Read The Rattlesnake Season Online
Authors: Larry D. Sweazy
The Rattlesnake Season (6 page)
“I wish I could have been there,” Scrap said.
Something had caught Pete Feders’s attention. Josiah noticed it, too. The crowd had begun to part. He glanced quickly back at Scrap and said, “No, you don’t.”
“Well, it’s about damn time,” Captain Fikes said, pushing toward the man Josiah assumed was Sheriff J. T. Patterson.
CHAPTER 5
The confrontation between Captain Fikes and Sheriff J. T. Patterson seemed to go on for an hour. Patterson was a short, stout man with a belly shaped like a whiskey barrel. Fikes wasn’t much taller, but he was lean, and a fair fighter with little tolerance for any man who challenged his authority. No one in the crowd had the capacity or, it looked to Josiah, the desire to interfere between the two.
The men stood inches apart, belt buckle to belt buckle, shouting at each other, cursing at each other, accusing each other of being the cause for the attempted jailbreak.
When the sheriff called Captain Fikes a Nancy-boy, Josiah thought he’d gone too far. To his credit, the captain restrained himself, though it appeared to be a difficult task. There was no question the captain was particular about his dress and hair, but there was nothing the least bit feminine about Hiram Fikes.
At one point, Scrap Elliot started to join the captain’s side. “He needs our help,” he said. And just as swiftly as Scrap had started to pull away from the small group of Rangers and jump into the fray, Pete Feders pulled him back like he was a baby bird trying to leave the nest too soon.
“Captain’ll do just fine on his own, thank you.”
Scrap was immediately dejected. The young Ranger hung his head down like a ten-year-old and sulked back behind Josiah. “He ain’t no Nancy-boy. Somebody needs to make that polecat take it back,” he muttered.
It was all Josiah could do to keep a straight face. He had seen a lot of eagerness in new soldiers before, but he couldn’t remember one who seemed to match Scrap’s unbidden enthusiasm. The boy had obviously earned his nickname the hard way.
Just when Josiah thought Captain Fikes had had enough of Sheriff J. T. Patterson’s tirade and was going to pull back his arm and punch the man square in the jaw, the captain jutted his right hand out, offering a handshake and putting an obvious and immediate end to the dispute.
A distinct sigh of relief rippled through the surrounding crowd.
The two men shook hands. Patterson was reluctant, but finally seemed to be glad that the confrontation had come to a fair end. They spoke a few more words that no one could hear or understand, then the sheriff headed inside the jail. Captain Fikes strode back to Josiah, Pete Feders, and Scrap.
“Damn Austin. This new Ranger law gives the sheriff more power than he ought to rightly have. Especially a fool like Patterson,” the captain said. He was disgusted, but trying to remain reasonably quiet, as he could sense the crowd was dispersing around him cautiously. “He needs to ask for our assistance before we have any jurisdiction. And right now he doesn’t think he needs anything from us. Not one lick of help. Not one Ranger outside the jail. Says we can escort Charlie Langdon out of town, but anything before then is in his hands as far as he’s concerned. Last thing I need right now is word to get back to Major Jones that I’ve stepped out of line and gone up against the new law. Damn it. This just beats all. And calling me a Nancy-boy to boot. Any other time, I’d’ve given him a good fist and introduced him bone-to-flesh to Miss Nancy herself.”
The captain made a fist, gritted his teeth, and let out a long sigh.
Josiah was fully aware of the power Major John B. Jones wielded at the moment. Jones was a member of Terry’s Texas Rangers in the War Between the States, had been put in charge of the Frontier Battalion by Governor Coke, and had, as Josiah had learned from Captain Fikes, little tolerance for disorder or showmanship.
Josiah knew that Hiram Fikes had served under Major Jones in the 8th Infantry—Terry’s Texas Rangers—and fought with him until the last engagement at Bentonville, North Carolina; hence the quick appointment to the rank of captain in the Frontier Battalion. It was interesting now to view a different, political, and uneasily restrained side of Captain Fikes.
Since the rules were all new to him, Josiah just stood back and watched it all play out, trying to figure where he fit in. The last thing he wanted to do was get involved in a fight between a badger and a skunk.
Josiah snuck in the back way to Clipper’s stall, for fear that there were more of Langdon’s men on the lookout for him.
Burly Smith was one less man to worry about. Word had come back to the crowd that he’d died from the wound the old Mexican had inflicted on the big man’s throat. Now Josiah was worried about the Mexican’s safety. Regardless of the circumstance, a Mexican killing an Anglo was sure to set some embers ablaze. There’d likely be a posse rounded up.
Knowing there was nothing he could do, and hoping the captain would be able to keep his old friend Juan Carlos out of trouble, Josiah rolled out his sleeping blankets in the corner and found himself more comfortable on a bed of hay than he thought he would be. Clipper seemed glad for the company, nudging Josiah slightly just after he settled in.
The familiarity of the open air, the smell of the livery, and Clipper’s acceptance allowed a veil of calmness to fall over Josiah, but he did not slip off to sleep at first, not like in the bath at the Menger.
The Peacemaker was tucked next to his belly, and his long gun, a Sharps carbine, lay within reach.
He was a little more comfortable with the Sharps than he was the Colt, but the Sharps had been a constant companion for a matter of years. He knew what to expect when he pulled the trigger. Like everyone else, he had his eye on a new model Winchester, but the purchase of the Peacemaker had put the popular rifle out of his reach, for the moment.
The Rangers preferred their men to use a Sharps carbine, but Josiah figured once he and a lot of other fellas got a little regular money in their pockets, the Sharps would quickly be replaced by the Winchester by most every man in the Battalion. But for today he’d had enough of guns and blood.
He closed his eyes, and in his mind he reached out and unfolded a patchwork quilt of memories.
He kissed each of his girls good night; Fiona first—always first. Then he tickled Claire and Mavis like he always did. The memory of their laughter was his reward for living another day. From there he walked into a tiny room that held his only son, his only living child, and touched Lyle gently on the forehead, asking an unseen and unnamed God to look after his son and Ofelia while he was away. That was his nightly prayer, if it could be called that, his nightly routine.
Now he could rest.
Sometime near dawn, Clipper stirred and woke Josiah. Josiah barely moved, just enough to catch his breath and gain his senses.
Short fingers of dim gray light reached into the livery. A bird whistled and cleared its throat in the distance, then launched into full song, willing, it seemed, the sun to rise so Josiah would have the clarity of vision to see what was coming his way.
It surprised Josiah that morning was so close to breaking. He had figured Langdon’s men were cowards, comfortable in the ways of darkness, using it as a shield and a weapon. He had expected they might pay him a visit before the night was over.
He gripped the Peacemaker as quietly and subtly as he could, then flicked open his eyes just in time to see a shadow duck across the gate of the stall.
Clipper snorted.
Whoever it was, he was behind Josiah, in between stalls, probably searching each one for his presence.
He hoped he was far enough in the corner to be out of sight.
As quietly as he could, Josiah propped himself against the outside wall, pushing himself into a mess of spider-webs, and then fought the instinct to push the crawling critters off his bare arms. There were few things in the world he feared more than a spider. Sneaky, poisonous bastards could leave a good man lame with nothing more than a pinprick bite. He hoped like hell they weren’t brown recluses.
As slowly and quietly as possible Josiah fully cocked the Peacemaker.
He’d learned early with the gun that leaving a chamber empty under the hammer was a good idea, almost a necessity, with the Peacemaker. The last thing he needed was a damaged gun that could go off at any time and a hammer that wasn’t functional when he needed it most.
He had enough confidence in his shooting ability to give up one shot for the sake of his own well-being and the preservation of his weapon. Another hard lesson learned from the war: Protect your weapon at all times—there could be a time when it was the only friend you had, more trustworthy than any human being could ever hope to be.
“Señor
,
are you here?”
,
are you here?”
Josiah let out a sigh of relief. He recognized the voice immediately. It was the old Mexican’s, Juan Carlos.
“Yes,” he whispered, as he relieved the gun of its ready position. “I’m in the corner of the last stall.”
Juan stepped out of the shadows and appeared at the gate. Clipper huffed a snort through his nose, then kicked up a bit of straw.
Josiah stood up and patted the Appaloosa on the shoulder. “Relax, old friend, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Ah, Señor Ranger. It is good to find you well.”
“Josiah. Josiah Wolfe.” He extended his hand to the old man for a handshake. “I believe I am in your debt.”
The Mexican looked at Josiah curiously, then grasped his hand firmly. A slight smile came to his leathery face. His wrinkles looked like crevices in the dim, gray light.
“I was just doing my job.”
It took Josiah a moment to understand what the man had said. “Job” sounded like “yob.” Deciphering Mexicans when they spoke English came relatively easy to Josiah, since he spent so much time around Ofelia, but his Anglo ears were just shy of fully awake, and a good, hot cup of coffee would go a long way to clear his head.
A spider crawled up his forearm. Josiah flicked it off and ground it to a quick death with the heel of his boot. The eight-legged carriers of pain and disease didn’t deserve any more justice than they gave, as far as Josiah was concerned.
“My name is Juan Carlos. It was the charge of my friend, Captain Fikes, to keep you safe. I have come to apologize for my failure, señor.”
“But I’m fine.” Josiah held his voice just at a whisper since he did not want to draw any undue attention to the stall. He had made it through the night without an encounter with Charlie’s gang, and he wanted to keep it that way. “If you wouldn’t have sliced Burly Smith’s throat, he was going to kill me.”
“
Sí
, but I was led away, tricked, I think,” Juan Carlos said, a forlorn look on his face. “They were carrying in the holy cross for the new
Sancti Antonii
, and I was distracted by a man, another Mexican I do not know, to witness the event.”
Sí
, but I was led away, tricked, I think,” Juan Carlos said, a forlorn look on his face. “They were carrying in the holy cross for the new
Sancti Antonii
, and I was distracted by a man, another Mexican I do not know, to witness the event.”
Josiah shrugged; he did not understand.
Juan nodded. “The church should be complete before the fall winds blow. The diocese will be here now. Along with all of the glory and the beauty of the Savior, change will come to the church itself.”
Like in Austin, Josiah thought, but didn’t say aloud. There sure seemed to be a lot of change going on in the world.
“They did not want a crowd,” Juan Carlos continued, “until the cardinals are present. They will be on the grounds this morning as they lift the cross to its perch, to its resting place for the ages. But I will not be here. I will be riding in the length of Captain Fikes’s shadow.”
“You’re a scout for the captain?”
“You could call me that. But that is not important, what I am for the captain. I only sought a moment for myself, and while I was away from my post you were . . .” Juan Carlos stopped and rolled his eyes upward as if he was searching for the right word. “Attacked,” he finally said. “I beg your forgiveness.”
Josiah stared at the old man and knew he was being truthful, that Juan Carlos’s action had indeed caused him a lot of grief.
He understood. On the battlefield, when he was truly green and afraid, he had made shortsighted and selfish decisions that had caused a great deal of harm and pain, the loss of limbs by fellow soldiers and even death. The outcome of Juan Carlos’s failure did not seem to be so severe in the end, but the man was weighted down by it.
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