The Coyote Tracker: A Josiah Wolfe, Texas Ranger Novel by Sweazy Larry D

Author:Sweazy, Larry D.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WordWise Publishing Services, LLC
Published: 2024-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Josiah reached out for the livery door to brace himself. It had never been difficult to read Juan Carlos; his emotions and thoughts were usually apparent and forthright, and there was no mistaking that what he had just said was the truth. Bad news was coming, popped up like the spring storm that was now raging overhead.

“What is it?” Josiah asked.

“There is a woman who claims to have seen Señor Scrap kill that whore.”

“A witness?” It was a breathless question, almost too difficult to say out loud. That wasn’t the news Josiah had been expecting.

“Sí.”

Hail battered the roof, and a straight wind pushed through from one end of the livery to the other. There was not a horse inside that wasn’t pacing, nervous, or butting up against its stable. Whinnies and snorts mixed with the thundering downpour of ice pellets pinging above.

Josiah stood motionless, chilled, not sure he had heard Juan Carlos correctly. Maybe he didn’t want to hear what the Mexican said. Maybe it was impossible for him to consider that Scrap had killed the girl at the Easy Nickel Saloon. But the boy had lied to him before. Recently. Still, being ashamed of your sister and how she made a living was one thing; killing a whore was another. No matter the witness, Josiah just couldn’t see it, couldn’t see Scrap as the kind of man who was thoughtless and heartless enough to just stab a girl for no better reason than rejection or that she was just a whore in the wrong place at the wrong time. Scrap Elliot was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a woman killer.

Josiah had been sure of that up until a few seconds ago. “You’re sure? A witness?” he repeated. “She saw Scrap stab the girl, Lola, to death?” He didn’t know if that was the girl’s real name or not, but it was the name Brogdon Caine had used, and Josiah had no other to put in its place. A lot of whores assumed different names so no one from their past would recognize them—or so they wouldn’t recognize themselves. Shame was a common malady found in that trade.

“That is the word I hear,” Juan Carlos said. “She is to appear before the judge and give her account of what happened.”

There was no one else near, or in sight of them, inside the livery. Josiah could barely hear Juan Carlos himself over the roar of the storm, so he wasn’t worried about being overheard.

Moisture clung to Josiah’s face, and he wiped it away, brushing across the stubble of his beard, reminding him of the length of the day. A lot had happened since that morning. His stomach growled with hunger, and he made a mental note to check the saddlebag on Clipper’s back to see if to tide him over there was some errant jerky about, leftover from a trail ride that he couldn’t remember.

“Who is this girl, this new witness, do you know?” Josiah asked.

“No, señor, I don’t know who she is.

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