The women were taken from the horses, hustled into the house through a courtyard, and led down a narrow flight of stone steps that ended in a dank hallway with several small chambers on either side. Each of the rooms had a heavy door with only a small barred window in it.
As soon as Megan laid eyes on the cells, she knew what was about to happen. She and the other captives were about to be locked up here. At that realization, a new terror welled up inside her. She hadn’t realized that she had such a fear of small, enclosed spaces until this moment. But it was all she could do not to scream as Flores forced her into one of the chambers.
She turned on him, unable to contain her terror. She had been so calm, so cooperative, during her captivity that her sudden movements took him by surprise. One of her hands shot at his face, the fingernails clawing for his eyes, while the other hand fumbled at the butt of the Colt on his hip.
Flores let out a curse and recoiled from Megan’s unexpected attack. He gasped in pain as her fingernails drew red streaks down his face. She felt the walnut grips of the gun, and had just closed the fingers of her other hand around it, when something exploded in her face. Pain filled her head so that she was barely aware of being knocked backward. She slammed into the stone wall of the cell and bounced off, falling to her knees. Landing on the hard floor like that caused her even more pain.
“What the hell!” Flores exclaimed. “You gone crazy, little red? You like to put Flores’s eyes out!”
She looked up at him, panting from pain and anger. “I wish I had, you bastard,” she grated. “I wish I’d gotten your gun and blown a hole in you!”
Flores took off his bandanna and dabbed at the bloody scratches on his face. In a worried voice, he said, “Don’t tell Juan Alba I punched you, all right? You took me by surprise. I didn’t expect you to fight. You got more sense than to think you can get away.” He glanced around at the close confines of the cell. “Oh. You don’t like it in here, no? Don’t worry. There are no rats or anything like that, and you got a window you can look out.” He pointed to a small opening, barred like the one in the door, that was high on one wall. “You can even see the water. It won’t be so bad. And it won’t be for too long.”
“Then what?”
Flores shook his head. He wasn’t going to tell her anything else. He kept his hand on the butt of his gun as he backed toward the door.
“Somebody will bring you something to eat and drink later. You rest now.”
Megan wasn’t sure she would ever rest again. As Flores moved out into the hall and began swinging the door shut, gibbering devils ran along her nerves and through her brain. She closed her eyes, squeezed them tight shut, unwilling to see the barrier to her freedom closing.
But she heard it. Lord help her, as the heavy slam of the door went through her like a shot, she heard it.
Chapter 25
By nightfall of the first full day of pursuit, Wash estimated that the scouts from the posse had cut into the lead, but the outlaws of Juan Alba’s gang were still well ahead of them.
“I didn’t figure on them pushin’ so hard once they crossed the border,” Wash commented as the group stopped to rest their horses and once again wait for the moon to rise. “Fact is, I sorta thought they would’ve got to their hideout by now.”
“They’re headed for the Gulf of California,” Jason said, putting into words the hunch that had been dogging him for quite a while.
“Why do you say that?” Matt asked with a skeptical frown.
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”
Matt’s snort testified to how much faith he put in Jason’s feelings.
“You might be right, Jason,” Wash said. “I don’t think there’s much else in this direction except the Gulf.”
They pushed on when the moon rose. As they followed the trail left by the outlaws, Zachary said, “I hope the rest of the men were able to get across the border without that stiff-necked cavalry lieutenant stopping them.”
“I reckon Sergeant Halligan led that patrol on a merry chase through the hills,” Wash said with a chuckle. “He knew that we’re the only chance those gals have.”
Matt said, “It would have been easier if those soldiers had come along with us. I intend to pay a visit to Camp Grant and have a word with Lieutenant Carter’s commanding officer when we get back. He’s neglected his duty for the last time.”
Jason didn’t think talking to Carter’s commanding officer would do a bit of good, because according to army regulations, the lieutenant had been right to refuse to cross the border, or to let civilians cross it when they were looking for trouble. Such things could cause international incidents, if someone cared about that.
Which Jason didn’t right now. All that mattered to him was getting Megan, Jenny, and the other two women back safely.
The scouts were able to push on through the night, but in the morning exhaustion finally caught up to men and horses both. While they were stopped to allow the animals to rest, the men took turns sleeping. No one got more than a couple of hours of slumber, but as tired as they all were, even that much sleep was more than welcome. No one felt really rested when they took up the trail again, but at least they didn’t have the blind staggers anymore.
Late that afternoon, they came to some sand dunes that stretched out in front of them apparently endlessly. The tracks left by the gang’s horses led right up to the edge of the wasteland and then vanished. Jason let out a groan of despair as he reined to a halt.
Wash shook his head and muttered a curse. “Reckon the wind wiped out their tracks within an hour or so o’ them ridin’ through here. The way that sand moves in the wind, nothin’ looks the same for very long.”
“What do we do now?” Matt asked. “We’ve come this far. We can’t just give up.”
“Nobody said anything about giving up,” Jason responded. “Wash, let’s assume that they headed through these dunes on a relatively straight line. Can you do the same thing?”
Wash frowned and tugged on his mustaches. “Thing is, you can’t go straight across dunes like this. Horses’ll bog down in the worst of it. You got to find the places that’re packed the hardest and follow them. I reckon I can do that, but if it’ll bring us out in the same place them outlaws wound up . . . well, I just can’t say about that, Jason.”
“We don’t have any other choice. Has everyone still got water, in case we’re stuck in there for a while?”
The men checked their canteens. Each of them still contained at least some water, sloshing back and forth as the men shook the canteens.
“At least it’ll be dark after a while,” Dixon said. “We won’t have to cross that hell durin’ the day, when the heat would be at its worst.”
“Yes, we should be thankful for small favors,” Zachary put in.
“I’ll be thankful when we have those women back,” Jason said. “Let’s go.”
As darkness fell, the landscape around the five men took on an eerie aspect. The dunes rose like humpbacked monsters, and the sand muffled the horses’ hoofbeats until they couldn’t be heard. The night was not silent, however. It was filled with the ceaseless whisper of sand shifting in the wind. As the moon rose, the dunes shone like silver. Blistering hot at first, they gave up that heat quickly in the dry air, so that the wind took on a chill that raised gooseflesh on Jason’s skin. He was going to be very glad when they got through these towering hills of sand.
Although the dunes seemed endless, they weren’t, of course. Sometime far into the night, the riders came to the far edge of the wasteland. They found themselves at the top of a gentle, grassy slope. As they reined in, Wash said, “Listen.”
Jason heard the rumble and roar of waves. “The ocean,” he breathed.
“The Gulf anyway,” Wash agreed. “It ain’t far off.”
Matt spoke up with a note of excitement in his voice. “Look over there, to the right.”
The rest of the men looked in that direction and saw a faint yellow light, li
ke the glow of a candle through a window. It appeared to be about a mile away, maybe a little less.
Jason turned his head, peered in the other direction, and saw nothing but darkness as far as the eye could see. Facing northwest again, because that was the direction in which the glow lay, he said, “That light must be coming from Alba’s hideout. There doesn’t seem to be anything else along this coast.”
Matt urged his horse into motion. “Come on!”
“Hold it a minute,” Wash said. Matt reined in, but he did it with an impatient glare at the old-timer. Wash went on. “We can’t just go gallopin’ up to the place. We got to approach it careful and quietlike.”
“Alba’s bound to have guards posted,” Jason added. “If they spot us, we won’t stand a chance, and then we won’t be able to help the prisoners.”
“Speaking of that,” Zachary put in, “once we make sure that light is coming from Alba’s hideout, how will we lead the rest of the posse here?”
Jason pondered that for a moment and then said, “Somebody will have to go back across the dunes to meet them and lead them through. Wash, I reckon that’ll be your job.”
The old-timer bristled. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the best man for that chore, and you’ll be more likely to be able to carry it out than the rest of us.”
“You’re just tryin’ to cheat me out o’ my share o’ the fightin’,” Wash grumbled.
“I hope there won’t be any fighting until you get back with the rest of the posse,” Jason pointed out. “If there is, it’ll mean that everything’s gone wrong.”
“All right, all right. I guess the first thing we need to do is make sure that’s the place we’re lookin’ for.”
Jason heeled his horse into a walk. “That’s right. But we’ll take it slow and easy.”
The thought that they were probably within a mile of the prisoners chafed at Jason and made him want to go charging ahead recklessly just like Matt would if there was no one there to restrain him. He reined in that impulse and forced himself to remain calm and cool.
They followed the top of the slope, with the sand dunes to their right and the cliffs that lined the shore of the Gulf to their left. When they were within a few hundred yards of the light, Jason stopped his horse and signaled for the others to do likewise. He swung down from the saddle, as did the other four men.
They were close enough now to make out the dark, looming shape of a huge house perched on the cliff, overlooking the water. “Probably built a long time ago by some Spanish grandee who had a ranch in these parts,” Wash whispered. “Either it was abandoned and Alba took it over, or he killed all the folks who lived there and moved in.”
The light came from a window in a tower at one end of the building. As Jason stared at it, he couldn’t help but wonder if the prisoners were locked up in that tower. He decided it was unlikely—they were probably down below in a dungeon; that gloomy pile of rocks looked like it ought to have a dungeon—but the thought went through his mind anyway.
“Now what?” Matt asked.
“We get closer on foot,” Jason said. “Wash and I do anyway. The rest of you stay here and look after the horses.”
Matt shook his head. “I’m coming along too.”
Jason didn’t trust Matt not to do something that would give them away, so he said flatly, “No, you’re not. You’re staying here with Dixon and Zachary. I don’t want to have to worry about you stumbling over your own feet and warning those outlaws that we’re here.”
Matt’s breath hissed between his teeth, and his voice was tight with anger as he said, “One of these days, Fury, you and me are going to settle this. I’m sick and tired of you and your insults.”
Dixon chuckled. “You’ve just got scores to settle with everybody, don’t you, boy?”
“That’s enough,” Jason said before Matt could reply. “If we start fighting among ourselves, we won’t have any chance of getting those women out of there. Both of you just let it alone until we get back home.”
Matt and Dixon glared at each other for a few seconds before Matt shrugged and turned away. “I’ll stay here,” he told Jason in a sullen voice, “but I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to. Come on, Wash.”
They gave their horses’ reins to Dixon and Zachary, then started down the slope toward the big house on foot. There was no cover here, and although the moon was low, it still gave off quite a bit of light. Anybody studying the grassy slope might spot them approaching the house. Jason and Wash dropped to their hands and knees, and then a little farther on, to their bellies. The grass was tall enough to give them some concealment.
They crawled to within fifty yards of a pair of heavy wooden gates that opened into a courtyard. They were close enough to hear some drunken laughter that floated through one of the windows from somewhere inside the house. Wash had brought along his spyglass. He pressed it to his eye as they lay there silent and motionless.
A few minutes later Jason saw movement in the courtyard. Wash nudged him in the ribs and handed him the spyglass. Jason pressed his eye to it, and in the moonlight he saw a man in a big sombrero walk across the courtyard. The man had a rifle canted over his shoulder, and bandoliers of ammunition were crisscrossed over his chest.
Wash put his mouth close to Jason’s ear and breathed, “Fella’s got to be a guard.”
Jason nodded. He kept the spyglass trained on the courtyard, and about ten minutes later he saw another man stroll across the open space. This one was an American, or at least he wore a high-crowned Stetson. He also carried a rifle.
“Alba’s probably got several more men posted around the place,” Jason whispered. “We can’t attack the place without them knowing that we’re coming.”
“And if we can’t take ’em by surprise, they’ll fort up in there and we’ll never get ’em out.”
Jason knew that Wash’s gloomy prediction was right. He thought as hard as he could, his brain racing, as he tried to come up with a way to rescue the prisoners. He would have loved to wipe out the band of outlaws in the process, to settle the score for what they had done to the town of Fury, but that might not be possible. Saving the women had to come first.
“There’s only one way to have any element of surprise at all,” he decided at last.
“How’s that?” Wash asked.
Jason nodded toward the fortress-like house. “Somebody’s got to get in there, free the girls, and then provide a distraction that will allow the rest of the posse to have a chance of overpowering Alba’s men.”
“Sort of like stickin’ your head right in a hornet’s nest, ain’t it?”
Jason nodded. “That’s why I intend to do it myself.”
Chapter 26
By reaching up and grasping the bars in the window, Megan could pull herself up on her toes far enough to see out the opening. From there, she could see the blue-gray waves rolling in from the Gulf and the sun lowering toward them, but that was all. She strained to lift herself even farther, until she got her chin over the sill and pressed her face against the iron bars.
Space fell away below her in a dizzying drop. She couldn’t see the rocks at the base of the cliff, but she heard the waves crashing against them and knew that there was nothing outside this window except several hundred feet of empty air with death waiting at the bottom. There would be no escape this way.
Not that she could have gotten out through the window anyway, she told herself. It was so small that the only way she would have fit through it was if every bone in her body was crushed.
When the muscles in her arms began to ache and tremble from supporting her weight, she let herself down to the floor of the cell again. Since there was no bunk, she slumped all the way down to a sitting position and propped her back against the hard stone wall.
Overwhelming feelings of despair and helplessness threatened to swallow her whole. She couldn’t escape, and no one would come to save her. If by some chance Jason Fury managed to fol
low the gang all the way from Arizona Territory, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Juan Alba’s men, even if he brought a posse with him. The settlers were just ordinary men; they couldn’t survive a fight against a wolf pack like Alba’s gang.
It was just luck that she and the other women hadn’t been assaulted repeatedly already. That luck couldn’t last. Now that the outlaws had arrived at their destination, it was only a matter of time before they would take their pleasure with the helpless captives.
Maybe it was a good thing she couldn’t fit through that window, Megan thought. If she was able to, she would be tempted to squeeze out through the narrow opening and launch herself into the empty air. A few seconds of terror as she fell, and then it would all be over. She was sure she would be killed instantly when she landed on the rocks below.
But that wasn’t going to happen, she reminded herself, so she might as well not even think about it. Instead, no matter how hopeless things looked, she ought to be trying to think of some way to get out of this mess.
Despite her intentions, she surprised herself by drifting off to sleep. She had no idea how long she drowsed there, leaning against the wall, but when the sound of loud, hollow footsteps approaching the cell jolted her awake, the light was gone from the window and utter darkness shrouded the chamber.
Megan’s heart hammered in her chest. Even though the footsteps were just footsteps, there was something ominous about them. She knew that whoever was approaching the cells didn’t have anything good in mind for her or the other prisoners.
She could tell now that there were several sets of footsteps in the corridor. A light appeared, outlining the little window in the door. One of the visitors had to be carrying a lantern. The footsteps came to a stop, and a second later a key rattled in the padlock that held the door closed. Megan heard the lock snap open. The door swung back, creaking on its hinges.
“Come out, little red,” Flores ordered. “You will not be harmed if you do as you are told.”
Megan put her hands against the rough stone wall and pushed herself to her feet, but she didn’t make any move toward the open door. She couldn’t see the men in the corridor, but the light cast by the lantern formed large, grotesque shadows that Megan could see. When she didn’t emerge from the cell, Flores leaned into the doorway, holding a gun in his hand.
A Town Called Fury Page 35