Free The Gila Wars by Larry D. Sweazy Page A

bedside from her church in Seerville. Josiah went into town to make the request, and the preacher, a man whose name he could not remember now, refused, fearing for his own life—fearing that he, too, would become infected with the sickness that was eating away inside of Lily, weakening her every breath until she could no longer talk.
    Lily was crushed, heartbroken, by the preacher’s rejection, by his human fear. She had been a believer all of her life, and in the dire moment when she needed reassurance that her faith was valid and true, that the promises of an afterlife meant something, she was left to face it all on her own. Josiah had never taken another man of God seriously since then—including the ex-monk, turned bounty hunter, who had tried to kill him a few months back.
    â€œThank you again, Adolfo,” Josiah said. “I am in your debt.”
    Adolfo stood stiffly, fidgeting with the strings of the stained apron he wore. It looked like he had butchered more than one hog while wearing it. “No, no, señor. There is no debt. I have only done what is the right thing to do.”
    Josiah stared down at the plate of food. Scrap had not told him where their friendship stood, or, at least, it was impossible for Josiah to remember. The fight in the cantina and the pain of the gunshots in his flesh had left him more disoriented than he realized.
    The eggs were cooked perfectly, sharing a plate with corn tortillas, mashed up beans, fried more than once, topped with a tomato-chili sauce and some strands of fresh white cheese. The aroma was comforting. He had eaten a similar dish in his own home, from a skillet prepared by Ofelia, many times. But he was not hungry now, and the weakness he had initially felt when he sat down was growing instead of going away, draining what strength he had left. He could barely sit up straight.
    â€œHave you told anyone about us?” Josiah asked. “Who we really are?”
    Adolfo shook his head no. “Señor Elliot told us of your mission. He asked me not to spread any more news than I had to.” He stopped fidgeting then, dropped his hands to his side, and stiffened.
    â€œHe threatened you, didn’t he?”
    Adolfo shook his head no again.
    â€œHe threatened Francesca?”
    Adolfo looked away, then back to Josiah quickly, with warm and unflinching eyes. “You are safe here, Señor Wolfe. There is no worry about your story. It is my honor to feed you, to care for you. Now, eat, before your meal gets cold. You need to regain your strength.”
    â€œWhy? Why would you do this?” Josiah said, pushing away his anger at Scrap, knowing full well the boy wouldn’t harm Francesca. He was just young, trying to find any source of power he could. Intimidation was an easy path.
    â€œWe are not the enemy, Señor Wolfe,” Adolfo answered, his voice finally calm, his eyes settling directly on Josiah, not looking away. “And besides, we have mutual
conocimientos
, um, acquaintances. You will see.”
    Before Josiah could say anything else, Adolfo hurried away, disappearing inside the cantina.
    It wasn’t long before a clatter of pots and pans filled the air.
    Josiah sat at the table for almost an hour, his appetite as weak as the rest of him. Still, he managed to eat half a plate of the savory food, drinking water more than anything.
    The spicy eggs settled easily in his stomach, and he started to feel better, more flushed with energy than without. His face stung as the air caressed his skin. There was no way to attach the bandage, and Francesca had told him that the fresh air would do it good, so the pellet wound was exposed. It was covered with salve and at times burned like it was on fire. When he reached up to touch his face, he could only feel the gooiness of the salve. He didn’t dare press harder, fearing the pain. It smelled like the inside of a cactus, broken open for its succulence and nourishment. There would