The Coyote Tracker by Larry D. Sweazy Read Free Book Online Page B

from Miss Amelia’s house. “It can be a little rough for a boy like Scrap.”
    â€œI do not know the details, but I heard screams. Then I saw Scrap Elliot running down the street with blood on his hands; he was wide-eyed and pale, like a man gone loco. Suddenly, there were deputies around. They ran after him, cornered him, then took him to jail. I went asking around, but all I could find out was that the Ranger had killed a whore in the back of the Easy Nickel. It seemed very strange to me, señor.”
    Josiah felt numb. He could not imagine Scrap Elliot laying a violent hand on a woman. “There is nothing I can do now. I’ll go down to the jail first thing in the morning.”
    Juan Carlos nodded and headed to the door.
    â€œYou can stay here if you want,” Josiah said.
    Juan Carlos smiled, nodded, then slipped out the door into the darkness, disappearing, like he always did . . . as if he had never existed in the first place.
    After a moment, after the silence had completely returned to the small house, Josiah wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep, if he had dreamed the whole conversation with Juan Carlos or not.

CHAPTER 6
    The rising sun burned the back of Josiah’s eyelids, forcing him awake. Sleep had been fitful, and he didn’t feel rested at all. It was like he’d been fighting something, or someone, all night long, even though he couldn’t remember a thing. No ghosts, no voices from the past whispering in his ear—just sore muscles and the feeling like he’d been awake for days instead of asleep for hours.
    There was no question that Josiah was troubled by Juan Carlos’s visit, and more than worried about Scrap—even though, given the tenuous nature of their friendship, he felt odd about that concern. Sometimes it felt to Josiah like he was more a surrogate father to Scrap than a friend or sergeant.
    He sat up on the edge of his bed, wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and then froze with panic at a sudden realization. Lyle’s bed was empty, the covers twisted and rolled about. There was no sign of the little boy. Worse yet, the Peacemaker on the bureau was gone.
    Fear careened through Josiah’s veins like a blast of dynamite blowing open a new mine shaft.
    â€œLyle!” he hollered out, dashing into the front room of the house without one more thought, reacting to what he saw, instead of thinking. “Lyle!” he screamed again.
    Lyle was sitting in the middle of the room. His eyes wide open, obviously startled by his father’s screams. The little boy froze, like a rabbit trying to camouflage itself in the woods, unmoving at the hint of the first cry of a hawk.
    â€œWhat is the matter, Señor Josiah?” Ofelia asked, annoyed by Josiah’s sudden outburst, wiping her hands on her apron and rushing over to Lyle, who was now on the verge of tears.
    Ofelia was at least thirty years older than Josiah. Old enough to be his mother. She was about five feet tall, and round as an October pumpkin. Her black hair was shiny, with streaks of silver zigzagging through it, and her face was almost always happy. Her wide brown eyes were more forgiving than judgmental, and she usually laughed a lot, and rarely spoke ill of anyone—even those who held a prejudice against her because she was a Mexican.
    Josiah had known Ofelia since he was a little boy. She had been a
partera
, a midwife, in and around Tyler and Seerville. She had delivered all three of his daughters, and Lyle, too, into the world. Now she was much more than a
partera
; she was treated as a member of Josiah’s small family. She was all that remained of his past, and he trusted her with the care and welfare of his most prized possession: Lyle Wolfe himself.
    â€œWhere is my gun?” Josiah demanded. “Lyle, what have you done with my gun? It was on the bureau when I went to bed, and now it’s gone.” It was Josiah’s turn to act like a