Chapter 19

I sprinted down the dusty street, jumped over a broken water trough, and stumbled toward the fight. The others followed.

We ran through a wooden shack, passing two more bodies with arrows. Our footsteps thumped on the wood floor.

Out the back door, I grabbed the horse rail and launched over, the others following.

Beyond, a low villa curled like a sleeping dragon on the desert floor, an adobe wall trapping the beast inside. Ryan stood with his back to the wall, shotgun held to his chest as he peered past an open gate. A man lay crumpled at his feet.

We sprinted toward him, but before I could call out he charged past the gate and toward the main building. His shotgun blossomed smoke.

“Come on,” I said, bursting into a full sprint.

My boots crunched over the gravel entrance, my gun sweeping from side to side. I focused on the wide double doors, their red paint shimmering in the sun. No movement came from my peripheral vision.

Ryan lowered his shoulder and burst through the front doors.

Well, the plan of attack was decided. Tragedy or victory, charging was how we’d do this.

Scott and Jackson followed me into the villa, the cool air energizing.

Ryan turned, saw us, and straightened. Chest heaving, he wiped his brow and swept the room with the muzzle of his shotgun. “Last place they could be. Looked in all the other buildings.”

“Let’s find them. Fast.”

“Together?” Scott asked.

I paused. “Yeah. Together.”

Hallways stretched from the open entry to the right, left, and straightaway. A staircase rose to the second story ahead.

Which way? I closed my eyes, and when Scott started to talk I lifted a finger to my lips. “Shh.”

My heartbeat pounded in my ears, made worse by holding my breath. What made me think I would hear the girls?

Despite the throbbing in my head, I heard a scuffle. “Upstairs.” I was on the third step before the others jumped.

At the landing, the stairs rose to a balcony in both directions. Which way now?

Scott and Ryan surged past me to the right, drawn by invisible cords of a compass. I followed them.

In an open room with high rafters they rounded chairs and tables, a billiard table toward the far end. I called out for them to stop, but the two ran around the corner.

I heard two blasts. Gun drawn, I crossed the room and peered around the corner. Two bodies bled on the gold Navaho rug.

At the end of the hallway Scott and Ryan stood side by side, staring at something in a room to the right.

Why did they lower their guns?

I stopped in the hallway.

Jackson bumped me as he ran by. He halted beside my two friends, his rifle raised. His pockmarked, sweaty face turned a deeper shade of crimson. He lowered his gun.

What could possibly make them stop?

From around the corner I heard, “Señiors, drop the guns.”

The three slowly bent over and set their weapons on the rug.

The man’s soft accent told me English wasn’t his first language. He was also older and in complete control of himself and the situation. I holstered my gun and dropped my duster in a heap.

The voice came again. “Where is he?”

Scott’s hands, lifted above his head, were shaking. But his voice was strong and confident. “President Lincoln, you mean? Well, sir, he was shot some years ago.”

“Do not be a fool.” The man’s tenor didn’t waver.

“But the president’s killer was later shot dead. Justice served.”

The creases at the edge of Scott’s eyes showed deep concern despite his casual voice.

The man they faced had one of the girls as hostage.

I heard struggling, and the muffled voice of Beth. Something hit wood and crashed, maybe percaline.

“I will kill you.” The voice came as a hiss. “There, much better. Now, produce Philip Anderson.”

“Oh, no, no you wouldn’t like to meet him,” Scott said.

“His exploits, legendary. And now he’s taken my fortress. Yes, señior, I would like to meet him.”

This man was stalling. He knew his reinforcements were close.

Scott lowered his hands. “No, you really don’t want to meet him. Because, well, simply put, he’ll kill you.” Scott leaned forward. “And dead’s mighty permanent.”

“I will put a bullet in this girl’s head if he doesn’t stand before me in five seconds, and as you said . . . dead’s mighty permanent.”

My mind swirled with visions. John Maxwell in Deadwood. My parents at Devil’s Tower.

Scott took a step back. “Not sure why you want to meet him. I mean, I’m the handsome one, anyway.”

“Uno. Dos. Tres.”

Scott’s voice was low. “Philip.”

“Quatro.”

I stepped into the man’s view.

His smile was brilliant, eyes focused.

Short.

Beth was nearly his height. He ducked behind her, but the gun at her head didn’t waver. His finger held steady on the trigger.

“I’ve read your exploits, amigo.”

The desk to his right swirled into a prairie and charged high into the night, erupting into Devil’s Tower. Grass seemed to spring up from the wood floor, trees sprouting from the potted cactus, and from the open veranda to the side, the view of our battle turned into a moonlit river. Dozens of guns, swords, bows and arrows covering the walls turned into stars.

I was revisiting the night my parents died.

No. I had to think.

His finger calmly pressed against the trigger. I was fast. Was I this fast? He stood so close to Beth.

A gag tugged at Beth’s chafed and oozing skin, and her lips quivered. Her swollen eyes looked up at me as if in a drugged daze.

What had she been through the past weeks?

“Valentino.”

He chuckled. “I see my reputation is known to you as well. Amigo, I’ve waited for this moment for some time. When your amigo, el fulano . . . Jacob Wilkes, sí, told me you would come to save these girls, I thought to myself, now would be a good time to test my skills on someone worthy. I’ve read all about you and know the talents you possess.” He chuckled and motioned his head toward the open veranda. “And you live up to your reputation, eh?” He laughed.

His right arm wrapped tighter across her body, while his left hand pressed the gun against her temple.

I couldn’t get a shot. Not one that wouldn’t injure Beth.

“Your eyes. They really are the eyes of a lobo. Perhaps you’re Ahuizotl.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but every time he laughed, I watched carefully for an opening. “Where are the other girls?”

“Eh? Behind me in the closet. They smell worse than this one. Perhaps you care so little about the others that you need to be enticed. Little girls do just that . . . entice.” The end of his word whistled.

A bullet through his gun hand was possible. Would the shock of the .44 cause him to pull the trigger?

I couldn’t risk the shot.

“So amigo, el juego is simple. I stand behind her and shoot you.” He stared into my eyes.

Valentino was going to shoot me while I was supposed to let him?

What he meant struck my soul. He was asking me to send a bullet through Beth so I could kill him and save myself.

I was a child again, beside the fire on a cool, Dakota evening. Thieves stepped from the brush and into camp.

I had to stay in the moment. Beth’s life depended on my clear head.

Impossible.

In the few seconds since Valentino’s declaration, silence filled the room.

I needed help. God, please.

“So, shall we begin?”

Beth’s captor slowly lowered his body completely behind Beth’s and brought his revolver to bear, right at my face.

My breath caught. I couldn’t shoot Beth.

Please let Anna know why I’m not coming to save her. I closed my eyes.

A soft whistle crossed the room, followed by a thud.

I opened my eyes.

His gun’s barrel slowly lowered until pointed at my feet.

The revolver slipped from his fingers. He staggered to the side, and my Smith and Wesson was trained on his head. But there was no need to pull the trigger. The man grasped at Running Deer’s fletching embedded in his neck.

I looked through the open veranda. At the gate, Running Deer held his bow high, another arrow notched.

Beth gasped and took three leaps into my arms.

She smelled of unwashed body, and her tears trickled down my neck as she clawed at my skin. I held her close, unsure how to help her control the sobs.

Scott and Ryan charged past me, around the wide desk. Jackson held his position at the stairs in case there were more guards.

I held Beth tight and watched my friends fling open a door at the far corner and disappear inside the room. Their footsteps dimmed, as if they marched down stairs.

A new set of footsteps shuffled behind me. I spun, standing tall but still holding Beth.

Running Deer had climbed up the veranda and stood by my side.

I motioned with my head toward Valentino’s body. “Thanks.”

Running Deer’s buckskin and dark war paint didn’t scare Beth. Instead she seemed to calm down, working into hiccups.

“Beth,” I said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

Jackson still kept a lookout on the stairs, but I knew there was no one else here. “Marshal Hill?” I asked Running Deer.

“He took the long way.”

He meant the marshal didn’t climb up the lattice to the second story.

In the silence that followed, Running Deer’s presence seemed to calm Beth. Then she spoke in a quiet voice. “I remember you.”

He looked at her.

“At the trial. This summer. I saw you in town.”

Running Deer didn’t blink. Instead in a noble tone said, “You were brave today, young warrior.”

Beth’s body relaxed in my arms, and her grip on my skin loosened. Blood swelled from several scratches she’d inflicted. I didn’t care.

Scott stepped from the closet, Becky close, her arms wrapped around him. Her hair was a nest of dirt, her face pale and eyes filled with little life.

Rachel came behind them, pulling Ryan by the hand. Her dark skin was filthy, but her gaze still held a defiance that made my heart surge.

Scott reached to a pitcher on the desk and poured water into a basin. Becky dipped her hands in and soaked her face.

Rachel came close to me. “Did she survive the night?” she whispered.

My chest tightened as I shook my head.

Rachel sighed as if the world’s last vestige of hope and goodness had died with Mrs. Johnston. “Tell her.”

I glanced at Running Deer, and he gave a single nod.

The lump in my throat wouldn’t allow me to talk, and I struggled with the heavy onslaught of emotions. I forced myself to say, “Beth, your mother died last night.”

“Mama!” She clung to me again. Her sobs were no longer screams of terror, but instead her body heaved with sorrow. “Mama,” she kept saying over and over. She reached out to Rachel who took her.

“We’re going to take you home. Your father sent me to get you.”

“No, he’s dead too.” Wet oozed from her nose.

I pulled a handkerchief from my neck and cleaned her face. “He’s alive. Home in Mitchell. Missing you. He’s going to need you, Beth.”

“Jacob took Anna.”

“I came for you first. But now I’m going to find her.”

“Philip.” Marshal Hill’s gravelly voice filled the room, and I spun to see him turn the corner. “We’ve a problem.”

I grabbed the handle of my gun.

“Follow me,” he said and started for the balcony.

With a hand that killed over a dozen men, I touched Beth’s face. “We’ll be right back.” And I left.

I shielded my eyes from the sun as we crossed the veranda, and he led me to a ladder made with thick poles. I followed him to the roof, and as he climbed over he groaned.

He was getting too old for this. Was any age right?

At the top, I looked where he pointed.

From our vantage, I could see for miles. To the East, the sun was already baking the land. To the West, away from the brilliant light, the village spread out before us to the church that acted like a bookmark.

To the south, past the buildings where our shootout had raged, the desert looked in turmoil. Dust roiled in a long line as if charging for us to engulf the city.

“And there,” Marshal Hill said, tapping my shoulder and pointing.

I looked to the North. If the dust from the south was an oncoming storm, the North itself was collapsing on us, as if the whole world folded in on itself with us in the center.

“We’re trapped,” he said.

“Ideas?”

He blew through his thick mustache. “You come across a defensible location when you came through?”

“The church.”

“Last stand defensible?”

Why didn’t I have emotions? I should be terrified right now. “Put men in the bell tower. I’ll hold the stairs.”

He held his hand against the sun and studied the oncoming reinforcements. His voice was a growl. “Was good fighting with you,” he said.

“We’ll make them pay.”

He sniffed, swallowed, and nodded as he looked down. “Yep. We made a lot of bad men pay today.”

“We’ve got just a few minutes. Let’s try to get the girls out of town. Maybe they’ll find the horses.”

Marshal Hill smiled as he looked at me. “I like you, Philip.”

“Just because you read a dime novel about me.” I decided as we started for the ladder, I should have taken him seriously. Marshal Hill did like me. Enough to die beside me.

I felt movement to my right. Running Deer stood by my side. His gaze was focused to the south.

How did he move without being seen?

I didn’t believe I would die. I might feel differently when the last bullet struck, but until then I would hold on to hope. We would make it. We didn’t come this far to be stopped here. We would survive.

God, help us.

Finally, Running Deer shook his head. “They could not surround the town. I scouted.” He motioned south. “They ride as one. A straight line. Still far off but moving fast.” He turned. “Look. Staggered. Spread a long distance apart, not waiting for full strength.”

“What are you saying?” I asked.

His eyes looked back. “Warriors.” Then north. “Farmers.” He turned to me. “The farmers will get here first.”

“What do you think?” I asked Marshal Hill.

He studied the oncoming storm and grimaced. “Too late. Here they come.”

I could make out individual men in the swirling clouds. Their charge was like a tornado swirling over the sands. I watched in morbid fascination, although I needed to prepare some defense. But I stood as farmers swarmed through the village, pressing past us in a cloud of dust—more numerous than I could count—some on horseback, a few on burros, and finally dozens on foot. They carried rifles, pitchforks, old swords.

I could just make out the leader.

Miguel.

We did nothing. We waited on the rooftop watching the two dust clouds come together, and after nearly half an hour the dust died down.

Farmers walked back. Cheers of victory on their lips.

“How do you say come here?”

“Ven conmigo.”

I passed Scott, Becky, Rachel, and Ryan. I noted that Beth was calm and patted Jackson on the back. “You’ve been here a while. Check up top. I think we’re going to be okay.”

I entered the front courtyard as the first few men trickled by. They paused to look at me, taking in my tall frame, hat, and duster. They waited at the gate and watched me, pitchforks in hand. A rifle was trained on me.

Miguel stepped into view. He took one look at me and barked at the men nearby. They took a step back.

Miguel approached, a pistol in his belt, his eyes wide. “Philip Anderson.” His accent was heavy.

“You speak English?”

“Ah. Ah no.”

“Ven Conmigo.”

Miguel looked eagerly at the tiled floor inside, the arches and velvet curtains. Pots and swords hung on the walls, and he paused at a brace of pistols and compared them with his. He shook his head and followed me.

Upstairs, he paused at the bodies. He looked at me and said something, but his meaning was clear. He liked what he saw.

We entered the main room, and he paused and nodded toward the ladies and swept off his hat.

I motioned him to follow. I led him around the desk, but Scott said, “We moved him into the closet. He’s on the stairs.”

Miguel’s face when viewing the body turned from disbelief to wonder to utter joy.

“Philip Anderson,” he said, grasping both of my shoulders. I was worried he would kiss me. “Philip Anderson.”

“Running Deer actually—”

“Philip Anderson.” He shook me.

I looked past him at the marshal.

“Don’t look at me,” Marshal Hill said, tipping back his hat. He had a modest look on his face. “You led us here.”

“Ask him what happened.”

Marshal Hill and Miguel talked so quickly in what seemed to me gibberish, I lost interest until Marshal Hill began the interpretation.

Miguel described gaining support in the town square, telling the people how Philip Anderson was here to liberate their city, how Philip Anderson was there to clean the evil from the streets. The people had taken up arms.

Rachel had washed, found a dress in the house for herself, Becky, and Beth. All three girls sat on a couch downstairs with cool glasses of water. They huddled together. The fear in their eyes was heartbreaking. Time. They needed time.

Running Deer was gone. Marshal Hill sat with a mug of water. Scott paced, while Ryan stood over the girls with his shotgun tight in his grasp.

Jackson was watching the looting from atop the roof.

The city folk had known of this massive outpost just across the border, and Miguel had finally gathered support to take it.

“They are going to make Miguel town marshal.” Marshal Hill took a long drink. “Ah, I needed that. Anyway, he’ll earn enough to expand his farm. Marry Ana Maria. Happy story.”

“I was wrong. These people are incredible. They just needed hope.”

“Just like anyone else.”

I should have been elated. Playing a part was an honor. But Anna was still in the clutches of Jacob Wilkes.

And he had the map.