bead of sweat to be seen on the man’s sunburned face. He had a wise look about him, like some of the other trackers Josiah had encountered over the years. There was no reason to doubt that what Sheriff Patterson had said was true . . . but Josiah did doubt that Juan Carlos was careless enough to lead a posse straight to Captain Fikes. At least, he hoped he could doubt Juan Carlos in that way. It made no sense to him otherwise.
O’Reilly squinted, narrowing his eyes into an even harder glare at Josiah. It was like he was trying to start something, provoke Josiah into challenging him.
Some people hated the Irish about as much as they hated Mexicans, Josiah thought to himself. But he didn’t say anything. It would take more than a glare to provoke him.
The other two riders remained quiet, their shaded eyes darting at every movement.
Josiah turned away from O’Reilly and kept his own eyes on the other riders, specifically their gun hands.
He would have preferred to have a new model Winchester in his possession, instead of the carbine, since he could fire off the rounds quicker, but the carbine would have to do . . . for now.
The two riders did not look like typical lawmen any more than O’Reilly, the tracker, did.
“I am harboring a criminal, yes,” the captain said.
“Figured as much.”
“You should have—you watched me ride out of town with him.”
“Not Langdon, you damned old fool.”
“He’s the only criminal I’ve seen all day. Though I’m starting to wonder what side of the law you truly stand on.”
“The side that sees the necessity for one man to stand trial for killing another.”
Josiah started to bite his tongue. He wanted to have his say about Juan Carlos, but he wasn’t sure what the captain’s reaction would be if he jumped into the fray, so he continued to restrain himself. Though he didn’t know how much longer he could keep quiet.
“There won’t be a fair trial for that Mexican, and you know it,” Captain Fikes said. “No Mexican’s ever got a trial that wasn’t tainted in some way or the other.”
Sheriff Patterson did not offer any sign that would suggest he disagreed with the captain. Nor did he indicate that he cared in the least about the welfare of a Mexican. He just stared past Josiah to the other Rangers and Charlie Langdon.
“You wouldn’t mind if we look over yonder for a sign of the Mexican. I sure don’t mean to imply that a revered captain in the Rangers would lie. You still call yourself that don’t you, Fikes? A Ranger? Last I heard you were conducting raids on innocents with the State Police.”
“There is no such organization called the State Police these days.”
“A change of name doesn’t stop a man’s memory of the misdeeds carried out in the past.”
“I suppose what matters is the man determining what the misdeeds are. What side of the law he stands on.”
“Governor Davis seemed none too impressed with some of the misdeeds committed by his past emissaries.”
“Did you ride all the way out here to bicker about the politics in Austin, Patterson? Maybe you should protest where it matters. It’s a three-day ride last time I made the trip.”
“I believe I have better things to do with my time these days. Nothing will be the same under Coke. Davis should have never gave in, and surrendered the office. Now, are you going to allow us to take a look around?”
Josiah determined that the captain and the sheriff stood on opposite political sides. Most any two men in Texas did these days, but that didn’t fully explain the contention that weighed heavily between these two.
Patterson had implied that the captain had carried out a misdeed . . . in the name of the State Police. Which seemed odd. The captain had always been a Ranger, and never worked in the capacity of the State Police as far as Josiah knew. But the last couple of years had been difficult for Josiah, left him out of touch. Maybe the captain had ridden with the State
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