All or Nothing

by Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig

  RuthAnne looked up with the shock of realization. The remembrance of Evan’s body in the street, bleeding. At the hospital. His life slipping away. This was all Marcus’ doing.

  Marcus’ eyes were cold. “He was in too deep, and so were you...you just didn’t know it yet.”

  “You murdered my husband?” Her heart thudded in her ears. She remembered the crowd outside the train station. The concerned faces as she watched her husband’s life snuffed out like a candle.

  “Think about it, RuthAnne. Taking money off of the top of orders was just the beginning. As an equipage supply officer, I’ve been kept abreast of every shipment. Every stagecoach that’s carrying more than its fair share, whether or not their driver is alone. All of the guesswork removed...quite a coup for my alter ego. “

  “El Tejano...”

  “He was a legend when I was a boy. I used to love reading stories of him, robbing stagecoaches and wagon trains. The locals even talked of him being the Robin Hood of the desert. He stole from the wealthy, left coins and clothing for those in need. He was a hero...”

  RuthAnne gulped around the lump in her throat. “Except you aren’t sharing your wealth with anyone. Not even the man you claimed was your partner. You’re no hero. You’re a common thief. And a murderer.”

  She heard the crack of his hand like a gunshot in the still, night air. The sting erupted across her cheek; pain radiated from the impact and rocked her to a heap. RuthAnne tasted the copper of her blood, warm against her tongue. She let out a whimper, scrambling to find something to hold, to cling to. Her hands only found pebbles and dirt.

  “That’s enough soul-searching for one evening. I’ve something else to show you.” His hands were rough as he hauled her to her feet; he pushed her up the slope behind them, higher up the mountain ridge. Away from the road. Away from all hope of discovery.

  Chapter 41

  With General running at full speed, Bowen tried to coax more out of him. Hooves thundered on the rugged dirt road, dust leaving a trail that would be easily identifiable from the mountain pass if the moon were up any higher in the summer night sky. Still, they had a good half hour before it crested the ridge and revealed their pursuit. By then, they would have reached the mine entrance...if indeed he had located the right one.

  Clenching his teeth, he gave another swift kick. He heard the animal’s grunt of complaint. General’s nostrils flared like a dragon’s, his head down and mane flying. Bowen knew the horse was giving all that he had to give. Like it or not, he’d have to deal with what he found when they got there. He just prayed to God he wasn’t too late. The very prayer made his heart hurt. How long had it been since he’d sworn off praying? The Lord must have more important things to do than listen to the likes of him, but for RuthAnne, he’d try anything.

  They maneuvered their way up the mountain road until they reached the point of the rockslide. Charley slowed his pace, leaning over with a decisive gaze, and dismounted.

  He carefully crept around the spot of road, kneeling down. He observed the dirt and the way the rocks had parted or compressed into the ground under the weight of the wheels. He nodded. “They stopped here. Then the wagon went on. With a lighter load.”

  “They got out. But which way did they go?” Reggie took off his hat and scratched his sweaty head. Saguaro cactus stood straight and tall in the darkness, their arms raised in a silent salute, the only witnesses to the event.

  “Up,” Bowen said. “They went up the ridge. Leave the horses here. We’re following on foot.” He slipped his Spencer rifle from its holster and slung it over his shoulder. He was off up the rock trail with Charley before the others had even dismounted.

  “This path leads only one place.” Charley’s broken English followed him, voicing what the others already knew. “Ghosts of my ancestors are there. Very sacred ground.”

  Bowen squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his scalp. It was a path he always led a wide berth around. It made sense. “He’s taking her to Camp Grant...or what’s left of it.”

  ****

  Marcus grabbed RuthAnne’s arm, halting their progress. Looking around in the growing light of the moon, he searched for his bearings.

  “Lost?” She was amazed at the flippant tone in her voice. She found a certain freedom in knowing she was doomed. There’d be no more cowering as she faced off with him.

  With a sneer, he shoved RuthAnne roughly to the ground. She fell back against a mound of earth, her breath forced from her lungs in a whoosh, and blinked at her surroundings. The rise appeared to be the slumped remains of a ruined adobe brick building. Her mind clicked, realizing this was important. This used to be a structure. There were burned out remnants of charred roof beams. Beyond, she noted a line of rock that had once been a wall. Someone lived here once.

  “Not lost. Just...listening.” The stand of saguaro cactus had given way to low mesquite trees and brittle brush, tinged silver against the midnight blue sky. He looked nervous. “Did you hear something?”

  “Couldn’t be the voice of your conscience, could it? You don’t have one.” Once again, her head was rocked by his open palm. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She touched it with tender fingers, watching Marcus like one would watch a coiling rattler.

  He slipped the knife from his belt again, this time angling it toward her cheek. “Hold your tongue, RuthAnne, or I’ll cut it out.”

  After a moment, he returned the Bowie knife to its leather sheath. He smoothed back his black hair, usually so well-kept and now wild from their journey. She observed him while he transformed from panic to calm.

  “We’re here. This is what I wanted you to see.” In the light of the moon, he pointed out the sunken evidence of round wickiups where the Apache had made their homes in that desperate time just a few short years before. “This hanging valley once housed a small band of Apache. The cavalry had all but starved them out, you see, left them begging for aid. The army took them in even though men like my father railed against it.”

  “A true visionary.” RuthAnne spoke below her breath, and he went on as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “The leaders sent six of their own people, and hired a group of Mexicans to carry out the attack alongside almost a hundred of the Papago Indians, the Apache’s sworn enemies. A brilliant campaign, actually. They attacked before dawn, setting themselves into a thousand-year-old war and came out on top. I wish I’d been there. Laying in wait that night while their prey lay sleeping, not a hundred yards away...”

  “You’re sick. It was a slaughter. Women, children, the aged...murdered...”

  “The road to progress is paved with blood, my dear. Some escaped, but not many. They hid like animals in the caves. This mountain is riddled with tunnels. Caves. Abandoned mines. See the entrance, just there? Behind that outcropping? The story goes, a young cavalry soldier was surveying the aftermath. He found a woman in there. Crazy. Terrified. She almost killed him, thinking he had come for her, like the rest.”

  RuthAnne saw the open mouth of the cave hidden behind creosote brush and boulders. Her mind opened to the picture he was painting. A woman’s dark eyes full of fear, anger, and agony of having lost her child and husband in the night. Mariposa had nearly dealt Bowen a lethal blow; he still carried the scar to prove it. Her heart surged with the memory of touching the scar, his rough, warm flesh beneath her fingertips.

  Marcus’ voice was thick as he blotted drying blood from the corner of her mouth. His hand was almost gentle on her cheek, trailing down her neck.

  “If only she’d succeeded, you might have fallen in love with me instead. We could be having a very different conversation right now.”

  She wanted to wrench herself away from him, his breath, and the heat of his eyes. “You don’t know me as well as you think.”

  He dragged her sharply to her feet and pushed her into the opening of the cave, into complete and utter darkness. The cave walls threatened to close in over her, and yet she reached out with her soul, prayin
g to her Father in heaven, hallowed be His name. For the peace that passes understanding.

  RuthAnne knew Marcus could kill her at any moment. If she died, she would be reunited with her brothers in heaven. Would Evan be there? She wondered. He had not been an honest man, but his redemption was between him and his Savior...who knew what happened in that moment between this world and the next? Did God give the lost one last chance to take His hand?

  And what of those she loved that she would leave behind? She tried to turn her thoughts to Mara, so that she could pray for her sister’s well-being. But Bowen’s face was all she could see. RuthAnne couldn’t stifle the sob that wracked her body. She stumbled on the uneven floor in the darkness.

  Behind her, Marcus struck a match on the rock wall. Firelight pushed back the darkness in a flash of amber. He held it to the end of a branch wrapped with kerosene-soaked cloth. The tang of acrid smoke filled her nose, burning her lungs. Overhead, the leathery flap of bat wings made her shudder.

  The last time she’d been here, Mara had been with her. They’d been bound for escape. Now, it was clear; this would be her tomb.

  “Go.” Marcus shoved her back, and the two descended into the bowels of the mountain.

  Chapter 42

  Marcus situated RuthAnne at the edge of the hearth ring. He dropped the smoking torch into the center of already stacked kindling. Within moments, the fire burned bright, casting long shadows throughout the cave.

  He turned and his liquid eyes, mesmerizing in their intensity, glittered in the orange light. “I wish we had more time, but that soldier of yours will come after you, guns blazing. He’ll figure out that you’re not dead. I’ll be out of here come sunrise, back safely in my quarters, no one the wiser. El Tejano’s reign is over. I don’t need him anymore. Money, as you know, is the root of all evil. All of this has become far too easy. As the quartermaster, my reach will be far more...extensive. I may even make Mother proud someday and become a general, after all.”

  He snorted with the thought as he emptied the canister of thin, ruby kerosene in a ring just outside of the fire’s reach. He sloshed a long line to the crates and trunks, flinging aside the dusty canvas drape where it landed in a pile of fabric. He doused the boxes of dynamite, leftover from his escapades as the hooded bandit.

  Crates and trunks were open, tossed aside like empty coffins. He had plundered what he considered of value and planned to cover his tracks by destroying whatever remained.

  RuthAnne caught sight of the strongbox where her stagecoach driver had so openly declared his silver was stored. The one he had showed her with pride, where he stowed his weapon in the secret compartment underneath. It appeared to be intact, on its side, and she wriggled herself away from the fire and toward it. Her palms itched to reach it. A quick look to Marcus, and she pushed herself back toward the wall, as if to get away from the scent of the acrid fuel.

  “What are you going to do?” She tried to keep her voice even as she scooted. She’d managed to work her bindings almost loose. If she could just bend her right hand enough, she might be able to slip it out...

  “The fire’s heat will ignite the kerosene vapor as it dries. There’s just enough dynamite left to collapse the cave, but you won’t have to worry about that. The fumes will smother you first. You’ll feel drowsy, I’m told. Just close your eyes and succumb to it. There’s no point in fighting. They’ll find you here, of course. You’ll be given a proper burial, I’m sure. But all trace of El Tejano will be left to charred rubble.”

  “Marcus, please. You don’t have to do this...”

  “Come now, RuthAnne. Begging’s not becoming to you. I have a plan, and unfortunately, you aren’t a part of it.”

  He knelt where she sat but an arm’s length from the box. With a move more befitting a gentleman than a rogue, he lifted her chin in his hand. Leaning closer, he placed a kiss on her ice cold lips. Though revulsion filled her, she did not fight him. She knew how he fed on her fear. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. With a scowl, he pushed her away.

  She stiffened as Marcus adjusted her bindings, visibly annoyed that she didn’t even whimper in pain. She wanted to be nothing to him. A statue among his scattered treasures.

  “This is where we say good-bye, RuthAnne.”

  She turned a cold eye toward him, swallowing around her fear and the certainty of her impending death. She had but one chance to survive. “It’s a pity that you never learned the real meaning behind that message...” Her throat burned.

  Halfway across the cavernous room, Marcus paused. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. Good. RuthAnne fought the wracking cough. The fumes grew thick. Black smoke curled to the ceiling from the igniting kindling. “What message?”

  “It isn’t the money that’s evil...it’s the loving of it. Look what that’s done to you, Marcus.” In one motion, she leaned forward as if to cough; instead she flung herself into a shooting stance, the ropes that bound her, discarded at her feet. She aimed the recovered shortened .38 revolver at his midsection.

  “Oh, you are full of tricks, aren’t you?” He eyed where he had placed his guns by the entrance, too far to grab. Instead, he took a step toward her. Flames licked the dark trail of kerosene. “Give me the gun.”

  “Or what? You’ll let me live?”

  “You don’t have it in you to kill, RuthAnne. You’re a good and decent woman...”

  He took another step forward.

  With hands shaking so mightily she feared she’d drop it, RuthAnne pulled the hammer down, needing both thumbs to cock the weapon. The cylinder turned with a long, well-oiled click.

  He hesitated, raising his hands and looking at her in awe. “Where on earth did you find that?”

  “Mr. Bingham had a few tricks up his sleeve, if you hadn’t taken the coward’s way in robbing him. There’s a reason you didn’t recover his silver, you know. And now you’ll never find it.”

  She gestured toward the strongbox with its secret compartment. She’d pried the false bottom open, leaving the empty holster of the .38 now trained on his midsection. At each corner on the box, she’d exposed four gaping keyholes of equal size, the silver ingots locked within. “You had the silver all along.”

  “No...” The realization struck him, his face an open book of shock, horror, and awe. “You did this. Turned the tables on me!”

  Flames leapt from one log to the next. The toxic fumes began to roil, burning her eyes, nose, and throat. RuthAnne blinked back the tears, not only from the smoke, but from righteous indignation left unspoken. “No. You’ve done it. I might die in here, but so will you, Marcus.” Her voice shook, her hands slick with sweat as she leveled the pistol.

  He dove for her, a battle cry filling his lungs. The force of his attack knocked the small weapon from her grasp. They scrambled for it on the cave floor. RuthAnne became an avenging angel. She clawed and scratched at him. Fire ate up the trail of fuel he had left for it, igniting the trunks and crates in rapid succession.

  She kicked the gun away from his closing fingers. It skittered over rocks, into a crevasse. They both watched it go. Fire jumped as if alive from one crate to the next, igniting packing straw and scattered contents. It edged toward the stacks of dynamite he’d left to seal the cave in a grand explosion.

  With the weapon out of the way, he reached for her long, pale neck. His hands closed over her throat as they both coughed and gagged. “You’ve killed us both.”

  She saw the rush in his wild eyes as she fought and clawed at his hands. She writhed and scratched beneath him. Her lungs screamed for air. Dark stars filled her vision. This was the end, she was sure.

  “I...I...”

  “You what?” he growled, animal-like. Eyes filled with fury.

  “For...give...” RuthAnne choked out the word.

  Marcus yanked her close as the swirling smoke reduced vision to nothing. Her tear-filled eyes rolled up in her head as she dragged in a last gasp for life, her struggle almost over. She knew his had only begu
n. Sinking with her to the floor, his grip on her throat loosened.

  The inferno behind them raged toward the ceiling.

  “I forgive you,” she rasped.

  He backed away from her as if burned, pushing himself to stand with panting breath.

  The heat from the blaze was intolerable. It seemed to crisp flesh like charred bacon. RuthAnne lay in a heap at his feet. Marcus shook his head. Just then, a voice straight from heaven filled her ears, calling her name.

  “RuthAnne! Don’t move!” Bowen lunged through a wall of flame to reach her and gathered her limp weight in his arms.

  “How did you...”

  “Let’s just get you out of here.” After a split second’s decision, he drew her to her feet, wrapping them both in the canvas tarp he found on the floor.

  “Wait! We can’t leave him!” She pointed to Marcus, coughing through the thick smoke.

  Bowen’s eyes were wide with lack of understanding. “You can’t be serious! He meant to kill you! Twice!”

  RuthAnne was already on her way over to Marcus, kneeling beside him and pulling him to his feet. “We’re getting out of here. All of us.”

  “Let me go.” Face contorting beneath smeared soot and ash, Marcus wrenched away from her grasp, edging closer to the conflagration.

  He lunged toward the only part of the room that wasn’t burning: the waiting crates of dynamite.

  “Marcus! No!” She reached for the man who would have been her killer. Retreating, Marcus reached into the box, unearthing a red cylinder with shaking hands.

  “RuthAnne! We’re leaving. Now,” Bowen said, dragging her away. Ducking beneath the tarp, he manhandled her through the flames and down the stone shaft into the hot night air.