68

Michael gripped his rifle and peered into the flat valley below him. The grass between the creek and cabin was a beaten-down, greenish brown muck. The creek water ran deep and clear. The cabin with its weather-bleached walls stood to his left. A thin wisp of smoke rose from a rusted chimney that poked through the sagging roof. On the porch, between the posts, two figures slumped. Sam and Mark Carstairs. Michael’s heart climbed to his throat as he continued to scan the valley.

Three men lay behind some logs along the creek bank, rifles focused on the eastern approach to the valley. Michael saw no one else. Up the ridge from his position, Caleb and Harold moved down the side, careful not to disturb rocks or snap twigs. They sheltered behind some thick shrubs about halfway down the slope. Bill Barkston and his group had already disappeared into the trees behind the cabin.

Jeremiah tapped Michael’s shoulder and pointed to a small group of young pine trees about two-thirds of the way to the bottom. “Let’s head for that spot,” he whispered, his voice loud in the still air. “It will give us good cover.”

Jeremiah moved out, planting his foot before placing his weight on it, watching for any object that might be disturbed by their movement and raise an alarm. Michael followed, putting his feet in the same places, watching the cabin and the men at the creek.

The door to the cabin opened when they were halfway to their goal. Michael and Jeremiah froze behind a small shrub. Michael watched a dark-haired woman come out, a rifle braced against her hip, a holster and pistol strapped to her waist. She surveyed the valley floor and the ridges. Then she walked over to the three men behind the logs and spoke to them.

On her way back to the cabin, the woman stopped in front of Sam. She spoke to him and he shook his head. She spat in his face and hit him in the stomach with the butt of her rifle. Michael winced at the sight.

She went over to Mark and raised his head with the barrel of her rifle under his chin. She said something to Sam and then punched Mark in the chest, directly on the bloodstained bandage he wore. Michael heard his cry of pain. The woman removed the rifle from under his chin, and his head dropped. His body sagged even further.

The woman swept her glance around the area once more. It seemed to Michael that her eyes rested momentarily on the area where Caleb and Harold waited. She took a step, stopped, shook her head, and walked behind the cabin. After several minutes she reappeared from the other side and went back inside.

Michael took a deep breath, his first normal one since the woman appeared. He and Jeremiah started to move again. Michael wanted to run to the trees, but he forced himself to follow Jeremiah’s example of slow and determined steps.

The cabin door opened again. They froze. Exposed. Nowhere to hide.

A blonde woman came out, carrying a metal pot and some plates. She crossed over to the men at the creek and served them from the pot. Michael’s own stomach growled at the sight. He’d had nothing since the previous evening but jerky and water.

As the woman filled their plates, one of the men fondled her, laughing. The woman didn’t even protest, just stood with head down and shoulders slumped. Anger surged through Michael at the way they treated her. Then Rachel’s face filled his mind. For the first time he realized what her previous life must have been like. Lord, I thank You for delivering Rachel from that degradation and for bringing Martha and Luke into her life to teach and protect her.

The blonde woman finished her duties and returned to the cabin. No one else came out.

Michael and Jeremiah waited, shifting shadows marking the passage of the warm afternoon sun across the valley. Michael relaxed his grip on his rifle to relieve the cramps in his hands. He tried to stay as motionless as Jeremiah, who lay prone next to him, watching the men at the creek. A disciplined calmness seemed to permeate the man.

A shot echoed from behind the cabin. The men at the creek turned in confusion, seeking the source. The dark-haired woman appeared, rifle at the ready. She advanced to the corner of the cabin and cautiously peered around it.

Caleb called from his hiding place. “Hello, the cabin. You are surrounded. Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up.”

Fury snarled the woman’s face. She fired in the direction of Caleb’s voice, her shot wild and flying over his head. She fired again, joined by the three men from the creek.

Jeremiah fired, and one of the men dropped his rifle, grasped his chest, and tumbled into the creek, bobbing away on the slow current.

Michael sighted his rifle and fired as well, hitting another man in the shoulder.

The third man realized where the shots were coming from and shifted his aim. Jeremiah and Michael both fired, one bullet hitting the man in the forehead, sending him backward. Lord, I pray that wasn’t my bullet.

The second man had a pistol in his good hand and began firing. Jeremiah fired again. The man grasped his throat, blood gushing between his fingers as he collapsed.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air, and gun smoke formed clouds that hung like fog. More shots came from behind the cabin, and the woman on the porch kept firing at Caleb and Harold. Michael realized that Caleb and Harold could not fire back because of her proximity to Mark and Sam.

Jeremiah nudged Michael. “Let’s see if we can get behind her.”

He moved from the covering trees. Michael followed. They descended the slope in a controlled rush. As they reached the floor, the woman turned and fired. Michael dived to the ground and rolled toward the creek.

Jeremiah crouched over, unable to fire because of the captives. The woman took a position behind Sam Carstairs and fired again.

The cabin door opened. A youngish man with a drooping mustache came out of the cabin, took a position behind Mark Carstairs, and joined in the shooting.

Michael heard a grunt and looked over to see Jeremiah. Blood flowed from his shoulder. Michael scrambled to him. Jeremiah grimaced with pain, his hand clasped to his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.

Michael moved him into a slight depression formed by the land’s slope to the creek. Bullets spit up dirt around them. Some splatted into the creek. Michael looked up to see Bill, Martin, and Frank come trotting around the cabin. A shot from a window sent them scrambling for cover. They joined Caleb and Harold.

“That’s it,” Caleb called out a few minutes later. “We’ve taken out all your men behind the cabin. You’ve got nobody left in front either. Time to give it up.”

The woman took a knife from her belt and held it against Sam’s throat. “You give it up, or I’ll cut him and gut him like a pig.”

Jeremiah spoke. It sounded like a shout in Michael’s ear. “You’re going to have to shoot her, Michael. Nobody else has a shot, and she’ll kill Sam before anyone can get closer.”

Michael looked at the other man. “You’re crazy. I’m not that good a shot. I might kill Sam. There’s got to be another way.” His mind reeled. I can’t kill again. I can’t.

“Listen to me.”

Michael focused on Jeremiah’s hazel eyes. There was a fire in them that bored its way into Michael’s conscience.

“I don’t have time for a lecture. You have to do it to save lives. Remember, she’s probably the one who killed Vernon and the others, and she will kill Sam rather than give up. She’s keeping her head over his shoulder, so that’s your only target. Now, pray, breathe, and shoot.”

Michael raised his rifle and aimed at the small oval peering over Sam’s shoulder. Lord, forgive me. He squeezed the trigger.

The bullet entered her right eye and exploded out the back of her skull. The knife slipped from her grasp and clattered to the ground.

Michael turned and vomited. He threw his rifle into the creek. He knelt in that small depression, hands at his sides, and wept. Dim awareness of what happened next crept through his tear-fogged eyes.

The man behind Mark cried out and ran to kneel beside the fallen woman on the porch. He touched her face, seemingly oblivious to the gunmen surrounding him. Seconds later, the cabin door flew open, and an old man appeared in the doorway.

“Maria!” A long wail escaped his lips, grief and pain echoing in the hushed air. He seemed to stagger forward, then stiffly regained his feet. Maria’s knife glinted in his hand.

He took a step toward Sam. “You took Ruth, and now you’ve taken my girl.” He swung the knife toward Sam’s stomach.

Caleb fired, hitting the man in the side and spinning him around. He fell, but the knife still found its mark.

Harold levered a round into the chamber of his rifle. “You . . . on the porch. Throw that gun away and stand up. Do it slow.”

A pistol skittered into the dirt in front of the cabin. The man turned to face them, hands rising like flags to shoulder level. Even at a distance, Michael saw the tears on his cheeks. Oh, Lord, he loved her.

He started to stand, thinking it was all over, but a shot rang out, and a bullet skipped off a rock a few feet from Caleb.

“Up on that slope,” Martin yelled, pointing to the ridge wall opposite the one they had followed into the valley. He raised his rifle and fired.

The man scampered over the top of the slope and disappeared.

“I missed?” Martin stared at his rifle as if he had just seen the sun rise in the west.

Frank started toward the slope.

“Let him go, Frank,” Caleb said. “We’ve got plenty to do here as it is.”

Rachel handed Lupe a cup of tea and poured one for herself. “I think one more fitting should do it.”

“I hope Josh likes it. I think green is his favorite color.”

The door to the store opened with a loud swoosh, the bell clanging. Annabelle rushed in and threw her arms around Rachel, then reached to embrace Lupe. Excitement reddened her freckled face. Pete O’Brien walked in behind her.

“He didn’t!” Rachel said, looking from one to the other.

Annabelle’s head bobbed up and down.

“When?”

Annabelle took a deep breath. “Last night. We had dinner at the hotel, and he walked me home. Knelt down on one knee, said he loved me, and asked me to marry him.”

Rachel looked at Pete. “Well, it took you long enough.”

“I know.” The big man was actually blushing. “I was afraid she’d turn me down. Then I got more afraid someone would snatch her up from under me nose.”

Rachel laughed. “Like she would fall for anyone else.”

“I am very happy for you both,” Lupe said. “May you have many years together and many beautiful niños. When—”

Rachel gasped. Her teacup clattered to the floor.

Lupe jumped. “What’s wrong, Rachel?”

Rachel put her hand to her chest to calm her pounding heart.

“I don’t know. Something’s happened. Michael’s face flashed through my mind. Let’s pray.” She joined hands with Lupe and Annabelle, then realized Pete had joined the circle as well. She only wondered about that for an instant. Her mind was focused on praying protection for Michael and the posse.

After several minutes, the urgency passed. She dropped her friends’ hands and smiled an apology.

“I hate when I get those flashes, those images. I wish God would be more specific.”