Page 87 of The Heart’s Charge

And was apparently proud of that shameful accomplishment.

“Why?” Katherine cried. “For money?” She’d mentioned a mine. And a smith. Was she using the boys to dig for gold? Silver?

“For my father!”

The passion behind that pronouncement surprised Katherine.

Althea advanced on her, eyes flashing. “He’s searched for Los Almagres his entire adult life. It’s his obsession. He raised me with stories of Bernardo de Miranda’s discovery of rich ore in the cerro de almagre in 1756. Taught me about the Apache mission and the presidio captain tasked with working the mine they found. About the giant pile of slag left behind by the Spaniards on the San Saba River near the presidio. About the destruction of the mission in 1758 and the Apache raids years later that discouraged treasure seekers.”

Her arms gesticulated as if to add extra punctuation to her tale. “Father collected maps by Stephen F. Austin and Henry Tanner showing mines near the old Spanish fort, pamphlets promising silver to immigrants, and Texas information guides declaring the existence of Los Almagres. Finding that mine was his life’s work, but no matter how carefully he searched, he never found it. The failure broke him.” Her hands fell to her sides, and her shoulders hunched forward. “He took to his bed five years ago and has been slowly dying ever since, sure he’s wasted his life on a fool’s errand. Certain that Los Almagres never existed.”

Althea’s posture straightened, and she took a step closer to Katherine. “But it does exist, and I can prove it with the silver we’ve collected. All those years, he’d been looking in the wrong places,” she said with a cynical laugh, “because the maps were wrong. I widened the search into Llano County. Studied local history. Combed through ore samples and assay reports. Everyone believed the mine was located near either the San Saba or Llano Rivers, but I began to suspect the true location was near Honey Creek. That led me to Packsaddle Mountain.

“I used my mother’s maiden name, took a teaching job in Kingsland, and continued my search with no one the wiser. Ernest cozied up to the sheriff in Llano and got himself appointed deputy a few months later. We kept our familial relationship a secret, and no one suspected we were anything more than acquaintances. We searched on weekends and during the off-terms for more than a year, and then, six months ago, we found the mine’s entrance on the southern slope of Packsaddle Mountain.

“We excavated the archaeological remains of spoil piles and shafts. Discovered the paths the Spaniards left behind. Some of those paths, however, proved too narrow for adults to navigate. Hence our need for smaller bodies. If the Spaniards used boys to work their mines, I’d do the same. But not for riches, Miss Palmer. For my father. I would not let him die thinking himself a failure.”

Moisture glistened in Althea’s eyes, but she ruthlessly blinked it away. Her gaze hardened. “Make no mistake,” she said without a speck of compassion or conscience coloring her voice, “I’ll do whatever it takes to see this through. No matter how many indigent children or interfering busybodies have to disappear.”

A shiver coursed over Katherine’s skin as Ernest yanked her wrists together behind her back and bound them with some kind of cloth strip. A movement at the back window drew her attention. Half a face appeared at the window. The bottom of the window. She couldn’t see much of him in the dark, but she recognized the discolored section of skin on the top right side of his face.

Abner! He’d followed her.

She locked her gaze with his and shook her head. Just once, but hopefully it would be enough to keep him from doing anything rash like storming the house and taking on two criminal adults with only a fireplace poker. As she watched, a small, dark-skinned hand grabbed Abner from behind and pulled him away. Rawley? Thank heavens Abner wasn’t alone. She didn’t like the idea of either one of the boys so close to danger, but if they were close enough to overhear, they could pass the information on to Eliza and Jonah.

She had to keep Althea talking while she had the chance. Any minute now, she’d find herself stuffed in a pantry closet, no further good to anyone.

“Is that what happened to Mark?” Katherine pulled against her bindings, lurching toward Althea. Ernest jerked her back with a rough motion, gripping her arms to keep her still. But Ernest wasn’t her concern. Althea was. “Did Mark interfere with your plans? Did he stumble across your mining operation in his search for the boys?”

“I tried to warn him off,” Althea said. “Asked him to wait a day. But like most men, he wouldn’t listen to a woman. And now he’s paid the price.” She shrugged. “Unfortunate waste of a good-looking man, but it couldn’t be helped. He found his missing boys, though. He’ll be happy about that. Just like my father, he’ll die knowing he completed his mission. Small comfort, but it’s better than nothing.”

“So they’re all in the mine together, then,” Katherine guessed. She couldn’t afford to let her heartbreaking fear for Mark steal her wits. Her job was to cull information. “Did you leave them there to starve?”

Please, Lord, let there be time to save them.

“Nothing so cruel, I assure you. Their end came swiftly. About an hour ago, as a matter of fact. You might have heard it. The quiet boom of distant thunder? Dynamite has much the same resonance, I’m told.” She smiled, then turned her attention to her brother. “Enough of this chitchat, Ernest. Lock her in the pantry and help me with my trunk. We have a schedule to keep.”

The deputy’s grip tightened. Katherine struggled against his hold, desperate to get one final message to the boys she prayed were listening on the other side of the door. “You won’t get away with this! Mark Wallace is one of Hanger’s Horsemen. It’ll take more than a stick of dynamite to bury him. Jonah and the rest of the Horsemen will find that Packsaddle mine, you’ll see. They’ll save Mark, then come after you.”

Althea turned just as Ernest shoved Katherine backward into the pantry, banging her spine and skull against wooden shelves.

“Even if you’re right, my dear, they’ll have no proof that I did anything wrong. Miguel Ortega is the one with blood on his hands, not me. And I have my very own lawman to vouch for me in the unlikely event that your Horsemen capture Miguel and get him to talk. No one will believe a murderer over a deputy of the law. Your threats are pointless, Miss Palmer.”

No, not pointless, Katherine thought as the pantry door slammed closed against her nose and the lock clicked into place. Not when her points were aimed at a pair of quick-witted boys hovering outside the window.

Show them what to do, Lord. Get word to Jonah and the others in time to save Mark and the children.

And maybe, when the Almighty was finished with that, he could send her a few ideas for an escape plan. Her experience in slipping free of criminal captors was regrettably thin.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

Jonah.” A soft voice called to him. A gentle hand stroked his brow. “Jonah, wake up.”

The darkness didn’t want to let him go. He frowned, struggling to shake free of sleep’s grip and answer her call.

“Jonah, please.”