60

Michael slid his rifle from its scabbard and trotted along the top of the gully to where Caleb and Jeremiah hid behind a rock. Across the gully, he could see Barkston, Mitch, and Harold. Frank and Martin were a little ahead of them, Martin up in the branches of a tree.

“They’re coming,” Martin called. “Looks like about ten or eleven of ’em. Ridin’ hard.”

“Let ’em get close so we can do maximum damage the first time,” Caleb said.

Michael grasped his rifle. The weapon felt slippery in his clammy hands. Oh, Lord, don’t let me have to shoot anyone. I couldn’t take another person’s blood on my hands, no matter what he’s done.

He thought of Rachel. Could she love a killer? What will she say when I tell her about my father?

Horses galloped up the trail. What a beautiful blue sky. Lord, this is too beautiful a day for anyone else to die. Angels, protect us.

The riders slowed as they approached the site of the failed ambush. Michael heard them but couldn’t see anything because of the bend in the trail.

Across the gully, Martin whistled. Michael turned with Caleb and the others. Martin raised his hand, five fingers splayed. He raised it again the same way, then held up one more finger. Eleven riders and eight in the posse—nine counting Malachi.

Michael swallowed the lump in his throat. The rifle felt like a blacksmith’s hammer, heavy and unwieldy. Jeremiah peered over a small rock, his rifle cocked and ready. Caleb wiped his face with his hand and spat in the dirt. He cocked the hammer on his rifle and bent behind a shrub. Across the way, the others prepared their weapons. The riders drew near, their horses’ hooves clomping in the stones and sand.

Silence. Everything stopped. The breeze faded. Birdsong ceased midnote. Sweat ran down Michael’s neck and forehead and into his eyes. He shook his head and blinked to clear the stinging moisture that blurred his vision. He looked at Martin, who motioned with a sweep of his arm that the riders had left the trail and split into two groups, one on either side.

Then Martin’s eyes went wide like a child seeing its first rattler. He pointed past Michael and yelled, “Caleb.”

Caleb swiveled his head toward Martin, but Michael looked in the direction Martin had pointed and spotted the head and shoulders of a man wearing a black sombrero, his rifle aimed at the sheriff. Michael fired. The bullet pinged into a tree several feet to the man’s left. The man flinched. At the same instant, Jeremiah rolled onto his back, pointed his rifle, and fired.

The man fell back. The sombrero flew from his head. Stones scattered as he slid. Heavy, oppressive silence followed the concussions of the gunshots.

Barkston sighted his rifle on a spot in front of Caleb. The shot echoed like a bass drum in a circus parade. As the echo faded, a body tumbled to the floor of the gully.

A shot kicked up dirt inches from Michael’s face. He rolled away, blinking to clear the painful particles. Martin fired from his perch, and another body tumbled into the gully, rolling into the body of the first man. The two lay there, a bizarre dance frozen in death.

The sound of retreating hoofbeats broke the eerie silence. Martin strained from his perch. He looked at Caleb and held up four fingers and pointed ahead of him, then four more fingers and made a walking motion with his fingers.

“Four rode away. There’s still four out there waitin’ for us to follow,” Caleb croaked. He reached for his canteen. Michael’s throat tightened. He wondered if he’d ever draw a full breath again.

He heard a soft moan and turned to see Malachi reach for the trunk of the pine sapling as he tried to stand. Michael sprinted over to him and guided him back into a sitting position.

The old man tried to push him away. “I gotta help . . . gotta do my part. They killed Old Thomas. Best friend I ever had.” The old man’s eyes pleaded with Michael.

“You’re too weak—you’ll only get in the way right now. You need to stay here and rest.”

“Then give me a gun, a rifle, anything I can use to defend myself and watch your back.”

Michael gave him a pistol and gun belt from the supply pack. “Here. These should hold you.”

“You betcha.” Malachi’s eyes brightened. “Hey, hows ’bout giving me that medicinal bottle you found. It sure would ease my pain and help my eyesight so’s I can shoot straighter.”

Michael shook his head. “Just focus on not shooting yourself or any of us.” He headed back to his position near Caleb.

Caleb called in a loud whisper, “Martin, can you still see the ones that rode away?”

Martin looked and nodded.

“Keep watchin’. Let me know if they turn to get behind us.”

Martin nodded again.

Barkston looked at Caleb. His eyes smoldered. “Not a good spot.”

“Nope.”

Barkston scanned the area. “Any ideas?”

Caleb shrugged. “I’m open to suggestion.”

“I can’t think of anything either.”

Michael prayed, his voice a low murmur. Jeremiah removed his hat, wiped his forehead with his arm, and prayed too.

Caleb looked at the two of them. “How’s Malachi?”

“He’ll make it,” Michael said. “He’s asking for the whiskey bottle.”

“Whiskey bottle? Where’d that come from?”

Michael shrugged. “Don’t know, but it was in the supplies we had with us.”

Caleb laughed. “Serves him right, the old coot. Smuggled it in but then couldn’t get at it.”

Michael gestured in Malachi’s direction. “He asked for a weapon. I gave him a pistol. He told me the whiskey would improve his marksmanship.”

Caleb snorted. “Sober, that man couldn’t hit the side of a barn if he was standing inside it.”

He looked up the trail, staring hard as if that alone would make it possible to see through the rocks and trees. But evidently no revelation came. He sighed and cursed, then looked at Michael. “Sorry. Guess I ain’t s’posed to use them words anymore.”

Michael smiled. “Old habits die hard.” He paused. An idea percolated in his brain, loose threads he reached to grasp. “Sheriff, if those other riders turn to come up behind us, won’t that take them away from us for a little while?”

“Go on, Reverend.”

“If they turn, I think it would give us an opportunity to ride out and take care of the ones that are waiting for us.”

Caleb looked across the gully at Barkston. “You hear that, Bill?”

“Yep. It’d be a real small chance. We’d be riding through single file, and they could pick us off one at a time like they did Old Thomas.”

Michael said, “Not if a couple of our better shots stayed on the high ground. You could spot the shooters by the smoke.”

Caleb rubbed his beard. “Bill, I want you and Martin to stay on the high ground. Scoot on ahead as far as you can without gettin’ spotted. When y’all are in place, the rest of us’ll ride as fast as we can down the gully.”

“How about Mr. Turner staying there on your side? I’d feel more comfortable knowing I had some cover over there.”

Caleb looked at Jeremiah, who nodded. Caleb turned back to the others. “What are they doing, Martin?”

“Still riding straight away.”

“Keep your eyes on ’em.”

Michael’s stomach knotted and churned. He took a deep breath and held it for several seconds before exhaling to relieve some of the tension.

Jeremiah scrabbled sideways to crouch next to him. “You all right?”

Michael met the other man’s eyes. “No, I’m scared. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone, but I don’t want to get shot either.”

“You think God would bring you all this way just to have you get killed?”

Michael shook his head as if trying to chase a bee away. “No. But I might do something to mess it up.”

Jeremiah smiled. “I know what you mean, but you’ve got to remember God has a plan for you and the devil wants to stop it. Stay focused on what you know you’re supposed to do—tell Carstairs about his son. Trust in the Holy Spirit and let His peace lead you into what you need to do.”

Michael managed a smile too. “Thanks.” All right, Lord, that’s what I’m asking. Show me what I need to do. And—

Martin whistled, and all eyes turned in his direction. He made a sweeping motion with his right arm. “They turned off the trail to your side. I’ve lost sight of ’em, but it looks like they might be doublin’ back.”

“All right, then,” Caleb called. “Let’s go.”

Martin, Barkston, and Jeremiah moved along the tops of the banks of the gully. The others headed to the horses. Michael checked the bandage on Malachi’s wound and helped him onto his horse. “It looks like the bleeding’s stopped for now, but we’ll need to keep an eye on it. Any rough riding may open it up again.”

“You better ride last with him,” Caleb said.

“I understand.”

Caleb put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Reverend. I’m glad you came on this ride with us, and I sure don’t want nothin’ bad happenin’ to you. I’d hate to have to break that kind of news to Luke and Martha Matthews and Miss Rachel. Besides, Gideon Parsons would have my hide if I didn’t send you back to him in one piece. You take care of Malachi and the packhorses and ride as fast as you can.”

Michael placed Malachi on the horse behind him, then tied the lead rope for the packhorses around the tracker’s saddle horn. Malachi sat with his shoulders slumped, his head down.

“You all right, Malachi?”

He turned to Michael, tears brimming. “It don’t seem right to leave Thomas here out in the open.”

Michael looked over to the trees where Malachi had rested. Old Thomas’s body lay wrapped in a blanket. He studied the packhorses. “Sheriff, give me a minute.”

He dismounted without waiting for an answer and shifted the load from one horse to the other. He climbed the gully wall, picked up Old Thomas, and lugged him back down, draping him over the empty packhorse and securing him with leather thongs. He remounted and gathered Buddy’s reins.

“I thank ya.” Malachi’s voice was soft and shaky.

“You’re welcome.” Buddy shifted beneath him. Michael knew he didn’t like Malachi’s horse so close or the packhorses at his heels, and the smell of blood made him jittery. Michael leaned forward and patted him on the neck, sending a burst of dust into the air. “Boy, do you need a bath.”

The horse snorted and bobbed his head up and down. “Easy, boy,” Michael soothed. “Just give me all you’ve got for the next little while and then I’ll take good care of you when we get back to town.”

Buddy snorted again. The horse seemed to quiver with excitement and anticipation.

Caleb took the lead. He motioned forward. “Let’s ride!”