Preacher frowned. “Wait just a damned minute! Where’s Garity and the girl?”
“They’re not coming,” Powell replied with a laugh. “Trading two for one isn’t fair, Preacher. You get the boy back. The girl stays with me.”
Preacher wanted to lash out angrily. The deception didn’t take him completely by surprise. He had expected some sort of trickery from his enemies.
“How about it?” Powell prodded. “You can still save the kid’s life.”
Preacher took a deep breath. “Send him over here.”
“You start this way!”
Preacher glanced behind the wagon. Newcomb and Tobin had their long-barreled rifles trained on Powell. Lorenzo looked worried, as usual. Preacher flicked a quick grin at the old-timer to tell him it would be all right, then stepped farther into the plaza, walking toward the other side with a firm step.
Up ahead, Roland stumbled slightly as he started out. Powell kept his pistol trained on the young man’s back, speaking quietly. Preacher couldn’t make out the words, but he knew they had to be a warning not to try anything.
Time seemed to drag as Preacher and Roland stumbled toward each other. Preacher didn’t get in any hurry. Behind him, the sun rose higher above the mountains.
And he saw what he hoped to see, the glint of sunlight reflecting off rifle barrels in a pair of windows in one of the buildings across the plaza. Newcomb and Tobin knew to look for those same reflections, and the two bullwhackers ought to be shifting their aim away from Powell and toward the man’s hired killers. Preacher knew their orders were to shoot Roland down just before he reached safety, when Preacher would be too close to the other side of the plaza to escape.
Preacher didn’t intend to let things get that far.
He veered a little to his left to go around the well. Roland moved to his right to do the same. The young man’s face was pale and stricken, and as he came within hearing, he said, “Preacher, I’m so sorry—”
“Forget it,” Preacher said. “This ain’t over. Stumble a little.”
“What?”
“Slow down!” The timing was almost right, almost . . .
“Kill the boy!” Powell bellowed suddenly as he caught on to what Preacher was doing. “Kill him now!”
CHAPTER 27
Preacher dived forward and to the side, tackling Roland Bartlett and driving the boy off his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw powdersmoke erupt from the windows of the building across the plaza. He and Roland hit the ground behind the well, and the rifle balls hummed past harmlessly to thud into the hard-packed dirt.
Two shots boomed from the wagon behind them. That would be Newcomb and Tobin, Preacher knew. He risked a glance over the low wall that ran around the well and saw one man toppling from a window, obviously fatally wounded. He couldn’t tell if the bullwhackers had gotten the other man.
Preacher turned his head toward the wagon and shouted, “Cliff!”
Fawcett stepped out from behind the vehicle for a second. His powerful arm went back and then flashed forward. The knife he had thrown spun glitteringly in the early morning sunlight.
The throw was accurate. The knife blade dug into the ground only a few feet from Preacher. He reached out and grabbed the handle.
More guns began to boom. Other men who worked for the whorehouse owner must have been nearby, as Preacher suspected, and Powell called them into action.
The bullwhackers poured out of the alley where they had been hiding and returned the fire. Preacher and Roland kept their heads down as rifle balls crisscrossed the plaza in a deadly storm of lead.
“Preacher, we have to get out of here!” Roland gasped. “Garity’s still got Casey!”
“I know. Did you see her?”
Roland nodded. “Just for a minute. She looked like she was all right.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pull it off. A couple of men jumped me as soon as I went in there last night. It was like they were waiting for me!”
“They were,” Preacher said. “Garity must have heard we were in town and figured we’d try somethin’. He was probably spyin’ from upstairs and gave Powell’s men the high sign as soon as he recognized you. Was that you who fired the pistol?”
Roland nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t hit anything except the wall. One of the men had already grabbed me from behind.” He paused as the rifles continued to roar on both sides of the plaza. “You knew Garity and Powell were going to double-cross you, didn’t you?”
“Figured it was pretty damn likely,” the mountain man acknowledged with a nod.
“So you set things up to double-cross them right back.”
Preacher grinned. “Let’s just say I was ready for trouble.”
The shots died away then, and a moment later Cliff Fawcett called, “Hey, Preacher, I think we got ’em all!”
“What about Powell?”
“Sorry! He ducked back out of sight before anybody could draw a bead on him.”
“That means he’ll go back to the whorehouse and tell Garity what happened,” Roland said. He clutched Preacher’s arm. “They’re liable to kill Casey! We have to stop them!”
Preacher knew the young man was right. “You ready to risk it?” he asked.
“Anything!”
“Then come on.”
Holding the knife, Preacher stood up and ran toward the far side of the plaza. Roland was right behind him.
One of Powell’s men wasn’t dead after all, only wounded. He reared up and thrust a pistol at them. The weapon blasted, but the ball cut through the air between Preacher and Roland. A second later, several rifles roared as the bullwhackers returned the fire, and the would-be killer was thrown backward by the impact of several lead balls slamming into his body.
Preacher and Roland reached the alley where Powell had disappeared. Preacher knew that Lorenzo, Fawcett, and the rest of the men would follow them, but there was no time to wait for their allies. He and Roland had to reach the whorehouse just as fast as they could if they were going to be in time to save Casey. Garity might kill her, or he might decide to try to escape and take her with him.
Santa Fe was honeycombed with streets and alleys that twisted crazily and sometimes abruptly came to unexpected dead ends. Preacher had to rely on his uncanny sense of direction in order to guide him and Roland through the squalid maze. He wasn’t sure if every turn they made was the right one, but suddenly he recognized a landmark and knew Powell’s place was down the street they had just entered.
Preacher grabbed Roland’s arm and pulled him back around the corner. “What are you doing?” the young man demanded frantically. “We’ve got to find Casey!”
“If we go chargin’ up to the front of the place, they’ll be waitin’ for us and gun us down,” Preacher said. “We’ll circle and come in from behind.”
He was keenly aware they had only a knife between them as far as weapons were concerned. He hadn’t wanted to take the time to get anything else, but that also meant they would have to be careful. He led Roland on a circuitous route that took them to the alley running behind the whorehouse.
There was a buggy parked there with a couple horses already hitched to it. As Preacher and Roland paused at the corner of a shed, Egan Powell emerged from the back door of the building and headed for the buggy, carrying a valise. Probably stuffed with money, Preacher thought. Powell was heading for the tall and uncut while the getting was good. The question was whether Garity and Casey would go with him.
The answer wasn’t long in coming. Garity appeared in the back door, dragging a struggling Casey with him. He was having trouble controlling her because he had only one good arm. As she let out an angry cry and almost broke away from him, Garity yelled, “You bitch!” and let go of her to slam a punch into her face, stunning her.
That was more than Roland could stand. Moving too fast for Preacher to grab him, he broke out from behind the shed, shouted, “Bastard!” and raced toward the building.