67

They walked in single file, Bill in the lead. Michael gripped his rifle with sweaty palms and concentrated on walking across the slope. The sensation of one leg always being longer than the other made him uncomfortable, but shrubs and trees provided something to grab hold of when he sensed he lost his balance.

Caleb and Bill held whispered conversations as Bill gestured to indicate what lay ahead.

After about half an hour, Bill angled up the slope to where some boulders stood like stoic sentries. He cautioned the men to keep low as they crossed over to the back side of the valley wall. When all had skirted the outcropping, they resumed their journey.

Michael admired Bill’s leadership. He proceeded with caution. He checked that all the men were in place behind him. He tempered Frank’s urge for speed by pointing out the kidnappers might have placed guards along the valley wall since the two of them passed earlier.

The stillness of the air magnified the slightest sounds. Michael realized that he had not heard a bird call or the rustle of smaller animals since they began. He squinted in the sun, the tension in his neck and shoulders a sharp ache, the muscles tight as a fully drawn bowstring. Dull pain crept from his eyes to his forehead. He tried to relax, but adrenaline kept him alert. Jeremiah gave his shoulder a squeeze. He acknowledged the gesture with a quick smile, then returned to following Caleb’s back. The sheriff’s loose-jointed gait handled the difficult terrain with ease.

Barkston put up a hand. Everyone froze. The rifle slipped in Michael’s hands. He wiped the barrel and trigger area with his bandanna, then used the cloth to dry his hands. Barkston smiled at him and gestured to one of the men behind Michael. Martin slipped past him to squat near Barkston as the rancher whispered in his ear, pointing farther up the valley. The cowboy nodded and moved off.

Time hung in the air like heat on a windless day. Michael waited, holding himself as still as possible, resisting the urge to stretch his cramped legs. Never had the urge to cough and clear his throat seemed so strong.

After what seemed like an hour, Martin reappeared, grinning, carrying another rifle. A gun belt and holster hung over his shoulder.

“All right then. Let’s go.” At Caleb’s signal, they moved forward again. Ten minutes later, they passed a man lying on the ground, unconscious, gagged with a bandanna, hands tied behind him with his belt, feet tied with a bandolera emptied of its shells. A crushed sombrero lay near the man’s head.

Caleb turned to Martin. “Good work.”

Martin shrugged. “He was sleepin’ when I found him.”

Half an hour later, Barkston and Caleb scurried up the valley wall to check their position. After several minutes, they slid back down to the others.

“We’re near the cabin.” Caleb gazed at each of them. “Michael and Jeremiah, I want you to go straight up to the top right here. You’ll have a good view of the creek and the men behind it. The cabin will be to your left about twenty-five yards back from the creek. Your job will be to take out those men at the creek. Bill, Martin, and Frank will go on a little further up and then get down into the trees behind the cabin. Harold and I will keep on until we’re right across from the cabin. Give us a little time to get in position. Then, Bill, you fire the first shot to get their attention.”

He held up one finger toward Barkston. “Don’t actually shoot anyone—not at first. I want to see if they’ll surrender. If they don’t, you’ll create a distraction behind the cabin and draw their people away so me and Harold can go down and get Mark and Sam. If you have to shoot, be very careful. We don’t want to hit either of them. Keep in mind that the walls on that cabin are probably paper thin and a stray bullet will go straight through, so if you have to shoot, make sure you hit a person. I’d like to take these animals alive, but rescuing Sam and Mark is more important.

“Any questions?”

Nobody spoke.

“All right. Let’s get into position.”