Chapter XXXVII
As Decker got closer to the camp, he could hear the sounds of talking and laughter. Some of it sounded drunken, and if indeed some of the men in the camp were drunk, that would be a help. He did not hear any women’s voices.
He worked his way through the darkness, getting around behind the tent. His night vision helped him avoid a few chuckholes, and he hoped that Brian wouldn’t step in any of them. Another thing that would work in their favor, if they were discovered, was the fact that many of the men around the campfires were looking
Small points in their favor, he thought, when they were outnumbered twenty to one.
Finally he was directly behind the tent. Now all he had to do was work his way toward it. From where he was he could see the far wagon, but he couldn’t make out whether or not Brian had gotten to it yet.
Behind the tent he paused and waited, hoping to give Brian enough time to get set.
Brian Foxx cursed as his heel slid into a chuck-hole. Luckily he was able to shift his weight and avoid any injury He worked his way carefully to the wagon, as thoughts similar to Decker’s went through his mind. He was also thinking of his brother and what he had become. Had he seen the signs and ignored them? Could he have kept his brother from becoming a cold-blooded killer?
At least he’d be able to keep him from killing anyone else, but in order to do that he’d have to pay for his own crimes as well. Was he willing to do that? Well, if he wasn’t, he’d be on his way back to Brent right now to untie him. The lives of that woman and the girl seemed very important to Brian at the moment, as if saving them would make up for the lives his brother had taken.
Finally he was directly behind the wagon, hoping that Decker was in position as well. Slowly he made his way to the wagon and climbed up into it. Being as quiet as he could, he started looking through it. He found kegs filled with whiskey, canned goods, some bolts of cloth they had probably stolen from some ranch house, and in the front of the wagon, right behind the seat, he found what he was looking for.
Three cases of dynamite.
Decker approached the back of the tent and took out the knife he had taken from his saddlebags. He listened intently and thought he could make out the sound of someone breathing evenly, as if asleep.
He punctured the back of the tent with the tip of his knife and then began to slit the material downward. Using his other hand, he spread the slit open so he could see inside, and managed to stop cut-ting just in time.
He was slicing the tent right above the supine form of a sleeping man, probably the leader of the comancheros. His pallet was right up against the back of the tent, and another six inches and Decker’s knife would have poked him awake.
Decker withdrew the knife and drew his gun. He leaned in through the slit, raised his gun, and brought the butt down on the man’s head. The man grunted, and there was a subtle change in his breathing that indicated he was no longer just asleep but unconscious.
Decker moved to his left, made a new slit all the way down to the floor, and stepped through.
There were two other pallets in the tent. Rebecca lay quietly on one, although her eyes were open. Her clothing was in tatters, doing little to hide her breasts and her thighs. On the other pallet lay Felicia. She was asleep, but the stains on her face indicated that she had cried herself into that state and was probably exhausted.
He went to Felicia first.
He put his hand over her mouth and her eyes opened. She was frightened at first, but then recognition dawned and she reached for him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly, saying over and over, “I knew you’d come, I knew you’d come…. ”
“Easy, take it easy,” he told her, holding her. “I need your help, Felicia. Don’t fall apart on me. Okay?”
She snuffled in his ear, then sat back and wiped her face with her hand.
“I won’t fall apart.”
“How is Rebecca?”
“Oh, my God, what they did to her,” Felicia said, almost crying again. “When they brought her in here, her eyes were open, but it was as if she couldn’t see me.”
“She’s in shock. I’m going to need your help in getting her out.”
Felicia nodded and said, “Okay.”
At that moment the flap of the tent went up and a man walked in.
“Chico, the men want to know—hey, what the hell!”
The man drew his gun, but Decker was faster. He fired, catching the man square in the chest. The man clutched at his wound and staggered out of the tent.
“That does it!” Decker said aloud.
Don’t fail me now, Foxx!
When Brian Foxx heard the shot, he was ready. He had tucked sticks of dynamite in every one of his pockets and in his belt. He knew that if a stray bullet hit him, there wouldn’t be enough of him left to blow in the wind, but he wanted to be sure he had enough.
He was crouched down next to the wagon, watching the tent. He saw Decker go in and knew what was going to happen next, so he was ready.
As the camp came to life, many of the men looking over at the tent where the wounded man was staggering, Brian lit the fuse on the stick of dynamite and threw it.
He’d had an anxious moment when he didn’t find any matches on him, but rummaging around in the wagon had produced a whole carton of lucifer-stick matches.
He threw the dynamite as far as he could, and even if it hadn’t had a fuse, it would have gone off because it landed in the nearest campfire.
It exploded and two men were blown off their feet.
After that, things got pretty confused.
With the sound of the first explosion, Decker moved. He lifted Rebecca in his arms, but she didn’t stir, just continued staring. He handed his gun to Felicia, and now he said, “All right, Felicia, you first. Let’s go.”
She nodded, stepped through the slit he’d made, and shot the first man she saw.
Once he threw the first stick of dynamite, Brian had Tomake a quick decision. Should he run
He voted for a third course of action. He decided to run around the periphery of the camp, staying out of the light thrown by the campfires, chucking sticks of dynamite as fast as he could.
The comancheros were so confused that they drew their guns but didn’t know what to shoot at. They had no idea how many men were attacking them or where they were.
Three or four of them, however, had more self-possession than the others.
They ran toward the tent.
As they came out of the back of the tent, a man came running around it. Felicia pointed the gun and fired, catching him right in the face.
“Good girl!” Decker shouted, not truly realizing that a fourteen-year-old girl had just killed a man!
“Move!” he told her, because she had frozen there, looking down at the man.
They started running and from behind him Decker could hear shots being fired at them. He hoped Felicia wouldn’t get brave and turn to fire back.
Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his side and knew he’d been hit. He staggered from the bullet, then from Rebecca’s weight, and fell. Felicia heard him and turned.
“Decker!”
