Cougar's Prey (9781101544846) by Larry D. Sweazy Page B

have to stand for mine, whatever they are, in the eyes of the law.”
    â€œYou aim a gun at a man, you best use it to kill. That’s the first rule every shooter learns.”
    â€œTrue enough. Now, you go on, get back to the boardinghouse. No matter what you did or said, I know it was your own version of the truth. We’re right as rain. No need to worry none about me holding a grudge however things turn out, you hear?”
    Scrap nodded, then turned and started to walk away, but stopped before he got a few steps. “I’m damn sorry, Wolfe, I sure am,” he said, then broke into a slow trot and disappeared quickly down the dark street.

CHAPTER 7

    Ofelia sat in a rocking chair just inside the door. She wore a long brown skirt and a plain white blouse that bore a few stains on it, obviously from the day’s work. Her skin was dark brown, and her face was starting to bear happy wrinkles. She was squat, nearly as wide as she was tall, with a few gray streaks beginning to show prominently in her thick black hair that was bound in a woven braid so it looked like a small wheel on the back of her head.
    â€œI am glad to see you, señor. Señor Scrap was pacing back and forth on the porch for hours. I invited him in, but he would not hear of it,” Ofelia said, standing up. Lyle was nowhere to be seen, obviously in bed just like Josiah had assumed.
    â€œDid you offer him any food? That usually works to get him from one place to another.”
    Josiah stood in the center of the small living area, with the kitchen just adjacent. A pot of menudo sat atop the cooling stove. The smell of the spicy stew filled the house, but Josiah barely noticed it since his nose was accustomed to Ofelia’s cooking.
    â€œSeñor Scrap said he didn’t want to eat no damn Mexican food.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Ofelia, that’s just how Scrap is.”
    â€œI know, señor. I just smiled at him and said, ‘ Usted no podia saber comida buena si dio una palmada en la cara .’”
    Josiah shrugged.
    â€œI told him he wouldn’t know good food if it slapped him in the face, but I didn’t explain it to him. He just twisted up his lip and stalked off like a mad donkey and started pacing on the porch.”
    Josiah laughed out loud, surprising himself. Ofelia laughed, too, watching Josiah’s every move. There was no question that she was concerned about him but was obviously glad to see he could still laugh.
    After the brief laugh, Josiah walked over to the stove, opened the pot, and took a big whiff of the stew. “I’ve really made a mess of things, Ofelia,” he said.
    Now it was Ofelia’s turn to shrug. “You’ll work this out, señor. You always do.”
    â€œI’m not so sure this time.”
    Josiah’s stomach roared to life, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since early in the day. He grabbed his bowl that sat on the counter next to the stove, ladled out a generous helping of the menudo, and sat down to eat.
    â€œLyle is okay?” Josiah asked in between bites.
    Ofelia was busying herself stowing away the day’s dishes in a small cupboard that sat next to the stool she usually occupied when she watched after Lyle. Most days it was as if Ofelia lived in the small house, too, but she didn’t sleep there, choosing instead to sleep at a small place of her own in Little Mexico, not too far away. She appeared before the sun came up and did not leave until Josiah came home and was in for the night. When Josiah was on the trail with the Rangers, she stayed in the house and often took Lyle to Little Mexico with her, which explained why, at three years old, the boy could speak and understand Mexican far better than Josiah could.
    Scrap gave Josiah a hard time about the upbringing the boy was receiving, but Josiah ignored him. Mostly. Maybe not so much lately, as he considered the long-term effects of his absences on Lyle. There was no