irishman was also an astute businessman who had a talent for wrangling the local power, taking control of entire towns. Obviously ambition was part of the outlaw’s makeup, too.

  Cortina was an interesting choice for O’Reilly to try and side with. He had served in the Mexican War at a very young age, quickly becoming a folk hero to the people of Mexico. In the late 1850s, Cortina was outraged by the treatment of poor Mexicans living in Brownsville, gathered up eighty men, and took control of the town. It was called the First Cortina War. The people of Brownsville revolted, creating a militia of their own called the Brownsville Tigers. It wasn’t long before the Texas Rangers showed up, and later with Colonel Robert E. Lee, commander of the Eighth Military District, the army showed up, too. Cortina was defeated and driven back into Mexico.

  When Texas seceded from the Union and joined in the fight with the War Between the States, Cortina invaded Zapata County, starting the Second Cortina War, siding with the Union. He was defeated by Captain Santos Benavides and, once again, was driven back into Mexico. But Cortina continued making trouble, on both sides of the border, offering aid to the Union since Benavides was a Confederate. Cortina eventually became a general in the Mexican Army, and after the end of the War Between the States, he was considered a Union criminal of Texas, even though a pardon had been presented, but failed in the legislature.

  It was only natural that the fortunes being made in cattle would catch Cortina’s attention. He knew the Nueces Strip better than anyone. It was rumored by everyone that he had a large faction of rustlers that stole from the ranches and rounded up the wild longhorn as well. But recently, the ranchers had started to make some noise about the rustling and had been heard all the way in Austin. Cortina was becoming more and more powerful, more and more brazen, and the ranchers were losing a lot of cattle that weren’t being shipped up north.

  To Josiah, it sounded like Liam O’Reilly needed Juan Cortina far more than Cortina needed O’Reilly—but then again, what did he know of the ways of outlaws? Maybe there was a deal hatched with skills that O’Reilly held that Josiah was unaware of. That was entirely possible, making the charge to stop O’Reilly a larger matter.

  But for Josiah, the nuances of the relationship didn’t really matter. The trip to the Nueces Strip was personal for him.

  He wanted to see the Irishman dead and buried.

  They eased their pace as Onion Creek came into view. The uplands stretched out before them, and the ground was dry, eerily similar to the San Saba, but lacking in alkali and biting flies.

  Mesquites were sparse, junipers were healthy, and off in the distance, the creek was lined with cypress, sycamore, and pecan trees. Josiah’s hunger kicked in, as well as his instinct, and he knew the spot would be a good place to hunt for white-tailed deer or fox squirrels.

  The trees were mostly bare, and there was little bird life. On a perfect day there would be all kinds of songbirds singing and fluttering about, but the roiling sky overhead and a steady wind had driven away any signs of life, leaving the trees in silence.

  The red sky of the morning had turned to an angry black in the west. Wind was starting to kick up, and the smell of a fierce rain was too strong to ignore.

  The storm clouds reminded Josiah of Comanche, of Billie Webb. No matter what had happened since his return to Austin, even last night in Pearl’s arms, he could not get the girl out of his mind. He worried about her welfare and was certain that that was the only reason her memory would not leave him alone.

  “There is a shelter not far from here, an overhang that will protect us from the weather,” Juan Carlos said.

  Josiah looked at the limestone toward the outcroppings, and for a moment held the memory of Lost Valley, of being trapped under a similar outcropping by an angry band of Kiowa. It was not a good memory.

  Scrap had nearly gotten them killed, and there was a question whether or not the boy’s impetuousness had caused the knife attack that left Josiah wounded. The scar was still tender, but he had decided long ago not to blame Scrap. Still, the outcropping made him nervous.

  “Is there a way out?” Josiah asked, forcing his thoughts back into the moment. Not losing sight of where they were when there were men who wanted to see them dead—or Josiah at least—was extremely important.

  They were riding three abreast at a slow pace. Scrap shot Josiah an angry look because of the question but held his tongue. The Lost Valley fight was still a rub between Josiah and Scrap, neither of them daring to bring up the subject.

  Juan Carlos nodded. “There is. To the best of my knowledge, we have not been followed. But that does not mean someone is not waiting for us.”

  “That makes me feel better,” Josiah said.

  “Just the truth,” Juan Carlos answered. “What is the matter, Elliot?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “We’ve been in a situation like this before,” Josiah said.

  “That’s not what I was thinkin’ about, Wolfe,” Scrap said. “I was thinkin’ it’s a long ride to the Strip, and this ain’t startin’ out so well.”

  Juan Carlos shook his head and picked up his pace, leading his horse a little to the south as he climbed down toward the creek bed.

  The blackness in the sky had nearly reached them, and Josiah felt the first raindrop hit his face. A lightning strike burst out of the sky a good distance away, hot white fingers hungrily reaching for the earth. Thunder rumbled a few seconds later, giving Clipper a noticeable start.

  “Why do you say that?” Josiah asked, reining the horse back, quickly calming him.

  “Just like usual, I’m bringin’ up the rear, and I ain’t got a clue as to what’s goin’ on.”

  Josiah eyed Scrap, raising an eyebrow in frustration. “We trust you with our backs, isn’t that enough?” With that, he kneed Clipper, catching up quickly with Juan Carlos, leaving Scrap to think about what he’d just said.

  Another clap of thunder spurred Scrap and Missy to join Josiah and Juan Carl
os under the overhang.

  The fire was small, and on occasion, Juan Carlos flapped his hat over it, dispelling the rise of smoke so they wouldn’t draw any attention to their location. The storm was fully overhead now, and the trio was safely tucked under the overhang. It was dry and cool next to the limestone, nearly like being in a cave, except there was a sheer wall, facing southwest, that helped keep most of the wind and rain away from the three men.

  Juan Carlos had a full complement of jerky for the long ride, and there’d been time to get some fresh water for a pot of coffee. The aroma of Arbuckle’s filled the air, along with the smell of some johnnycakes frying in a small skillet.

  The horses were not so lucky, tied to a line just outside the overhang. Still, there were some tall sycamores that helped to protect them from the weather.

  “We’re gonna lose half a day’s ride,” Scrap said.

  “That is not my worry,” Juan Carlos answered, staring out into the storm, at nothing in particular.

  “What is?” Josiah asked. He was sitting with his back propped up against the wall, his Winchester at his side, cleaning the Colt Frontier.

  “It will be much easier for us to be tracked when we leave.” Juan Carlos walked to the very edge of the overhang, stuck his hand out, made it into a cup, and let it fill with water that was draining off from above. “If O’Reilly has already met up with Cortina, their plans made, then he will know we are coming.”

  “How would he know that?” Scrap asked.

  Juan Carlos shook his head. “I do not know. O’Reilly has eyes everywhere. I think he will be on the lookout for us, either way. The Badger is wary of everything and everyone.”

  “The only way he would know we are coming is if those eyes were Ranger eyes,” Josiah said.

  “Perhaps.” Juan Carlos drank the water from his cupped hand, then angled over to the fire, standing over it for some warmth. “That is not entirely out of the realm of possibility, but I have not been able to discover who those eyes belong to, if that is true.”

  “Well don’t look at me. I ain’t no rat,” Scrap said.

  Josiah stopped cleaning the Colt and put it away . . . within reach. “If we thought that, you’d be a dead rat.”

  “No worry,” Juan Carlos said. “I have ways of finding these things out. I have my own set of eyes in places Cortina or O’Reilly would not suspect.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Fort Clark stood on the horizon, a twenty-acre complex of wood frame and limestone buildings, some still under construction. The fort had originated in 1852 as a guard post for the San Antonio–El Paso Road. When Texas seceded from the Union, the fort was taken over by the Second Texas Mounted Rifles and used as a hospital. Josiah knew some men who’d served with that outfit, or at least they’d claimed to, but for himself, this was his first visit to Clark and the outlying town of Brackett. The construction was a result of a rebuilding project after years of overuse and neglect.

  The trio of men stood with their horses lined nose to nose at the crest of a thousand-foot rise. As they looked west, it seemed like they could see forever as dusk started to settle into night before them.

  The ride had been long, hard, and fast, the three of them fair enough horsemen to keep up with one another and make solid time. Almost four days had passed, constantly on the lookout for an ambush, for trackers, for a posse of O’Reilly’s men on their tail—but there had been nothing, not one single threat.

  The ride to Fort Clark had been almost too easy as far as Josiah was concerned.

  “More to worry about here,” Juan Carlos said, looking explicitly at Scrap, who was in the middle. “Kickapoo. Lipan Apache. Rustlers. Outlaws. Some Comanche. Bandidos crossing back and forth across the river selling off stolen cattle. It is una tierra hostil, a hostile land. Cortina knows every rock, every bad man’s heart, and every good man’s weakness within a thousand miles. You cannot let your fears get the best of you, or we could all die.”

  “I can handle myself,” Scrap said.

  Juan Carlos gripped the reins tighter, holding his horse steady. “Watch yourself in the fort, if we have need to make a visit. Colonel Mackenzie employs a fine group of Negro Seminole scouts. We may have need of their services.”

  “I ain’t no slouch,” Scrap said.

  “I know how you feel about Mexicans. Usted no puede ocultar su perjuicio.”

  Josiah sat on Clipper on the other side of Scrap, listening, looking over the land in front of him, barely paying attention to the two men’s conversation.

  His eyes were fixed on the town of Brackett, the lamps starting to burn inside the houses, the residents preparing for the coming night. He let his thoughts wander to Lyle, then Pearl, hoping their safety and comfort were not a concern, knowing that there was nothing he could do, so far away, other than look out for himself, Scrap, and Juan Carlos and accomplish his own mission as well as the one Captain McNelly had set for them: Stop Liam O’Reilly at any cost.

  “You know I can’t speak Mexican,” Scrap protested.

  “It is just as well,” Juan Carlos said.

  “You have a plan?” Josiah asked.

  Juan Carlos nodded. “We will stay in town.”

  Josiah stared at the old Mexican, questioning him with his eyes first. “If O’Reilly or Cortina have men here, they will be on the lookout for us. They’ll know we’re here if what you say is true.”

  “That is the plan,” Juan Carlos said. “Cortina will find it very interesting that I have ridden into Brackett with two Rangers.”

  “He knows you?”

  Juan Carlos smiled. “Of course he knows me.”

  “Well, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard of,” Scrap said.

  “Do you think that the three of us are going to sneak up on O’Reilly, or Cortina in the land that he calls home? That is estupidez. Foolish, as you say.”

  “You really want them to know we’re here?” Scrap continued.

  Juan Carlos nodded. “We are safe in Brackett. It is once we leave the protection of the fort that we will be in danger. The men there will not cast a shadow on us.”

  “And your plan extends beyond that?” Josiah asked.

  “Sí.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Josiah said.

  “Well, it ain’t for me,” Scrap said.

  “Fine,” Josiah said. “Stay here.”

  Brackett was the Kinney County seat, and the jail sat right across the street from the county courthouse. Like in Fort Clark, the buildings in Brackett were made of ash-layered limestone and were of recent construction.

  There was a quarry, not far out of town, that supplied all of the limestone. The towering mountains and deep canyons supplied an unlimited source of materials to accommodate the growth of Brackett and the rebuilding of Fort Clark.

  Juan Carlos tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the jail. It was a small building, single level, about eight hundred square feet at the most, nothing like the county jail in Austin. The jail was as nice-looking a building as Josiah had ever seen for housing outlaws.

  “Wait here. The sheriff is un viejo amigo, an old friend. I want to say hola, let him know we are here,” Juan Carlos said.

  Josiah nodded, stayed in his saddle, and watched Juan Carlos disappear inside the building.

  Scrap grunted, then fished into a pocket and pulled out a quirlie he’d pre-rolled and lit it. The air immediately smelled of tobacco, and though Josiah did not smoke, the smell was a comfort to him. It meant they were in a moment of relief and relaxation.

  Light burned brightly from inside, and Josiah wondered if there were gas lamps in the jail like there were in the Fikes estate. The glow was intense, almost white, as it cut through the windows and into the darkness outside. It was easy to see moving shadows through the window next to the door and hear loud, welcoming voices. The curtains were drawn so he could not see any one man in particular, just their outlines. There was more than one man.

  “I feel like a sittin’ duc
k,” Scrap said, exhaling a lung full of smoke.

  “You’re going to have to trust Juan Carlos.”

  “Not likely to happen anytime soon.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Orders. I want to keep on bein’ a Ranger.”

  “Obviously Juan Carlos has McNelly’s trust.”

  Scrap shrugged. “Don’t matter. I’ll do what I’m told, you know that, Wolfe. But I ain’t gonna take no orders from a Mexican or a half-breed Indian, especially a half-breed Negro Indian. Nobody said they were equal to a Ranger, now did they?”

  Josiah shook his head no. “Juan Carlos works for himself as far as I know. I don’t know what his relationship with McNelly is, but I figure they’ve known each other for a long time. Can’t see McNelly sending anyone on a special assignment without trusting him.”

  “So you’re sayin’ Juan Carlos is a spy?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I ain’t takin’ orders from no spy.”

  Josiah said nothing in response to Scrap’s announcement. There was no use arguing with the thick-headed boy. He took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. It looked the same as the night sky that covered the ceiling of Austin, even though they were two hundred miles from home.

  There were some men who could navigate by the night sky, knew the stories about warriors doing battle above them with great beasts like bears and lions, but Josiah didn’t know any of those stories.

  He knew the Big Dipper when he saw it, the Little Dipper, too, but beyond that the night sky was a mystery to him. Just like the streets of Brackett, which were mostly quiet now. He had no idea where he was at.

  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.