Vengeance Road (16 page)

We cut southeast, racing through land I reckon belongs to some rancher. We don't never see the homestead, though, or his cattle or horses. A nearly blind mile or two later, we come upon the Salt River, and it's a blessing. Weak moonlight flickers and gleams off the water, bouncing where it trickles over pebbles and snakes between grass. It's just enough to show us the way. Here, the land 'long the bank is pitched and uneven, full of brush and brambles and rocks. I got a notion all three of us will be thrown from our horses any second on account of a poor step. But it ain't like we can stop, or even slow for that matter. Gunshots keep popping behind us, Rose's gang riding hard. I glance over my shoulder, but alls I can see is a gray plume of dirt a half mile back—a miniature dust storm.

“What do we do?” Will shouts from Rio.

Jesse don't say nothing, and I know as well as him that we can't ride endlessly. No horse can fly like this forever. I reckon Will knows it too and he's just talking to keep hisself busy. I's noticed he likes to do that.

Silver leaps a patch of brush, and at the crest of the jump I see something that lifts my heart: a ramshackle shanty of a home, roof half buckled, sitting 'cross the river where the bank rises a touch. It's abandoned for sure. If we get there first and set ourselves up right, we might have a chance. Six Riders 'gainst three of us. Maybe seven of 'em if that fella I clubbed lived through the blow and managed to get to his horse with a bad knee. It ain't the prettiest odds, but we'll have shelter and a perch. Them, low ground and open land. Riding atop their horses, they'll be like bottles on a fence.

“Abandoned home!” I point it out to the boys.

Jesse nods and guides Rebel into the river.

It's wide here, and looks to be deep so far as desert rivers go. I just hope it ain't deep enough that the horses need to swim. I don't reckon I can hold both my Colt and Winchester above my head
and
manage to stay in the saddle.

I give Silver a nudge in the flank, and she wades in after the others. It's slow going for everyone but Mutt, who leads the way easy. Not even halfway 'cross the river and I can sense Silver bracing 'gainst the current. Water's rising over her knees. When my boots flood, I reach down and pull my rifle from the saddle scabbard, holding it in my lap.

Please don't be much deeper. Please.

Silver trudges on. The current tugs at my stirrups. Water creeps toward Silver's ribs, then flank, and right when I'm certain all my gear and ammo's 'bout to be soaked, the water line starts retreating. We's crossed the worst of it.

“Good girl, Silv,” I says, urging her on. As she climbs out on the opposite bank I kick her back into a gallop and chase after Mutt and the Coltons.

Unsure what kind of standoff we might find ourselves in, we can't risk letting the horses roam—they might get spooked and run off—so we lead 'em round back and secure their reins on fencing that once surrounded a chicken coop.

Staying low and quiet, the three of us grab our guns and ammo and slip into the house, taking Mutt with us. The place ain't been lived in for a good long while. There's a sorry-looking table 'gainst the back wall, and some failing chairs, but we don't got enough light to make out much more of the interior. Not that it matters. I'm only concerned with the windows, and when I examine the wooden shutters I nearly beam. There's a cross cut into the two that flank the door. Same goes for the window of each adjoining wall.

“Religious folk?” Will says when I point 'em out.

“It ain't got nothing to do with God.” I bring my rifle up and aim her out the carved cross. “Up, down, side to side,” I says, changing my aim to demonstrate. “We had 'em in our shutters too, case of Indian raids or bad men.”

“Well, it's smart,” Jesse says, “and I pray God's on our side tonight.” He goes to the other front window with a rifle he'd had strapped to Rebel, and Will takes the west-facing side window with his six-shooters.

I make sure I got as many cartridges as possible jammed into my belt, plus extras nearby. I load up my Winchester and double-check my Colt. Then I lean 'gainst the musty wood wall and scan the Salt River Valley before us.

I don't got a perfect view from the confines of the cross port, but I should be able to see that damn cloud of dust.

“Here they come,” Jesse says.

Scanning again, I spot 'em. There's no dust cloud, 'cus they ain't in dust to kick up. They're crossing the river. From here, they look like seven dark ducks paddling. Meaning that Rider I shot and clubbed somehow managed to rejoin the posse. I shoulda shot him dead.

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.

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.”

“This is ridiculous,” Will says. “You two are both outta yer minds. That guy out there's dead. And all those folks at the poker game. Those lives are on us.”

“You think I don't know that?” I erupt. I can't stay quiet no more, can't sit here letting 'em go on and on like I ain't even in the room. “I feel so awful, I can't even find the right word for it. But there are lives that ain't on my conscience neither—my father, that family in the coach. Those souls deserve justice, and there's only gonna be more like 'em if I don't go after Rose.”

“Yer deaf all right,” Will says. “Deaf
and
dumb.”

“Say that again,” I says.

“I said yer dumb.”

I lunge at him. Jesse hauls me away, but not before I manage to get in one good shove. When Will moves to retaliate, Jesse pushes him back.

“Cool off, Will. Sleep and try to get yer head straight. If'n you still think running cattle with Benny is the best thing we can do for the family come dawn, I won't stop you from riding south.”

Will curses God and kicks at one of the failing chairs. Then he glares between us before settling onto the floor.

I look over at Jesse. “Thank y—”

“Don't,” he snaps. “You ain't got the slightest . . . This whole thing is so . . .” He bites his lip and turns away from me. “Just don't talk.” He snatches up his rifle and moves to the other window.