"I did not ask permission, cowboy. I told you my decision. " Jesse started to argue then stopped. She was right. The sisters would trust her. They didn't know him.
"All right," he said, "but if things go wrong, you run. Don't wait for us. Get your sisters out and ride hard for Red Mesa. " "If things go wrong," Nala said softly, "we all die together. That is the Apache way. " Marcus cleared his throat. "There's something else you should know.
The guards on the prisoner shed, one of them is Apache, a boy named Swift Bird, one of the children Crane raised. " Nala's face went still. "If we attack, we might have to kill our own people. " "Yes. " The weight of that hung in the air like smoke. Finally, Jesse spoke. "Then we find another way. We don't kill children, not even children who've been turned into weapons. " They spent the rest of the day preparing, checking weapons, gathering supplies, planning contingencies.
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, Jesse felt his chest tighten. The familiar pressure, the irregular beat, his heart reminding him it was on borrowed time. He stepped outside the shack, away from the others. Drew the small bottle of digitalis from his vest and drank three drops. Waited for the medicine to steady his pulse.
Nala found him there. She approached silently, her healer's eyes seeing what he tried to hide. "Your heart," she said. It wasn't a question. "It's dying.
Has been for years. Shrapnel from the war, too close to remove. " "How long? " "Months, maybe weeks. Hard to say. " Nala was quiet for a moment, then "You should go home. Spend what time remains with your son. " Jesse looked at the desert, at the mountains dark against the sunset. "I will.
After I pay my debt. " "This is not just debt anymore, Jesse Walker. " "Then what is it? " She didn't answer. Instead, she placed her hand on his shoulder. The gesture was brief, almost formal, but Jesse felt the weight of it. Acceptance. Trust.
Partnership. "Get some rest," Nala said. "Tomorrow night we walk into fire. I want you alive for it. " She added. They approached Devil's Rim under a moon three days past full, bright enough to see by, dark enough to hide movement.
Jesse, Marcus, and Nala rode single file leading a spare horse. The cave entrance was exactly where Marcus said it would be, hidden behind a thick stand of mesquite. They dismounted. Jesse and Marcus checked their gear one final time. Colt pistols loaded, six rounds each.
Winchester rifles, 12 rounds each. Rope, knives, lantern, matches, water. Nala would split off here. She'd circle north to the ranch, wait for the guard change at midnight, then stampede the horses and set the hay pile afire. The chaos would last maybe 10 minutes, long enough for Jesse and Marcus to get in, free the sisters, and get out.
If everything went perfectly. Nothing ever went perfectly. Nala faced Jesse in the moonlight. For a moment neither spoke. Then she placed her hand over his, brief as a bird landing.
If I do not return, tell Keona I fought well. Or you'll tell her yourself. Her smile was small and sad. You honor my father's memory, Jesse Walker. Then she was gone, vanishing into the darkness like smoke and wind.
Jesse watched the space where she'd been, feeling something shift in his chest. Not his failing heart this time. Something deeper. She's quite a woman. Marcus said quietly.
Yeah, Jesse said. She is. They entered the cave. The first chamber was spacious, 15 ft to the ceiling, stable rock. Bats clung to the shadows above, disturbed by the lantern light.
Their wings whispered like dry leaves as they shifted and resettled. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, a steady pulse like a heartbeat. Marcus led the way. He'd been through these caves before, sneaking supplies to Crane's men when bad weather closed the main road. He knew the way.
The tunnel narrowed after 100 ft, down to 3 ft wide, barely tall enough to crawl through. Marcus went first. Jesse followed, the lantern in front of him, Winchester strapped to his back. The walls pressed close. Jesse had been buried alive once during the war, pinned under a collapsed trench while shells exploded overhead.
The memory tried to claw its way up from where he'd buried it. He pushed it back down, focused on breathing, on moving forward. You all right back there? Marcus called. Fine.
Keep moving. They emerged into the second chamber. This one was smaller, maybe 50 ft across, but the ceiling was high and running through it was an underground stream, 4 ft deep, water so cold it made Jesse's teeth ache just looking at it. We have to cross, Marcus said. Hold your rifle high.
Current's strong. They waded in. The cold hit like a physical blow. Jesse gasped despite himself. The water pushed at his legs trying to sweep him downstream into the dark.
He planted his feet carefully, testing each step before committing his weight. Marcus slipped, went under briefly, came up sputtering. Jesse grabbed him, steadied him, and they pushed on. On the far side, shivering and dripping, Marcus paused. Jesse, can I ask you something?
Now? Yeah, now, because if we die in the next hour, I want to know. Marcus looked at Jesse in the lantern light, his young face suddenly older. You were cavalry. I can tell from the way you move, the way you check corners.
You killed Apache during the war, didn't you? Jesse was quiet for a long time, then Yes. Do you regret it? Every day. But regret doesn't bring back the dead.
Only action can balance blood. That's why I'm here. Marcus nodded slowly. My brother used to say something similar. Before Crane killed him.
They moved on. The third chamber brought them directly beneath the ranch. They could hear voices above, muffled by layers of wood and earth. The lantern showed a ladder, iron rungs bolted to the stone, climbing 20 ft to a wooden trapdoor. Marcus climbed first.
At the top, he pressed his ear to the trapdoor, listening. Then he tried the handle. Locked from above. Jesse climbed up beside him, drew his knife and worked the blade into the crack between door and frame. The lock was simple, just a sliding bolt.
It took 5 minutes of careful work, and Jesse's hands were bleeding by the time he felt the bolt slide free. They pushed the trapdoor open an inch. Darkness above. The smell of earth and potatoes. They were in a root cellar.
Jesse and Marcus climbed through and stood in the darkness, letting their eyes adjust. Voices filtered down from above. Guards talking. Crane says double the watch tonight. Thinks someone might try something.
Let them try. We got 15 guns in a canyon. Nobody's getting in. The voices moved away. Jesse and Marcus crept up the cellar stairs.
At the top, Jesse pressed his eye to a crack in the door. He could see the prisoner shed outside, maybe 40 ft away. Small building, rough lumber, bars on the single window. Two guards stood outside, one young, maybe 17, the other older, maybe 30. Both armed with rifles.
The young guard was Apache, Swift Bird probably. Even from here, Jesse could see the conflict in the boy's posture. The way he held himself like a soldier, but couldn't quite kill the uncertainty in his eyes. Jesse turned to Marcus. I'll take the left guard.
You take Swift Bird. Quiet. No shooting unless we have to. They slipped out of the cellar through a different door, one that opened behind the prisoner shed. Circled around in the darkness.
The moon had set. Good. Darkness was their ally now. Jesse approached from behind. The older guard never heard him.