The Coyote Tracker Page 10

  Jake Allred stopped in mid-sentence, looked up, and saw Josiah. “Now, go on, and don’t miss another stitch, or that’ll be the end of you, ya hear?” he said to the boy, shooing him off with a wave of the hand.

  The stable boy nodded, looked up at Josiah, understandably relieved, then pushed by him and Lyle, disappearing quickly into the shadows of the livery.

  “What’s your need, Wolfe?” Jake Allred feigned a smile at Lyle, who promptly hid behind his father’s legs.

  Allred was a tall man with a beer keg for a belly, a heavy beard that was in serious need of trimming, and boots coated with mud and horse shit. He looked more like a smithy than a livery master, and for all Josiah knew, he had been one at one time in his life.

  “Ain’t no problem with that Appaloosa of yours, is it?” Allred asked. “I’ll tell you, these boys are gettin’ lazier by the day. I just don’t know what I’m gonna do if I can’t find some good help soon.”

  “I don’t have any complaints.”

  Allred wiped his brow and stared back at Josiah. “Well, what is it then? Can’t you see I’m a busy man?”

  “I can see that. What can you tell me about the gray gelding a few stalls down from mine?”

  The livery master narrowed his eyes, then looked Josiah up and down from head to toe.

  There was never any question that Josiah was wearing a gun. He wore his Peacemaker in plain sight. Allred, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be armed. But that would’ve been a stupid, and perhaps deadly, assumption on any man’s part, to come to such a quick conclusion and threaten the man or his property.

  Josiah hadn’t known Jake Allred long, but he knew him to be a protective man as well as an honest one, and not inclined to hold back if he needed to shoot a man. He was of an age to have been in the war but carried no obvious scars, so the topic had never been broached in their short conversations. Most men kept that experience to themselves, unless a missing leg or arm spoke for them.

  “What business is it of yours, Wolfe, who owns that horse? I don’t get many questions like that.”

  “Just curious, I thought I recognized it.”

  Lyle had remained quiet, still as a mouse with a hawk circling overhead, peering out from behind Josiah’s leg.

  It was going to be a warm, sunny day, and the heat was already building inside the livery. There was no breeze, nothing to stir the tension that had suddenly found its way between Josiah and Allred and push it out the door.

  “Is this Ranger business, Wolfe?”

  “Might be business for Rory Farnsworth. Might not, I’m not sure.”

  “You workin’ for the sheriff now? I don’t see no badge.”

  “I don’t wear a badge, and I don’t work for Farnsworth.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Is there a reason for that?” Josiah asked.

  “No reason that matters to you, I ’spect. Now, what’s the question about this horse got to do with anything?”

  “You hear about that jailbreak yesterday?”

  Allred nodded. “Busted out Abram Randalls, I hear. A banker’s thief and a whore’s bookkeeper. The man must hold some powerful secrets in that mind of his.”

  “You know the man?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you know his name.”

  “Every man who does business of any kind in this town knows his name. The man has a mind for numbers and names, unfortunately. If I was half as good with my money as the one he works for, then I wouldn’t have to wade through horse piss and shit every day, would I?”

  “Who do you think broke him out, this Abrams fella?”

  “You’re just full of questions, aren’t you? First it was about that gray gelding down there, and now you’re curious about Abram Randalls. What are you up to, Wolfe? Ain’t like you at all to be stickin’ your nose in other people’s business. Usually, you just get your horse and go.”

  “You said it. I’m just curious.”

  “Sure you are.” Allred shrugged. “Well, it makes no difference to me. I figure Randalls got broke out by the whore. She’s got plenty of reason to have need of him keeping silent.”

  “She?”

  Allred nodded. “Blanche Dumont. You know her?”

  “I know of her.”

  “Sure, sure, I hear that a lot, too. But maybe you’re tellin’ the truth, not bein’ from around here, and takin’ up with that Fikes woman like you have.”

  “Careful now . . .”

  “Not judgin’, just statin’ a fact, the way I see it. You denyin’ that?”

  Josiah just stared at the man and reached down to touch the top of Lyle’s head. “Who’s the gelding belong to? If you don’t mind?” Bringing Pearl into the conversation would only make matters worse. Josiah was sensitive about her, even more so than he’d realized.

  “No sweat off my back, I was just curious why you didn’t know yourself.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The gray gelding,” Allred said, chewing on the corner of his lip, studying Josiah’s face carefully, “belongs to Captain Leander McNelly. I figure one Ranger ought to know another Ranger’s horse. But I guess I was wrong, just plum wrong, about that, now, wasn’t I?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Lyle was settled comfortably in the saddle in front of Josiah. It felt like summer had come early. The air was thick and humid, and the sun beat down from the sky with a vengeance. Sweat soaked Josiah’s collar, and he could feel the heat rising under his felt Stetson, but the weather was of little concern.

  The thought that the gray gelding belonged to Captain McNelly was unsettling to Josiah.

  He questioned himself, replaying the explosion and jailbreak in his mind, trying to look closer at the horse and the man riding it. His memory was decent, but as the hours went by, the details started to fade, as they would in any normal person’s mind. There was no way to tell if the man on the horse really had been McNelly. His face had been covered, and he was dressed in a black duster, his body all covered. It was impossible to know for sure who the man was. But at the time, Josiah would never have considered in a thousand years that the man could be Leander McNelly, and even now it was a difficult idea to swallow. But the horse sure did look like the same one.

  The captain was a slight man, taken with consumption, determined to live a full life regardless of the illness. He was tough-minded, honest, and completely aboveboard as far as Josiah knew. So the idea that McNelly was somehow involved in a brazen jailbreak, conducted in the full light of day, was unimaginable. Almost unimaginable.

  Pete Feders had been a Texas Ranger captain, too, and in the end, he had forged a relationship with Liam O’Reilly, an Irish outlaw, dead now, too, like Feders, and had been seeking to do some serious cattle rustling business with Juan Cortina. Still, Josiah just couldn’t bring himself to believe McNelly was the same kind of man Feders was, driven by greed, avarice, and envy to do the unspeakable—betray his rank, the Rangers, and the state of Texas, as well.

  “Where we going, Papa?” Lyle asked.

  Josiah looked down at the boy, envious at the moment of his innocence and lack of responsibility. “Home to see if Ofelia is there. Is that all right?”

  Lyle nodded his head yes.

  Josiah eased Clipper down Sixth Street, not in a hurry, but hoping that Ofelia was at the house instead of in Little Mexico. There was no way he could take Lyle with him today, not with all he had to do and all of the places he had to go.

  The information he’d gotten from Jake Allred about the gray gelding had changed everything.

  * * *

  The familiar smell of menudo greeted Josiah at the door. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, seeing Ofelia standing over the stove, stirring a pot of the spicy stew made from leftovers, picking up where she’d left off the day before.
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  Ofelia looked over her shoulder when the door opened, and Lyle charged inside.

  The bruises on her face were still apparent, but fading. He still winced at the sight, a sorrowful bit of guilt roiling in the pit of his stomach; the wounds were a reminder of his own failures, of how he was managing his life and the consequences to everyone involved. He had to look away and couldn’t bring himself to say hello.

  “Hola,” Ofelia said, turning back to the stove.

  “Hola, ’Felia,” Lyle answered, rushing to Ofelia, wrapping himself around her leg, looking up at her expectantly.

  Ofelia tapped Lyle’s head. She did not smile, or otherwise change her expression, which bordered on stern. “Vete a jugar. Go play.”

  Disappointment slid down Lyle’s face, but he did what he was told, pulling away from Ofelia and making his way to the bedroom without acknowledging Josiah.

  “I’m glad to see you, Ofelia,” Josiah said, standing in the middle of the room, his hands at his sides, unsure what to do next, leave or stay.

  Ofelia turned and faced him, the wooden spoon in her hand. “You thought I was not coming today, señor?”

  “I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I will be here as long as you want me to be here,” Ofelia said. “We have had this discussion many times. You do not need to worry. If I quit you, I will let you know plenty of days ahead of time so you can find someone else.”

  “No one could take your place.”

  “Someone will have to one day, señor.”

  Josiah exhaled heavily, knowing full well that what Ofelia said was true. “I would say I’m sorry . . .”

  “There is no need to say you are sorry about anything. This is your casa. You are the niño’s papá.”

  Josiah nodded. “But you are the closest thing he has to a mother.”

  “I’m not his momma.”

  “Maybe not. I’m not sure how that would work, if it ever could, you leaving Lyle. Us.”

  “You do not love Miss Pearl?”

  Josiah stared at Ofelia blankly as a million memories rushed through his mind and heart. They had known each other a long time, before he had married Lily, before he had gone off to the war, and then after, when he returned a different man. There was not a living person in the world who knew as much about him, his way of thinking and feeling, and how and why he behaved the way he did, as Ofelia did. And Lyle had not known one day in his life without Ofelia. The loss of her presence was unthinkable for more reasons than Josiah could count.

  “I don’t know,” Josiah said. “I don’t know if I can allow myself to love her.” Billie Webb had asked him the same question. Billie was a girl he’d helped a while back, and she had followed him to Austin. But once she figured out that there was no chance of a relationship with him, she left the city, disappeared as if she’d never existed.

  “It has been long enough since Miss Lily died, Señor Josiah. The niño needs a mamacita, if that is possible. I am only Ofelia. There is not a woman’s love in this house like there should be.”

  Josiah looked away from Ofelia, out the window. He wanted to tell her that he was afraid of losing Pearl, and that he was afraid of losing her, too, but couldn’t bring himself to. Ofelia knew what he had lost, he didn’t have to explain it to her.

  “I’m sorry, Ofelia. I’ll try not to yell or show my anger like that again,” Josiah said.

  “You’re learning, too, and that is hard on you,” Ofelia said, ignoring the apology. “Spending time here in the city is difficult for you. It makes Lyle happy when you sleep in your own bed, but you do not know which way the wind blows inside your own house. It is like you are a hundred miles from here. Tomarà tiempo. It will take time, just like all good things. I am sorry I was late this morning. My hija, my daughter, needed my help. All is well now. I had no way to get word to you.”

  “Good,” Josiah said. “I have some things to take care of, I probably won’t be back until this evening.”

  “That is fine, señor. We will be here, and your dinner will be on the stove.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The adjunct general’s office was on the second floor in the state capitol building. William Steele was a Yankee, a New Yorker who had been educated at the United States Military Academy, then come to Texas and served in the Confederate Army because of love. He’d married a Texas girl, put down stakes in the state, and put his life on the line valiantly more times than once wearing a gray uniform, just so he could return whole and alive to the woman he adored.

  Steele’s appointment to the position of adjunct general by the governor, Richard Coke, had come under some suspicion because of his origins, even with a rank of brigadier general attained in the war. But Steele was known as a hard task manager with little patience for nepotism, fraud, or any misdeeds performed by Texas Rangers or the militia he had been put in charge of. A consummate politician, he quickly won over the naysayers and the editorial pages of the Austin Statesman.

  It had been Steele, in fact, who had ultimately decided Josiah’s fate in the incident concerning Pete Feders. The proof had been laid out logically to the general, and in his wisdom, Steele saw that Josiah had had no choice but to defend his own life and kill Feders. Shooting to wound had never been an option.

  Josiah could only hope that Scrap would receive the same kind of scrutiny and fair judgment from Steele that he had.

  The inside of the office was luxurious. The walls were paneled with walnut, and the floors were covered with thick wool carpets, geometric in design, the colors rich, full of deep burgundies, greens, and golds.

  Heavy scarlet draperies were pulled at the window, and bookshelves, full to the brim, lined half of the walls. Heavy furniture was scattered about in the office: a writing desk, bare of anything other than a pen-and-ink set, and several high-backed chairs that did not look the least bit inviting or comfortable. Hurricane lamps blazed brightly, lighting the room like it was late at night, and two fans swirled overhead, distributing the afternoon heat evenly, but still uncomfortably.

  Another door stood behind the writing desk, and after being in the office prior to now, to answer for actions about killing Pete Feders, Josiah knew that Steele spent all of his time tucked away in that small office.

  He walked to the door and knocked confidently. A little tap or a soft knock was a bad precedent to set when dealing with a man like Steele. A man’s attitude had to be all bravado and strength, or the general would stomp his feet on you, then wave you off without a nod or a good-bye.

  “Yes, what is it?” came from inside the small office in a deep voice, annoyed and curt.

  “Josiah Wolfe to see you, sir,” Josiah said, speaking directly into the door.

  “What is it now, Wolfe?” Steele’s voice grew closer.

  “I am in need of an audience with Captain McNelly, sir, and this is the only place I know to look for him at the moment. I am hoping you know his whereabouts.”

  The door was flung open. “Does McNelly suck on my teat, Wolfe? I am not his nanny.”

  Steele was a tall, rangy man in his mid-fifties. Thin bits of gray streaked his thick brown hair and full beard. He had a strong Roman nose and carried himself regally: shoulders back, chin forward, always engaged fully in whatever came his way. His eyes were gray and penetrating, offering no sympathy for fools or ill-mannered human beings.

  Josiah dared not look away from Steele. He held the man’s gaze. “I don’t mean to suggest that you are, sir.”

  Steele pulled open the door the rest of the way, offering a view into the office. Captain McNelly was seated in a chair in front of Steele’s desk. “You are in luck, Wolfe. McNelly is here. Come in then, but make it quick. We have business to attend to.”

  Leander McNelly stood up as Josiah entered the room. “It is good to see you, Wolfe.” He stuck his hand out, and
they shook hands in a cold, professional way, not like they were old friends who had not seen each other for a long period of time. That was hardly the case.

  “You, too, Captain.” Josiah waited for Steele and McNelly to sit down in their chairs before he followed suit.

  McNelly was a few years younger than Josiah, but he looked ten years older. His face was drawn in, and his skin was as pale as an onion pulled fresh out of the ground. His beard was not full from the ears like Steele’s, but more of a long, bushy goatee; his jaws were freshly shaved. He was dressed in a black business suit, much like the one Rory Farnsworth had been sporting the day before, his riding clothes obviously put away, or getting cleaned for the next excursion, if there was to be one.

  Steele settled into his chair. “Now, what brings you here, Wolfe? No more troubles, I hope? We’re up to our necks in foibles of one kind or another.”

  McNelly eyed Josiah carefully but said nothing.

  Josiah waited, then moved uncomfortably to the edge of his own chair. “My status with the Rangers is uncertain, and I aim to clear that up with the captain, General Steele. If I may be so bold as to ask.”

  “Your last encounter with Cortina’s bounty hunter garnered some undo attention, Wolfe,” McNelly said. “But you have been cleared of any wrongdoing. The larger question is this: Do you still desire to ride with the Rangers?”

  Josiah hesitated briefly, then nodded. “I do, sir.”

  “I am not convinced that your personal situation allows you to leave town without worry.”

  Josiah locked eyes with the captain. “I have seen to my situation, and I am able to come and go as I have in the past without worry or constraints, sir. There is nothing in my life that will stand in the way of performing my duty to the fullness of my capabilities.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “I wish to ride with the Rangers, sir. It is all I know how to do.” Josiah hesitated and stared McNelly in the eye. “Are you still riding that gray gelding, Captain?”