The Badger's Revenge Read Free Page B

he told. Red loved Indian women, which was obvious from the way he spoke of them.
    Regardless, it was good to have Overmeyer along, his knowledge paramount in assisting the cause of taming the Comanche, even though it was not a battle Josiah had ever chewed at the bit to engage in in the first place—fighting Indians. Staying close to Austin, a day-and-a-half ride away to the north of the capital, was as important to him as remaining a Texas Ranger. At least, until now.
    Elliot had not moved from his spot, almost daring Josiah to formally command him to do as he was told.
    Josiah nodded again, more firmly, his eyes hard as the metal that had been forged to make the rifle barrel he was holding.
    With a loud “Humpf!” Elliot spit on the ground, glared back at Josiah, and did as he was told, carefully edging along the rock, his own Winchester cocked and at the ready.
    Josiah thought Scrap Elliot an impetuous sort, never really trustworthy with his intentions or mood, but always trustworthy when it came to shooting and horse riding.
    The kid, that’s how Josiah thought of the boy, since he was hardly twenty years old, had certain talents that had proven effective in the recent past, and even though Josiah rarely said anything aloud, he admired Scrap’s talents to a high degree. They’d saved his life more than once. His history with Elliot allowed for a certain discounting of youthful enthusiasm. He worried now, though, if he could hold Elliot down, get him to toe the line, and let the plan at hand fall into place. So far, events were occurring without any hint of trouble.
    â€œThat boy’s gonna either get us all kilt one of these days,” Red said, “or be a hero in the annals of time. Got the spirit of a warrior, and the brains of a thick piece of granite.”
    Josiah chuckled—and at the same time the Comanche fired another shot into the clump of rocks. The chuckle faded quickly, as he and Red both returned fire.
    White dust popped up into the air along the dry creek bed. The scout’s rifle went silent almost immediately.
    Josiah pulled back and faced Red. “You think he’s hit?”
    â€œWon’t know till I see a dead body. Sneaky bastards, these Comanche are. You know that, though, don’t you, Wolfe?”
    Josiah nodded, listened for Scrap, and heard nothing.
    There was little wind, no birdsong, not even a hawk lifting higher on the warm currents in the clear blue sky. The day had yet to fully grab hold, but it was going to be a warm one, especially for this time of year. It was like they had stumbled into a desert, devoid of any life at all.
    He peered over the rock again, and saw no movement along the creek.
    â€œAnything?” Red asked.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œI’m worried about that Elliot now.”
    â€œMe, too.”
    â€œShould I go after him? Take a look and see if I got lucky and kilt that there scout?”
    â€œYes. Go.”
    Red pulled himself out of the cranny he’d positioned himself in and disappeared behind the same rock Scrap had.
    It only took a second for the silence to return. Now it belonged entirely to Josiah. All he could hear was the beating of his own heart.
    He looked over the rock again, angling the barrel of the Winchester toward the creek.
    Unconsciously, he balanced the barrel with his left hand, eased his finger onto the trigger, and let his right hand fall so it was touching the butt of his pistol, a singleaction Colt .45-caliber, most often called by him, and other Rangers, the Peacemaker. Settling his arm as he had had allowed the burning sensation around his wound to fade away, but not fully disappear.
    This time, he saw movement, but it was only a snake, a small rattler slithering along the white, sandy bank of the dry creek. It was hunting quietly, searching for anything that moved. It was a futile quest as far as Josiah could tell.
    He was starting to believe Red had gotten lucky with the shot . .