The Gila Wars by Larry D. Sweazy Page B

face, and he cowered for a second. But something caught his eye. Movement in the grayness. It only took a blink to realize that what he was looking at was a horse and rider. Heading straight for him, riding hard, like they were on a mission.
    If he saw them, they had seen him.
    There was no place to hide, no trees to shelter him or give him cover, if the rider was one of Cortina’s men. An Anglo standing in the middle of nowhere would be shot outright, no questions asked, especially considering the moment they were standing in. Cortina had to be well aware that the Rangers were looking for him, that they would try to stop the shipment of beeves to Cuba and return the longhorns to their rightful owners. There was no way he couldn’t know that. Cortina was a smart man, smarter than most Texans gave him credit for. He was an old man, bent on taking what he felt was his, borders and governments be damned.
    Josiah pulled his Peacemaker from the holster, readying himself, then headed back down the trail, cutting off from it at the easiest point where he could try and hide himself against the limestone wall. There were no caves, just wind cuts and indentations in the jagged, wet stone, giving him no place to find shelter from the rain, or bullets.
    The temperature of the air dropped with the push of the wind. It was like the storm had sucked all of the heat from the world into the clouds and used it sparingly for the weak streaks of lightning that began to dance over his head. Still, Josiah began to sweat. His heart raced. And he allowed himself to be afraid for a brief moment.
    Pearl’s letter had reassured Josiah of one thing: Lyle was well cared for, loved, and would not be left an orphan if something happened to him. It was a relief, but he had known this anyway. He wouldn’t have ever left Austin again if he hadn’t thought Ofelia would care for the boy if something happened to him. They had an unspoken agreement, a trust between each other, that Josiah had with no one else in the world, and now didn’t expect to have with anyone else anytime soon.
    But Josiah was unwilling to openly surrender if it came to that, if the rider
was
one of Cortina’s men. He would die fighting. For himself and for Lyle. If word ever got back to the boy about how his father had died, then Josiah wanted Lyle to know that he had faced death straight on—he was no coward, and there was no coward’s blood in Lyle’s veins. If nothing else, Lyle would have that pride to carry on. The boy would never have to question what he was made of, and for some reason the thought of that helped Josiah stand up straighter and forget his pain, as he chambered a cartridge in the Peacemaker and prepared himself to face the rider.
    The horse was black, or at least it looked black from where Josiah stood, poised, the hammer back, his finger on the trigger. Its rider was small in stature, covered with a duster and a hat, but it was hard to make out any features, or whether the rider wore a gun or was carrying one for that matter.
    Josiah’s heart rate had slowed. He had been in this situation before. At this very moment, he did not fear death.
    Another streak of lightning cracked alive over his head, offering the clarity of vision for a breath or two. In the moment when daylight returned, Josiah saw that the rider was not one of Cortina’s men, but a woman.
    It was Francesca, come out to look for him.
    Unfortunately, what follows lightning is most often a clap of loud thunder. There was no exception this time, and the thunder boomed loudly. It was like a bomb had been set off a few inches over Josiah’s head; his eardrums threatened to explode, deafening him forever. If the limestone outcropping had been any higher and more unstable than it was, then an avalanche of rocks and boulders could have been released, trapping or killing Josiah. But as it was, he was safe.
    Francesca, on the other hand, had not been prepared for