Duck jangled her leg irons. “We need out of these chains.”
A large brass key ring tumbled down the steps and landed at Nat’s feet. “Maybe something like that would help.”
Snatching up the ring, Nat located the right key, released his own manacles, then freed his sister and Keech.
As they slipped into their boots and other duds, Keech glanced at the angry red scores and beads of blood on Nat’s wrists. “I’ve never seen anything like that. I would’ve sworn you were gonna yank your arms clean off.”
Nat rubbed at his shoulders. “At first, I thought I might, but then something weird came over me. I felt like I could tear open a mountain.”
Cutter’s voice muttered from the trapdoor. “Hurry up down there.”
Keech climbed the rickety stairs, his bruised face throbbing. When Cutter stretched a hand down to help him, Duck’s amulet shard dangled from his wrist. Cut’s other hand clutched his long blade, and Keech recollected a spark of something Coward had said: I’m curious to see that blade. More curious to smell it.
“Coward was just here. How on earth did you get past him?” Keech asked.
Cutter scowled at the small man’s name. “The Ranger’s been humming his weird tune. We walked straight through town and didn’t turn a single head. Craziest thing I ever saw.”
“Doyle’s with you?” Keech felt his heart hiccup.
“Revels, too. They’re checking a few cabins up the street. I told them I wanted to scout out this hut.” Cutter glanced around. “Did you find the lawdog?”
“Afraid there’s bad news on that front. Strahan’s dead.”
Cutter frowned. “Oh.”
Keech peered around. They stood in a candlelit shack. A small desk sat in the corner, untidy with papers, and a thick rug covered most of the floor. Spare shackles and chains drooped on hooks along the walls. Across the room, a narrow door stood open to Wisdom’s charcoal darkness, inviting a breeze that smelled of a cow herd.
Two bodies were sprawled across the rug, their pale hands fastened around pistols and knives. Cutter held up the amulet shard. “This silver’s something else. Made short work of this pair of thrall guards.”
“I’m awful glad you had it.”
Duck emerged from the holding cell, followed by Nat.
Upon seeing her, Cutter handed over the pendant. “Gracias, amiga.”
Duck placed the fragment back around her neck. “We heard what you told Keech. How’d you end up over here?”
Cutter explained that he and Quinn had gone from cabin to cabin in the town’s south quarters, peeking through every door and window, but they never saw any sign of Ruth or the other townsfolk. “This place is a graveyard,” he said.
“We know. Those devils are up to something big.” Nat turned to Keech and Duck. “Let’s hunt around for a weapon or two.”
They ransacked the hut while Cutter continued his tale. “When Doyle’s hour was up, I told Revels we had to head back. He got upset about leaving without his aunt and started kicking down doors, making a terrible ruido. That’s when the Ranger found us. He told us he found another whistle-bomb stash. Revels got desperate to fetch them. So we headed back to the east, and that’s when we spotted thrall movement around a bunch of huts. We hunkered down to watch them pass, and I saw…” He broke off, his face grave.
Keech finished the sentence for him. “You saw Coward.”
“Yeah.”
“He wanted to know about you, Cut. He even said your real name.”
The pasty jitters Keech had witnessed outside the town returned to vex Cutter’s face. “That don’t matter one lick,” he said tartly, and waved his hand as though shooing any further talk of the short man. “Let’s get back to the others. They’ll be happy to see I sprung ya.” Clenching his knife, he started toward the open door when Nat stopped him. “Wait. We discovered something about Edgar Doyle you’ll want to hear.”
“Like what?”
“Like he ain’t who he says he is,” Duck answered. She told him how they had learned of Doyle’s true identity, and Keech added his suspicion that the Char Stone was in the knapsack tied to Saint Peter.
Cutter looked thunderstruck. “Who told you all this?”
“A prisoner named Milos Horner,” Duck said, “but he also calls himself Warren Lynch.”
“The Ranger’s compañero?”
Before one of them could respond, a gruff voice murmured, “Where is he?”
Edgar Doyle appeared in the doorway of the hut, stooping low so his hat would clear the jamb. Quinn stood just behind the Ranger, looking downcast.
Keech charged across the room and pointed at Doyle’s face. “You lied to us!” He shook with anger. “You’re Red Jeffreys!”
The Ranger seized Keech by the shoulders and scooted him sternly back into the center of the hut. Keech felt his boot heels drag the floor. He readied a fist to defend himself, for all the good it would do against the Ranger—or whatever he truly was.
“Lower your voice. We’re still in the nest of the enemy.” Doyle’s hands were like vises on Keech’s muscles.
The other young riders moved to circle the Ranger.
Doyle released Keech and stepped back. He held up a fist, and a flurry of cold air whooshed around the room, rattling the chains on the walls. “Stand down,” he ordered. “There’s no need to fight. I’m your friend.”
“What in heck’s going on?” Quinn asked at the doorway. His grimace of despair had turned to bewilderment.
“Your Ranger’s an old Enforcer who stole the Char Stone,” Nat said. “He’s been playing us for fools the whole time so he can get what he wants.”
“You have no idea what I want,” Doyle snapped.
Quinn shuffled in closer to the group. “Is it true, Ranger? Did you lie?”
“I’ve done nothing but protect you.”
Keech’s shoulders ached where the Ranger had grabbed him. “We know you’re only hunting Horner to get to Bonfire Crossing and the Fang.”
“No. I’m hunting Milos because he’s my friend, and if I don’t save him, they’ll kill him. Now tell me where he is.”
“Friendly Williams dragged him to the saloon not ten minutes ago,” Duck said. “Coward called you prey and said they was setting a trap.”
Doyle’s teeth clenched. “They’re using him as bait.”
“And Auntie Ruth?” Quinn asked the gang. “Any word about her?”
Keech frowned. “I’m afraid you won’t like this, Quinn. She’s been shipped out west on a wagon train. Apparently, Rose’s outlaws sent the entire town. We don’t know why.”
Quinn ripped off his forage cap and pushed out a quick breath, like someone trying to expel a small bone. His arms dropped heavily to his sides. He turned back to the open door and stood peering out at the darkness, the cold night wind lightly whistling around his gaunt body.
Doyle put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Take heart, Mr. Revels. We’ll find her yet.” Then he turned back to contemplate the young riders. For a moment, Keech expected a sharp reprimand, but when he spoke again, Doyle’s voice was mild. “You kids are right. I lied to you. I am Red Jeffreys. But I don’t go by that name no more, and I am not your enemy. I’m just on a mission, and right now my next step is saving Milos. During the Enforcer days, he saved my life aplenty. I can’t allow Big Ben and Coward to hurt him.” He looked around the room, meeting their eyes. “I could use your help, as deputies of the Law.”
Nat looked skeptical. “What sort of help could we give?”
“The whistle bombs. A well-timed distraction to let me reach Milos. Once I have him, we break for the ravine. Big Ben will most likely give chase, but I can conceal us once we’re out in the wild.”
Quinn swung around. “Count me in. I still got the whistle bomb I nabbed at the warehouse. I’ll fetch a few more from the stash you found up the block.”
Nat glanced at the others. “What do y’all think?”
Keech pondered the dangers. They could
help the man, but he worried they couldn’t fully trust his word. Then again, Pa Abner had never taught the orphans to abandon allies. Horner was in trouble, and perhaps they could help.
A noble thought, but one of Pa Abner’s rules of survival sparked in Keech’s mind. Always make a backup plan. Never leave the first option the only one.
Keech realized what must be done. If Doyle didn’t live up to the bargain, they would head to the ravine without him. They would take Horner’s clues and leave the man to fight his own battle.
“I’m in, but this won’t be easy,” Keech said. “A whole rabble of the Reverend’s crows are in town keeping watch on the rooftops.”
“I’ll continue to hide us,” Doyle said.
“But what if I go to fetch more whistle bombs?” Quinn asked. “Your protection won’t cover me, will it?”
“Maybe. The incantation works like the black smoke you saw at the tower. It shields over a good distance, but it thins if you get too far.”
“Big Ben said he could get past the trick,” Keech warned.
Doyle grunted. “Only if he’s searching in the right place. We’ll keep to the shadows and take our chances. I figure we can get close enough.”
Cutter sheathed his knife. “I’ll go with you, Revels. You can snag a few more of those pelotas while I keep watch.”
Quinn smiled, though his face looked a bit sheepish. “Thanks.” From inside his coat, he pulled out the whistle bomb he’d pocketed from Horner’s hidden crate at the warehouse. He offered it to Nat. “Here. Use this one to get the rumble started.”
Nat accepted the orb. “All right. A distraction.” He eyed the Ranger. “But once we’re clear, we expect some straight answers, Jeffreys.”
Doyle shook his head. “Once we’re clear, I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear. And call me Doyle. I told you I don’t go by that name no more. Now let’s move. Keep your eyes open and your heads down.”
“One more thing,” Nat said. “How will we know when you need the distraction?”
The Ranger considered. “I’ll speak a signal. When I tell the desperados to hand over my partner, you toss a whistler. That’ll hopefully draw their attention and give me time to fetch him. Be careful about the timing. Let the ball whistle a second or two, then lob it as far away from Milos as you can.”
“‘Hand over my partner.’ Got it,” Nat said.
With a bold clap of his gloves, Doyle hurried out of the makeshift jailhouse. Keech heard the mysterious hum begin as soon as the fellow’s moccasins touched the street.
The group slipped out of the shack and followed the man. The young riders made their way down a snow-covered lane, and at the first intersection of cabins, Quinn and Cutter broke off.
“Be careful!” Duck murmured.
“Y’all too,” Quinn replied.
Before the boys could slip away, Nat stopped Cutter with a quiet whistle. He moved closer to speak. “When all this is said and done, you and me need to talk.”
“’Bout what?”
“About a few things Coward told us. No more secrets, Cut. You know something about my family, and I want to know what.”
Cutter frowned. “Whatever you say, jefe.”
Then he and Quinn jaunted off to the east. Before the boys disappeared, Keech thought he heard Quinn murmuring a song—it sounded like the tune about the Odyssey, the ditty that Quinn and his aunt Ruth had sung while fleeing to Kansas.
There were no lamps in the area, and the cursed night sky looked empty of stars. Yet Keech’s eyes had adjusted enough that he could make out the general passageways. He scurried alongside Nat, noticing that the rancher had taken Duck’s hand. The siblings’ boots moved in lockstep as they hurried down the frozen dirt lane. Keech tucked his head to the cold, letting the brim of his bowler hat slice the wind. He closed his eyes for a second to feel the exhilaration of the night. The strange poem that Horner had spoken echoed down through his memory like a dark reminder:
Follow the rivers and bending trees
to the den of the moon stalker.
Gather the pack and speak his name
before the noontide shift.
“And listen to the shadows,” Keech added with a whisper. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Doyle had quickened his pace to a lively run and that Nat and Duck were struggling to keep up. Keech couldn’t believe the Ranger’s vitality and speed.
Doyle disappeared around a boarded-up building that appeared to have been a chapel in a former life. As the trio approached the old sanctuary, Keech spotted the Big Snake Saloon two blocks away. They stopped in the shadows of the church to catch a breath.
“Main Street looks empty, but it’s hard to tell from here,” Keech said. From the lamplights burning inside the hotel, the snowy northern stretch of the avenue looked a ghostly saffron. There appeared to be no movement on the street, not even from the Ranger. “We’ll have to get closer. Watch out for crows.”
They were almost to the southeastern corner of the hotel when a thunderous call echoed through the night, making them skid to another halt.
“Red Jeffreys!”
The voice rumbled across the entire settlement. It was Big Ben, bellowing to the heavens.
“The jig is up, Enforcer! Come out!”
A fat wooden barrel stood at the corner of the hotel. Keech scuttled for it and peeked over the top, catching a clear view of Main Street and a decent sliver of the Big Snake Saloon’s front porch. Nat and Duck fell in behind him, crouching low.
Keech could almost feel Nat and Duck’s fury when the massive outlaw stepped out of the Big Snake and onto the mouth of Main Street. He was holding his hands high above his head, as if offering praise to the blackened sky. He called out, “We have your old chum!”
Thralls in military uniforms shambled out of the saloon, holding muskets. A few other dead men armed with pitchforks and clubs emerged from side alleys and mingled along the shadowed sidewalks. The ragtag army awaited Big Ben’s command.
Squatting behind Keech, Duck said, “My charm’s getting cold! Doyle must’ve quit his spell.”
“Steady,” Nat whispered.
Big Ben pointed back toward the Big Snake Saloon. “I’ve got him, Jeffreys! Surrender now, or we kill him!”
Keech followed the gesture and saw a pair of slender figures stumble out of the saloon and onto the front porch, one behind the other. The man in front was Milos Horner; the second was Friendly Williams. He was holding a pistol to the bound and beaten Enforcer. Horner’s black hair shrouded his face, and as Friendly shoved him across the porch, the prisoner took awkward steps on his bare feet to keep from losing his balance. Keech heard Horner mumble defiantly, “Kill me or no, you’ll never get what you want from Red.”
“I’m sure Big Ben will show us otherwise,” Friendly returned.
Keech glanced back at Nat, who reached inside the pocket of his coat and pulled out the whistle bomb. The deadly orb captured glints of lamplight from the Big Snake’s porch and gleamed like the body of a black widow. Nat gestured: Wait.
“You have ten seconds to surrender!” Big Ben shouted to the empty street. When nothing but silence returned, he began to count down.
CHAPTER 21
SHOWDOWN AT THE BIG SNAKE SALOON
When the desperado reached four, movement caught Keech’s eye farther north on Main Street. Edgar Doyle emerged from the darkness and strolled into the illumination cast by torches and lamplight.
“I’m here!” the Ranger hollered.
From their hiding spot behind the barrel, Nat whispered, “Listen for the signal.”
Doyle shuffled up the center of Main, approaching Big Ben with long strides. When Keech could discern more of the Ranger’s features, he saw that the man’s face held no hint of fear. Doyle continued walking, glancing to his left and right at the army of thralls that stood in the shadows, lining the avenue. Keech glanced at a few of the rooftops along the street, but he couldn’t see if the crows were still there.
Doyl
e assumed a defiant stance. One hand gripped his small knife; the other was tightened into a fist. He clenched his pipe between his lips, a curl of thick smoke pouring out of his nostrils.
“Big Ben Loving,” Doyle said with unmistakable malice. “You’ve aged quite poorly since we last met.”
“Where is the Char Stone, Enforcer?” The outlaw sneered. “We know you uncovered it in Missouri. The Reverend wants it back. While you’re at it, give us the coordinates to Bonfire Crossing. Do what I say, or suffer the Reverend’s wrath.”
Behind Keech, Nat muttered, “I ain’t in a good position to throw the bomb. The second I squeeze it, the whistling will give us away. I need to move. You two stay here and keep low. Duck, hold that amulet ready.”
“I’ll be fine with Keech,” Duck whispered back. She tugged the pendant from her coat, slipped it off her neck, and held it out to her brother. The metal faintly glowed orange. “Take it in case you run into a thrall.”
Still grasping the whistle bomb, Nat lifted his other hand and let Duck wrap the charm’s cord snugly around his palm. He murmured, “I’m proud of you,” then turned and scurried into the shadows.
Keech returned his attention to the men on the street.
Big Ben Loving was chuckling. “I used to think you Enforcers had no weaknesses. You could slip any trap, build any weapon, tap any energy. But you do have a weakness: loyalty. Coward said you’d never resist saving your old friend. He was right. Now, surrender the Stone and the Crossing’s location.”
“Don’t do it, Red!” cried Milos Horner from the porch. “Forget about me! Leave this forsaken place and bury the Stone!”
Friendly Williams struck the Enforcer’s ear with his pistol. “Behave.”
“I’m gonna tell you just once,” Doyle said to Big Ben. “Hand over my partner.”
Duck’s eyes widened. “That’s the signal.”
Like clockwork, Nat emerged from a side alley not too far from the hotel, appearing for a mere second. Neither Big Ben nor Friendly noticed the boy. A high-pitched whistle chirruped across the night. Nat tossed the black ball in a high arc over Main Street and toward a cluster of thralls on the opposite sidewalk.
The Fang of Bonfire Crossing Page 16
