I crank my Winchester’s lever and take aim. I ain’t making the same mistake twice.
“Not yet,” Jesse whispers. “Maybe they ain’t seen where we went.”
But I’m pretty certain they did. Still, I don’t think I could strike any of ’em from here. Not ’cus of my aim or nothing—it’s just so far.
The gang’s horses climb outta the Salt and onto the bank. One of the members raises a hand, stopping the lot of ’em beyond our guns’ range.
“Tompkins!” Waylan Rose yells into the night.
My true name, Pa’s name, coming from his mouth makes my knees knock. It sounds like fire and brimstone, like hell rising. Mutt growls beside me.
“Tompkins, you ride out to see me right now or this man dies!”
It’s then I realize Rose’s got the reins of the horse next to him clenched in his fist, and his pistol aimed directly at that rider’s head.
“You want another innocent person dead ’cus of a family heirloom? Some dang journal? Bring it to me now and I’ll let this man return to his wife and son in town. Otherwise he’ll be dead on account of you.”
My stomach clenches. That Rider I confronted must be in Phoenix after all. The seventh saddle holds an innocent man.
“I gotta do something,” I mutter.
“It’s a trap,” Jesse says. “You think he’ll let you ride back to us if you go meet him? You think he’ll take the journal and just say thanks?”
“You got till the count of ten!” Rose shouts.
The men ain’t more than dark shadows in the night, but the hostage is shaking something fierce atop his horse. Waylan Rose starts counting.
“I can’t just stand here while he kills that man,” I says. “I’ll ride out a bit. Shoot soon as Rose’s in my range. I’ll—”
“Are you crazy?” Jesse roars. “You’ll stay put.”
“I’ll decide what I do with my own person, Jesse.”
The count’s to five now. Four . . .
I lurch for the door.
Three . . .
My hand finds the latch.
Two . . .
And that’s when Jesse collides with me like a bobcat tackling prey. We go crashing into the wall and his arms wrap round me, locking mine to my sides, where they’re useless.
A single blast booms through the valley. Still holding me tight, Jesse moves to my window for a view out the cross port. I quit struggling ’gainst him and strain my neck till I can see too. The horse next to Waylan Rose is now riderless.
“Damn it, Jesse! He killed him. He killed him and that’s our fault. We coulda done something. I coulda—”
His hand comes up, covering my mouth and cutting off my words.
“Shhhh,” he says into my ear, and there’s fear in his voice. So much fear.
I glance out the cross again and see the Rose Riders moving slow, guiding their horses toward the house. A few more steps and they’ll finally be in range. Waylan Rose raises his weapon. A chorus of arms do the same.
Jesse seems to realize their intent the same moment I do, ’cus he shouts, “Will, get down!” and then dives to the floor, bringing me with him and using his body to cover me like a shield. The bullets tear into the house, cutting through the weak and rotting wood like spears. They zing overhead and find exit points through the rear wall. Our horses whinny and squeal out back. Gunfire screams. The bastards shoot till their pistols are unloaded.
When the world falls silent, Jesse raises his head, cautious, and I shove him off. Grabbing my rifle, I lunge for the window and stick the barrel through the cross port. I sight the first dark shadow I see and pull my trigger. A man flinches on his horse but don’t fall. The Coltons join me at their windows, and that’s when the Riders bolt. But it ain’t on account of our bullets alone. On the opposite riverbank, back the way we came, a cloud of dust is billowing and moving fast. An angry mob from town, maybe, finally brave enough to face off with the gang.
I crank my lever action and keep shooting at the fleeing Riders. But they escape unscathed, riding east ’long the Salt River, which gleams black as oil beneath the slivered moon.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m shaking with so much rage, I don’t even blink as Jesse checks on our horses—they’re fine—or starts securing the house for the night. When I peer out the cross port, I can see the Phoenix mob lingering ’cross the way, making sure they’s driven the Riders out for good. They don’t seem concerned ’bout us though. Maybe they figure anyone shooting at the Riders ain’t a threat. On our side of the Salt, a lump of a man lies on the riverbank—the poor bastard Rose shot when I didn’t ride out to meet him.
That life’s my fault. Another innocent soul gone and drained ’cus I sat here hiding.
Suddenly, I’m furious with Pa. It ain’t my fault. It’s his. For lying and withholding and spending all those years spinning me false yarns. Acting like our gold was from Wickenburg. Pretending our last name’s Thompson ’stead of Tompkins. If’n he were honest, even ’bout half of it, we mighta been prepared. I’d never have left him alone or let him outta my sight, and he’d still be alive. We’d’ve watched each other’s backs, been suspicious of every last rider approaching our homestead. But, no, he had to go and treat me like some helpless baby, keep the truth from me like I weren’t tough enough to handle it. And look where it’s got us both? Him in the ground and me caught in the middle of some bloody quest for gold, when alls I wanted was justice for his death.
Mutt weaves between my legs, frenzied, and I stop pacing.
“We’ll keep watch till dawn,” Jesse says, double-checking the door. “One set of eyes out the front, toward the Salt. Another to the east, watching the way the gang rode off. I don’t think they’ll double back with them men camping ’cross the way or the law rumored to be returning to Phoenix tomorrow, but it ain’t worth taking chances. Only one person’s sleeping at a time tonight.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Will mutters.
“I ain’t got a need for the attitude, Will.”
“Oh, hang it all, Jesse! I’m sorry I ain’t a peach right now. I’m sorry I ain’t praising the Lord that we’re in over our heads.”
Jesse frowns. “You wanna translate that for me?”
“This damn hunt for gold. The Rose Riders. It ain’t worth it. Let her”—he jabs a finger my way—“risk her life for revenge, but we ain’t got no reason to die for some cache that might not even exist.”
“You know damn well we need that money.”
“No. You need that money. ’Cus yer still trying to do all the things Pa never could: find gold, keep everyone safe. Life ain’t a breeze, but we get by. We keep doing what we do, and we’ll be fine. We shoulda turned south toward Tucson right after arriving in Phoenix, not played cards. Might as well be sticking our necks in a noose.”
“You wanna ride south on yer own? Go right ahead!” Jesse roars.
“And tell Benny what?”
“That I’ll make it up to him in gold payment. He’ll get over it.”