run him down, but don’t kill him!”
“Roland, get out of here!” Casey screamed. “Go!”
“Too late, girl!” Garity said. “He ain’t gettin’ away!”
Casey ignored him and screamed again, “Roland, run!”
Several men on horseback pounded past the spot where Preacher was staked out. He wished he could see what was going on. He tried to lift his head but was too weak.
Casey stumbled forward and dropped to her knees sobbing, putting her in Preacher’s line of sight. “What’s . . . happenin’?” he asked her painfully.
“Roland’s trying to . . . to run away,” she sobbed. “But he’s not going to make it.”
Preacher heard excited whooping from the men who were chasing Roland on horseback. They regarded it as a game.
The next moment a sudden flurry of gunshots erupted. For a second he thought the men were shooting at Roland, despite Garity’s orders not to kill the young man, but then Preacher realized the shots were coming from a different direction.
“What the hell!” Garity yelled.
Casey twisted around to look. “Wh-what is it?” Preacher asked her.
A look of hope appeared on Casey’s face. “It’s the bullwhackers from the wagons,” she told Preacher. “They’re attacking Garity and his men!”
Preacher realized that Roland’s offer to buy his and Casey’s freedom had indeed been a trick. Roland had distracted Garity and his men and caused Garity to split his forces. The bullwhackers must have crawled around to the other side of the outlaw camp to launch their attack. It would have taken hours for them to get into position, but the plan stood at least a slim chance of working.
“Get back here!” Garity bellowed at the men who had gone after Roland. He started to run past Preacher, then stopped abruptly and pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it at the mountain man. “This ends here and now, damn you.”
He wasn’t paying any attention to Casey. Still on her knees, she twisted and threw herself at Garity’s legs. The unexpected impact jostled him just enough that when the pistol in his hand exploded, the ball slammed into the ground beside Preacher’s ear, throwing dirt in his face rather than splattering his brains across the sand.
Casey dropped her shoulder and lunged at Garity’s knees.
“You bitch!” he yelled as he went over backward. He slashed at Casey’s head with the empty gun but missed.
Preacher blinked the grit out of his eyes and turned his head enough to see the deadly struggle going on. Casey scrambled to Garity’s body and plucked the knife from his belt. She lifted it and tried to plunge the blade into his chest, but he rolled aside. The knife buried itself in the ground instead. Garity brought an elbow around and caught Casey in the jaw with it. The blow sent her sprawling.
The roar of gunfire continued. Preacher groaned in frustration. Every instinct shouted for him to get in the middle of the fight, but sturdy rawhide thongs bound him to the stakes driven into the ground. He couldn’t move, no matter how hard he strained against them.
Only a few feet away, Garity heaved up onto his knees. He threw himself on Casey and groped at her neck, obviously intending to strangle the life out of her. Garity’s face was red with rage. At that moment, he didn’t care how much he could make by selling her to a whorehouse in Santa Fe. He wanted to kill her.
Preacher saw Garity’s fingers lock around Casey’s throat and knew she had only seconds to live. Every bit of resolve, every ounce of strength he could possibly summon up, he channeled into his left leg. The life he had lived had hardened Preacher’s body, but more important than that, it had given him an iron will. He used that iron will as he heaved against the stake holding his leg.
And it moved.
Only slightly at first, but Preacher felt it shift. With a loud groan, he heaved again, and this time, the stake pulled free.
Preacher forced his muscles to work as he drew up his leg and then lashed out with it, slamming a kick with his bare foot into the middle of Garity’s back. It broke his chokehold on Casey’s throat and knocked him forward over her. Gasping for air, she had the presence of mind to snatch the pistol Garity had dropped on the ground. It was empty, but she grasped the barrel with both hands and swung the pistol like a club, slamming it into the side of Garity’s head above the ear. Garity collapsed, half on top of her.
She shoved him aside and struggled out from under him. She looked like she wanted to keep hitting Garity with the pistol until his head was smashed to bits, but she dropped the gun and grabbed the knife. She swung around and started sawing at Preacher’s bonds.
His hands came free, then his other leg. His hands were numb from being tied so tightly. He flexed his fingers as Casey helped him sit up.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” she said. “Can you stand up?”
Preacher could see the battle continued around the wagons. Clouds of powdersmoke rolled thickly. The roar of shots mingled with shouted curses.
With Casey’s help, he struggled to get to his feet. His legs wouldn’t support him. She cried out as she strained to keep him upright. “Roland!” she called. “Roland, help!”
So Roland was still alive. Preacher was glad to hear that. The men Garity had sent after him must have turned back to the wagons when the shooting started.
The young man ran up to them and took hold of Preacher’s other arm. “I’ve got him!” he said. “Casey, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but we have to get away,” she told him.
