Page 41 of At Love’s Command

Guide me, O thou great Jehovah. One of his favorite hymns and the prayer on his heart as he hurried back to his post. The mission before him required guidance. Lots of guidance.

He reached his rope, gave it another test yank, then pulled his old cavalry gloves from his belt and shoved his hands inside. The pale yellow leather snugged against his fingers like an old friend, lending reassurance. They’d seen many a battle, these gloves. Matt tugged them over each wrist and wiggled his fingers to ensure maximum movement.

Preach came up alongside him. “Jonah said he’d keep a bead on the man in all black until cover fire becomes a necessity. He can put him down if it comes to that, but he’ll hold off unless one of us is under immediate threat.”

Matt nodded, hearing the words left unsaid. Their vow not to take a life was sacred to the Horsemen. Only in defense of one of their own would they violate it, and even so, Matt knew Jonah would aim to wound, not to kill. But at this distance, with all the chaos soon to ensue, nothing could be guaranteed. Death was a real possibility.

“Got a verse for me?” The routine of the question calmed him almost as much as the scripture that came back in answer.

Preach peered into the canyon below, then turned and straddled the rope hanging a few feet to the left of Matt’s. He grabbed hold and turned his face toward heaven. “‘When thou goest out to battle against thine enemies, and seest horses, and chariots, and a people more than thou, be not afraid of them: for the Lord thy God is with thee.’ Deuteronomy 20:1.”

Matt closed his eyes for a fraction of a moment and let the words flow over him. He couldn’t imagine a better-fitting verse. Everything except the chariots applied to their situation. And even then, he figured the chuck wagon could substitute. In either case, they were outnumbered and outgunned. Yet they need not be afraid, for God was with them. A man couldn’t find a better anchor for his courage than the Almighty.

“See ya at the bottom, Cap.”

Matt’s eyes popped open, and he lifted a hand to salute Preach as his corporal dropped over the side of the canyon. Matt followed suit, gripping the rope in both hands and walking his legs over the side. Hand under hand, he lowered himself. Controlled. Steady. Silent.

Regular glances over his shoulder confirmed he hadn’t been spotted. By the time his feet met the earth, Matt’s arms burned, but in an invigorating, well-used sort of way. He gave them a little shake, then stepped away from the rope, letting his method of escape camouflage itself against the brown of the canyon wall.

Preach headed to the remuda without a word while Matt searched for cover to use while he waited for an opportunity to approach Josie’s brother. There wasn’t much to choose from. A couple scraggly juniper bushes jutted up from the barren ground fifteen feet into the canyon. They would have to do.

Matt strode forward casually, figuring if anyone happened to glance his way, he’d draw less notice if he looked like one of the gang moseying through camp instead of a hunched-over interloper trying to avoid detection. Once he reached the nearest of the bushes, however, he crouched behind it and shielded himself from sight.

From between the branches, he could make out Charlie’s face but not the content of his conversation with the leader. The man in black grew agitated, apparently not liking something Charlie had said. Charlie smiled and gestured grandly with his hands, obviously trying to reassure his captor that everything would be fine. Probably regarding the ransom. The leader didn’t like what his prisoner was selling, however, for he snatched his cigarette from his mouth and flicked it at Charlie’s head. Charlie dodged. At the same time, the man in black surged forward, snatched Charlie by his jacket lapels, and hauled his face to within inches of his own.

“Better hope your old man pays, Burkett.” The leader’s raised voice carried through the suddenly still camp.

“He’ll pay,” Charlie assured him. “One way or the other. I swear it.”

“He better.” The outlaw released his hold on Charlie, then made a show of straightening his crumpled lapels. “I ain’t in this just for kicks. I expect to get paid. And well.”

“You will be.”

The outlaw patted Charlie’s shoulder with enough force to send the smaller man stumbling sideways a couple paces. The leader smiled, sending a shiver running over Matt’s nape. “Then you got nothin’ to worry about, do you?” He started to turn away, then stopped and pivoted back to face Charlie. “Just remember what happens to folks who disappoint me.”

Charlie held his ground, doing an impressive job of not looking intimidated. Matt had to give the kid credit. He might be a self-centered fool for getting himself into this mess, but he wasn’t a coward.

The outlaw leader left Charlie and strode toward the men playing cards. “Dawson! Fetch the leather straps. Time to tie up our guest.”

A big fellow with a shockingly red beard tossed down his cards and pushed slowly to his feet. “Sure thing, boss.”

Matt’s gut knotted. If he didn’t make his move now, he might not get another chance. But how?

He glanced right. Nothing. He glanced left. Nothing but a fellow relieving himself behind the second juniper bush.

An idea sparked. It was brash. Risky. But it was all he had.

Matt stalked forward, angling his approach to come at the man from behind. A quick glance around told him no one had noticed the action taking place in the camp latrine. Thanking God for bushy juniper and distracted minds, Matt closed on his target. Then lunged. His right arm snaked around the man’s neck and squeezed off his airflow before he could voice a protest. The outlaw grabbed at Matt’s arm, trying to peel it away, but Matt held tight, locking his right hand onto his left arm to increase the pressure on the man’s airway. Just a few . . . more . . . seconds. . .

The outlaw went slack in Matt’s arms. Matt lowered him to the ground, then pulled the coat from the unconscious body and snatched the outlaw’s hat from where it had fallen in the dirt. Taking off his own coat and hat, Matt replaced his gear with what he’d pilfered. Pushing the grimy hat brim low on his face, Matt stepped out from behind the bush and strode toward the center of camp as if he belonged there, praying the others would simply see what they expected to see and nothing more.

Keeping to the periphery, he meandered to a spot a few feet behind Charlie where someone had stacked extra branches and other kindling for the fire pit. The campfire wasn’t much more than coals now, since they were fixing to leave, but it was the only excuse handy, so Matt grabbed the end of the largest branch in the pile.

“Hey, Burkett. Give me a hand with this, will ya?” Matt lowered his natural voice and roughened the tone.

Charlie turned, confusion on his face. “Dawson’s fetching—”

Matt, head down, waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah. Yeah. This’ll only take a minute.”