The Coyote Tracker (23 page)

“That's a lie,” Rory Farnsworth shouted. “All of this is nothing but more of your lies and deceit. Mother was right about you. You're a soulless, calculating man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants, no matter who it destroys. You had Abram Randalls killed to keep his mouth shut about what he knew. This Ranger? He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, unlucky to come out of the saloon just after you had killed that girl, and he was left to answer for your deed. I wanted to hang him. I put him in the hole, and he is an innocent man. A boy. Nothing more than a boy, his life nearly ruined because of your unrelenting greed.”

“Again, he is of no consequence. This great city needs me. Needs us. Can't you see that?”

Rory Farnsworth squared his shoulders and reached inside his jacket. “There
are
consequences, Father. You have to answer for what you have done. Give me your hands,” he said, as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from inside his coat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You're under arrest for the murder of Lola Wellsley.” Without any hesitation, Sheriff Rory Farnsworth slapped the handcuffs on his father's wrists. “Bailiff, remove this man from the courtroom, and see him to the hole. I don't want him anywhere near the other prisoners. It's hard telling who is still on his payroll.”

Myron Farnsworth started to push by the sheriff but was immediately surrounded by the bailiff and three deputies and put into custody, his hands bound behind him.

The crowd screamed and hollered joyously, as the banker was led out of the courtroom proclaiming his innocence at the top of his lungs.

After his father was out of sight, Rory Farnsworth withered down to his seat and collapsed with his head in his hands. Even above the commotion and noise, there was no mistaking the man's pain, embarrassment, and rising sobs.

CHAPTER 41

There were still remnants of the morning storm
overhead; low-lying clouds that still held drizzle hovered over the courthouse, and thunder echoed in the distance. Any heavy rain was already east, but the day continued to be murky and gray. The band that had assembled was gone, and any anticipation of a hanging had left with it, along with the blood-hungry crowd that had waited outside. Still, there seemed to be hope on a clearing horizon and much relief in the air as Josiah made his way to Clipper.

He stopped suddenly and was nearly pushed aside by the crowd as they rushed to depart, too. A streetcar slugged through the mud, the driver shouting at the mules and snapping the reins as hard as he could to get them to move on.

Two gray geldings stood at the wait, and the horses got Josiah's attention.

Captain McNelly was mounted on one horse, while the other remained tied to the hitching post, its rider nowhere to be seen.

The horses looked like they could have come from the same sire and mare; they were almost identical. Captain McNelly's horse was almost a hand taller, and maybe in a little better shape from the long rides to and from South Texas, but other than that there were no other distinctions.

“Excuse me, Captain, but do you know whose horse that is?” Josiah asked, pointing to the gelding.

McNelly stiffened and held the reins to his horse tight. He nodded yes. “It is Myron Farnsworth's. I suppose he won't be needing it any longer. Or won't be for a good while.”

Josiah sighed. “No, I don't suppose he will.”

“I have to apologize, Wolfe,” McNelly said, “for General Steele's lack of interest in Ranger Elliot's predicament. Mine, too, as far as that goes. We couldn't risk a public acknowledgment of his innocence, not even to you. As I've shown, we were very well aware that something more diabolical was afoot, we just weren't sure what. The reputation of the Rangers has suffered of late, and we just couldn't risk the appearance of opposing the sheriff, or interfering, which, as it turns out, is exactly what Myron Farnsworth hoped we would do.”

“I understand,” Josiah said. “If it wasn't for Scrap going into the Easy Nickel to look for Myra Lynn, Farnsworth might have continued on with his scheme. Who knows how many more girls would have been killed?”

“Elliot, and you for that matter, have done a great service to Austin.”

“Thank you.”

“I will see you tomorrow morning when we muster the company, Wolfe?”

“Yes, sir. Myself and Elliot, if he's up to it.”

“Good. You will both be a welcome addition to the company. We must put an end to Cortina and his rustling outfit once and for all. I have no worry that Elliot will be raring to go. He's a free man, after all, and a Ranger to boot.”

“Agreed, sir. Agreed.”

McNelly loosened his grip, hesitated, then turned his horse out to the muddy street. “Good work, Wolfe,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Good work.”

“Thank you,” Josiah said, though he wasn't sure McNelly heard him. The captain seemed in a hurry to get away from the courthouse. He probably had to report back to General Steele and the governor.

The knowledge that the horse was Farnsworth's satisfied Josiah. It made sense, added to the undeniable conclusion that the man was the killer and the mastermind behind the effort to see Scrap hanged. The only thing that Josiah had come across that hadn't been resolved was the pattern of the three men from Massachusetts. He decided it was only that. A pattern he'd noticed and nothing more. There were obviously more men in Austin from the East than he'd ever realized, Yankees come west to find their fortune and escape the past. That was the thing about patterns. Sometimes they took you down the wrong path and ended nowhere important. It was all part of the process, like considering one letter or another to solve a Vigenere cipher.

When Josiah turned around, he found himself face-to-face with Juan Carlos and Pearl. They had been standing there waiting for him to finish up with McNelly.

A smile wafted across his face as Pearl rushed to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face in his chest.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I was being ridiculous and immature. I don't want to fight with you ever again.”

The world around them vanished, and Josiah was overwhelmed by the sweet spring smell of her toilet water and the feel of her against his body. “There's no need,” he whispered. “I should have explained myself better. I have things to tell you, Pearl. Things you may not like to hear, but you have to know.”

Pearl angled her face up to him, and Josiah didn't resist, didn't care about the hundreds of prying eyes that might or might not have been following his every move. He kissed her deeply, passionately.

Pearl responded in kind. After a long minute, they pulled apart and started to laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, Josiah saw a wide smile cross Juan Carlos's face.

“I'm leaving in the morning,” Josiah said to Pearl.

“I know. But please know this: Our lives start now. Whatever you have done in the past is not my concern. I will never act as I did again, I promise. I know everything I need to know about you, Josiah Wolfe. You're a good, decent man who intends to do good, decent things, like making sure your friend doesn't hang for something he didn't do.”

“I don't know about that,” Josiah said.

“I do,” Juan Carlos said, the smile still on his face.

Josiah nodded a thank-you to his friend, then turned his attention back to Pearl. “I don't know when I'll be back.”

“Maybe I can sneak away from Miss Amelia's tonight,” Pearl whispered.

Josiah smiled. “I'd like that.” He took her hand, then pulled her close and kissed her deeply again, hesitant to let her go. “I'll meet you in the carriage house, just after dark.”

* * *

Woodrell Cranston and Paul Hoagland escorted
Scrap out of the courthouse. The grayness seemed to agree with Scrap, but the light still looked to hurt his eyes. He squinted a bit and came to a stop just short of Josiah, not paying any attention to the small crowd that was waiting to see him.

Scrap stuck his hand out. “Thanks, Wolfe. If it wasn't for you and these fellas, I'd be six feet under by now.”

“Just returning the favor,” Josiah said. He took Scrap's hand, shook it heartily, then stepped in and wrapped his other arm around him in a slight hug. He let go quickly, but was hardly ashamed of showing the boy some affection. He was glad that Scrap was a free man.

Tears welled up in Scrap's eyes. “I 'spect you're about the best friend me and Myra Lynn could ever hope to have, Wolfe. I'll never forget what you've done.”

Josiah shrugged his shoulders and stood back. “These men were determined not to see an innocent man hang. I hope this ends it all. You being free won't bring back Lola Wellsley or the other girls, but hopefully, justice will be served in the end.”

Paul Hoagland chewed his stub of a cigar, and slid it to the corner of his mouth. “Hard to say. This could be the trial of the century. Farnsworth isn't going to go to the noose without a fight. He'll bring in the best lawyers in the country.”

“Sounds like you're going to be busy for a while,” Josiah said.

“It'll be a good story, that's for sure.”

“Let's just hope the killings stop,” Cranston added. “That the right man is behind bars.”

Hoagland laughed. “Spoken like a true lawyer.” Both men pushed by them, off to whatever awaited them, leaving Scrap and Josiah standing there together.

“You going to be ready to leave with the company tomorrow?” Josiah asked.

Scrap nodded yes. “I can't wait. How about you?”

“Yes,” Josiah said. “I think I'm ready to leave. It'll be good to be back on the trail. Besides, we've got some unfinished business with Cortina to attend to.”

“That we do,” Scrap said. “That we do.”

EPILOGUE

Holes had been punched in the roof of Blanche
Dumont's house, and the first flame jumped out from one of them, just as Captain McNelly and his company of Rangers passed by.

Josiah and Scrap slowed but didn't come to a stop. The house was completely engulfed in flames, and the heat of it could be felt all at once, like the sun had fallen from the sky and landed a hundred feet to the right of them. The fire had been set on purpose, the battle with the railroad not so much lost as given up. There was no way Blanche was ever going to win, even with Myron Farnsworth behind bars. Still, if there was a deal to be had, Josiah was sure that Blanche had found it when she'd agreed to let her house be destroyed. He had little doubt that when he returned to Austin, she would be in a newer, finer house, open for business.

Blanche Dumont stood in front of the fire, along with Rufous and her collection of girls—including all of Brogdon Caine's girls and Scrap's sister, Myra Lynn, watching her house disintegrate.

“I still ain't happy about her stayin' on here,” Scrap said to Josiah.

“You can't live her life for her, Scrap. Besides, Blanche will take care of Myra Lynn the best she can. She'll make sure she gets some education and stays healthy. Maybe she'll come to know something else in life. Maybe not.”

“I suppose I have to just live with it.”

“Beats lying about it,” Josiah said.

“I'm not sayin' another word.”

Josiah smiled, and as they passed, Blanche Dumont nodded, and Myra Lynn waved.

All of their good-byes were complete now. Pearl was back at the normal school, her mind on studying rather than on Josiah. Lyle and Ofelia were stocked up and accustomed to their way of life while Josiah was away. Whatever lay behind them all could not be changed, and whatever waited for them down the trail was full of promise, danger, and the hope that somehow they were all making a difference for themselves and the great state of Texas.

Captain McNelly waved his hand forward, ordering the company to pick up its pace. “Let's go,” he shouted.

Scrap urged Missy on, his blue roan mare, his eyes full of hope and excitement now that they'd adjusted to daylight.

Josiah held back for a second, looking over his shoulder. He took a deep breath then gently snapped Clipper's reins, moving to a fast trot, leaving Austin, and all he loved about it, behind in a cloud of dust, smoke, and gratitude.

* * *

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Larry D. Sweazy
(www.larrydsweazy.com) won the WWA Spur Award for Best Short Fiction in 2005. He also won the 2011 Will Rogers Medallion Award for Western Fiction and the 2011 Best Books of Indiana literary competition for his novel
The Scorpion Trail
(Berkley, 2010). He was nominated for a Short Mystery Fiction Society Derringer Award in 2007 and was a finalist in the Best Books of Indiana literary competition in 2010. He has published more than fifty nonfiction articles and short stories, which have appeared in
Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine
,
The Adventure of the Missing Detective: And 25 of the Year's Finest Crime and Mystery Stories!,
Boys' Life
,
Hardboiled
, Amazon Shorts, and several other publications and anthologies. He is member of MWA (Mystery Writers of America), WWA (Western Writers of America), and WF (Western Fictioneers). He lives in Indiana with his wife, Rose, two dogs, Rhodesian ridgebacks, Brodi and Sunny, and a black cat, Nigel.