Page 83 of The Heart’s Charge

“Yeah, well, that tends to happen when a bullet creases your scalp.” Chains rattled as Mark reached around to the back of his head and probed the sore spot at his crown. He winced, the wound painful to touch. His hair was a matted mess too, most likely plastered with a combination of dried blood, dirt, and debris, but he didn’t think his skull was actually cracked. A miracle for which he owed the Lord a debt of gratitude. Not to mention the fact that Ortega and his partner had dragged him here instead of shooting him.

“Los Almagres ain’t a town.” Another boy spoke up, his voice deeper and filled with derision. “It’s a mine. In Packsaddle Mountain. The lost San Saba. Or at least that’s what I heard the lady tell Ortega.” He spat on the ground, as if saying Ortega’s name had contaminated his mouth. “The fools think they found buried treasure. They ordered us to dig up silver for ’em, but there ain’t hardly any of it down here. Not enough to make anyone rich, anyways. I been workin’ this blasted mine for near a month, pickin’ and clawin’ at every scrawny vein I can find. No silver means no supper, so we all search our hardest, but there’s pitiful little to work with. We bring up just enough each day to keep us fed and keep them believin’ the mother lode is around the corner. But I been ’round all the corners down here, and there ain’t no vein wider than a blade of grass in this whole place.” The heat left his voice, and his gaze flattened as it met Mark’s. “At least we don’t have to work the mine anymore after tonight.”

Mark’s gut tightened. Somehow he didn’t think that statement was related to an unflagging faith in his ability to rescue them.

“Thanks to you stumblin’ onto their operation, they decided to abandon their treasure hunt and cover their tracks.” The kid folded his arms over his chest. “When they tossed you in, one of ’em stuck a note in your pocket.” He pulled a wad of paper out of his trouser pocket and threw it at Mark’s feet. “They’re gonna dynamite the place at midnight.”

Midnight? Mark bent to retrieve the paper, opened it, and read the words.

Take cover.

Mine will blow at midnight.

He rubbed his jaw on his shoulder. Could be that one of the snatchers had a conscience. Kidnapping children was one thing. Killing them was a different story. The fact that he’d snuck a warning to the boys could mean he planned to intervene somehow. Maybe at least sound the alarm in town to start a search. This could be good news.

Yet when his gaze measured the shadowed faces in the lantern’s solemn glow, he saw no hope in any of them. Only futility. No tears. No trembling. No emotion at all. Just flat acceptance of death.

Well, he wouldn’t be accepting death without a fight. He had a promise to fulfill to Kate. One involving a parson and at least fifty years of wedded bliss. And then there was Jonah. His injured partner was out there on the mountain somewhere. Not to mention the six young boys in here who deserved a chance to grow up. Surrender was not an option.

He patted his trouser pocket for his watch but felt nothing inside. Ortega probably swiped his valuables before tossing him into this pit.

“What time is it?” he barked as he examined his surroundings for a possible escape route. Did he have four hours to plan? Two? One?

“Dunno.” The surly kid who’d taken charge of the explanations wrapped an arm around a concave stomach. “But it’s long past supper, I can tell you that much.”

Poor kid was half starved. “Was it dark when they tossed you down here with me?” The sun set around 8:00 or 8:30 this time of year. If the boys could estimate the time that had passed since night fell . . .

“We ain’t been topside since breakfast. They never pulled us up. Just tossed you down. Along with the pulley rope.” The ringleader pointed to a sloppy coil of rope about a foot behind Mark, directly beneath a dark hole in the ceiling that must be the vertical shaft leading to the mine’s exit.

Mark frowned. It looked like going out the way they’d come in wouldn’t be an option. Ortega and his partner were probably camped out by the entrance anyway. Mark shifted to get his feet under himself in a crouch.

“Can you estimate what time they lowered me down here? Was it around the same time they usually pull you out for supper? Or later?” Pushing to his feet, Mark studied the shaft above his head. Even when Wart followed with the lantern, it was too dark to see much. They were down pretty deep. Estimating the time was going to be nearly impossible.

“What difference does it make?” the spokesman huffed. “We’re gonna be blown to smithereens either way. Who cares how long we got?”

“I care.” Mark glared at the boy. “The more time we have, the more time I can take assessing our options. The more time I have to assess, the better our chances of getting out of this mess.”

The belligerent boy scowled right back at him. “There ain’t no way out, mister. The only thing that can save us is someone stopping them fellas from tossin’ that dynamite down the shaft. And unless you got an army comin’ that can see in the dark, there ain’t no one around to stop ’em.”

“I do have an army coming, actually.” Mark squatted back down and grinned. “Ever heard of Hanger’s Horsemen?”

All the boys’ eyes grew wide. Well, all but those of the cynic in the front row. His eyes just narrowed into even thinner slits.

“I’m Mark Wallace. I ride with Matthew Hanger, Jonah Brooks, and Luke Davenport. By now, the ladies of Harmony House will have wired Matt for help.” At least he hoped Kate had done so. They hadn’t actually talked through contingency specifics, but she wasn’t one to sit idle when someone she cared about was in trouble. “They’ll likely be here by morning, which means we don’t have to find a way out, we just have to find a way to survive the blast.”

“Ya really think we can?” The tiniest stirring of hope lit Wart’s gaze.

Mark turned his full attention to the stable boy. “Yes, I do.” His chains clinked softly as he settled his wrists atop his hunkered knees. “When I first woke up, I wondered why Ortega and his partner hadn’t just killed me outright. Why drag me back here and toss me into this mine?”

“Probably to save themselves the trouble of diggin’ a grave to hide yer body.”

Mark shrugged, glancing at the ringleader for a moment. “Maybe. But I think it was something else.”

“What?” Wart asked.

“I think God brought me here. To help you.”

“Ha!” Mr. Ray-of-Sunshine uncrossed his arms and waved them through the air in disgust. “And you expect us to trust a God who would shoot you up and drop you in a hole to die? Ain’t happenin’.”