“THIS IS WHERE I WAS BORN?” Sadie asked as they rode down the main street, passing the first in a long series of boarded-up shops. “No wonder Mama hated it.”
Lu understood her disappointment. They were all disappointed. After weeks and months of travel, they’d finally made it to Silver City. But rather than a cozy village, offering comforts to both body and soul, they’d instead discovered a dusty, flea-bit, broken-down, knock-kneed, misery of a town. Lu had expected a growing community, made wealthy by mining. What he saw was a village with but one resource in abundance, and that was frowns. Lu felt the corners of his own mouth tug steadily downward as they passed by the boarded-up front of what had once been a fine general store. A gang of young hooligans loitered out front, sitting on empty nail-kegs and overturned produce crates. Their leader, a redheaded boy of no more than sixteen, had an old musket slung across one knee, and a one-eyed bulldog on a chain. The other four boys carried knives. What they thought they might like to do with those blades was as clear as if they’d written it out on their shirts.
“Did you say they had opera?” Sadie asked her father. “In this town?”
“Used to be a fine stage in the Grange Hall,” MacLemore said. “Your mother and I once watched a pair of ladies from San Pablo sing French for two solid hours.”
Chino pointed down the street. “In that Grange Hall?”
Most of the paint had long since peeled off, and those rare bits of faded yellow that were still visible along the undersides of the roof eaves and windowsills hung like strips of dead skin after a bad sunburn. The plank sidewalk had been mostly torn up, and the wood steps leading up to the Grange Hall door appeared rotten. The door itself was still in place, amazingly, although it looked as if someone had taken a few swipes at it with an axe. Worst of all were the plywood walls. They were so riddled with bullet-holes that Lu half-expected to see the entire building come crashing down any second.
“This whole town is falling apart.” MacLemore shook his head in what Lu took to be sorrow and confusion.
“One structure is in good repair,” Henry said, pointing.
Catty-corner from the Grange Hall, toward the back of a vacant lot, stood a gallows.
It was an impressive bit of carpentry, Lu had to admit. The wood platform looked brand new, and the stairs leading up to it were wide and even. Fanciest of all were the copper hinges on the trap-door. Each had been polished until it shone like a penny in the sun. The cross-bar even sported a noose of fine horsehair rope.
Next door to the gallows, directly across the street from the Grange Hall, was a saloon. Unlike the other shops in Silver City, it was open and doing business. From between the swinging doors they could hear the chatter of voices, accompanied by the plink and plunk of a tuneless piano. Lu wondered if Chino would want to go inside.
He was about to ask when all of a sudden the whole interior of the saloon came tumbling out into the street. Drunkards piled through the batwing doors, some so sloppy they could scarcely walk. One old tramp, his long white hair hanging in his eyes, stumbled across the raised wood sidewalk, tripped over a hitching rail and fell headfirst into a puddle of horse urine. Only a handful of his fellow revelers even seemed to notice, and those that did merely laughed. None showed the slightest interest in helping him up.
Last out of the saloon came a man in a three-piece suit. He had a handlebar mustache, and was flanked on either side by gunmen. A trio of saloon girls, decked out in their revealing best, marched ahead of him, shoving stragglers off of the plank sidewalk, clearing a path for their boss. As the gentleman sauntered out, he raised one hand to the crowd. The rabble in the street stared up at him in hushed awe.
“Three cheers for Pitt and Sawyer!” the suited gentleman called.
The townsfolk answered with a chorus of hips, hoorays, and loud whistles. Lu watched closely, and after the third cheer he guessed he knew which of the men were Pitt and Sawyer. He wasn’t impressed. Judging by their expressions, those two were about the drunkest of the bunch.
“These two fine boys,” the suited gentleman continued, “have come all the way from San Pablo. Apparently, they heard about our Yankee problem, and have come to lend us a hand. What do you think? Can they do it?”
Another loud cheer exploded from the crowd. Pitt and Sawyer each shook hands with at least a dozen men. One of the saloon girls gave each of them a kiss on the cheek.
Lu glanced at his employer. He expected MacLemore to call out, or go riding through the crowd. The whole town was gathered. This seemed as good a time to reveal himself as any. But MacLemore didn’t so much as shift in his saddle.
The man in the three-piece suit held up his hand again, once more quieting the crowd.
“I don’t mind saying, on behalf of the whole citizenry of Silver City, that you boys are among the best, the bravest, the most prepared adventurers we’ve seen to date.” He smoothed the ends of his mustache, grinning all the while. “And with any luck, you’ll be the last we ever do see. I have no doubt at all that, come the end of the week, you’ll be striding through our little town again, rich as Sheiks, with the MacLemore gold in tow.” He laughed. “If I was a betting man, I’d reckon that a sure thing. So now tell us gents, what’ll you do with all that treasure? Invest in one of our fine and profitable mining claims, no doubt.”
Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, Pitt and Sawyer jerked the pistols from their belts and began firing wildly at each other. Horrified townsfolk dodged and dove in every direction. Lu ducked as low over Crash’s neck as he could.
Fortunately, only one man was shot in the gunfight. Lu didn’t know whether it was Pitt or Sawyer—he hadn’t figured out which was which yet—but he could see that the bullets the man had absorbed were likely to kill him. There was a hole in the man’s belly, and another in his chest. Blood poured out by the quart. One of the saloon ladies—the very same one that’d kissed both men just moments before—bent over him, hoping to staunch the flow by pressing her fingers into the holes. But the effort was a waste.
“Pitt’s dead,” she said.
The crowd buzzed. They sounded excited. Lu wondered what could possibly happen next. Things happened fast in Silver City, it seemed, and without much reason. Lu still didn’t even know why they’d fought.
“Well, that certainly was one of the shortest expeditions on record,” the three-piece gentleman muttered, straightening his tie. “Dern fools never even got out of town.”
“I seen him do the shootin’,” one of the saloon ladies offered, pointing at Sawyer.
At the moment, Sawyer was being held down by no fewer than five men. The very same five that’d accompanied the suited gentleman out of the saloon, Lu observed.
“Plenty of witnesses,” their boss agreed. “No need to belabor the point. I guess we all know what this means.” For the third time that afternoon, the assemblage cheered. “That’s right,” the suited gentleman said. “To the gallows!”
The men hauled Sawyer to his feet, bound his hands behind his back, and marched him to the vacant lot next door. They didn’t even pause before hauling him up onto the platform.
Lu glanced at his friends. “Can you believe this?’ he whispered.
No one responded. Sadie and her father watched the proceedings with blank expressions. Chino appeared neither surprised nor disturbed. Henry looked to be disgusted with the whole affair. Lu guessed that Chino and Henry had both seen this sort of justice before.
As soon as Sawyer was standing on the trap-door, the man in the three-piece suit reached into his jacket-pocket and pulled out a Bible. He chose a scripture apparently at random, and then read it through as quickly as he possibly could. Sawyer didn’t listen. Nor, seemingly, did anyone else.
“Can we take their stuff yet?” one of the saloon ladies asked as soon as the reading was over. “Their horses are tied up out front. And Pitt had a fine watch.”
“Don’t I get to say nothin’?” Sawyer demanded.
The men holding him looked to their boss.
“What do you want to say?” the man in the suit asked.
Sawyer cleared his throat. “I only want to say one thing. I’m damn glad I got the chance to shoot my old partner, Joe Pitt. Just this very morning, Joe said he thought he’d like to open another saloon, right here in Silver City. He reckoned this town was fit to grow. I told him I’d shoot him dead ‘fore I’d ever agree to spend my life in a town such as this. And by jings, I meant it.”
The crowd waited, expecting the doomed adventurer to continue. But apparently, that was all Sawyer had to say.
In the meantime, a pair of local toughs—Lu recognized them as two members of the gang he’d seen lazing in front of the boarded-up general store—had shimmied their way up onto the crossbar. While Sawyer talked, they’d shortened the hang rope until there wasn’t even a foot of slack.
“Now then, Mr. Sawyer,” the man in the suit said. “You did your shooting, and it’s time to pay the price. In Silver City, as you may or may not know, we like nothing better than a dance. So that’ll be the price of your crime. A dance.”
“I guess I can do a pretty fair jig,” Sawyer muttered.
“I’ll bet you can. Unfortunately, we prefer another dance.” He nodded to one of the attendants, who gave the trap-door lever a sharp pull.
Sawyer fell just far enough for the rope to pinch off his windpipe, but not nearly far enough to snap his neck. It was a gruesome spectacle, watching him twist and flop like a fish on a line, and lasted almost five minutes. As he suffocated, Sawyer’s face went from white to red to purple. When it started going white again, one of the saloon girls went to inspect the body.
“Show’s over,” she announced. “He’s dead.”
A few of the citizens cheered, but most just marched back to the saloon. It was sort of anticlimactic, Lu had to admit. Sawyer had only really struggled hard for a few seconds. His death, whenever it came, was utterly silent. It might’ve been something else entirely if anyone had cared for the dying man. But no one did. There was no begging. No tears for a life wasted. No feeling of any kind.
Once the street had mostly cleared, two of the saloon ladies went through the dead men’s pockets, Pitt and Sawyer both, followed by their saddle-bags. The women only pocketed whatever they reckoned valuable. Everything else they flung into the street. Pickings didn’t seem to be good.
Eventually one of them found Pitt’s watch and an argument ensued. The woman who’d found it figured it was hers, while the other woman thought they ought to share. Listening to them bicker made Lu sick. That these men’s lives had been reduced to the value of a watch seemed to him truly awful.
Lu wanted to move on, and was just about to say so, when a youngish fellow with a wispy mustache sprouting from his lip strode up to MacLemore.
“You fellers in the army or somethin’?” he asked.
“Pardon?” MacLemore glared down at him.
“Them matching shirts. Don’t look like army duds to me, but I figured I’d ask. Nobody ‘round here likes the army much.”
“We’re not in the army,” MacLemore assured him.
“Well, that’s good. Say, ain’t you folks comin’?”
“Coming where?”
“Why, to the saloon, o’ course.”
“I don’t believe we will.”
“What’s wrong? You Irish or somethin’?”
“Scotch.”
This caused a certain amount of pause, as the young man considered the word MacLemore had just used.
“Scotch?” he said at last. “Ain’t that some sort of Injun?”
“In my case it’s a form of southerner.”
“Reb? Well hell, that’s no reason to stay outside. We don’t mind Rebs ‘round here. You can even bring in your darkie, so long as he stays right with you. We had one in just last week. Tried to chat up one of the girls and Mayor Strong hung him. But that ain’t typical. Most coons know their place, I guess. Now the Irish, that’s different.”
“Mayor Strong. Was that the man in the suit?” Sadie asked.
“And proprietor of the saloon. After a hangin’, Mayor Strong buys the whole city a round. Always turns to a party. Sometimes it gets so dern wild we have another hangin’ later that same night.”
“I believe we’ll pass,” MacLemore said. “But so long as I have you here, maybe you could answer a couple of questions?”
“I don’t know. If I fiddle ‘round too long, I might miss my free drink.”
“Just one question then.”
“Well, all right. But just the one.”
“I thought this was a mining town,” MacLemore said. “But nobody seems to be doing any mining. The hardware store doesn’t even seem to be open. How come no one’s working?”
“Not workin’? Shucks, I guess just about everybody’s workin’. All you have to do is go into the saloon and ask for Mr. Moss. He’ll take you right over to the hardware store and sell you whatever you want. Unless he’s playin’ cards, of course. Or drunk.”
“Of course,” Chino said.
“As for minin’, heck, I’m in the minin’ game myself.” He reached into his pants pockets, pulling out a half-dozen rocks, each about the size of a man’s thumb. “These here are samples from my claim.” He handed one of the rocks to MacLemore. “See that mica?”
“What of it?”
“Why, every fool knows mica and gold are just like this.” He crossed his fingers. “And these ain’t even my best specimens neither.”
“If your claim’s so rich, why aren’t you working it?” MacLemore asked.
“No investors. If I could just get a stake together—say five hundred dollars—why, I’d be rich in no time flat. What about you folks? You lookin’ to invest?”
MacLemore handed him back his rock. “Maybe later.”
“Well, if you are, just come on into the saloon. I’m there most ever’ day. Just ask for Mike. That’s my name. Mike Dunleavy.”
“Isn’t that an Irish name?” Sadie asked.
“Irish?” Mike was shocked. “Course it ain’t Irish! It’s American! Just like me.”
“Thanks for your help,” MacLemore said. “But you’d best get along now if you’re going to get your free drink.”
“Dang, you’re right.” Mike hastened away, leaving Lu and his friends alone.
They sat where they were for a few minutes. The piano resumed its tinkling and the chatter of voices in the saloon grew more boisterous. Every other building in town was dark.
“This is quite a town,” Chino said at last. “We’ve been here less than an hour, and already seen both a shootin’ and a hangin’. Stick round long enough and we’re like to see a war.”
“We still need supplies,” Henry said, obviously disgusted. “Apparently that means a trip to the saloon.”
“I figured you’d jump at the chance,” Sadie remarked. “You were excited to visit the one in Fort Jeb Stuart.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“You remember those army boys? The ones that took offense at your father’s choice of tunes?”
Sadie said she remembered.
“Well, this whole town smells of boys like those.”
“Maybe we ought to find someplace to spend the night,” Chino suggested. “Supplies can wait ‘til morning. You know anyone that might put us up?”
“I used to know the blacksmith,” MacLemore said. “He had a fine house north of town. We could see if he’s still there.”
They rode to the far end of town and a quarter-mile past, finally stopping in front of a two-story white-washed cottage. Sunflowers grew to either side and a steady stream of smoke poured from the stone chimney.
“His name is Dell Lower,” MacLemore said, climbing down from his mule. “But folks all call him J.D. His wife Pearl was a good friend to my Daisy.”
MacLemore strode up onto the front porch and knocked. No one answered.
“Maybe they didn’t hear you,” Sadie suggested.
He knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.
“Could be they’re out back in the shop,” MacLemore said, and started around the side of the house. “Hey Pearl! J.D.! Anybody home?”
He’d just rounded the corner when the front door swung open. The room behind was dark, but not so dark that Lu missed seeing the rifle barrel that poked out at them.
“Don’t anybody move,” the rifle’s owner said. “I’ll cut down the first son-of-a-bitch that so much as sneezes.”
“J.D.?” MacLemore asked. “Is that you?”
The rifle eased through the door, followed by a tall man with straight black hair. He looked like a blacksmith. Even through his shirt Lu could see the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms.
“Come on out from there,” he said. “And keep your hands where I can see ’em.”
MacLemore did as he was told.
“Who are you?” J.D. Lower asked.
“John MacLemore.”
“MacLemore? He left town fifteen years ago. Everybody knows that.”
“Well I’ve come back. That’s my girl.” He gestured at Sadie. “Daisy’s daughter.”
Lower glanced over at her, but kept his rifle at the ready.
“Where’s Pearl?” MacLemore asked. “She might recognize me.”
“Hey, Pearl!” J.D. called. “Come to the door a minute.”
A woman, dark hair curling from under her bonnet, shuffled outside. She gripped the door-frame for an instant, steadying herself before cautiously stepping over the threshold. As she crossed the porch, she stretched both hands in front of her. At first, Lu thought she was finding it hard to navigate the darkened house. But that wasn’t it at all. Pearl Lower was blind.
“My Lord, Pearl,” MacLemore said. “What’s happened to you?”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” she said. “I never thought to hear that voice again.” Pearl stretched her hands toward him. “Come closer, John.”
MacLemore stepped onto the porch.
“Give me your hands,” she said. “Why, your knuckles are near as tough as J.D.’s. You’ve aged, John MacLemore.”
“What happened to you, Pearl?”
“It was the influenza. Struck most every Irish family in town. Killed off most of ’em. All four of us had it, of course. I’m the only one that was struck blind, thank God.”
“Four?”
“We’ve got two girls now. Hazel and Claire. Girls!” she shouted. “Girls! Get out here and meet one of your mother’s friends!”
“It’ll take them a second,” J.D. confided. “I expect they were hidin’ in the crawl-space under the pantry.”
Lu, Henry, Chino and Sadie took that opportunity to dismount. As they did, the two Lower girls came stumbling onto the porch.
“Ma!” the younger of the two exclaimed. “You wouldn’t believe it. The whole yard’s full of coloreds. There’s even a Chinaman, only he’s just a kid.”
“Claire!”
“And they’re all wearin’ the same shirts, too.”
“That’s quite enough out of you, missy. Keep it up and I’ll have your father wallop you. Besides, these men all look the same to me.”
“Oh, Ma,” the older girl said. “Everybody looks the same to you.”
Henry stretched his hand out to the girls. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “My name is Henry. That’s Chino. And this is Lu.”
“Go on,” J.D. said. “Shake the man’s hand.”
Both girls did as their father commanded. When her turn was over, Claire peered down at her little fingers as though surprised to find them all present and accounted for.
“Now, about this girl of yours,” Pearl said to MacLemore. “Where is she?”
“I’m here.” Sadie climbed onto the porch beside her father.
Pearl took Sadie’s hand. “Gracious honey, you’re a full grown woman. How old are you now? Sixteen?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be seventeen next March.”
“Is she as pretty as her mother was?”
“She favors Daisy,” MacLemore said. “Thank God.”
“You must be a vision.” Pearl beamed. “And I’ll bet you’re hungry, too.”
“I sure am.”
“How about the rest of you? Anyone else hungry?”
“We don’t mean to put you out,” MacLemore said.
“Nonsense, John MacLemore. It’d put me out if you didn’t stay the night. I can’t imagine what Daisy would say if I let her only daughter sleep in a room at the saloon. Even you have more sense than to take your teenage daughter there, John.”
“I figured we’d just camp out.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. We don’t have tons of room, but we’ve got enough for five.”
Pearl turned to her husband. “J.D., help these men with their horses while I find out where John and Sadie have been all these years. Claire and Hazel can put on the kettle. I hope you men like stew, because that’s what we’re having.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lu said.
Once their stock had been released into the corral, and their saddles and other equipment were locked inside his blacksmith shop, J.D. escorted Henry, Lu, and Chino into the house.
They entered through the back door, which led directly into the Lowers’ kitchen. As they crossed the threshold, Hazel and Claire handed each of them a bowl of stew, a slab of dark bread with butter and honey, and a cup of strong black tea. Lu took a deep breath from his own cup and nearly giggled. Until this very instant, he’d never realized how much he missed having tea with his own family back home.
The Lowers had only one small table, barely large enough for the four of them to sit at comfortably, though they did manage to squeeze in two extra chairs for the MacLemores. Lu, Henry, and Chino leaned against the wall, stew bowls balanced in their hands and teacups resting on the windowsill.
“You’ll be after the gold,” J.D. remarked.
“High time, too,” Pearl said. “When I think of that dirty Yankee in Daisy’s house, well, I’m near tempted to cuss. When do you plan to head out?”
“We need supplies,” MacLemore said. “Explosives mostly. Assuming the hardware store really is open, we should be able to get everything in town.”
“Hope you brought plenty of money,” J.D. said. “No one ‘round here’s likely to extend credit. Too many folks have gone broke offering credit to fortune-hunters.”
“What do you mean?”
J.D. told them about all the expeditions that had been mounted over the years. Most were just adventurers out for easy money. The MacLemore gold was an enormous draw. Folks had come hundreds of miles, each and every one of them hoping to kill the Yankee and steal it away. For the most part they were rank amateurs, relying on nerve and luck to see them through. But a few were more organized. One of the most serious expeditions had even come armed with a Gatling gun. The town had high hopes for that group. But they’d soon disappeared, same as all the others.
“For a while I’d say we averaged as many as two expeditions a month,” J.D. said. “It’s trickled off some over the years, of course, but there are still a few show up every summer. The last expedition set out today. Two reckless young fellers by the name of Sawyer and Pitt. Don’t have much hope for ’em myself. All the time I was shoeing their horses, those rascals were arguing about how to spend their money.”
“They didn’t make it,” Henry said.
“No?”
“Sawyer shot Pitt just after we rode into town, and Mayor Strong hung Sawyer not five minutes later.”
J.D. sighed. “Dang. I’ve shod a passel of horses that never came back, but I never knew of an expedition that died out before it even left town.”
“Is this Yankee really so tough?” MacLemore asked him.
“Must be. Though so far as I can tell, no one’s even got a clear view of the man. Leastways, none have and lived to tell about it.
There are tales, of course. But I never put much stock in them.” “Tales? Like what?”
“Foolishness mostly. Some folks say he’s got a whole army of fire demons watching over his gold. Others say it’s him that’s the demon, and that he’s out there all by himself, limping ‘round your old house on a gimpy leg, setting booby traps for anyone foolish enough to wander by.” J.D. shrugged. “One or two old-timers claimed to have come across him in the woods, but their stories never added up to much. They couldn’t even agree on whether he was old or young, black or white.” He pointed at his daughters and scoffed. “Kids around town have this idea—I don’t know where it comes from exactly—that the Yankee can only be defeated by an American.”
“That’s true!” Hazel said.
Claire nodded in agreement. “Pete Wisniewski’s father even said so, before they decided to move away.”
“See?” J.D. shook his head. “If you ask me, this has got something to do with Mayor Strong. He’s the one that started all the no-Irish bunk, too. As if folks in this town needed an excuse to act ugly to each other. Besides, we’ve had scores of Americans give it a try, and not a one successful. If you want to know the honest truth, no one knows a thing about the Yankee. Not for certain, anyhow.”
“We do,” Lu said. “We have a book.”
“A book? About the Yankee?”
“It’s more of a notebook, really,” Sadie said. “But Jack Straw told us it was important.”
Lu described the contents of the notebook to Mr. Lower, beginning with the story of the missing schoolmaster and running clear through the death notice. Henry and Chino both chimed in here and there, reminding Lu of important bits he skipped over. They did their very best, but for some reason not one of the three could remember the names of either the notebook’s writer or the man he’d met in the hotel.
“Knickerbocker,” Sadie said at last. “That was the writer’s name.”
“That’s right,” Henry agreed. “Diedrich Knickerbocker. Do you remember the name of the man he met?”
Sadie shook her head.
“Where is this notebook?” J.D. asked.
“It’s in one of my saddle-bags,” Lu said.
“Out in the shop? Well hell, son, let’s go get it. I’d like to read this story myself.”
The path to J.D.’s blacksmith shop led through a small vegetable garden. Earlier, J.D. had told them that it was Pearl’s pride and joy, and that her green beans were generally reckoned the best in town. As they passed through again, this time in the dark, Lu wondered aloud how she possibly managed to do her gardening blind.
“I guess she can tell a cucumber from a green bean by the feel,” J.D. said. “What I’d like to know is how she does her sewing. Pearl made Hazel a fine quilt for her birthday, and never got a single square of fabric out of place.”
“Maybe Claire helped her,” Lu suggested.
“That’s exactly what I said.” J.D laughed. “Pearl was so mad she didn’t talk to me for a week. Here.” He thrust the lantern he’d been using to light their path into Lu’s hands. “Your saddles are on a table in the back.”
J.D. waited outside while Lu went in search of the notebook. The smells in the blacksmith shop were deep and earthy—a mixture of ash, horse, and manly sweat. But it wasn’t a bad smell. In fact, there was something about it that reminded Lu of his grandfather’s sanctum. For some reason, thinking about home made the nerves in Lu’s spine tingle. At least that’s what he thought.
“I like your shop,” he said, as he stepped back outside and J.D. locked the door behind him. “It reminds me—”
He didn’t finish.
In the sky, directly over the Lower house, hung a streak of orange fire. Lu had seen a blaze like this just once before, months ago, while on the plains leading to Fort Jeb Stuart.
Demons.
Back then, the flames had been miles away, and too small to make out clearly. This time, Lu could see the demons’ fiery expressions and hear the clatter of their hooves. Every inch of their bodies was engulfed in flame. Their eyes were white hot and radiant. Their lips twisted grins of molten flesh.
Lu was still gazing up at them, his whole body gone rigid from shock and terror, when the rear door to the cottage banged open and Sadie came running out, followed by Hazel and Claire.
“What in the hell was that?” Sadie asked. “Sounded almost like there were horses on the roof.”
Lu pointed.
Sadie gasped. “What are they?”
“Ghost-riders.”
Lu winced as the demons turned and headed back toward them, skimming once more over the cottage roof, missing the stone chimney by mere inches. They were so close now that Lu could hear the ghost-riders’ voices, the vile curses they leveled at their flaming mounts. He saw their whips land, over and over, on their horses’ flanks. He flinched as sparks burst from their hooves.
The ghost-riders urged their mounts higher and faster, laughing as they set the whole sky ablaze. In an instant they’d reached the nearest mountain, a prodigious peak capped by snowy-white rock, and went burning across its upper face. From the pinnacle they leapt skyward, passing through the center of a dark cloud, illuminating it from the inside like a bolt of lightning. Then they shot over the other side of the mountain range and were gone.
Lu took a deep breath. The tingling in his spine began to subside. “Is everyone all right?” he asked. His voice shook.
Sadie nodded, though Lu could see that she too was trembling. The Lower girls only stared, mouths agape, saying nothing.
“Shooting stars,” J.D. muttered. “First saw ’em just as you went into the shop. Mighty pretty, but nothin’ to get worked up about.”
“What are you talking about?” Sadie asked. “Those weren’t shooting stars!”
“Can’t see them? Why not?”
“Jack says only the innocent and the damned can see them.”
“Didn’t you see the riders, Pa?” Hazel asked. “They went right over our house.”
“Just shooting stars,” J.D. said again. “Nothin’ to worry about.”
Lu looked at the notebook in his hand. It was still bound in its silk covering, but his grandfather’s dragon charm was gone.
“Look,” he said to Sadie.
“Where’s the dragon?” she asked.
“It must’ve fallen off.”
J.D. unlocked the door to the shop again, and Lu went in search of the missing amulet. He found it in the bottom of his saddlebag.
“Got it,” Lu said as he stepped back through the door. He was glad to see that the sky was free of demons.
“For heaven’s sake, tie it back on,” Sadie said. “And hurry!”
As soon as the charm touched the white silk, a flash of blue light burst from the dragon. Sadie and the Lower girls both leaned close, their faces illuminated for a moment in the mysterious glow. Hazel’s teeth shone like pearls in the ghostly light.
“Is it on tight this time?” Sadie asked.
“I double-knotted it,” Lu said.
“Good.” Sadie sighed. “Never let that charm fall off again!”
“Never,” Lu agreed.
“Let’s go inside,” J.D. suggested. “I’m anxious to read this tale. And it’s time you girls got ready for bed.”
“But we want to read it, too!” Claire moaned. “Can’t we?”
“No one’s going to read this story,” Lu said, notebook clutched to his chest. “Not tonight. We shouldn’t even have been talking about it.” He looked at the mountain over which the demons had disappeared. “The ghost-riders must’ve heard us. That’s how they knew we were here.”
“That’s right,” Sadie whispered. “And that means he’ll know we’re coming.”
“Who’ll hear?” J.D. asked. “Who’ll know?”
“The Yankee,” said Lu.