Chapter Fifteen

Leaving Finch in a heap outside, Ethan raced into the jail just as a second mighty blow shook the building. He’d expected the front door to be unlocked, but either Finch had forgotten to throw the bolt, or he’d panicked and fled before completing his assignment.

Jeff Burke lay on the floor beside his desk, the hair on the back of his head matted with seeping blood, while men out front yelled for him to open up, threatening to tear the door off its hinges if he didn’t comply. Ethan wondered how many of them knew about Kestler’s bribe, Finch’s double-cross.

The keys to the cells were hung on a peg beside the door leading into the holding area. Ethan grabbed them on his way through. The faces of both Joel and Ben were pressed to the bars, ashen with fear.

“Ethan!” Ben shouted.

“Shut up,” Joel snapped.

“Both of you shut up,” Ethan ordered. He unlocked Joel’s cell first. “You remember what I said about horses?”

“You’ve got two of ’em saddled and waiting in Carver’s barn.”

Ethan shoved the big .50-95 Winchester into Joel’s hands. “Take this . . . just don’t use it if you don’t have to.” He went to the next cell and released Ben. “Stay with Joel,” he ordered. “Head up to Elk Camp. I’ll find you there. And dammit, Ben, do what I say this time!”

“I will,” Ben promised as Ethan hustled him down the hall after Joel.

They passed through the front room. Jeff was coming around, up on his elbows with his head wagging groggily. There was more pounding at the front door, and the jamb suddenly splintered, revealing a long, jagged scar in the wood. Ethan grabbed Jeff’s collar and hauled him to his feet. The sheriff made a feeble attempt to draw his revolver but his holster was empty, the gun nowhere in sight.

“Get your hands off me, Wilder,” Jeff said, but it was a command without teeth. The way the sheriff was wobbling, Ethan figured the lawman would drop like a rock if he did.

“Come with me,” Ethan said, propelling Jeff toward the cells. “Kestler’s liable to shoot you if he busts in here and you try to stop him.”

“I can handle . . .” The sheriff’s words trailed off. Ethan led him into a cell, then slammed the door shut and turned the lock. “. . . Charlie Kestler,” Jeff finished finally, slumping down on the bunk. “Jesus,” he whispered, bowing his head to the pain.

“It’s better this way,” Ethan assured him.

Then the whole building shuddered under a massive blow, and Ethan darted back into the office. The front door was partially down, nearly torn from its frame. Only the lower hinge was holding, but that wasn’t enough to keep out Kestler’s men.

Clint, the tall cowboy from the Bullshead, was the first to scramble inside; the shorter cowboy followed. Kestler was the third man back, urging those in front of him to hurry, but the twisted door kept teetering under them, throwing them off balance. Then Kestler spotted Ethan.

“It’s Wilder!” he screamed. “Shoot the bastard!”

The door lurched suddenly, and Clint dropped, hard, to one knee, nearly losing his revolver. The second cowboy continued to take aim, but clumsily.

Ethan palmed his Remington and snapped off a shot that thudded into the jamb next to the cowboy’s head. The cowboy cried out and jerked away, splinters angling from his cheek like tiny spears. Then the door shifted once more and his feet slid out from under him. He fell on top of Clint and the two men tumbled into the jail. Kestler had a clear shot now, and Ethan ducked as the rancher fired. He felt a child-like tug at his shirt, a brief sting, then he was retreating toward the back door, firing rapidly.

Powder smoke filled the sheriff’s office, obscuring everyone’s view. Ethan didn’t know if he’d hit anyone or not, but he made it to the rear door unscathed. Leaping Finch’s prone form, he sprinted into the darkness of the alley. Gunfire continued to puncture the night, but the sounds of battle softened after Ethan put several buildings between himself and the jail.

His pulse thundered in his ears as he made his way back to the Carvers’. He walked swiftly, reloading as he went. The old cap-and-ball revolver was slow to charge, but he’d done it a thousand times before, and was barely aware that he was doing it now. He capped all six chambers, then lowered the hammer to a safety notch cut between the nipples.

Carver’s home, like the rest of the town save for the Bullshead and the sheriff’s office, was dark. Even the porch lamp Doc normally kept lit for injured parties to find his office after hours had been snuffed.

Ethan by-passed the house for the barn. The wide front door was open, and he paused outside to listen. Everything seemed quiet, and he slipped inside, revolver cocked. “Joel?” he whispered. “Ben?”

There was no answer.

“Seth?”

More silence. He remembered the lantern they’d used earlier, and felt his way to it. He was careful to stand well back from the match’s flare when he scratched it alight, but there was no reaction. Lighting the lantern and raising it above his head, he spun a slow circle. There was nothing to see. The barn was empty.

He went over to where they’d bullied Nate Kestler into revealing his father’s plan to break into the jail. There was blood on the straw, but not much, and the stalls were empty. The Appaloosa and sorrel were gone, and Ethan began to breathe easier.

He extinguished the lantern and left the barn, turning north toward the hunters’ camp. Normally there would have been firelight to guide him, but the camp was dark in the face of the approaching storm—either the one coming in from the high plains with its distant lightning and gusting winds, or the one still brewing in town. He was almost upon the wagons before he could make them out, hulking shadows only slightly darker than the surrounding landscape. He stopped to listen but couldn’t even make out the murmur of conversation. Wrapping his fingers around the Remington’s smooth grips, Ethan eased toward Badger Dick’s wagon.

He was almost at the tailgate before a solitary figure next to the rear wheel challenged his approach. “Who’s there?”

“Ethan Wilder.”

“By God, it’s Ethan, boys!” Badger Dick exclaimed. “Come on in, son.”

Ethan heard others coming toward him, shuffling feet, muted greetings, genuine happiness for his safe return. He wasn’t surprised to see that they were all heavily armed. He’d expected no less.

“Where are Seth and Gabe?” he asked.

“Right here,” Seth answered from nearby. He came up to clap Ethan on the shoulder. “We heard gunfire, and were afraid you’d been shot.”

“I’m all right,” Ethan replied, then told them what had happened at the jail.

When he finished, Gerard said: “Burke, he saw you break Joel and Ben out of jail?”

Ethan nodded, growing somber when he saw Gerard’s worried expression. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“You broke the law,” Badger Dick said. “You’ll be wanted by it now.”

“Me?” Ethan stared at those around him. “I saved my brothers from a lynching. Jeff can’t hold that against me.”

“But Kestler can, and he’s powerful enough to see that the reasons you did it get swept out the back door where no one can see them,” Badger Dick replied.

“Maybe it will not be as we fear, but you cannot take that chance,” Gerard said kindly.

Ethan swore under his breath, but he knew they were right. If Kestler wanted him out of the way, Ethan had just dropped the means to do it right in the cattleman’s lap.

“Your horse, where is it?” Gerard asked.

“Joel and Ben have them.”

“Gabe, fetch Pokey,” Badger Dick told his son. “Ethan, you have to get out of Sundance, at least for a while. Go find your brothers at Elk Camp.”

“You know about Elk Camp?”

Badger Dick smiled. “Of course we know about Elk Camp. Where else would a Wilder go when he’s in trouble?”

Gabe returned within minutes, leading a tall horse already saddled and bridled.

“Woman!” Badger Dick called in a low voice, and Mary Many Robes materialized out of the darkness, arms burdened with gear that she began stowing on the horse.

“There are some blankets and food and my bear-hide coat,” Badger Dick said. “Enough to keep you for a few days. I’ll send Gabe or Seth when things settle down.”

Ethan took the reins and stepped into the saddle.

“God give you speed,” Gerard said.

Ethan nodded stiffly and reined away, jogging his mount over to Turcotte’s wagon. He called out softly as he approached, and a shadow separated itself from the wagon and moved swiftly toward him.

“Ethan!” Rachel cried, and he stepped down and caught her in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck, pulling his face close, pressing her lips to his with an unfamiliar hunger. “I was scared,” she said, leaning back. “There was so much shooting.”

“I’m all right, but I have to go away for a while.”

“I know. I heard.”

“Stay close to camp and don’t go into town. Things are getting mean in there. Chances are I’ll be back in a few days, but, if not, I’ll get word to you somehow.”

“Papa says you are wanted by the law, like Joel and Ben.”

“Just for a while . . . just until Jeff gets back on his feet. Then I’ll come in and we’ll sort it all out.”

Her arms tightened, her body so warm and soft he wanted to sink into it forever. “Be careful, Ethan. I love you.”

He took her chin in his fingers, tipped her face up, lowered his. There was a tenderness in their kiss that had not been there before, a knowledge that this moment might never be repeated.

Breaking it, he said: “I love you, too, Rachel.”

“Ethan!”

He swung into the saddle and rode away.