The Badger's Revenge

by Larry D. Sweazy

  “Is that what this is about? Langdon? He met the rope. You can expect the same thing.”

  “Ain’t never gonna happen. But I owe a mite of respect to ole Charlie.”

  “Respect or revenge?”

  “Call it what you want.”

  They exchanged another volley of gunshots, both missing, at least as far as Josiah knew. He pulled back against the rock and reloaded the Colt Frontier, then looked to the sky overhead and took a deep breath. There was no way to know where Scrap was or if there was even a way to get close enough to O’Reilly for a decent shot, but Scrap would find it if there was.

  Back up, ready to take another shot, Josiah took a breath, tried to sight in anything out of the ordinary, tried to see a shot that would put an end to O’Reilly and free Josiah of any worry about that threat to his life in Austin.

  There was nothing to see, no hope of getting the shot, until he heard another voice—the second man riding with O’Reilly, he presumed—yell out and say, “Give it up, O’Reilly, they’ve got you cornered.”

  Josiah knew the voice. It was Pete Feders’s.

  Scrap walked into the firelight , pushing Liam O’Reilly in the back of the head with his rifle. Liam

  Pete Feders stood on the opposite side of the dwindling fire, unwrapping a heavy rope with his right hand. “Good thing you boys came along when you did, or I would have been a dead man.”

  O’Reilly spit. “You are a dead man, Feders. He’s your traitor, Wolfe. Not that damned scout.”

  Josiah was standing next to Feders, uncertain about trusting the man.

  Pete looked like he’d been held captive and had maybe just broken free as O’Reilly spied Josiah and Scrap coming along. Feders wasn’t wearing his gun belt, and his hands and feet had obviously been bound. There was a gun belt hanging over the saddle of the black stallion that Mrs. Fikes had given Pete, the gun still in its holster.

  Feders unwrapped the last of the rope from his ankles, tossed it off into the darkness, and walked over to his horse.

  “He’s lying,” Feders said, grabbing the gun belt off the saddle.

  “Why in the hell would I lie?” O’Reilly yelled. “You and I—”

  The Irishman didn’t have time to finish the sentence. Pete Feders pulled out a gun, a very familiar Peacemaker, from the holster hanging over the saddle, and fired one shot, hitting O’Reilly square in the solar plexus. Another rapid shot caught the man in the shoulder, sending him reeling backward, knocking Scrap off balance.

  Feders fired one last shot to finish off O’Reilly, shooting him in the throat, right above his Adam’s apple, before the Irishman collapsed to the ground with a solid and unmoving thud.

  Scrap continued to stumble backwards. “What in tarnation?”

  Pete Feders turned to face Josiah, pointing the gun directly at his heart. But Feders had not counted on Josiah being fast enough to pull his own gun, Charlie Webb’s Colt Frontier.

  “You better explain what’s going on, Pete, or you’re going to die right along with your friend here. You shoot me, Elliot’s got a bead on your head, and you know he won’t miss.”

  Feders’s hand trembled. The scar above his eye twitched, and sweat ran down his face, cutting through the trail dust like a mud puddle lining out its way after a quick spring storm. “How’d you know?”

  “O’Reilly gave up way too easy. I’ve been in a cat-and-mouse game with him more than once, and he’s no quitter. Coming in, on your suggestion, didn’t seem like enough unless you got some power over him. If that’s the case, then I had to wonder who was really in charge. O’Reilly was always a follower, but I never figured you’d be the one he would let tell him what to do. You’ve been giving O’Reilly the orders all along. Sound about right?”

  “Something like that,” Feders said, still holding the gun on Josiah.

  “You step in after Charlie met the rope, Pete? I figured O’Reilly filled that role, but I was wrong. I just don’t know why a man would throw away everything good he’s done with his life to saddle up next to a lowlife scoundrel like O’Reilly.”

  “You’ve got no right to know,” Feders said.

  “He moves an inch, Scrap, you shoot him without asking, you understand?”

  Scrap nodded his head, biting his lip all the while, an astonished look on his face, as he was starting to figure out what was going on.

  “You set Overmeyer up, didn’t you? He must have figured out somehow that you were giving orders to O’Reilly. So you sent him out to make a deal with those Comanche, and they killed him to keep his mouth shut, on your orders. That’s why they left Scrap. He was innocent of your plan. Knew nothing about it. That was honorable of you.”

  “If you say so.”

  “That’s my gun, Pete. Why are you carrying it?”

  “I took it off the Comanche you killed. I thought you might want it back.”

  “You had a chance to give it to me in Austin. More like a trophy, isn’t it? Proof when you go back that I’m really dead?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why, Pete? After all of these years, why?”

  “You know why.”

  Josiah exhaled deeply. “Pearl.”

  Feders nodded yes.

  “You need my gun to prove to her mother that I’m really dead and out of the way.”

  “Major Jones will need proof,” Feders said. “Pearl’s mother has nothing to do with this.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You have no proof of anything. I am doing what I’m doing for love, nothing more.”

  Josiah tensed up, glanced over at Scrap out of the corner of his eye to make sure he still had Feders in his sights. He did. The boy hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “For the love of money,” Josiah said.

  “It’s all the same.” Another bead of sweat cut a rivulet through the dirt on Feders’s face. He flinched.

  Josiah pressed the trigger of the Colt just a little harder, just to the edge of pulling it.

  “No,” Josiah said, “it’s not.”

  Pete Feders blinked, swallowed hard, and his left hand twitched. Josiah pulled the trigger before he did.

  The bullet caught Pete Feders solidly in the chest. Blood exploded outward onto Josiah as the Peacemaker flew out of Feders’s hand. He fell to the ground in a heap.

  Josiah stumbled, then regained his footing, shocked at what he had done, certain that Pete Feders had been going to pull the trigger and shoot him.

  But even now, seconds afterward, Josiah was already questioning himself, whether he had just killed a man he’d known for a long time over simple jealousy. He had no answer . . . but knew the question was not going away anytime soon.

  Feders groaned and rolled on his side, curling up in a fetal position, grabbing the wound. The gun was well out of his reach.

  “Damn, Wolfe,” Scrap said.

  Josiah shot Scrap a look that was not hard to mistake: it meant keep quiet.

  “I was never going to have her as long as you were alive, Wolfe,” Feders whispered.

  “Why O’Reilly?”

  “I needed him to help me grow the herd once I had the Fikes ranch. I needed to prove to Pearl’s mother I was worthy, that I had the kind of money Pearl was accustomed to—without money I would never have her as my own, as my wife. The old woman needs money, Wolfe; the financial collapse and Captain Fikes’s death have left her nearly penniless. Her way of life is at stake, and the only true asset she has left is Pearl; she has mortgaged the estate to the hilt, with little means to pay her debt. I was willing to do anything to have Pearl, to have that land, and the life I have always dreamed of. I was never good at being a captain, you know that.

  “I needed the bank money from Comanche to give to Cortina as a down payment for a large herd, and that was the fastest way to get it. I gave O’Reilly a generous cut, and he knew as long as he was riding with me that he would always be protected by Rangers. He was free to do whatever he wanted, and I didn’t have to do t
he dirty work. I am no Charlie Langdon. Surely, you understand that I wanted nothing more than Pearl’s love in the end?”

  Josiah shook his head no. He didn’t understand that kind of love and greed. All he knew was the difference between right and wrong, and the whole thing concerning Pete was . . . wrong. It didn’t make any sense to him. “Did Pearl’s mother put the bounty on my head to get me out of the way?”

  “She’s desperate, Wolfe, but she’s not a murderer, though I often thought it would be easier to kill her than you. You have a talent for staying alive.”

  “You would have killed me for Pearl? Left my boy an orphan?” Anger was coursing through Josiah’s veins upon hearing the cold truth.

  Feders tried to answer, but he didn’t have the energy. Blood was leaving his body quicker than it could clot. He struggled to breathe, then gasped, clutching his heart. His hand fell to the ground, his eyes fixed on the sky, and in the blink of an eye, Josiah knew that Captain Pete Feders was dead.

  CHAPTER 43

  The cold November rain pelted Josiah’s face as he rode up to the grand Fikes house. It was late evening, darkness coming earlier and earlier in the day as winter bore down on Austin. Gloomy days lay ahead, and Josiah could already feel the change of weather deep in his bones.

  He hitched Clipper to the post in front of the house and walked up to the door, his shoulders slouched, each step taken, heavy and unwilling, though there was no question that he had to do what he was about to.

  The door opened before Josiah came to a stop and prepared to knock. Pedro was standing there, an expression on his face equal to those usually seen at a funeral or a wake: sad and reflective. “It is good to see you Señor Wolfe.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “The hour is late, and you were not expected, so your presence is news to us, your survival a relief. The last we saw of you was at the dinner, then you were off on another assignment in South Texas. There is always worry when our Rangers take to the road. Captain Fikes came home dead in the back of a wagon. Why would we not expect the same to happen to you?”

  “All of you are relieved?” Josiah asked, peering over Pedro’s shoulder, wondering what the Mexican butler actually knew about the trip south.

  The grand hall of the house was dimly lit, a few hurricane lamps burning low, casting soft shadows on the walls and ceiling. Down the hall, the dining room, where Pete Feders had asked Pearl to marry him publicly, stood in complete darkness. More out of function than in mourning, since, as far as Josiah knew, word of Pete Feders’s demise had not yet reached Austin.

  “I have just returned to the city,” Josiah said.

  “How is your son?”

  “Fine, thank you, and not happy to see me leave again so soon after arriving home, but I need to speak with Pearl.”

  “Like I said, Señor Wolfe, it is late, can this not wait until tomorrow?”

  Josiah shook his head no. “I have news for her that I wish to tell her myself. Tomorrow will be too late.”

  Before Pedro could respond, Josiah heard a shuffle of footsteps coming down the grand staircase. Again, he looked past Pedro. Disappointment coursed through his veins as he quickly figured out that the person raised by the voices at the door was Pearl’s mother, the Widow Fikes, and not Pearl herself. Josiah had been hoping to avoid a meeting with the widow.

  “Who is it, Pedro, disturbing us at such a late hour?”

  “It is Ranger Wolfe, ma’am.”

  “Wolfe?” The widow pushed by Pedro, who retreated quickly into the nearest alcove. “You, sir, are not welcome in this house. There, I have made it official. Now, please leave.”

  “I would like to speak with Pearl,” Josiah said.

  “Did you not just hear me ask you to leave?”

  “I did. With all due respect, ma’am, I would like to speak with Pearl before I do so.”

  The widow was more than a head shorter than Josiah, so he had to angle his neck downward just to look her in the eye. She had obviously been preparing for bed, wrapped in a black robe, still mourning, still wearing her widow’s weeds, of a fashion, to the very moment she crawled into bed. Her brittle gray hair was unfurled from a tight bun and fell over her shoulders, hanging down almost to the small of her back. Her skin was nearly pale white. She looked like a ghost herself, albeit a well-fed one.

  “Your persistence is not appreciated here, Ranger Wolfe. I don’t know what my husband ever saw in you, but I rue the day you stepped foot on this property, the day my daughter first laid eyes on you. You are a blight on my life. Do you understand that, sir? A blight.”

  Josiah restrained his tongue, pushed it to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to respond, to participate in the fight she was laying the ground for, but he did not take the bait. He had the advantage of seeing the shadows behind the woman, saw what was coming before she heard it.

  “Mother! What an awful thing to say. Josiah does not deserve such vile treatment,” Pearl said, descending from the final step, then hurrying to the door. She rushed past her mother, a smile on her face, the glow nearly lighting up the darkness of the night that lay beyond Josiah.

  Pearl was wrapped up in nightclothes, too. There was a fragrance about her that quickly infiltrated Josiah’s nose. Cream of some kind, a freshness that smelled of spring and womanhood. He almost turned and ran away, but he didn’t, he held firm. Seeing her took his breath away.

  “Why are you here, Josiah, is something the matter?”

  “I would like to speak to you, in private,” Josiah said, his voice monotone, any emotions held as deep in his stomach as he could manage.

  “There will be nothing done in private between you and my daughter, Ranger Wolfe. Do I make myself clear? If you have something to say, say it in front of me, as I will not leave you to a chaperone of any type,” the Widow Fikes said.

  Josiah drew in a deep breath, and Pearl glared at her mother harshly. Her sweet cornflower blue eyes were harder than he had ever seen them.

  “I would like a moment alone with Josiah, Mother.”

  The Widow Fikes’s feet were set as solidly as the rest of her body. Her face was frozen in a state that offered no hint of negotiation.

  “I did not come here to cause an argument,” Josiah said. “It is bad news that I bear, and your mother will hear it soon enough, too, Pearl. Maybe this way is best.”

  “Something has happened to Juan Carlos?” Pearl said. “Hasn’t it?”

  “That is part of it, yes.”

  The widow Fikes stood firm, her glare never breaking away from Josiah. Pedro stood close by in the shadows, close enough to hear everything.

  “Juan Carlos was shot in Brackett,” Josiah continued. “We were ambushed just outside of the sheriff’s office there.”

  “He’s dead?” Pearl gasped, tears welling in her eyes.

  Josiah shook his head no. “He is still hanging on, recovering in the doctor’s care in Brackett. He’s too weak to be moved. It was a gut shot that he took. A lesser man would have died straightaway. Not lasted a day. But Juan Carlos has a strong will to live. I didn’t want to leave there, alone, but I had to return to Austin immediately.”

  “That man is despicable,” the widow sneered.

  “Mother, that man is your husband’s brother.”

  “So he says. I say he’s a half-breed always on the lookout for a handout so he can go off with one of his whores and live a like a lazy king.”

  “Mother, please,” Pearl said through gritted teeth, then dabbed the corners of her eyes with a pure white handkerchief that she’d produced almost out of nowhere. “Good, I am glad he is still alive. Thank you for the news, Josiah.”

  “That is not why I have come here tonight, Pearl,” Josiah said. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Pete Feders is dead.”

  “Dead?” Pearl whispered. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Peter is dead? Dead?” the Widow Fikes yelled. “I don’t believe it. He can’t be dead. How did he die?”


  “I shot him, ma’am. I killed Pete Feders in self-defense.”

  Pearl’s mother barreled past her, knocking Pearl out of the way, and stopped within inches of Josiah, pointing her finger at his face, waving it like a mad sword. “I meant what I said. You are not welcome here, ever, not now, not tomorrow, not ten years from now, do you understand me, Ranger Wolfe? I will make your life miserable. Your days as a Ranger are numbered. I know people. I know important people. You will be lucky to get a job as a stable boy in this town after I’ve had my say. Now leave. Get off my land.”

  Josiah did not move. He stood watching the tears stream from Pearl’s eyes. His own mouth was dry, and his feet were firmly planted, unwilling to move, even though he wanted them to. There was a chill in the air, and Josiah felt downright cold. He wanted to reach out and touch Pearl, offer her some comfort, but he dared not touch her.

  “The papers will have the story tomorrow, Pearl. But I wanted you to hear it from me first.” Josiah lowered his head. “I still must answer for what has happened. Major Jones, Captain McNelly, and the adjunct general, William Steele, are set to decide my fate. It is my word against a dead man’s. Ranger Elliot is a witness, but whether they will take his account of what happened is still questionable.”

  “I said leave,” the Widow Fikes demanded.

  “Mother, for the last time, keep quiet. Let Josiah speak,” Pearl snapped, her face hard and twisted with grief and danger now.

  “Well!” The widow turned to walk away, the look on her face akin to having been slapped by Pearl. She stopped at the stairway, still within earshot, glaring and whimpering like a sullen pup at the same time.

  “Tell me, Josiah, tell me what happened.”

  Josiah drew in a deep breath. He caught a glimpse of Pedro, who had not moved, and who was not showing any emotion other than surprise. “Pete was desperate to win your love, you know that?”

  “I do,” Pearl said, softly.

  “He was also desperate for money. I do not know the hows, whens, or whys, but when the outlaw Charlie Langdon was hanged, Pete stepped in to fill the void. He took control and began accumulating money. He wanted enough to buy a large herd of cattle and have a pot of money to win your mother’s favor and to pay her debts. From what Pete said, she, too, is desperate for money. He and Liam O’Reilly were forging a relationship with Juan Cortina, a cattle rustling scheme that would have made them very wealthy, very quickly. I was sent to stop that union. At the time, I only knew of O’Reilly’s involvement. But I didn’t know Pete was involved. Not then.”