by Erin Lindsey
“That can be smoothed over, and it’s not as though you couldn’t use the help. This area is the landscape of all others for hiding places and ambuscades. You need someone who knows the terrain.”
I could hardly disagree with him there, but I wasn’t much more comfortable with the idea than Thomas. “What about the sheriff?”
Mr. Roosevelt shook his head. “Bill Jones was my first stop. He and Snyder are holed up in the jailhouse with a raft of longarms and enough ammunition to withstand a siege. I gather they’re expecting some excitement from the confederates of an outlaw called Bowie Bill Wallace.”
I sighed. “They’re probably right about that.”
“I left Morrison with them, but he can be reclaimed easily enough. I’d round up the rest of my men as well, but there isn’t time. One has to make do with what one has, my friends, and at the moment, that is me.”
Thomas and I exchanged a look, but we both knew from experience that Theodore Roosevelt wasn’t one to back down once his mind had been made up. “As you like, sir,” Thomas said. “It’s certainly true that we could use the assistance.”
“Excellent. Now, do you have a map?”
“Here.” Thomas spread it out on the table. “Miss Islington?”
“The butte Rose saw ought to be about here.” Edith tapped her finger on a spot roughly two miles east of Painted Canyon. “I can be more precise when I see the landscape with my own eyes.”
Mr. Roosevelt gave a skeptical grunt. “Are you quite certain? There are a hundred and one such formations in that canyon alone.”
“Luckily, I’m quite certain.” Edith arched an eyebrow meaningfully.
“Ah.” Being lucky himself, Mr. Roosevelt understood the message clearly enough. And, as was the custom among their set, he asked no questions, it being considered unforgivably gauche to pry. “In that case, Morrison and I will create a diversion here, in these woods at the mouth of the ravine. We’ll lead Kit’s men on a merry chase through the maze. Then, once we’ve lost them, we’ll station ourselves at the rim overlooking the canyon and provide covering fire. As for the three of you, I’d suggest Miss Islington remain up on the bluffs with a rifle, while the two of you cover the front and back of the cabin.”
Somehow, we’d gone from discouraging Mr. Roosevelt’s participation to letting him plan the entire thing. If it helped us bring Mr. Burrows home safe and sound, I wasn’t going to object. But even with his help, we were still too few for my liking. “John Ward and the others are searching for the alraun not two miles west of this spot. If we could get word to them…”
Thomas shook his head. “We don’t dare. Howard might still be watching the roads.”
“In any case,” Mr. Roosevelt said, “what we lack in numbers we make up for in conviction. It’s a rare mercenary who is willing to lay down his life for his employer. Such a man does his duty up to a point, but a flesh wound or two will encourage him to reevaluate his priorities. If we fight fiercely enough, we will prevail.”
Did he really believe that, or were those the words of a general encouraging his troops? I supposed it didn’t matter. We had no choice but to try.
We collected Charlie Morrison and as much ammunition as we could carry and hit the trail. The sky was aglitter with stars, and a waxing moon shone bright over the broken landscape. Helpful for riding, but a whole lot less helpful for avoiding enemies, and I couldn’t help feeling terribly exposed. It was a long ride, and difficult; what should have taken two hours took closer to four as we zigzagged our way from ravine to ravine. But long rides were nothing new to us by this point, and the closer we got to the cabin, the more my nerves started to buzz, fear and anticipation seeping into the spaces where fatigue ought to be.
Eventually we caught sight of our oddly shaped butte, and ten minutes later the five of us reined in at the lip of a heavily wooded canyon.
“We’re standing on the back of the sphinx right now,” Edith said. “Which means your cabin is just down that slope.”
I stood up a little in my stirrups and peered over the edge. That’s it, all right. My stomach did flip-flops at the memory. “That’s not a slope, it’s a cliff. How will we get down?”
“There’s a trough between the peaks just there.” Charlie Morrison pointed north. “You can’t miss it.”
“Charlie and I will hold here with Miss Islington,” Mr. Roosevelt said. “When you hear the shooting, you’ll know we’ve begun.”
Thomas climbed down from Gideon’s back, slinging a rifle over one shoulder and a shotgun over the other. I had my Winchester and my Colt, and Edith had a rifle Mr. Morrison had filched from the sheriff’s office. “Are you going to be all right with that?” I asked her as we said our farewells.
“I’d better be, hadn’t I?”
“The boss and I can go over the basics with you, ma’am,” Morrison said. “We got all night, after all.”
She flashed a tense smile. “Thank you. I’m a good shot with a bow, but I’ve never had occasion to fire a rifle. And I’ve certainly never shot at a human being before.”
“Let us hope it won’t come to that,” Thomas said. “If Kit has any sense, he’ll see the wisdom in surrendering without bloodshed.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, especially if the alraun was nearby. “If anybody sees the creature, run. Shooting at it only makes it angry.”
Morrison frowned. “Come again?”
Mr. Roosevelt patted his foreman’s shoulder. “We’ll talk after we’ve made camp for the night. You’ll want to be sitting down for this one, Charlie.”
I was glad Mr. Roosevelt was finally bringing his man into the picture. Morrison needed to be able to protect himself.
As though any of us can protect ourselves if that thing decides to show up. I pushed the thought away.
Thomas and I struck out on foot, and it didn’t take long to find the trough Charlie Morrison had mentioned, a steep-sided path about twenty feet wide that looked like it had been carved out by a river long ago. We followed it to the bottom of the ravine, where we found ourselves swallowed up in fragrant brush. We picked our way through the juniper, moving as quietly as we could until we came to a man-made clearing, at the edge of which stood a cabin. That’s definitely it, I thought. The cabin I’d seen in my dream. I could tell by the stab of cold in my breast, a ghostly echo of the life that had been taken here. It wasn’t a ranch house so much as a repurposed barn, with glass windows, wide doors, and the sort of tight-fitted logs that stand the test of time. It looked cozy enough, but it was steeped in death, and you’d have to be numb from the neck down not to sense it.
The orange glow of a campfire seeped through the trees. Howard’s men, presumably, sleeping rough outside the cabin. Creeping closer, we counted four bedrolls. According to Parnell’s ledger, there had been seven hired guns. Skinny was dead. One was mostly likely inside, guarding Mr. Burrows. That left one more unaccounted for. Was the seventh man still out there somewhere? Or was he the corpse in Deputy Snyder’s pine box? I supposed we’d find out soon enough.
Thomas squeezed my hand in silent farewell, and we split up, covering either side of the cabin. I found a good spot about thirty yards away, where I could dig in behind a rock. Shielded on all sides by a thick copse of juniper, I’d be all but impossible to spot.
Now there was nothing left but to wait for the dawn. And pray.
* * *
The shooting started at a little before six o’clock in the morning, about a half mile to the southeast. At first, Kit’s henchmen didn’t seem much bothered, turning over in their beds and grumbling about hunters. The noise grew steadily closer, but still the men didn’t stir. Then I guess Mr. Roosevelt got a little impatient, because a bullet struck the butte right above us, sending a shower of pebbles tumbling down the bluff. That got them out of bed quickly enough.
“What in the hell?”
“Seamus, you and Dick go take a look.”
More swearing. The one called Seamus sat up, snapped his suspend
ers up over his long underwear, and headed for the horses; a moment later, he and his partner rode out.
Time passed. Seamus and Dick didn’t come back, but the other two didn’t show any sign of leaving, either. They just sat there, listening to the occasional pop of gunfire to the east.
Damn. The moment Thomas and I started shooting, the game was up. But what choice did we have?
A branch snapped somewhere close by. The roughs at the campsite reared up like cobras. “Did you hear that?” one of them whispered.
It had come from Thomas’s position. Biting my lip, I watched as one of Howard’s henchmen pulled out a six-shooter and headed in the direction of the sound. He vanished into the trees after only a few steps. Then came a gurgle and a crackle of brush, and nothing.
“Shit.” The last man had his gun out now. He took a few tentative steps toward the place where his partner had disappeared, but he was too smart or too cowardly to go any farther. Then I saw movement in the bushes, and I made a split-second decision, whistling softly to draw the rough’s attention. He whirled toward me—and Thomas flew out of the trees behind him, dropping him with a single blow from his revolver. Thomas checked the man’s pulse and relieved him of his weapon. Then he crept up to the cabin, crouching behind a rain barrel and cocking his gun.
“Kit,” he called.
Silence.
“We have you surrounded.” Thomas’s voice was smooth and businesslike, as though he did this sort of thing every day. “Toss your weapons out the door and come out with your hands up.”
“I’ll kill him.” The voice inside the cabin sounded anything but smooth. “I’ll blow his head off right now.”
“No, you won’t. You need him, and besides, if you kill him, there’s nothing to stop us from opening fire. It would be as good as shooting yourself.”
Muffled voices from inside the cabin. As expected, there was someone else in there besides Kit and Mr. Burrows.
“Surrender,” Thomas said, “and we’ll see to it you receive a fair trial. You have my word.”
A new voice spoke. “We don’t need your word, Pinkerton.”
Howard. I recognized that cold growl well enough.
“How many of you is there, anyway? You and your little lady? Maybe one or two others?”
I glanced at the bluff where Edith was lying in wait. She’d have her rifle trained on the cabin by now, but I hoped she knew better than to try anything fancy.
“That ain’t gonna be enough. See, I smelled you two for Pinkertons from the moment I seen you that first day on the ranch, when we was watching John Ward break that stallion. I knew you’d be trouble, so I took some measures. A bit of insurance, you might say. Ol’ Gus, he don’t take much convincing when it comes to Indians.”
Howard hadn’t struck me as the chatty type when we interviewed him on the porch. Which meant he was stalling. Hoping Seamus and Dick might come back? Or did he have another play?
Just then, a peculiar whistle sounded from the trees, and I had my answer.
“Right on time.” The smugness in Howard’s voice chilled my blood. “I figured you two’d show up sooner or later, so I told Terrence and his boys to be on the listen for action out this way.”
Even as he spoke, I could hear the horses approaching, and my heart sank. The Buckshot Outfit. How many of them had we seen in town the other day? A dozen? More?
My gaze strayed to my partner, still crouched behind the rain barrel. Well, Thomas? Any more tricks up those sleeves? But I could tell by the way his posture slumped that he felt it too.
It’s over.
We had only a split second for despair. Then someone took a shot at Thomas, sending him diving around the corner of the cabin. That wouldn’t shield him for long; already, I could hear riders moving to outflank him. I started firing blindly into the trees, covering him as best I could. Thomas bolted, and he’d almost reached the tree line when George Howard came barreling out of the cabin at a full sprint, six-shooters blazing. I took aim at Howard, tracking just ahead of him to account for his speed, but then he drew up suddenly, and my shot whizzed harmlessly past. Howard barely seemed to notice, swearing and breaking off in a different direction altogether.
What the…?
A rumble was building in the northwest, like an approaching earthquake. Over this steady drumbeat came a shrill staccato of war cries, and as I turned toward the sound, I met a sight that will be branded into my memory for the rest of my days. A herd of barebacked horses thundered down the wide path into the ravine, a trio of Lakota in howling pursuit. The trees shuddered and bowed, and a moment later the herd erupted into the clearing, where it met the riders coming the other way, the two rivers converging in a frothing torrent of horseflesh and leather and shattered juniper.
I let out a whoop of my own as I watched Little Wolf, White Robes, and Red Calf drive their herd straight through the heart of the Buckshot Outfit. Animals and men tumbled to the ground, most of them scrambling back to their feet before scattering in all directions. Meanwhile, far above the chaos, a pair of snipers started peppering the clearing with rifle fire. I knew Edith was one, and I figured the other had to be John Ward. I prayed one of them could see Thomas, because I’d lost him in the chaos. I’d lost sight of the Lakota, too, but I could still hear them, and a steady barrage of gunfire meant they were harassing the Buckshot Outfit as the mercenaries tried to find cover.
I scurried back to the cabin, pressing my ear against the wall to listen. I couldn’t hear much of anything what with all the ruckus, but the door had been shut again, so I knew Kit and Mr. Burrows were still in there. Nobody stops to close a door when they’re running for their lives. I tried to peek through the window—only to jerk back with a shriek as the glass exploded, shattered by a bullet from within.
“Christ,” I heard Mr. Burrows say, which would have been a relief if my heart hadn’t been fixing to burst out of my chest.
All around me, the shootout went on, like something out of Buffalo Bill’s show. I couldn’t see Thomas or Howard, but I could hear them trading fire somewhere in the trees, where I’d lost sight of them. The stampede had mostly moved on by now, but a few stray animals still lingered in the trees, their panicked movements drawing fire and causing confusion. The Lakota wisely stayed hidden while patient sniper fire from above did most of the work. There were four shooters up there now, which meant Messrs. Roosevelt and Morrison had rejoined the party. They weren’t aiming to kill, at least not yet; for now, shoulder and leg wounds were encouraging the mercenaries to “re-evaluate their priorities.”
We’re winning, I thought numbly. We’re actually winning.
I should have known better than to tempt fate with a thought like that.
At first it was a whisper of trees. A ripple through the juniper, hurtling like a wave toward the clearing. Then the horses started going crazy.
Laughter filtered out from the cabin, high-pitched and manic, only to be drowned out by a blood-curdling roar from the trees.
“Goddamn you, Kit!” The voice was George Howard’s, bright with panic.
That’s when the screaming started.
CHAPTER 28
A RING OF TRUTH—THE IMPORTANCE OF INSTINCT—BONE WHITE, BLOODRED
In spite of everything, I pitied the Buckshot boys. They must have had no idea what was coming, and when the alraun exploded into the clearing, a sleek projectile of teeth and claws and muscle, they panicked, opening fire from all directions and taking out several of their own in the process. The alraun didn’t even break stride, flying straight at the nearest mercenary and tackling him to the ground. I had to turn away from the gruesome sight, and that’s how I happened to catch Kit bundling Mr. Burrows out of the cabin and into the trees.
I had a decision to make. I didn’t know where Thomas was, or Little Wolf and his party. Could I leave them behind with that thing tearing a bloody swathe through the clearing?
You have to. There’s nothing you can do for them anyway.
My
only chance was to get that talisman away from Kit, the one that controlled his little pet. So I followed him, sprinting for the tree line under a hail of bullets. Nobody was aiming at me, of course. Nobody was paying me any attention at all, too busy trying to avoid being torn apart. That was Kit’s plan, obviously: sacrifice his own allies to cover his escape. And now, I might have to sacrifice my own to stop him.
I’d lost sight of him in the dense brush, but he wasn’t hard to follow. I could hear branches crashing ahead of me, not to mention a steady stream of cursing. “Move, damn you! Do you want to be eaten?”
Mr. Burrows did his part too, answering in a loud voice. “We both know that won’t happen. You control the thing, don’t you? Or are you playing with toys you don’t actually know how to use?”
“Shut your mouth or I’ll gag you.”
The madness behind us receded as Kit moved his prisoner deeper into the trees. The distance tugged at my heart, as if each step were a betrayal. I couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on in that clearing, and a moment later, I paid the price for my distraction, stumbling in the bushes and making such a racket that I might as well have fired my gun.
The footfalls ahead of me froze. Then: “Don’t come any closer. I’ll kill him.”
I swallowed against a dry throat. “You won’t. We’ve been over this.”
“Rose, he has—”
A sickening crack, and then a grunt. Rushing toward the sound, I found Kit waiting for me, using his prisoner’s body like a shield. Mr. Burrows looked woozy, his eyelids drooping as he sagged into his captor.
“Not another step.” Kit tucked his gun under Mr. Burrows’s jaw. I recognized the silver six-shooter from my dream. Ben Upton’s six-shooter. It had been used to murder one man already, and I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
I had my own gun pointed right between Kit’s eyes, and I pulled the hammer back.