The Lost Causes sat breathlessly in the dark cellar, staring up at the trapdoor.
For a time, no one spoke. To Keech, the explosive clamor had sounded like an entire mountain had dropped on the platform. He wondered if they had been buried alive beneath timber and stone.
Duck’s small voice broke the silence. “Do you think it’s dead?”
“I’d be surprised if it weren’t crushed,” Nat said. “Nothing could’ve survived that.”
A low sob hitched out of Cutter, like an unexpected hiccup. Keech heard him try to muffle any further sounds with his hand, but Cut couldn’t hold them back. He began to mumble in Spanish. Keech reached out blindly in the dark, found Cutter’s shoulder pressed against a wall, and squeezed. Soon the boy’s body took to shaking, the way Keech had trembled when he realized he had sent Sam to his doom inside the burning Home.
At last, Cutter moaned, “We never should’ve come here! I told y’all we should’ve kept going. I told you we needed to put miles between us and the Shifter.”
The gang looked at one another, but no one responded.
Quinn revived his lantern, and a yellow glow illuminated the chamber. They were all coated in thick dust, their faces gray and dreary. Wiping his eyes, Cutter pushed away from the wall and made his way to the bottom of the stairs, where John Wesley’s straw hat sat in the grime. He picked it up and brushed off the brim, then he stuffed it inside his coat.
“We can’t just sit here forever,” Nat said after a moment. He climbed the steps and pushed at the trapdoor. It lifted a foot before hitting some obstruction. “I think I can fit,” he said, then shimmied through the breach. Once he was outside, he said with a low voice, “Half the mission’s collapsed. I don’t see the ponies. I’m gonna scout. Wait for my knock.”
Through the gap, Keech watched Nat’s boots climb a pile of wet rubble and disappear. Then Keech lowered the trapdoor. He looked at the others and read devastation on their faces. He wanted to offer reassurances about John Wesley—perhaps he’d survived, perhaps Nat would return in a minute with good news—but he held his tongue. Not long before, Keech had been reveling in the idea that fate was guiding them toward victory. But the haggard look on Cutter’s face could no longer abide such optimism. Even Duck, usually the first to offer a sunny outlook, kept quiet.
Quinn finally spoke. “I can’t believe I blew it up.”
“What do you mean?” Duck asked.
“This mission. It was the only sanctuary for miles.” Quinn clutched his forage cap in one hand. “I was gonna bring Auntie Ruth here. But I blew it up.”
Keech pulled off his bowler hat and turned it around in his hands, searching for comforting words. “Sanctuaries can be rebuilt,” he said, immediately feeling foolish for his feeble attempt at consolation.
“I suppose,” Quinn said, but he didn’t sound convinced in the least. He slipped his cap back on and looked at each of them with tired eyes. “I’m awful sorry about your friend. Here I am, going on about a building, when your trailmate just died.”
“Maybe John got away,” Keech said. “We shouldn’t lose hope.”
A swift triple knock on the pine door above made him almost leap out of his boots. Recognizing Nat’s signal, Keech scuttled up the stairwell and raised the panel. Nat’s dusty face appeared in front of him.
“It’s clear. Everyone out.”
“What about John Wesley?” Keech asked. “Any sign of him?”
The rancher looked distraught in the lamplight. “No trace.”
Immediate and terrible silence overtook the cellar. Keech glanced down at the others. Cutter brought a pair of knuckles up to his eyes and made those small hiccuping sounds again. “You’re sure?” asked Keech.
“I couldn’t lift all the rubble,” Nat said, “but I gave it the best search I could. He ain’t there.”
“What about the ponies?” asked Duck.
“Looks like they scattered after the walls collapsed. Powerful lucky they huddled in that back corner, otherwise they would’ve been crushed. We’ll have to round ’em up.”
As the gang crawled out of the secret room, freezing air blasted Keech’s face, and thick snow tumbled onto their hats and shoulders. He looked around in shock as Quinn swept his lantern around the church. Mercy Mission stood intact on the north and south ends, but the center of the building had been gutted, as if a giant bite had been taken out of it. The high rafters had disintegrated, and the walls had crumbled, creating a mound of wreckage that the young riders had to help one another scale.
There was no sign of the Chamelia or John Wesley.
“The monster must’ve run off with John’s body,” Duck said, grimacing.
Keech didn’t want to think too deeply about the creature’s grotesque reason for doing such a thing. All he knew was that their trailmate deserved a proper burial.
“The norther’s died down a bit, but the snow ain’t letting up,” Nat murmured. “We best round up the ponies.” He turned to Keech. “Why don’t you and Quinn stay and look for my Hawken. I dropped it after that devil attacked. And fetch a few blankets from the cellar. We’ll freeze if we don’t cover up proper.”
“Be careful. Keep your eyes open.” Keech didn’t like the notion of the group separating, especially with the Chamelia still on the loose, but Nat didn’t need the whole gang to gather the ponies.
Wrapped up in ponchos and blankets from the cellar, Nat, Duck, and Cutter set out into the wilderness to round up the horses, leaving Keech and Quinn to search through the rubble.
Bundled tightly in his own blanket, Keech followed Quinn’s lantern light and dug through Mercy Mission’s ice-covered wreckage. Through the snow, he spotted a glint of silver and soon uncovered both amulet shards. He slipped Pa Abner’s fragment over his neck and tucked it down his coat. He placed Duck’s shard into his coat pocket.
“What are those?” Quinn asked.
“Long story. But the quick answer is magic. They’re magical shards we’ve used to fight the creatures that have been after us. Didn’t work against the Chamelia, though.”
“Monsters and magic,” Quinn mused. “I feel like I’m living in a strange dream.”
They continued to kick through the rubble. Quinn pushed back a mantle of fresh snow with his oversized boot and pointed to a long, broken object lying under a stone. “There’s Nat’s rifle.”
Keech felt his heart drop as he lifted the Hawken from the icy debris. The collapse of the eastern wall had smashed the walnut stock to pieces. A large chunk of stone had also bent the barrel near sideways. The rifle was useless.
“Oh no,” Keech said.
“Maybe if Ranger Doyle catches up, he can outfit us with another gun,” Quinn suggested, his breath a solid white fog in the lamplight.
Outfit us. Keech smiled at the notion that Quinn Revels would ride on with the Lost Causes, even if only till they reached Wisdom and he rejoined his aunt Ruth. The kid was smart. Most important, the team could use a guide who knew the lay of the land.
“I want you to know, all that stuff that Nat said before—”
“About me being untrustworthy? He meant every word, and you know it,” Quinn snapped.
The reply momentarily jolted Keech. “I was gonna say that you’re in no danger with us. The gang you need to beware is the Reverend Rose’s brood.”
As soon as he spoke the name of that mysterious, malignant man, Quinn’s features twisted. “You mean the Big Snake gang?”
“Big Snake,” Keech said, pondering. That was what Bad Whiskey had called Rose’s cursed militia. He had said he was the Gita-Skog, the Big Snake that consumes all. Whiskey had tried to hide behind the Abenaki word, but Keech hated to use that name because they intended it as a word to be feared. Calling them rotten snakes felt far more accurate.
“So you’re telling me you know about Rose’s killers?” Keech asked.
Quinn made a low whistling noise. “Boy, do I. Not long after me and Auntie Ruth got to Wisdom and settled in, that low-down Friendly showed up with his hunters. He locked me and Auntie Ruth back in chains on account of our skin, locked up anybody else who dared to stand against him, and then he tossed poor Mr. Strahan inside one of his own jail cells. We didn’t imagine life could get worse, but a few weeks later, things got downright terrible when the Big Snake showed up.”
“I won’t call them by that name anymore. They don’t deserve to be feared.”
“You got no complaint from me,” Quinn said.
“Good. Now tell me more. When did they first come?”
Quinn shivered at the cold. “They rode in sometime in late September and took over Friendly’s operations. I never saw who led them, but a strange pack of men came along with them, men who shuffled ’round and never talked. Friendly told us he worked for them. They put everybody in chains to work around the town.”
A mountain of anger dropped on Keech’s soul. The Reverend Rose’s murderers had infiltrated Wisdom. “Are they still there?” he asked. The Lost Causes were counting on tracking down Sheriff Strahan—he was their best hope to find Bonfire Crossing. If Rose’s outlaws were still in town, that would complicate matters.
“Sure are. They set up shop and started working on something big.”
Keech felt his hands bundle into fists. “Did you ever see a big man in a tan coat, with a red beard parted up the middle? That’s Big Ben, the fella who killed Nat and Duck’s folks.”
Quinn pondered the description. “I don’t recollect a man like that, but as I said, I never saw the leaders, only the men who followed.”
The familiar song of a warbler echoed across the dark landscape, and Keech and Quinn glanced out across the chilled forest. Nat, Duck, and Cutter came riding up astride their ponies. Felix and Lightnin’ followed along at the ends of two lead ropes held by Cutter.
Reaching down from Chantico, Cutter handed Felix’s lead rope to Keech.
“Thanks,” Keech said, putting a hand on the pony’s neck. Felix returned the gesture by leaning his head into Keech’s shoulder. “Good boy. You’re okay now.”
Cutter glanced at the rope attached to Lightnin’. “I don’t know what to do with John’s horse,” he told the gang, staring blankly at the braid.
The Embry siblings kept their eyes trained on their saddle horns.
“I reckon we could sell him,” Nat said.
“That don’t seem right,” Duck replied.
“We can’t just turn him loose,” Nat said. “John Wesley would hate for us to do that.”
Cutter said, “I know what to do,” and he held the rope down to Quinn.
“Me?” said Quinn, blinking in surprise.
For a second, Keech thought he saw tears bubble up in both boys’ eyes. “He needs a good jinete. Someone strong,” Cutter said.
Quinn seemed at a loss for words, so he simply took the line. John Wesley’s gelding balked a little when the boy drew him closer, but the horse settled down when Quinn whispered a few nice words into his twitching ear.
Keech turned to Nat and lifted the piece of walnut stock he was holding. “I hate to break more bad news to you, Nat, but I’m afraid you’re gonna need a new gun.”
Nat regarded the broken walnut rifle the way a fellow might look upon a beloved pet who’d just perished. Shirking off his blanket, he dismounted Sally and took the busted walnut from Keech and gazed at it. “My pa gave me this gun.” He looked up at Duck, but she kept silent. “He told me, ‘As long as you carry this rifle, you’ll feel me near, protecting you.’ I’ve kept this Hawken near for almost ten years.”
“I’m sure sorry,” Quinn offered.
Nat pitched the broken pieces back into the rubble. “It don’t matter. Nothing matters.” He wiped at the corner of his eye.
Keech tried to change the subject. “Good news, though. Quinn’s gonna guide us on down to Wisdom.”
The rancher only grunted. “I ain’t sure we should even keep on.”
The bitter sound of defeat coming from Nat surprised Keech. He looked up at Cutter and Duck, but they, too, were speechless.
“I thought we could do it,” Nat continued. “We stopped Bad Whiskey. Sheriff Turner deputized us. Even your pa gave us his blessing. Everything was possible. I thought I could lead us on to stop the Reverend Rose. But now John Wesley’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”
“How was this your fault?” Keech asked.
“I led us to this mission and locked us into a trap. It was a foolish move. And at the end, I was so focused on getting me and Duck to safety, I forgot the rest of the team. I wasn’t there to save John.”
Spitting a loud Spanish curse, Cutter swiped at an errant tear on his cheek. “No, Embry. You don’t get to quit. We keep on to Wisdom, no matter what. We need to find Strahan and get to Bonfire Crossing. Keech’s pa said we could face Rose’s bandidos if we got there. That’s what we’re gonna do. Get our justice for John Wesley, for your folks, for everybody who fell on their path. Make them answer in blood.”
Nat threw his hands up, frustration shaking his entire frame. “I reckon you didn’t hear the news, Cut. Our sheriff is in jail. If we keep on to Wisdom, we’ll be placing ourselves in the hands of an outlaw named Friendly Williams and his bounty hunters.”
Keech grimaced when he spoke the next few words. “I don’t mean to bear more bad news, but Quinn’s told me something you’re not gonna like. Apparently, the Reverend’s gang has moved into Wisdom. From the sound of it, they run the town now.”
“I’m afraid it’s true,” Quinn added.
Nat hauled back and laughed in surrender. It was, perhaps, an even more haunting sound than the Chamelia’s howl, for it told Keech that Nathaniel Embry had lost his critical edge. More than ever, the Lost Causes needed their leader, and Nat was unraveling before their eyes. “The jig is up then. Riding on to Wisdom would be hopeless now that we’ve lost everything.”
“Not everything’s a loss,” Quinn said. He pointed to a bulge in the pocket of his tattered blue sack coat. “I snatched a couple more of those whistle bombs. Maybe we could use them on Rose’s killers. You know, if they try to cross us while we look for my auntie and free Mr. Strahan.”
“It’s a fool’s mission,” Nat said.
Gloomy silence overtook the group—till Duck stepped down from Irving and pushed up close to her brother, her nostrils huffing fog. She slipped the thick arms of her coat around his middle and squeezed. Nat’s stomach pushed against her wide-brimmed hat and shoved it backward on her head, but she didn’t stop hugging. As she pressed her face into his shirt, her words came back to Keech as a muffled whisper. “Remember what Ma and Pa used to tell us whenever we got down? ‘A person whose chin drags the ground never sees the sunset.’ Let’s make our folks proud, Nathaniel. Let’s find the sunset. It’s right there for us; we’ve just got to look up.”
Nat’s dismal face became a world of emotion.
“Let’s get on to Wisdom and find Strahan,” Keech said. “Let’s go for John Wesley.”
“I’m ready,” said Cutter. He yanked his coverings close around his arms. “Vámonos.”
Keech fished Duck’s amulet shard out of his pocket. “You probably want this,” he said to her. Duck slipped the pendant back around her neck and smiled.
Nat wiped his eyes with a trembling hand. “Okay, Lost Causes, let’s ride. For John Wesley. We’ll travel through the forest, avoid open roads, and be on the lookout for the Shifter. There may be more trackers on the hunt, too.” He glanced at Quinn as he spoke the last part. “We’ll need to be ready.”
A brilliant kind of light appeared in Quinn’s eyes. Keech couldn’t help recalling the tattered man in chains who had been dragged down the Big Timber street years ago, the man whose eyes had spoken of hopelessness and sorrow. There was pain in Quinn’s gaze, no doubt about it. But even more, there was fire and determination.