The Badger's Revenge Read Online Free PDF

didn’t make any sense to Josiah. Still, it was obvious that the Indians had come to the next part of their plan, and Little Shirt was giving orders of some kind, since Big Shirt nodded, his eyes unblinking until the last syllable was spoken.
    Little Shirt whistled, and within a second or two, a trio of horses appeared from behind the closest outcropping of rocks.
    There was not a man, or Ranger, in Texas who wasn’t aware of and did not silently respect the prowess most Comanche demonstrated when it came to horsemanship.
    They were legendary trainers and riders, the success of many of their battles based solely on the abilities they put to use atop their mounts. All three horses were mustangs, one tall, fully chestnut mare, that had a hard look in her eyes, like she was full of rage, and two paints, one mostly white with small blotches of chestnut.
    Little Shirt pulled back, leaving only Big Shirt with his rifle barrel pushed against Josiah’s skull. There was no chance, yet, to break away. The short Indian grabbed the three horses’ leads and walked them over to Josiah and Big Shirt.
    â€œGet on. But don’t try to be brave, Ranger. Your life means nothing to me,” Big Shirt ordered.
    â€œWhere to?”
    â€œDo you believe in Hell?”
    Josiah hesitated. “I’ve been there before.”
    â€œGet on,” Big Shirt repeated. “The missionaries would be disappointed in you, Josiah Wolfe.”
    â€œThey need to get a look at Hell for themselves,” Josiah said.
    â€œSomething we agree on,” Big Shirt said.
    Josiah felt the pressure of the rifle barrel leave the back of his neck. But Little Shirt had him square in his sights, Red’s long gun, a .50-caliber carbine, aimed straight at Josiah’s head.
    It was no use trying to escape.
    He could not abide being a prisoner, but leaving this world because of that, leaving all that he held dear and had managed to love again, was not worth it.
    He heaved himself up on the horse, the tall chestnut mare. She was not amused, and snorted and rustled backwards as he got settled on the horse’s strong back. There was no saddle, just a well-worn blanket.
    Big Shirt mounted his horse, a smaller paint, and took over holding Josiah at bay as Little Shirt followed suit and mounted his own horse.
    Now that all three of them were atop their respective horses, Little Shirt eased into the lead and let out a shrieking hoot and holler, a scream that was more suited to a nighttime attack from a cougar or coyote than a man.
    The Comanche legged his horse deeply with his knees, urging it to break away and run.
    Before Josiah knew what had happened, Big Shirt slapped the rump of the chestnut mare, and she tore out after Little Shirt. Big Shirt was close on Josiah’s tail, and both Comanche had their rifles in hand, a bullet just a pull of the trigger away from cracking his skull wide open, putting a permanent end to his conscious knowledge of daylight and his pursuit of a full, satisfied life.
    Dust obscured Josiah’s vision, but he could see enough to know that they were going to circle the tree that Scrap and Red Overmeyer were bound to.
    He had no control of the horse. The mare acted like he did not exist on her back.
    Both Comanche continued their screams and yells. “ Yip, yip, yaw! ”
    Josiah could see Scrap struggling against the bindings of the rope, though it did him no good. At that moment, Scrap’s fate was far from certain, and it looked like the boy could barely breathe.
    Fear was not a characteristic Josiah was accustomed to seeing in Scrap’s eyes. He had only known the young Ranger since May, since joining up with the Frontier Battalion in San Antonio. Since then, the two had been thrown together in a few skirmishes that could have gone badly for Josiah if it hadn’t been for Scrap’s shooting and riding skills. There were times when Josiah liked Scrap well enough, like when he kept his