reloaded, and his hand wrapped tensely around the butt.
“A friend of mine’s got a score to settle with you! He’s willing to let Bartlett and Casey go if you’ll turn yourself over to him.”
“We’re talkin’ about Garity?”
“That’s right. How about it, Preacher? Is your life worth the two of theirs?”
Preacher didn’t believe for a second that if he walked into that whorehouse and surrendered, Garity would let Roland and Casey go unharmed. The outlaw was a natural-born double-crosser. He would kill all three of them and be done with it.
Or rather, he would kill Preacher and Roland. Casey would likely continue to suffer whatever degradations she had already been through, and more.
Preacher took a deep breath. “Now, you listen to me!” he shouted. “Here’s how this is gonna work. You and Garity bring Roland and Casey to the west side of the plaza tomorrow mornin’ at dawn. Just the two of you! I see anybody else and the deal’s off. I’ll be on the east side, unarmed. I’ll start across at the same time you start Roland and Casey walkin’ toward me. Once they’re clear, Garity can do whatever the hell he wants to me.”
“Do you really think we’re stupid enough to fall for a trick like that?”
“It’s the only deal you’re gonna get from me!” Preacher said. “I’ve risked life and limb for those two over and over again, and I’m gettin’ sick of it! I swear, Powell, I’ll just ride away, and Garity can have ’em!”
That wasn’t true, of course, but Powell and Garity couldn’t be sure of that. Preacher was convinced that Garity was probably right inside the building, listening to the conversation. He wondered if Powell had cleared all the customers out the back and sent the soiled doves up to their rooms as soon as they grabbed Roland.
The whorehouse remained dark and silent for several moments, no doubt while Powell conferred with Garity. Finally, Powell called, “All right, Preacher, you got a deal! The plaza at dawn! But you’d better not try anything funny, or those two will be a long time dying!”
The front door banged shut.
A sound behind Preacher made the mountain man whirl around and level the pistol at a dark shape his keen eyes picked out of the shadows.
“Don’t shoot!” Lorenzo yelped. “Land’s sake, Preacher, it’s just me!”
Preacher lowered the gun and took a deep breath. “Damn it, Lorenzo, I almost blowed your fool head off.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” the old-timer said, “’cause I come to warn you. They’s some men sneakin’ around the alleys right now tryin’ to get behind you.”
Powell’s hired killers, Preacher thought. He stepped over to Lorenzo, took hold of the old man’s arm, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
“That’s just what I was thinkin’!”
They ran across the street. Preacher knew the bullwhackers would still be watching from the next block. He waved for them to withdraw. If anything had gone wrong with their plans, they were supposed to rendezvous back at Juanita’s.
Well, things had gone wrong, Preacher thought . . . about as wrong as they possibly could.
But Roland and Casey were still alive. At least he hoped so. He just had to come up with some idea to keep them that way.
Preacher and Lorenzo gave Powell’s men the slip without much difficulty. They were accustomed to handling drunken, lecherous fools in close quarters, not capturing a fella who knew how to move through the shadows like a night wind. If not for what it might mean to Roland and Casey, Preacher would have waited for them and turned the hunters into the hunted. He probably could have killed all of them before he was done.
But if he did that, Garity and Powell might abandon the bargain and kill Roland. Besides, Preacher had Lorenzo with him, and he wanted to keep the old-timer safe, too.
As they walked back to Juanita’s, Preacher said, “I reckon you heard that shot inside the whorehouse.”
“Yeah, and I seen a bunch o’ sheepish-lookin’ fellas come out the back door a minute later,” Lorenzo replied, confirming Preacher’s hunch about what Powell had done with the house’s customers. “Then I heard some more shootin’, and you yellin’ out in front of the place, so I figured the whole plan was blowed to hell.”
“You got that right,” Preacher muttered. “They must’ve spotted Roland as soon as he walked in there. They were probably waitin’ for him.”
“That varmint Garity’s smarter than we done give him credit for.”
“Bein’ a lowdown skunk don’t keep a man from bein’ smart. I should’ve remembered that.”
“Anyway, I knew I’d better find you and see what was goin’ on. That was when I spotted them fellas skulkin’ around like red Injuns.”
Preacher nodded. “You done good, Lorenzo. I’m obliged to you.”
When they reached the cantina, Juanita met them and said in a low voice, “The men who left with you got here a few minutes ago. I put them in the back room. They said things went wrong.”
Preacher nodded. “That they did. Come with us. We got to hash it all out.”
The three of them joined the bullwhackers in the back room. The men were sitting at a table, passing around a jug. The burly Cliff Fawcett, acting as spokesman for the group, stood up and asked, “What the hell happened, Preacher?”
“Garity and Powell grabbed Roland,” Preacher explained. “They plan on tradin’ him and Casey . . . for me.”
Fawcett and the others stared at him. “Are you goin’ through with it?” Fawcett asked.
“I don’t have much choice. They’ll kill Roland if I don’t, and if Casey’s lucky, they’ll kill her, too. But they
