He'd drawn his pistol; moonlight gleamed dully along the long, lethal barrel. Amanda reached his side, averting her eyes from the weapon. It was a too vivid reminder of their danger.
"Who are they?" she whispered when the tension grew too heavy for her to bear.
He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the campfire. "Yankees," he said softly. "No sentries that I can see, but those men sitting right in front of the fire are prisoners that you should recognize."
"I should?" She stared at the fire, slowly able to detect the firelit forms of two men with their hands bound in front of them. It struck her who they must be. "Michael and Jamie," she breathed softly, and Jesse nodded.
"Yes. You were right, it seems. I'll do what I can to get them out of there before the Yankees kill them. I want you to stay here-"
"No." Her quick response made him jerk his head around with a frown, and he glared at her.
"I refuse to allow you to be endangered any more than you already are. For the love of God, don't be stubborn."
"It isn't stubbornness. It's determination, remember?"
Jesse swore softly, then growled, "I suppose we don't have time to argue about this. Can you fire a weapon?"
Startled, she said, "If I have to. I took a course at the shooting range at the penal farm."
"These are not wooden targets, but live ones. If nothing else, I suppose you can at least put the fear of God into them," Jesse muttered as he withdrew another pistol from beneath his shirt. "It's loaded and fires to the left. Try to remember that. Pray the powder has stayed dry and the cartridge isn't jammed."
Gingerly hefting the heavy pistol in her right hand, Amanda took a deep breath. "What's your plan?"
"I don't have a damned plan," he said grimly.
She grabbed his sleeve. "We can't succeed without some kind of plan. Damn-what would MacGyver do?"
"Tsk tsk. Your language-who the devil is MacGyver?"
"Never mind. Wait-I know. Do you have any extra bullets and powder?"
"These pistols would be rather useless if I didn't," Jesse pointed out.
"Good. I have an idea…"
Swearing softly to himself, Jesse had to admit as he snaked his way through the underbrush on his belly that Amanda had a pretty good idea. It was a variation of one of Forrest's favorite tricks, and it just might work. And it seemed as if she'd been right in feeling that Michael and Jamie were in danger. From the looks of things, they were in a dire situation.
Seated on the ground with their hands tightly bound in front, the prisoners had ropes looped from their wrists to the bonds around their ankles. Trussed like Christmas geese, Jesse mused as he paused beneath the thorny branches of a blackberry bush. He'd have to be ready and work quickly when Amanda provided the necessary distraction.
Stickers pressed painfully through the material of his shirt, pricking his skin as he reached into the pouch at his belt for the extra bullets. With Amanda's clumsy help, he'd loaded them with extra powder, packing it tightly into the metal cartridges. In crossing the creek, he'd had to hold the powder bag high above his head to keep it dry. Now he hid in the brambles and waited for Amanda to accomplish her goal.
One of the Yankees around the fire rose and stretched, then walked toward the two Rebel captives. He stood for a moment grinning down at them. "Old Forrest gave us hell at Brice's Cross Roads, but you Johnny Rebs will do the payin' for it when we git you back to Washburn in Memphis."
Michael Scott glanced up, and Jesse winced when he saw his brother-in-law's battered face. Through split lips, Michael said, "You Yanks only got what you deserved."
"Is that right? It wasn't us who started this damn war, it was you Southern hotheads."
Michael glared at him. "You're standing on Southern land; what did you expect-a warm reception? Well, I hope we gave you damn Yanks a hot enough welcome at Brice's Cross Roads…"
Crouching down, the soldier glared at his prisoner. "My brother died in that battle, Reb. As far as I'm concerned, I'd just as soon shoot you now as wait till we git you to Memphis."
"Untie me, and we can settle up with pistols at ten paces," Michael shot back. "Or are you too scared?"
Jesse smothered an oath. Young fool. What did he think he was doing, prodding the enemy into retaliation? He could understand preferring death in the swamps to one at the end of a rope, but as long as he was alive, there was hope. Where the devil was Amanda? What was taking so long? If she didn't hurry, that hot-tempered brother-in-law of his was going to talk this Yankee into shooting him before he could be rescued.
Glancing at Jamie, Jesse saw that he was staring at his half brother with narrowed eyes. Finally Jamie said, "Let it go, Michael. Leave the Yank alone before you make him cry."
Furious now, the Yankee soldier stood up and drew his pistol. Jesse tensed. He had to do something quickly. But what? He wasn't near enough to the fire yet, not with the Yankee only a few feet away and too close to risk doing anything.
"Damn Rebs," the soldier was snarling as he thumbed back the hammer on his Navy six, "I'd just as soon see you all in hell…"
Jesse cocked his own pistol and took aim on the Yankee. Sweat beaded his forehead and dripped into his eyes, stinging. Suicide. That's what this was-suicide.
Just when it seemed as if he'd have to shoot, a loud explosion shattered the night. Men shouted and leaped from their blankets, scattering as they fumbled for weapons and prepared to meet an assault.
The soldier about to shoot Michael and Jamie jerked around in surprise, and Jesse squeezed the trigger of his pistol. It bucked in his hand, and he was scrambling to his feet even as he saw the Yankee clutch his chest and fall backward. Michael and Jamie had instinctively hit the ground, falling to one side as best they could. Jesse ran to them in a crouch, praying the Yankees wouldn't see through the ruse until he had them free.
Slicing through the ropes binding them with his sharp knife, Jesse just grinned at their obvious surprise when they recognized him. "Run like hell," was all he said before turning to toss his powder-packed bullets at the campfire. In the confusion, he managed to run back into the thick woods just as the bullets began to explode, adding to the general chaos.
Ahead of him, he could see Michael and Jamie running through the woods toward Panther Creek. When Michael stumbled and fell, Jamie paused to help him up, half dragging him as they fled. Jesse paused to set off a few more bullets, hoping the damp ground wouldn't keep them from exploding.
Reaching the edge of the creek, he paused, breathing hard. Amanda ran to the edge of the opposite bank, her moonlit face anxious as she called across the water, "Where are they? Did you free them?"
Unable to catch his breath, he pointed, and she turned to see the two men approach. Bruised and battered but very much alive, they grinned when they reached Jesse.
"If we had time," Jamie drawled, "I'd kiss you."
"Save it for the ladies," Jesse shot back. "Let's put some miles between us and those Yanks. They're going to be mad as hell when they figure out you're gone and there ain't no more Rebs in sight."
They wasted no time in floundering into the murky water of the creek. Recent rains had swollen it, and the current was swift. Jesse held his pistol up in the air to keep the powder dry, cursing the drag of water against his body. It seemed to take much longer to get back across than it had to cross the first time, but finally he clambered up onto the bank.
Breathing hard and dripping muddy water, he gave a mild protest when Amanda flung her arms around him. "Hey, you'll get wet…"
"I don't care," she said in a half sob. "You did it. You freed them. Now Michael won't die and Jamie won't be accused, and there won't be a family feud and Oakleigh won't be torn down for a McDonald's-"