The Heart's Charge

by Karen Witemeyer

  “I’ve witnessed heroic deeds on the battlefield, Eliza, but I’ve never seen anything braver than what you did today.” She’d ridden Augustus, the monster horse that, until now, she’d refused even to touch. For him. “You’re an amazing woman.”

  Her gaze locked with his, and her dark eyes softened. “You’re worth the trouble.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Mister! Please, mister. Ya gotta wake up!”

  Mark’s consciousness returned in tiny, excruciating increments. Scurrying echoed around him. And whispers. Both cut off abruptly, however, when he groaned. The back of his head felt as if he’d been kicked by a horse. Or rammed by a train. At least the insistent hands that had shaken him awake and rattled his brains in the process had released their grip.

  Where was he?

  Sandpaper eyelids scraped open only to find darkness on the other side. His chest clenched. Had he lost his sight? He peeled his eyes wide. Blackness. Solid, impenetrable night.

  Panic shot through him. He tried to sit up, but his hands were bound. No, chained. He heard the links jangle, felt the bite of the iron manacles shackling his wrists. Rolling onto his side, he used his shoulder to lever himself up onto his knees. He sat up too quickly, though, and a wave of dizziness hit, disorienting him and sending him careening downward. Unable to halt his fall with his hands chained, he toppled over, the side of his face smashing against the hard ground.

  “Ow.”

  A nervous giggle echoed from somewhere to his right, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

  “Who’s there?” he demanded as he tried to get off his face and back onto his knees. “What do you want?”

  Bits of memory started weaving together in his brain. The attack on Packsaddle Mountain. The black Palouse. Ortega. The kiddy-snatchers.

  Kids. Boys who might giggle at a man who fell on his face. And the voice pleading with him to wake had been a child’s voice. He was sure of it.

  Had he found the missing children?

  “Wart?” He latched on to the only name he knew, praying it would convince the boys he was friend not foe. “Wart, are you here? I’m Mark Wallace. We met at Donaldson’s livery. My friend Jonah and I have been looking for you and the others. Rawley’s been helping us. Al too.” Mark tossed his sister’s name into the dark like a poker player tossing in his last chip. “Al’s safe at Harmony House, Wart. Safe and well.”

  Metal scraped against metal, and then a shaft of light pierced the darkness and diffused into a dim glow. Thank God. Mark swallowed hard, his chest tightening with gratitude. He wasn’t blind. Just underground, judging by the cave-like passage he found himself in. Turning toward the light, he spied half a dozen faces staring at him. One in particular grabbed his attention, topped by a mop of matted curls that probably looked red in the sunlight.

  “Al’s all right?” The boy’s voice wobbled but didn’t crack. Wart stepped away from the group of boys huddled against the cavern wall, his eyes so full of hope, it hurt to look at him.

  But Mark refused to look anywhere else. He knew the weight of responsibility and how heavy it grew when helplessness stole the power to protect those one cared for. The memory of Jonah tumbling over the side of the mountain flayed Mark’s heart. His friend—no, his brother—needed him, and he could do nothing to help him. He could help Wart, though. Ease his burden at least a little.

  “She’s fine,” he said. “I saw her just this morning.” At least he thought it had been this morning. It was hard to tell how long he’d been out. “She’s worried about you, but she’s healthy and safe at Harmony House.” He grinned. “Even wears dresses now.”

  “Wait.” A new voice piped up from the shadows. “Al’s a girl?”

  Whoops. Well, it wasn’t as if Rawley and the rest of the boxcar boys didn’t already know the truth. Word of Al’s feminine side was sure to have spread. Just not into underground caves in the middle of nowhere.

  “So, where are we?” Mark asked, gingerly hoisting himself up to a kneeling position.

  “Los Almagres,” one of the boys answered.

  The name didn’t ring a bell. “That a town? Or a ranch, maybe? Are we still near Kingsland?” For all he knew, he could have been tossed onto a freight car and transported down to Mexico. He prayed that wasn’t the case. It would make escaping with the kids twice as hard.

  Wart didn’t answer his questions. Just moved closer, frowning. He hunkered down in front of Mark and waved for another boy to bring the lantern closer. “Your face is all bloody.”

  “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when a bullet creases your scalp.” Chains rattled as Mark reached around to the back of his head and probed the sore spot at his crown. He winced, the wound painful to touch. His hair was a matted mess too, most likely plastered with a combination of dried blood, dirt, and debris, but he didn’t think his skull was actually cracked. A miracle for which he owed the Lord a debt of gratitude. Not to mention the fact that Ortega and his partner had dragged him here instead of shooting him.

  “Los Almagres ain’t a town.” Another boy spoke up, his voice deeper and filled with derision. “It’s a mine. In Packsaddle Mountain. The lost San Saba. Or at least that’s what I heard the lady tell Ortega.” He spat on the ground, as if saying Ortega’s name had contaminated his mouth. “The fools think they found buried treasure. They ordered us to dig up silver for ’em, but there ain’t hardly any of it down here. Not enough to make anyone rich, anyways. I been workin’ this blasted mine for near a month, pickin’ and clawin’ at every scrawny vein I can find. No silver means no supper, so we all search our hardest, but there’s pitiful little to work with. We bring up just enough each day to keep us fed and keep them believin’ the mother lode is around the corner. But I been ’round all the corners down here, and there ain’t no vein wider than a blade of grass in this whole place.” The heat left his voice, and his gaze flattened as it met Mark’s. “At least we don’t have to work the mine anymore after tonight.”

  Mark’s gut tightened. Somehow he didn’t think that statement was related to an unflagging faith in his ability to rescue them.

  “Thanks to you stumblin’ onto their operation, they decided to abandon their treasure hunt and cover their tracks.” The kid folded his arms over his chest. “When they tossed you in, one of ’em stuck a note in your pocket.” He pulled a wad of paper out of his trouser pocket and threw it at Mark’s feet. “They’re gonna dynamite the place at midnight.”

  Midnight? Mark bent to retrieve the paper, opened it, and read the words.

  Take cover.

  Mine will blow at midnight.

  He rubbed his jaw on his shoulder. Could be that one of the snatchers had a conscience. Kidnapping children was one thing. Killing them was a different story. The fact that he’d snuck a warning to the boys could mean he planned to intervene somehow. Maybe at least sound the alarm in town to start a search. This could be good news.

  Yet when his gaze measured the shadowed faces in the lantern’s solemn glow, he saw no hope in any of them. Only futility. No tears. No trembling. No emotion at all. Just flat acceptance of death.

  Well, he wouldn’t be accepting death without a fight. He had a promise to fulfill to Kate. One involving a parson and at least fifty years of wedded bliss. And then there was Jonah. His injured partner was out there on the mountain somewhere. Not to mention the six young boys in here who deserved a chance to grow up. Surrender was not an option.

  He patted his trouser pocket for his watch but felt nothing inside. Ortega probably swiped his valuables before tossing him into this pit.

  “What time is it?” he barked as he examined his surroundings for a possible escape route. Did he have four hours to plan? Two? One?

  “Dunno.” The surly kid who’d taken charge of the explanations wrapped an arm around a concave stomach. “But it’s long past supper, I can tell you that much.”

  Poor kid was half starved. “Was it dark when they tossed you down here with me?” The su
n set around 8:00 or 8:30 this time of year. If the boys could estimate the time that had passed since night fell . . .

  “We ain’t been topside since breakfast. They never pulled us up. Just tossed you down. Along with the pulley rope.” The ringleader pointed to a sloppy coil of rope about a foot behind Mark, directly beneath a dark hole in the ceiling that must be the vertical shaft leading to the mine’s exit.

  Mark frowned. It looked like going out the way they’d come in wouldn’t be an option. Ortega and his partner were probably camped out by the entrance anyway. Mark shifted to get his feet under himself in a crouch.

  “Can you estimate what time they lowered me down here? Was it around the same time they usually pull you out for supper? Or later?” Pushing to his feet, Mark studied the shaft above his head. Even when Wart followed with the lantern, it was too dark to see much. They were down pretty deep. Estimating the time was going to be nearly impossible.

  “What difference does it make?” the spokesman huffed. “We’re gonna be blown to smithereens either way. Who cares how long we got?”

  “I care.” Mark glared at the boy. “The more time we have, the more time I can take assessing our options. The more time I have to assess, the better our chances of getting out of this mess.”

  The belligerent boy scowled right back at him. “There ain’t no way out, mister. The only thing that can save us is someone stopping them fellas from tossin’ that dynamite down the shaft. And unless you got an army comin’ that can see in the dark, there ain’t no one around to stop ’em.”

  “I do have an army coming, actually.” Mark squatted back down and grinned. “Ever heard of Hanger’s Horsemen?”

  All the boys’ eyes grew wide. Well, all but those of the cynic in the front row. His eyes just narrowed into even thinner slits.

  “I’m Mark Wallace. I ride with Matthew Hanger, Jonah Brooks, and Luke Davenport. By now, the ladies of Harmony House will have wired Matt for help.” At least he hoped Kate had done so. They hadn’t actually talked through contingency specifics, but she wasn’t one to sit idle when someone she cared about was in trouble. “They’ll likely be here by morning, which means we don’t have to find a way out, we just have to find a way to survive the blast.”

  “Ya really think we can?” The tiniest stirring of hope lit Wart’s gaze.

  Mark turned his full attention to the stable boy. “Yes, I do.” His chains clinked softly as he settled his wrists atop his hunkered knees. “When I first woke up, I wondered why Ortega and his partner hadn’t just killed me outright. Why drag me back here and toss me into this mine?”

  “Probably to save themselves the trouble of diggin’ a grave to hide yer body.”

  Mark shrugged, glancing at the ringleader for a moment. “Maybe. But I think it was something else.”

  “What?” Wart asked.

  “I think God brought me here. To help you.”

  “Ha!” Mr. Ray-of-Sunshine uncrossed his arms and waved them through the air in disgust. “And you expect us to trust a God who would shoot you up and drop you in a hole to die? Ain’t happenin’.”

  Mark’s patience thinned. “Ortega and his partner did the shooting and dropping. God did the preserving. My arms and legs are in good working order when the fall could have broken them. My head feels like a blacksmith used it as an anvil, but I’m awake and thinking clearly. I’m even well-rested, thanks to my little nap. I’ve been praying to find you boys, and now I have. That tells me God has a plan. All we gotta do is keep our eyes and ears open and follow where he leads.”

  “No, thanks.”

  Wart spun on the boy. “We ain’t got time for this, Floyd. I got a sister out there. If there’s a chance I can live to see her again, I’m gonna fight to make that happen. If you wanna sit here and whine, go ahead, but I’m gonna help Mr. Wallace.” He turned back to Mark, chin set, hands fisted. “Where do we start?”

  Now they were getting somewhere. Mark nodded at Wart, sealing the partnership. “I assume they’ll plant the dynamite in the shaft near the entrance, so we’ll need to get as far away from the blast as possible. If we can insulate ourselves from it, that would be even better. Build up a barrier of sorts. I just don’t know if we have time for that.”

  One of the smaller boys pushed his way forward. He didn’t quite meet Mark’s gaze, but he thrust his hand out with purpose. “Here ya go, mister. I nipped it while you was nappin’.” On his extended palm lay Mark’s pocket watch.

  “Thanks.” Mark smiled as if the boy were giving him a gift instead of returning stolen property.

  Stealing was how these kids survived. If they got out of here, he’d bring the lot of them to Harmony House. Try to convince them to trade in thievery for full bellies, education, and kindness. It just might turn them into reputable citizens.

  He snapped the watch cover open and held it toward the light. Quarter ’til nine. That gave them a little over three hours. He glanced around the cavern, finally realizing what was missing from the picture. “Where are your tools?”

  “In there.” Wart pointed behind Mark.

  He turned to find a narrow horizontal passage at the far side of the cavern. The ceiling sloped downward toward it, so even the boys would have to bend to get to it. The passage itself was nothing more than a crawl space, far too narrow for a man to fit through. Which explained why the boys had been snatched. They were the only ones small enough to get into the ore room.

  Unfortunately, that meant Mark wouldn’t be able to follow them and help find an exit. Therefore, their best chance for survival lay in insulating themselves from the blast.

  “All right, boys. Here’s what we’re going to do. For the next two hours, you’re going to bring me as many rocks as you can carry through that hole. If there is any loose or broken timber, bring that as well. We’re going to build the biggest wall we can. Then, at eleven o’clock, all of you will go back through the passage and find the safest place you can to take shelter.”

  Mark looked past Wart to the glowering kid at the back of the group. “Floyd, you know this place best. Steer clear of weak spots, places where dirt and debris tend to shower down from the ceiling. Pick a place as far from the entrance as you can get. One close to the walls and support posts. If you find a large hole somewhere along the ceiling, stay close to that if possible. It might be a ventilation shaft. If there’s a cave-in, fresh air will be important. Can you do that?”

  Floyd shrugged.

  It wasn’t a no. Mark decided to take it as a yes. “Good.” He turned to Wart. “You’re in charge of keeping everyone together. Rescue will be easier if everyone’s in one place. Can you do that?”

  Wart nodded. “But where will you be? You can’t fit through the rat hole.”

  Mark ruffled the kid’s hair. “I’ll be out here until the last minute, fortifying our wall. I’ll need one of you to bring me a pickax. The biggest one you got in there.”

  He’d build the wall between the entrance shaft and the boys’ passage, but he’d leave an opening on the other side for two reasons. First, it might redirect the blast in the opposite direction, taking the path of least resistance. Second, if Ortega took the lazy way out and just tossed the dynamite down the shaft, Mark might have time to grab it and hack off the fuse before it exploded. Not exactly the safest option for him, but it gave the boys their best chance at survival.

  Mark and the boys worked the next two hours like a locomotive at full steam, Mark pounding out large chunks of rock from the back wall, and the boys bringing bucket after bucket of smaller pieces from the ore room. A pair of half-rotted beams wedged between the floor and the low ceiling near the entrance to the ore room served as their frame. They placed their rocks inside it, building their barrier higher and higher. By the time the boys took refuge, they had a decent wall in place. About four feet high and five feet wide. It would probably collapse in the blast, but if it helped redirect the explosion, even a little, it could give the boys a fighting chance. To increase their odds, Mar
k continued reinforcing the wall after the boys took shelter, wielding the pickax until his arms were too fatigued to lift it.

  He checked his watch. Ten minutes to midnight. Stepping back from the barrier, he moved to the vertical shaft and lay beneath it. It was the best way he could think of to catch a glimpse of a lit fuse at the top of the shaft. He was too tired to stand much longer anyway. His wrists throbbed from the rubbing of the iron manacles, and his arms felt like rubber. He kept one hand on the pickax handle, though, ready to put it to use on the dynamite if given the chance. One act remained. Mark rolled to the side, closed the metal shield on the miner’s lantern, and let the darkness engulf him.

  He had done all he could do.

  Keep those boys safe, Lord, he prayed as he stared into the blackness above him. Lead rescuers to them in time. Take care of Jonah, and if I don’t make it out of here, take care of Kate. Help her to know I loved her with my entire being, and that leaving her was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

  He dared not let his mind linger on Kate for more than a heartbeat. Thoughts of her in his arms, the kiss they’d shared, and the future they planned to build would steal his focus. A single pinprick of light was all the warning he would get. He couldn’t afford distraction.

  His left hand moved to his waist, feeling for the fallen pulley rope that he’d tied there earlier. He’d secured the other end to a support timber at the far side of the cavern. The nook he’d found there offered meager protection at best, but if the dynamite didn’t fall down the shaft, he’d follow the rope and pray for the best.

  Please let it fall. Please let it fall.

  He could hear time ticking away on his watch. His heart thumped to the beat. His muscles tensed. His grip tightened on the ax.

  Then all at once, it was there. A speck of light danced above him. Then it dropped. Mark launched to his feet, jumped back from the shaft, and raised the ax. But no bundle of dynamite landed at his feet. He glanced up the shaft and spotted the explosive swinging back and forth. It must be tethered with a rope or chain. Deep enough to collapse the mine, yet too shallow for anyone waiting below to interfere.