Read The Rattlesnake Season Online
Authors: Larry D. Sweazy
The Rattlesnake Season (5 page)
That someone wasn’t him . . . this time.
Confused, he sat up, and saw the old Mexican he had tipped for the bath and shave, standing over the big man with Josiah’s Bowie knife, fresh blood still on the blade.
The big man was not dead yet . . . but he would be soon if someone didn’t help him. He was gasping like a fish out of water. The Mexican had been careful not to cut too deep . . . just deep enough to put an end to the fight. Left to his own devices, the man would surely bleed to death.
“Are you all right, Señor Ranger?”
Josiah rubbed his own throat, nodded yes, grabbed the big man’s gun, and looked up and down the hall. “He was alone?”
“I think so, señor.”
“All right. Run out and get the doctor. This man needs some attention.”
“Señor
,
are you sure? He tried to kill you.”
,
are you sure? He tried to kill you.”
“Justice is not ours to dole out, my friend. I appreciate what you did, but this man doesn’t answer to us. If we watch him die, then we are no better men than he is. I have enough to live with, don’t you?”
The Mexican stared at Josiah like he had never heard such words before, smiled slightly, then hurried down the hallway.
Josiah was left there alone, standing over the dying man, wondering how a person could come to disregard life so much that he would try to kill a man he did not know, for a reason that was not his own, as if it were just a job, just another task to be fulfilled.
He hoped he would never come to understand that kind of reasoning.
CHAPTER 4
Captain Fikes was waiting for Josiah in the lobby. “Heard you had some commotion down here for yourself, Wolfe.”
The upstairs was full of deputies. A doctor worked on the boulder-shaped attacker. The last Josiah had seen of the big man, it didn’t look promising.
Josiah had very little time to get himself together. He cleaned up as quick as he could, anxious to flee the Menger and join the captain and the other Rangers at the jail. His long-overdue shave would have to wait.
“It was one of Langdon’s men, I assume.”
Fikes nodded. “Burly Smith. Sent to kill you, I expect. That Mexican did you a great favor.”
“I’m indebted. The old Mexican saved my life. I told the deputies that, but I don’t think they heard me too well.”
“I’ll take care of it. He’s an old friend. I asked him to keep an eye on you, for me. I was pretty certain Charlie would set somebody after you.”
“Rightly appreciate that,” Josiah said. “The old man deserves a reward.” He wasn’t really surprised Fikes and an old Mexican were friends. There was a tale there that he would remember to ask the captain about someday, but today was not the day. In a world where Mexicans were reviled, thanks in part to the Cortina War, and Cortina’s continuing forays into South Texas to steal cattle, it was good to see the captain didn’t lump all Mexicans into a hated category because of the color of their skin.
“I doubt he’ll see it, if there is one,” the captain said.
Josiah nodded in agreement. “He disappeared once the deputies arrived.”
Captain Fikes cleared his throat and looked to the door of the lobby, signaling he was ready to leave. “Don’t worry about Juan Carlos. He’ll show up when you least expect him to. Always does.”
“It’s good to have friends like that.”
“It is.”
“Funny thing is, I thought Charlie Langdon was my friend once upon a time.”
“We all make mistakes,” the captain said. “Charlie’s safe and secure in shackles. Sheriff Patterson has the jail under control . . . now. We’ll be heading out in the morning, just like I planned. I was fixin’ to check in on you before everything went wild on us. Patterson—” The captain stopped mid-sentence, and twisted his lip into a snarl. His eyes narrowed, then he looked away from Josiah, shaking his head in disgust.
Josiah decided quickly that Captain Fikes was not fond of Sheriff J. T. Patterson. Josiah had never met the man, but had heard he was none too liked in town, so he could only assume Fikes was more than a little irritated about the jailbreak attempt, especially considering the captain seemed to know ahead of time that it was going to happen. Combined with Burly Smith’s visit to the Menger that went unimpeded, it didn’t speak too highly of the local law enforcers, or J. T. Patterson’s ability to keep the peace.
Josiah wasn’t about to set fire to the captain’s kindling, so he kept his mouth shut, and left Sheriff Patterson’s reputation to simmer quietly on Hiram Fikes’s tongue.
As if he could read Josiah’s state of mind, the captain headed out of the lobby without saying another word. His swagger was a little more pronounced, and his steps were heavier than usual. There was nothing like seeing a man fully in charge and chagrined at the same time. Josiah followed quietly in step. He figured he might just sleep with Clipper at the livery, all things considered, and shave himself.
Pete Feders and Scrap Elliot were waiting for the captain just outside the Menger. They introduced themselves to Josiah, even though he and Feders had ridden together a few years back when the Rangers were trumped by the State Police.
Feders was nearly as tall as Josiah, and was built lean, too. He was almost the same age, a veteran of the War Between the States, and came from a county in West Texas where he’d fought the Comanche and the Kiowa more times than he liked to talk about. A thin scar ran from the corner of Pete’s right eye to his ear, and Josiah tried not to stare at it or wonder if it came from an Indian fight.
Josiah thought it was interesting that Pete Feders was not going to fight directly on the frontier, since that was his home territory. But he knew that Feders was loyal to Captain Fikes, and the two had been partnered together pretty much since the onset of the war. In fact Pete Feders had been with the captain when they’d caught up with Charlie Langdon.
Scrap Elliot, on the other hand, was young, probably twenty years old, if that. In Josiah’s mind, that made Scrap a kid who hadn’t quite made the transition from boyhood to manhood. He had soft skin, barely any facial hair to speak of, and if there were muscles on Scrap’s lean arms, they couldn’t be seen. But in some ways Scrap reminded Josiah a lot of Captain Fikes, and he cautioned himself not to underestimate the boy just because of his apparent scrawniness. Even though Scrap was a new recruit, he seemed ready to jump right into the thick of things.
Three other men, whom Josiah assumed were Rangers new to Captain Fikes’s command, stood off to the left.
With companies forming so quickly, it was hard to know who was a Ranger and who wasn’t. No one wore a badge like the sheriff and his deputies. There was no formal uniform as of yet, if there ever would be, and most men were responsible, like Josiah, for obtaining their own weapons, horses, and clothes.
However, the state did value every Ranger’s horse and promised to replace it with another horse of like value if something should happen to the animal while on duty. They also provided a ration of food and forty dollars a month—which would go a long way in helping raise a young son. A son Josiah dearly missed. The money was important to him, but it came at the cost of being away from home again for long periods of time. Lyle favored Lily in looks and action, and that made some days difficult to stomach.
The three new Rangers didn’t seem too interested in meeting Josiah.
Two of them had been sitting at the table, gambling along with Captain Fikes at the Silver Dollar. The third one was a stranger to Josiah, a dark-eyed man with rough hands and pants that still bore creases in them—store-bought and new, which immediately made Josiah a little suspicious of him.
It only took a brief pause to consider that the man might have just come into the first bit of money he’d seen in a while, once he signed on with the Rangers.
There was a small sum of money paid up front once enlistment was accepted, and horses were generally being valued at a hundred and twenty to a hundred and sixty dollars. That was quite a roll for a man who, judging from the looks of his hands, was probably accustomed to working on cattle drives.
One of the Rangers who’d been gambling with the captain mumbled something about meeting up after the way was clear and riding on into Tyler. Then they’d all take the trip back to the Red River to train with the entire company by the end of the week.
The men were scouts. Used to being alone. They split up after a nod and agreement from Captain Fikes, and disappeared into the crowd that had gathered in front of the jail.
Torches lit the street like it was noon on a Monday.
Shadows danced on the hard adobe walls of the jail and on the vacant Alamo, like ghosts milling about, looking for a way home. Horses were nervous. Voices were hushed. No one really moved about much. They all just stood in front of the jail, like they were waiting, hoping, for something else to happen.
Children in nightclothes huddled in front of their parents, watching the jail intently. A group of little boys caught Josiah’s eye. They were surely hoping to see an explosion for themselves, or a shoot-out between the Rangers and the outlaws.
That didn’t seem likely to happen. There were no local deputies to be seen in or around the crowd, and Josiah could tell Captain Fikes was growing more tense by the second about J. T. Patterson’s absence.
“We’ll meet up with those fellas at the intersect of the Old San Antonio Road near Neu-Braunfels in a matter of days. Sooner, if they see trouble lying ahead. That is if we get Charlie Langdon out of here alive,” the captain said.
“Trouble’s not quelled?” Scrap asked.
“Hardly,” the captain answered. “Patterson and his men are about as inept as a three-legged hog in humping season. Might have a sympathizer or two in their league if they know anything of Langdon’s war record.” He was staring straight at Josiah.
Josiah understood the captain’s gaze. He knew Charlie Langdon better than anyone around.
“Langdon claimed to kill more Union soldiers than any other member of the Texas Brigade. While that may or may not be true, I was among the men of the First Infantry, and Langdon was a respectable soldier who thrived on killing.”
Pete Feders looked to the ground, kicked a bit of dirt with the toe of his boot.
“He’s a mad dog, then, who got a taste of blood and liked it,” Scrap said.
“Maybe that’s it,” Josiah said. “But he saved a lot of men, too. You have to remember how the Texas Brigade worked. They were first in the advance, and then the rear guard in retreat. First in, last out. Only the bravest of the brave can withstand a life of that kind of fighting. Charlie Langdon survived a lot of battles because he was willing to lay down his own life. He fought in Chickamauga, Knoxville, and Suffolk, and probably more that I don’t know of. The Brigade was highly favored by General Lee. Charlie wasn’t a criminal, but he was a cunning soldier, always looking for a way in and a way out. He saved my life more than once.”
“So, you knew him then, in the war?” Scrap asked.
Josiah nodded. “Yes, I was there.”
“In the Brigade?”
Josiah nodded again. “But the war’s been over for a long time. What Charlie went on to become afterward has no bearing on his deeds then. The law’s the law. Theft is theft. Murder is murder.”
“But if there are men in San Antonio that think Charlie is a war hero . . . ?”
“Or men in the Rangers,” Captain Fikes added.
“Then we could be up against some unknowns? Some that would do us harm could be within our own ranks?” Scrap said.
Pete Feders had remained quiet throughout the whole exchange, watching everything around them, noticing anything that moved. Josiah was glad Feders was standing next to him. It had been a long time since he’d been in a group of men where he thought his back was covered.
“More than one of Charlie’s gang rode with him in the war,” Josiah said. “So he has his followers. But for as many men as he saved, he led ten times that to their death. Those that follow him are loyal out of fear as much as they are out of respect.”
“Like Burly Smith,” the captain said.
“I didn’t know him. Never seen him before in my life, so I can’t say if he rode with the Brigade or not. Like I said, what we all did in the war was a long time ago. The Brigade didn’t breed bad men. A lot of them came out and put the badge on and wore it, or still wear it, with pride and honor. Others went back to the farm . . . or just faded away.”
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