Leda and Bet left camp just before dawn, leaving Cye in charge. They rode off to the east, and Esther watched them until the dust clouds their horses kicked up were the only evidence of them she could spot. It wasn’t long before even that faded into the dull gray of the sunless desert.
“Cold?” Cye tossed a blanket at Esther without looking at her.
Esther hesitated, gripping the rough weave of the blanket between her fists. “No,” she said. “I’m fine. I don’t really notice the cold.”
Cye snorted. “You’re shivering. Wrap up already, will you? There’s no prizes for being impervious out here.”
“The cold is helping me wake up,” Esther insisted.
“It ain’t,” Cye said, their voice easy but authoritative. “You think it is, but really, it’s just gonna wear you out more.” They moved a few paces closer to Esther, their boots crunching softly in the gravel. The quiet of the early morning seemed to amplify every sound, and Esther could hear their every breath before she saw it puff out into a cloud in front of their mouth. “You stand there shivering, thinking you’re awake, but you’re using up all your energy to try to stay warm.” A few more steps, and then they were right in front of her, their wide-set brown eyes serious. “And then later, once you get warm, you’re more tired than ever.” They gently tugged the blanket out of Esther’s hands. Their callused fingers brushed hers. An electric thrill ran up her spine, and she shivered once, hard. Cye’s lips tightened as if they were fighting a smile. “Here,” they said, and they reached around Esther’s shoulders to wrap her up in the blanket. “Trust me. This is better than pretending you’re not cold.”
Esther was quite a bit warmer already than she had been when Cye first flung the blanket at her. “Thank you,” she whispered. Cye was so close to her that the mist of her breath brushed their throat. They were still holding the blanket closed around her. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she added.
“Good,” Cye murmured.
“Good,” Esther said back, echoing Cye’s words automatically because she didn’t know what else to say, because you have a freckle on your bottom lip seemed like the wrong thing to say but it was the only thing she could think.
At least, it was the only thing she could think until another thought stepped in to join it, an even more unwelcome one. What would Beatriz think if she were here?
Of course, Esther knew exactly what Beatriz would have thought, what she would have said. She would have been merciless, teasing and poking at Esther, telling her to hurry up and make a move already, long before Esther could even think about what making a move could mean. She would have been spinning elaborate fantasies of what Cye and Esther could become to each other, of a future they could have, regardless of whether Esther wanted that future.
Relentlessly unpossessive, that was Beatriz. Wild with it. The only thing she’d ever seemed attached to was the idea that none of it mattered.
Esther had tried to learn how to believe that same thing, that none of it mattered. She’d tried her best.
Amity emerged from the tent she shared with Genevieve and Trace, stretching. Her yawn was a little too theatrical to be convincing, and Esther felt certain that she’d been eavesdropping on their conversation, waiting for the right moment to ruin it.
No, Esther corrected herself. Amity was waiting for the right moment to rescue me from myself. I’m glad she interrupted us. I’m thankful.
“Morning,” Amity drawled. “Any chance either of you could use a hand getting that fire going?”
“I think Esther can handle it,” Cye replied with a lightning-fast wink. “Y’all feel free to take it slow this morning. Bet and Leda won’t be back until noon, so we’ve got a lazy morning in front of us. Well,” they corrected themselves, “you three’ve got a lazy morning in front of you, at least.”
“Never was one for sleepin’ in.” Amity wandered past Esther to poke at the embers of last night’s fire. Either she hadn’t heard Cye say that Esther could handle the fire, or she didn’t believe it was true. Regardless, Esther was grateful for her intervention. She watched closely as Amity prodded the embers closer to each other.
“You watch more than you talk,” Amity murmured. “Fetch me my whittling bag.” Esther grabbed the small linen bag Amity had left near the fire the night before. “See?” Amity chuckled. “Most people would ask ‘where is it,’ or ‘which bag should I look for,’ or ‘why.’ Not you, though. Doesn’t occur to you to pretend like you don’t watch people.”
“I’m just trying to learn,” Esther said.
Amity laughed. “I just bet you are.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a fistful of wood shavings, tossing them onto the embers. They began to curl, fragrant, the smoke they put off catching a few beams of early sunlight. Amity built the fire up in silence, adding more kindling and then a few small logs. By the time they were burning steadily, Cye had returned with a pot of water.
“In case you want coffee,” they said, handing over the pot. “Tomorrow, Esther, you’re in charge of the morning fire. Understand? Don’t be making our guests do your chores for you.”
Before Esther had time to object, Amity was handing the water back to Cye, her eyes on the desert behind them. “No coffee today, I’m afraid. Don’t reckon we’ll have time for it,” she said, shaking her head. “Saddle up. We’ve got ten minutes at the outside, I’d say closer to six to be safe.”
“What?” Cye looked down at the pot of water in their hands as though it might know what the hell Amity was talking about. “What are you—wait!” They handed the water to Esther and followed after Amity, who was already jogging back toward her tent. “Where are you going?”
“Waking up my people,” Amity called over her shoulder, her dark curls bouncing hard as she ran. “You’d best get yourselves together. Company’s coming.” She stuck her head into her tent, and the muffled sounds of her waking her bedfellows came soon after.
“What’s she talking about?” Cye muttered, looking around. “I don’t—”
“There,” Esther interrupted, because she finally saw what Amity had seen, and it wasn’t good. “She’s right, Cye. We should get some horses ready, or at least the wagons. If, I mean—if that’s alright with you—”
“Will you quit hemming your petticoats and tell me what in the hell it is you think is going on here?” Cye snapped, fury quickly building in their voice.
Rather than answer, Esther pointed to the horizon. She stepped around Cye, keeping her finger aimed at the same spot of desert as she moved so they could sight along her arm and see what she saw, what Amity had seen.
A growing cloud of dust coming from the east, near impossible to see, thanks to the blinding light of the rising sun creeping over the horizon. The only reason that dust cloud was visible at all was because it was bigger than just two horses could ever hope to kick up, and moving faster than fast.
It was moving right toward the Librarians’ camp.
“Shit,” they spat. “That’s trouble, alright. Go tack up the horses. You won’t be able to do them all before that mess arrives, but do what you can. Go, quick now, you remember how to do it.”
Esther ran to the horses, her shoes sliding out from underneath her. By the time she got the saddle fixed on Cye’s palomino, the sound of hoofbeats was just barely audible—but it wasn’t quite enough to cover the sound of conversation from the camp.
“I’ll handle the package.” That was Amity’s voice, brusque and direct.
“I don’t think so.” That was Cye, breathless. Their next words were drowned out by one of the fleabitten horses—Esther couldn’t tell them apart—whickering for attention.
“Trust me.” Amity again. “Here, wear this.”
Cye’s voice bled we don’t have time for this. “I’m in charge here, and—”
“You’re in charge here, and we’re liabilities, sure. But we can be our own problem for the time being. Now, trust me with these two ladies and handle your business.”
There was a flurry of swearing and scuffling, and then Cye came stumbling over, one leg in a skirt and the other leg out of it. The sound of hoofbeats was closer now, punctuated by shouting.
“You almost finished?” Cye snapped, yanking the skirt on right over their pants and furiously tucking their shirt into it.
“Near about,” Esther replied, although she had no idea how to make the damn horse open its mouth. She got close, thought the horse was about to succumb—but then a loud pop cut through the air. The horse jerked its head away, and Cye’s face lost a shade of color.
“Was that…?” Esther started to ask, and Cye gave a quick, jerky nod.
“Gunfire,” they confirmed. “C’mon and leave that be, two horses is enough for us. Amity’ll handle it if those three need to ride off.” They hesitated. “Maybe … maybe it’d be better for them if it seems like there’s just the two of us.” Cye froze, staring at the bridle on the half-tacked gray horse in front of Esther. The whites of their eyes seemed too bright in the early-morning light. They didn’t blink until those pops sounded again, louder this time. Closer. “Fuck,” they whispered. “I don’t—I don’t know—”
“Leave it,” Esther said, grabbing Cye by the arm. “I don’t think it’s going to make much difference.”
Cye glared at her for a moment before nodding and lacing their fingers together in a low sling. “Hop up then,” they said. “It’s time to ride.”
Esther planted her foot in their hand, grabbed the saddle, and swung herself up onto the back of the same bay horse she’d been riding. She thought she was getting the hang of horses. After just a few moments of scrambling, she was settled in the saddle and ready to ride.
“We go south,” Cye said, pointing their palomino back the way they’d come the day before. “They’ll chase us, and that’ll give Amity time to get the camp tucked away so there’s nothing to find here if they’re the kinds of people who’d look for it. Keep riding until we lose them or they find us. If they find us, we’re sisters, on our way to a wedding, and we rode off fast because we got scared. If they find us, you call me a girl no matter what.” They looked at Esther so intensely that she felt certain they’d be shaking her if they could only reach her. “No matter what. Got it?”
Soon as Esther nodded, they gripped their horse’s reins in one hand and planted the other atop their hat. But before they could ride away in their own cloud of dust, a piercing whistle rose over the pops of gunfire and the sounds of hoofbeats.
It was a damn familiar whistle.
Cye’s head snapped to the east, toward that whistle, the light of the rising sun casting deep shadows across their face. “Leda?” they whispered. The whistle sounded again, and they swore again. “Change of plans,” they said. They hiked their skirt up, tucking it into their waistband, out of the way of their legs. A quick fumble underneath it, and then they had a short-nosed revolver in their hand. “Follow me.”
With that, they wheeled their horse around and shouted, leaning forward in their saddle. The palomino reared back, letting loose a shrill whinny. Cye shouted again, and the palomino took off.
It headed directly toward the oncoming hoofbeats. And before Esther could register what was happening, her own horse shook its head and began to follow.
“No, no no no, I don’t—” Esther tried to remember the word Cye had told her meant “stop” to a horse. “Whoa? Whoa!” She tried that one, the only thing she could remember, and she yanked hard on the reins, but the horse underneath her might as well have been a runaway freight train for all she could get it to slow down. It pulled up next to Cye, and the sound of hoofbeats was right on top of them, and then they were in the fray.
Choking dust flew up around them. The sound of gunfire was impossible to trace—it could have been coming from anywhere, seemed to come from everywhere. Esther looked, frantic, trying to spot Bet or Leda, trying to see what was going on. That piercing whistle came again, from right behind Esther this time, and when she twisted in her saddle, there was Leda, with Bet close behind.
“Bandits!” Leda shouted. Sure enough, Esther looked around her again and saw what she’d missed in the chaos of men and horses: everyone who wasn’t her or Cye or Leda or Bet was wearing a black bandana over his nose and mouth. They were men, all of them, angry-eyed in a way Esther hadn’t seen since she’d looked down at the crowd that had surrounded Beatriz’s gallows. “Esther, can you shoot?”
Esther shook her head, then realized there wasn’t a chance in hell Leda had seen the gesture. “No,” she yelled back. “What can I do?”
Bet lifted an arm in the air and swung it in a tight circle. “Keep ’em flustered!” she yelled. “I already took two down, there’s just four left to go!”
The confusion of the fight was intense and inescapable. Esther was overcome with a sharp, intent focus. She rode between the bandits, driving them in unexpected directions and distracting their horses as Bet, Leda, and Cye picked them off with well-aimed gunshots. Esther had no idea what direction she was riding in, no idea how long the fight was taking. Bullets flew all around her, and some of them must have been flying at her, but there wasn’t time to wonder which was which, because all of them were coming too close to her by miles. She rode so close to the bandits that their horses’ mouths left flecks of foam on her skirts, and every moment felt like it was going to be the moment where everything went wrong, the moment where she’d wind up on her back in the dust with a hoof on her throat.
She was so afraid, but there was no time for her to think about how afraid she was. All she knew was that she needed to get out of the way of the Librarians, and at the same time she needed to get in the way of the bandits, and every single second that passed contained a thousand different decisions all at the same time.
Finally, there was one bandit left. His black bandana was tight over his nose and mouth, leaving only a pair of thick white eyebrows exposed. He was pink-faced and furious, sweating hard. His wild-eyed stallion was just as lathered as he was, and the horse was beginning to slow down in spite of the frantic way his rider lashed the reins at his left and right flanks.
As the bandit lashed at the right flank, the Librarians approached him from all sides.
As he lashed at the left flank, Bet’s horse shied away from his, trying to avoid those flailing reins.
As he lashed at the right flank again, Esther galloped up beside him. And as he swung his reins around again to try to lash his horse on the left, Esther reached her hand out.
She caught the reins. Her shoulder jerked with an agonizing pop, and white-hot pain flashed through her arm and across her back, but she gripped the leather tight and didn’t let go. The bandit looked at her, his eyes wild with fury, jerking at the reins with one hand and aiming his gun with the other.
Behind him, Bet managed to get her horse back in line. She nodded to Esther and shouted something unintelligible, and Esther could only hope that she was reading that signal right, because she knew that there would be no second chances this time.
The bandit cocked the hammer of his thumb-buster and gave the reins a final, vicious yank.
Esther let go.
The bandit overbalanced, fumbling his gun. The unmistakable sound of a final gunshot rang out loud over the noise of the horses—and with that, it was over.
The bandit drooped forward over his saddle, his spine going as limp as laundry.
With his body out of the way, Esther could see Bet’s revolver, still pointing at the place where he had been.
“Well,” Bet said breathlessly as the horses began to slow. “Well.” Beside her, the bandit’s blood ran freely across the heaving, lathered flanks of his stallion. Bet holstered her gun, then leaned sideways to gently take the stallion’s reins. He matched the pace set by her mare, and soon, the horses were walking instead of running—Bet and Esther flanking the stallion, with Leda in front of them and Cye behind.
“Well,” Bet said once more, wiping her forehead before looking up at Esther with a hopeful smile. “This horse is a good get, but he’s damn well baked from that run, and so am I. I don’t suppose y’all made coffee before you came out to meet us, did you?”
“No,” Esther managed after a moment. “We got distracted by the, uh. By the run.”
Bet let her own horse’s reins drop and used her free hand to fan herself with her hat. “Damn,” she said. “No hard feelings, but I could use a cup of coffee about now. Never you mind—we’ll just have to get on back to camp and make a pot.” Esther looked up at the direction they were headed, trying to get her bearings. She could just make out the shape of the wagons in the distance. As she watched, Bet replaced her hat and gave her mare a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Would have been cold by the time we got back, anyway,” she muttered.
“We’ll get you some soon’s we get settled again,” Cye called from behind them. “Don’t worry about it. Esther?”
“Yeah?” Esther called back, trying hard to understand how it was possible that they were talking about coffee.
When Cye answered, it was with barely restrained laughter. “You’re in charge of relighting that fire.”