Hate gleamed in the man’s eyes, the irrational hatred of a sadistic enemy. Delgado. Steve broke out in a cold sweat. The metallic taste of fear filled his mouth and throat, though he had no intention of being left at the mercy of Delgado or the guards again.
Once before, when he had gone back to the prison where he’d been forced to slave, Steve had not been able to free the men chained together. This time he would not leave until every last man bound to servitude in this living hell was set free. There were too many like Juan Rodriguez who had died for no reason, like Juan Rodriguez, who never saw his wife again, never knew if his child had lived.
Stripped to the basics of survival, denied their humanity, the hell of virtual slavery in these mines would be stopped for a while at least, forever if he could manage it.
“I will put him in our manacles,” Delgado was saying. Paco swiftly objected.
“Not until the papers are all signed, Jefe, for I have my orders. He is my responsibility, you see, and I will not take the risk of his escaping you again until he is in your custody.”
Delgado sounded displeased, but agreed. “All these rules are unnecessary, Lieutenant, but if it will hasten the process, I will do it. Come with me. You, Perez! Come and watch the prisoner!”
“My men will watch him,” Paco said coolly, “until the papers are signed. Then he will be yours to do with as you wish.”
Delgado swore softly, but spun on his heel to mount the short flight of stairs that led to the offices, Paco close on his heels.
When the door shut behind them, Steve shifted position, his muscles tense and aching with strain. The sun beat down on his bare head and sweat stuck his cotton shirt to his sides as he waited. The wool serape was heavy, weighing him down. The reassuring press of the pistol cut into his rib cage.
At last Paco appeared in the doorway above them. He held up a small ring of keys and nodded.
It was the signal. Steve twisted his hands inside the loose coil of iron manacles, sliding them free, reaching under his wool serape for his gun at the same time as those with him leaped upon the unsuspecting guards.
The struggle was brief and decisive, the guards brutally overwhelmed. It was done so swiftly that none of the guards across the compound even noticed. Steve bent and took the huge ring of keys from one of the dead guards.
By the time the other guards saw their fallen comrades, they were surrounded; only two resisted, and were quickly defeated. Paco ran to open the gates for Tige and Charley, swinging them wide in a loud shriek of rusty metal.
The prisoners, still manacled, ceased to work, and stared in confusion at the men in Rurales uniform as they went coolly about their business.
Shrugging free of the confining serape, Steve gestured with his pistol to the yawning mouth of a tunnel blasted into the rock.
“The silver is down there.” It was all too familiar, the walk down a narrow tunnel illuminated by the hot, smoky light of creosote torches set into brackets in the rock walls. The walls closed around them like jaws, swallowing them up as they descended into murky air that smelled of raw earth and desperation.
The iron door set into a wall had a double bolt and lock on it, formidable resistance without the key. Hollow clanks sounded loud in the shadows as the door swung open.
Haunted by memories of the days he’d spent in this dank prison, Steve began to sweat despite thin cotton garments and his breath was shallow.
“Are you all right, amigo?”
He didn’t look at Paco, just nodded tightly. “Get the silver loaded as quickly as you can. Use their wagons. We’ll get it out of here before the second shift of guards arrives from the village. We don’t have long.”
“I have the feeling that Senator Brandon is going to be mighty upset,” Butch Casey observed laconically. In the turbid light, his grin flashed white.
“Yeah.” Steve’s belly knotted at the unmistakable sound of a muffled, despairing cry of a prisoner locked into one of the cells. “Finish here, Paco. I’ve got some work to do.”
Using the ring of keys he’d taken from the guard, Steve began to unlock doors, flinging them wide. He went from iron door to iron door, and the men too weak to move were helped by their comrades.
“Go back and help him,” he ordered one man who tried to push past, leaving his cellmate. “If he doesn’t go, you don’t go.”
In the faint, flickering light, the man gave him a wide stare of resentment, but went back, helping the other man to his feet. Freed of manacles and prison, the men poured out of the mine like ants scurrying from a sandy hill, streaming to freedom.
None were left behind. Not one man remained.
“You probably set free some of Cortina’s men or worse,” Paco observed, but Steve only shrugged.
“Better than leaving innocent men down here to suffer the torments of hell. Lock the guards in the cells. Too bad we can’t stay long enough to give them some of the same kind of treatment they like giving to others.”
It wasn’t until they were on the way back, the silver weighing down a wagon and their saddlebags, that he felt as if he could breathe easily again, the stink of the mine finally behind him.
This wouldn’t stop Brandon—there was more silver in the mines—but it would certainly cost him.
The trek to El Paso del Norte was arduous, long enough that he had time to think, to reflect on Ginny and their past. Their future.
He had done all he could do about Brandon and
