Cougar's Prey (9781101544846) (12 page)

A dead man lay in the street, his hand out-stretched, a fairly new Colt Single-Action Army, much like Josiah's Peacemaker, just inches from his grasp.

The man lay squarely in the middle of the intersection of Artesian and Antelope streets, blood still oozing out of the deadly wound in his chest. Black smoke filled the air as a small wood-frame house sat blazing half a block to the south.

The day was hot already, but with the fire and the tension, Josiah could feel sweat breaking out all over his body. The smells of the battle were bitter enough to overwhelm all of his senses, including the common sense he'd used time after time when he was faced with making decisions in a dangerous, or warlike, situation. He wasn't proud of the killing experience he carried, hardly ever gave it a thought these days, but was glad the skills were there when he needed to call on them.

Shots tore into the corner of the building he had stopped at, a two-storey affair made of shellcrete, concrete made of oyster shells fished out of the bay, crushed and used as a building material. The walls were two feet thick, and the bullets were fully embedded, a puff of dust exiting with each shot.

Josiah was not afraid for his own life, but he was unsure of who was doing the shooting, and which side they belonged to: Cortina's or the defenders of Corpus. Either way, it appeared he and Maria Villareal were targets. He'd expected that, from what Miguel had told him, but still, he would've liked to have known for sure that the shooters were Cortina's men. He didn't want to kill a man who was mistaken in his shooting, just doing his job, and fighting on the right side of the law.

The shots appeared to be coming from a window on the second floor, across the street.

“We did not have to face this,” Maria said, with a sneer. “I think we are pinned in between both factions.”

“I expected more men, an army,” Josiah said.

“Cortina talks big, you must know that by now. If the town trembles in fear, he could take it over with thirty men or a thousand. It does not matter.”

“Why?”

Maria smirked. “Not only is Corpus a trade center for cattle, but for sheep as well. Imagine the power a man would have if he controlled beef, wool,
and
the harbor. If he is not rich already, he will be
muy potente
.”

“I'm sorry, I don't speak your language.”

Maria stared at Josiah, incredulous, about to say something, when a bullet struck the building about six inches from her head. Dust exploded outward, raining into her hair and onto her shoulder.

“Very powerful,” Maria said, spitting, cleaning her lips, and pushing the dust off her shoulder. “While we end up dead because of a horse.”

“He's a good horse.”

Maria rolled her eyes, angled the Winchester up at the window, and fired off two shots before Josiah could protest.

“What are you shooting at?” he demanded.

“Those who shoot at us.” Maria fired off three more rounds, then waited.

“I hope they're Cortina's men.”

“It does not matter to me. They can see us plainly. How many decent men do you know that would shoot at a woman with no questions asked?”

Josiah was impressed with Maria's rationale and how she handled the rifle, but said nothing. Instead, he fired off a succession of shots with his six-shooter, then joined Maria, waiting to see what would happen next. Blind shots had their pitfalls and consequences.

The shooting in the distance continued, up the street and over a couple of blocks. The house still continued to burn unattended. Smoke roiled angrily into the sky like a rising signal set to summon some unseen general.

Across the street, in the building where the shooters had taken their perch, thin lace curtains flittered in the second-floor window, void of any shadows or other movement that would suggest an ongoing menacing presence. Either Maria had gotten a lucky shot, or the men were waiting for a better chance to take aim.

“I think we should go back,” Maria said.

“I think you should wait here.” Josiah didn't give her a chance to answer. He sprinted across the street, dipping low enough in his run to pick up the dead man's Colt. There was no sense in letting the gun lie there.

Maria did not have time to be angry, or show it if she was. Her instinct must have kicked in, and she started firing automatically to cover Josiah's run. Bullets whizzed over his head, and he was glad that Maria Villareal was behind him, looking out for his best interest, instead of on the other side of the fight.

Josiah picked up speed and ran as fast as he could half a block down to the Hassit-Lee Boardinghouse, without looking back. He drew no fire, but continued to hear Maria shooting her rifle in an effort to draw the attention to her.

Miguel had been right. She looked after him and kept him safe.
She was something else
, that was for sure, Josiah thought, as he eased his run and turned the corner onto the property of the boardinghouse. He just wasn't sure what that something was, and he didn't think a thing about leaving a woman behind to defend herself—which surprised him even more than he'd have thought it would.

 

 

There was a four-stall barn behind the house. The boardinghouse was of recent construction—within the last year or so—barely showing any weathering at all. It was a grand house, with a multitude of rooms. Josiah had spent very little time there, preferring to become a regular face at the cantina, and knew very little about the layout or the history of the house. The breakfasts were good and hearty, and the beds were clean and comfortable. That's all he cared about.

He didn't rush into the barn. Instead, Josiah slid in the back door, hoping to take advantage of the late-afternoon shadows.

A thirty-foot retama tree stood just outside the barn door, offering a graceful helping of shade. The leaves looked like long flowing fern fronds, dotted with small yellow flowers with orange throats. Thorns also lined the branches of the tree, and the first time Josiah had exited the barn, in a hurry, not paying any attention, he'd pushed through the branches, scratching his face so severely it looked like he had taken on a wildcat and lost, hands-down. He didn't make the same mistake twice.

The barn was quiet, with the exception of the normal rustling around of the horses inside. Josiah quickly made his way to his horse—Clipper, a tall Appaloosa that had been his mount for more years than he cared to count. The two were trusted friends, rarely separated, and had the kind of relationship where a nudge could mean run or trot, depending on the situation.

Josiah set about saddling Clipper, conscious of every sound inside and outside of the barn. The gunfights in the distance could still be heard, and Clipper danced around a bit, nodding back and forth, until Josiah was able to calm him down with a bite of an apple he had left behind a few days ago.

“Shush, boy, it'll be all right,” Josiah said. The horse snorted, finished chewing the apple, then stood still as a statue until Josiah had completely saddled him.

Josiah led Clipper to the doors, peered out, and decided it was safe before climbing into the saddle. There wasn't time to go up to his room and retrieve his belongings. They amounted only to a few pair of underclothes, a change of pants, and a fresh shirt. Any mementos of any value were carried along every day, not left behind to tempt a thief in a boardinghouse.

Besides, Josiah had kept a bedroll and his gear stocked and ready to go in the tack room, just in case he had to flee in a hurry. He might have been new at being a spy for the Texas Rangers, but he'd had enough similar experience in the War Between the States, and since, to last a lifetime. The last thing he wanted to do was find himself in a situation unprepared.

He half-expected to be ambushed coming out of the barn, but as it was, the air was clean, and the bushes didn't contain a threat of any kind that he could see, so Josiah hustled Clipper out onto the street and headed toward the intersection where he'd left Maria.

The sweet fragrance of the retama tree was just a memory now that Josiah was back out in the open, taking in the smoke from the burning house and the gunpowder that lingered in the air. He cut to the right, turning down an alley alongside a café that had shuttered its windows and barred the doors. Hopefully, he could come up behind Maria, scoop her up, and get on to wherever they were going.

It was difficult to push Clipper any harder through the narrow alley. There were empty crates, barrels, and rotting vegetables to avoid. A rat looked up, seemingly surprised to see a galloping horse heading toward it, but unconcerned to be out in the daylight, not far from an ongoing gunfight. The rat scampered away, still chewing on a wilted green leaf as it disappeared into a maze of crates.

Josiah could see the smoke growing thicker ahead, so he pulled his Winchester out of the scabbard, readying himself for anything that came his way. The dead man's Colt had been packed in the saddlebag.

He pushed through the smoke, pulling up his kerchief over his nose so he wouldn't have to breathe in too much of it. Clipper didn't complain at all, just ran as fast as he could, exiting the cloud of smoke in a matter of seconds. They were so close to the burning house, Josiah could feel the heat of it through his shirt.

Close now to the intersection, he reined Clipper to an easy stop. He had seen no one, had been accosted by no one, or confronted in any way, which he found extremely unlikely considering Cortina was supposed to have an army swarming about, taking over Corpus with ease. For some reason, that didn't seem to be happening. The attack seemed small in scale, more like a gang of outlaws had stormed into town on a looting expedition, instead of a foreign army invading, set on conquering a harbor and then a state.

With the Winchester in one hand and his Peacemaker in the other, Josiah eased along the cool shellcrete wall of a building and made his way to Maria.

She was exactly where he had left her, still shooting, then waiting, then shooting. He whistled softly, but loud enough to get her attention.

Maria forced a smile when she saw him.

Before Josiah could take another breath, before he could move to cover her, a bullet hit Maria squarely in the shoulder. She screamed and stumbled backward, away from the spray of blood, losing the grip on her rifle as another bullet exploded into her body, sending her spiraling quickly to the ground in a dusty, motionless heap.

Josiah let loose and emptied the bullets in his Peacemaker, shooting upward, to the roof. Not drawing any return fire, he stooped down and rolled Maria over to face him. He wasn't sure if she was dead or alive.

“I hope you got your damned horse,” Maria said weakly, her eyes flittering open with obvious pain.

“You're hurt bad,” Josiah said. “I've got to get you to a doctor.”

Maria nodded in between deep gasps. “Ride north out of town on Chipito. There's a row of fishermen's shacks not far off the bay. Look for the blue roof.”

A shot rang out, hitting the dirt inches from Maria's boot.

Josiah turned from her quickly to see a man duck back down on the roof. He aimed the Winchester and waited until the man popped back up to see if he'd finished the job and killed Maria, or needed to fire again.

It was a mistake that cost the man his life.

Josiah fired the rifle, catching the man just at the base of the throat. The shooter stumbled backward, then staggered sideways, tripping on something that brought him forward again. He fell headfirst off the roof. The man landed with a thud in a cloud of dust, with no weapon, or sign of life, apparent.

Satisfied that the unknown man was dead, Josiah turned his attention back to Maria. There was no time to think about the right or wrong of the shooting, like there had been with Pete Feders. The burden of another death at his hands would come later, in the middle of the night, when wondering and regret would roil his stomach and test his heart.

It looked like Maria had been hit twice in the right shoulder. Blood was flowing freely, a large puddle forming in the street. Surprisingly, Maria was still conscious. She was every bit as tough as he'd been led to believe.

“We need to get some pressure on that wound,” Josiah said.

Maria nodded, but said nothing. Her face was growing pale. She licked her lips. Life was starting to drain from her body.

Josiah groaned, kicked the dirt nervously, then whistled for Clipper. The Appaloosa responded right away, trotting to him out of the alley. “I need to get you on the horse. I'm going to lift you up, I'm sorry if it hurts too much.”

“Do what you need to. I will help as much as I can,” Maria whispered, as she pressed her bloody fingers as hard as she could on the wound.