lips. «And so have you. Stay right behind me, honey. Those are grand mares, but they aren’t worth dying for.»
Before Willow could say anything, Caleb released her and swung into the saddle. He lifted the reins and the big animal leaped into a canter. To Caleb’s surprise, even without Ishmael’s prodding, the mares clung like burrs to the stallion’s flanks, running free as mustangs. If they lagged, Willow spoke to them and was answered by a flick of ears and a faster pace.
Many times in the next ten miles Caleb heard Willow calling to her Arabians and saw the mares respond, working harder to keep the punishing pace. As the miles raced by, he found himself praying that the mares wouldn’t falter, for he finally understood why Willow had refused to leave them behind. There was a bond between Willow and the Arabians that couldn’t be described. They would run themselves to death for her, with never a whip or a spur laid against their silky hides.
«Almost there,» Caleb said, turning in the saddle until he could look at Willow. «See those trees? All we have to do is —»
Caleb’s words ended abruptly as rifle fire shattered the mountain silence. Deuce stumbled and went down. Caleb grabbed his rifle and kicked free of the stirrups. Three more shots came in rapid succession, then it was quiet again but for the thunder of hooves as the Arabians swept by. Caleb dove behind a fallen tree as a fourth shot rang out.
Willow hauled hard on the reins, spinning Ishmael around so tightly that great chunks of earth flew from beneath his hooves. There was no time for thought, no time for planning, nothing but the knowledge that Caleb was afoot in a place where to be afoot was to die. She bent low over Ishmael’s lathered neck and sent him back down the trail to Caleb, asking the stallion for everything he had. As the Arabian swept past the log, Willow called out to Caleb.
«Get on behind me!»
Rifle in his right hand, Caleb came up off the ground like a mountain cat. As Ishmael surged past, Caleb grabbed the saddle horn with his free hand and leaped on behind Willow. Despite the much greater burden, the stallion hit his full pace within three long strides.
Willow expected bullets to shower around them, but nothing came except adrumroll of hooves as Ishmael raced past the confused mares, sweeping them up in his wake. Trey appeared alongside, running hard. When Caleb looked back, Deuce was on his feet again and running raggedly after his trail mate.
A rifle went off very close, making Willow cringe in the instant before she realized it was Caleb firing.
«Cut right!» he yelled.
Instantly, Willow reined the stallion hard to the right. No sooner had the horse set off on the new course than shots sizzled past, kicking up dirt where Ishmael would have been had he not been turned aside.
«Get to the top of that rise before they can reload!» shouted Caleb.
Bending low over Ishmael’s lathered neck, Willow called to her straining stallion. He answered with a burst of speed despite the steepness of the way and the weight of two riders.
«I’ll drop off at the top in the boulders,» Caleb said. «Take the horses on into the trees. Hear me?»
«Yes,» she said loudly.
«Just another hundred yards,» Caleb said under his breath, looking at a clump of boulders that marked the end of the rise. «Run, you red demon.»
Ishmael’s steel-shod hooves dug into the slope, tearing out clots of earth as the stallion attacked the steep mountainside. By the time Ishmael surged over the top, the horse’s breath was coming in labored groans.
Caleb dropped off and landed running, rifle in hand. He took cover among the boulders as a bullet whined off granite four feet away. Three more shots were fired, but none of the slugs came close enough for Caleb to hear where they hit.
«Too eager, boys,» he muttered. «You have to take your time and aim. Especially when all you have are single-shot rifles.»
Following his own advice, Caleb chose his target carefully from among the seven that were offered. An instant after he squeezed the trigger, he was rewarded by a scream of surprise and pain from down the slope as aComanchero threw up his hands and fell from his horse. The other six scattered to either side, seeking cover in the meadow. Caleb stood up and fired shot after shot, knowing he would never have a better chance of shortening the odds.
But the range was five hundred yards and increasing with every second. In the end Caleb managed to hit only two more men before he had to take cover again himself. As he dropped behind the boulders he mentally counted the bullets left in the rifle. Five. He would have to let the remainingComancheros get in damned close and then finish them off with the pistol. At least he could reload that weapon with bullets from his belt. And when he ran out of bullets for the six-gun, there was always his knife.
Caleb smiled sourly at his own thoughts. The raiders were greedy and over-eager, but not totally stupid. They wouldn’t make things easy for him. Either they would wait until dark and rush him, or they would spread out and come in from all sides at once. They might easily have reinforcements on the way. Numbers, time, and geography were on the raiders’ side. They had taken cover smack across the route to the only pass around.
Deuce’s ringing whinny came up the slope and was answered by Trey. Like the Arabians, the Montana horses had been raised together. They would stick close to each other if they could. Trotting raggedly, Deuce struggled up the slope despite the bullet wound gleamingredly across his chest.
Caleb thought longingly of the extra ammunition tucked into the saddlebags that Deuce carried. He considered making an attempt to get into them, but discarded the idea. If he whistled the horse over, the raiders would guess he was going after more ammunition or weapons and would shoot Deuce dead before the horse got close. If he tried to get to Deuce, Caleb would be shot dead. The horse was a hundred yards wide of the boulders and there was nothing but grass for cover in between.
Caleb watched Deuce vanish into the trees, then turned his attention back to the raiders. Nothing was moving. The men had gone to ground in whatever cover they could find. Methodically, Caleb began checking the field of fire on all sides, sighting on possible bits of cover and gauging the range.
When Deuce limped up to his trail mate, Willow grabbed the reins and spoke soothingly to the frightened animal. As soon as Deuce would allow it, she unfastened the saddlebags, knowing that was where Caleb kept his spare ammunition. She wanted to loosen the cinch to ease Deuce’s breathing, but was afraid to. They might have to mount up and ride with no warning.
Deuce was too edgy to allow Willow close to his chest, but she saw enough. The wound was shallow, as much a burn as a gouge. It was the swelling on the horse’s left foreleg that spelled trouble. She doubted that Deuce would be able to carry a rider at all, much less one of Caleb’s size.
Nor could the mares carry Caleb. Not right away. They were still breathing hard, trembling, all but run into the ground. Ishmael was hard used. So was Trey, but of them all, Trey was in the best shape.
Don’t think about the horses, Willow told herselfgrimly. Youcan’t do anything for them now. What you can do is get these cartridges to Caleb.
As Willow dug quickly through the heavy saddlebags, she found five boxes of ammunition. Two contained shotgun shells. Three contained cartridges, but one of the boxes had a different size of ammunition than the other two. She didn’t know which would go with the rifle and which with Caleb’s pistol. There was also the spyglass, a compass, and other miscellaneous personal items.
In the end Willow decided to take everything, not knowing what might be useful to Caleb. She grabbed the saddlebags, dragged them into place on her shoulder, picked up the shotgun, and walked cautiously to the edge of the trees. Caleb was a hundred feet away from her at almost the same elevation, separated from her by a low runoff channel. The distance was too great for her to throw a box of ammunition, much less the saddlebags. But if she crawled and was quick about it, she shouldn’t be visible from below for more than a few seconds.
«Caleb,» Willow called softly, «I’m coming in behind you.»
He spun around, ready to tell her to do no such fool thing.
It was too late. She was on her hands and knees already, crawling toward him with no more cover around her than the low ditch could provide.
Swiftly, Caleb turned back and began firing at places where raiders had gone to ground, hoping to pin them down while Willow crossed the trough. Realizing what he was doing, Willow scrambled to her feet and raced toward the rocks. Just as she threw herself down beside Caleb, bullets began whining off the nearby
