ambush, Preacher moved out from behind the wagon into clear view of anyone watching from the other side of the broad, open plaza. He held his hands out at his sides and called, “Here I am, just like I said I would be! You can see for yourself I ain’t got no guns!”
“Turn around!” Powell ordered.
Still holding his hands out, Preacher turned slowly, revealing that he didn’t have a pistol stuck in his belt behind his back. When he was facing across the plaza again, he said, “All right, I kept my part of the bargain! Let’s see Roland and Casey!”
From the narrow alley between impressive-looking buildings across the way, Roland Bartlett stepped into view. He still wore the Mexican duds, but not the sombrero. A brawny, bald-headed man followed him. It was Preacher’s first good look at the expatriate American whoremonger, Egan Powell.
Holding a pistol pointed at Roland, Powell called, “You try anything fancy, and I’ll kill this boy, Preacher!”
“
“Same for you! It looks to me like this is a standoff, so we may as well go through with it!”
Preacher frowned. “Wait just a damned minute! Where’s Garity and the girl?”
“They’re not coming,” Powell replied with a laugh. “Trading two for one isn’t fair, Preacher. You get the boy back. The girl stays with me.”
Preacher wanted to lash out angrily. The deception didn’t take him completely by surprise. He had expected some sort of trickery from his enemies.
“How about it?” Powell prodded. “You can still save the kid’s life.”
Preacher took a deep breath. “Send him over here.”
“You start this way!”
Preacher glanced behind the wagon. Newcomb and Tobin had their long-barreled rifles trained on Powell. Lorenzo looked worried, as usual. Preacher flicked a quick grin at the old-timer to tell him it would be all right, then stepped farther into the plaza, walking toward the other side with a firm step.
Up ahead, Roland stumbled slightly as he started out. Powell kept his pistol trained on the young man’s back, speaking quietly. Preacher couldn’t make out the words, but he knew they had to be a warning not to try anything.
Time seemed to drag as Preacher and Roland stumbled toward each other. Preacher didn’t get in any hurry. Behind him, the sun rose higher above the mountains.
And he saw what he hoped to see, the glint of sunlight reflecting off rifle barrels in a pair of windows in one of the buildings across the plaza. Newcomb and Tobin knew to look for those same reflections, and the two bullwhackers ought to be shifting their aim away from Powell and toward the man’s hired killers. Preacher knew their orders were to shoot Roland down just before he reached safety, when Preacher would be too close to the other side of the plaza to escape.
Preacher didn’t intend to let things get that far.
He veered a little to his left to go around the well. Roland moved to his right to do the same. The young man’s face was pale and stricken, and as he came within hearing, he said, “Preacher, I’m so sorry—”
“Forget it,” Preacher said. “This ain’t over. Stumble a little.”
“What?”
“Slow down!” The timing was almost right, almost . . .
“Kill the boy!” Powell bellowed suddenly as he caught on to what Preacher was doing. “Kill him now!”
CHAPTER 27
Preacher dived forward and to the side, tackling Roland Bartlett and driving the boy off his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw powdersmoke erupt from the windows of the building across the plaza. He and Roland hit the ground behind the well, and the rifle balls hummed past harmlessly to thud into the hard-packed dirt.
Two shots boomed from the wagon behind them. That would be Newcomb and Tobin, Preacher knew. He risked a glance over the low wall that ran around the well and saw one man toppling from a window, obviously fatally wounded. He couldn’t tell if the bullwhackers had gotten the other man.
Preacher turned his head toward the wagon and shouted, “Cliff!”
Fawcett stepped out from behind the vehicle for a second. His powerful arm went back and then flashed forward. The knife he had thrown spun glitteringly in the early morning sunlight.
The throw was accurate. The knife blade dug into the ground only a few feet from Preacher. He reached out and grabbed the handle.
More guns began to boom. Other men who worked for the whorehouse owner must have been nearby, as Preacher suspected, and Powell called them into action.
The bullwhackers poured out of the alley where they had been hiding and returned the fire. Preacher and Roland kept their heads down as rifle balls crisscrossed the plaza in a deadly storm of lead.
“Preacher, we have to get out of here!” Roland gasped. “Garity’s still got Casey!”
“I know. Did you see her?”
Roland nodded. “Just for a minute. She looked like she was all right.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pull it off. A couple of men jumped me as soon as I went in there last night. It was like they were waiting for me!”
“They were,” Preacher said. “Garity must have heard we were in town and figured we’d try somethin’. He was
