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After the Ashes(85)

By:Cheryl Howe


For once, Braddock’s morose sense of justice worked in his favor. Being escorted into Mulcahy’s camp, even at gunpoint, should have suited him fine. Unfortunately, now that he had something to live for, the insanity of the situation rocked him. Like all the other forgotten emotions Lorelei had unlocked, a healthy dose of fear was making an appearance.

After the sharp turn, followed by a climb over a cascade of rocks, he and his captor started down a slope leading to a flat mesa tucked into the canyon’s side. The formation of the red rock walls protected the bandits from view until you were right on them.

Corey had actually done him a favor by keeping his mouth closed about the first set of guards. Better to be brought in as one of their own seeking refuge than to get caught sneaking up on the camp. That had been Braddock’s plan in the beginning, anyway. He’d already used Knox’s name once or twice in places like Coyote Pass, where being a bounty hunter would be instant death. Actually, it wasn’t too popular a profession anywhere, a fact that had never bothered Braddock before.

Mulcahy’s refuge consisted of several tents and a few wooden structures, all in various stages of completion or dilapidation. Wooden walls had tarps strewn across their top, and adobe bricks lay scattered about, rotting under the sun and wind. No one seemed in a hurry to finish any of their half-assed efforts at shelter. A few men glanced his way; others didn’t even notice. Several congregated in the shade of a scrub pine. Another picked at the hoof of his horse’s foreleg. The canyon must have a second entrance. Before the steep climb, he’d been forced to leave Lucky in a natural corral created by a deep groove in the rock wall. You couldn’t force a horse the way he’d come, not even blindfolded.

Braddock made a casual sweep with his gaze, looking for Mulcahy. Once the excitement of the hunt kicked in, he forgot his fear. He mentally noted his surroundings and calculated what could be used to his advantage. As he grew closer, he noticed the men under the trees were playing cards, except for one who had slumped to the side in an awkward pile, a whiskey bottle still clutched in his hand. Though the men were fewer in number than he’d expected, none of them had their guard up. The mood was glum. They certainly didn’t act like a group that had just stolen a fortune in gold. The robbery must have taken its toll, as Corey had said. But Braddock knew not to place too much stock in anything Corey claimed.

The guard guided him to a wood framed shack that had recently been fixed to create a decent shelter. A blanket hung as a door. The sunken roof consisted of juniper branches with the needlelike leaves and berry sized blue cones still attached. A man with a rifle across his lap and a hat pulled over his eyes sat on the ground with his back against the weathered plank wall.

The guard stopped a few feet short of the resting man. “Ricochet?”

“Your time’s not up yet, Cole.”

Cole shifted. Even in Ricochet’s relaxed position, he forced the hair on the back of Braddock’s neck to rise.

After glancing around the camp either for help or someone else to take his prisoner to, Cole finally gave up and cleared his throat. “This one says he’s Lincoln Knox.”

Ricochet pushed the stiff leather hat off his face and gazed at Braddock. “What entrance did he come in?”

“South. The one you told me to guard.”

“Why didn’t you shoot him?”

Braddock steeled himself against a rush of anger. Corey had failed to mention a second entrance. Either the kid purposely lied to him, or Mulcahy was planning on getting rid of Corey from the beginning. Both excuses seemed plausible.

“He broke out of the Tombstone jail. Wants a place to hide.”

Ricochet didn’t alter his bored expression. “I don’t give a shit. Take him out and shoot him. Your orders are to shoot anyone who gets near the south entrance. Now do it, boy.”

Cole lowered his rifle. Luckily for Braddock, Cole wasn’t taken with the idea. “But he’s an outlaw. He wants a place—”

“He’s seen the hideout. Now, that don’t make it a hideout anymore.” Ricochet eased his finger around the rifle’s trigger and maneuvered the barrel to point at Cole. “If you don’t want me to take you with him, you’ll take him out and shoot him. Away from the camp, Cole. Mulcahy’s trying to sleep.”

Cole stood as if his feet had sunk into the dry sand. He let out his breath. “Come on,” he finally mumbled to Braddock.

Braddock held his ground. “Listen here, mister, I’ve been four days in the desert to get here. I’m not going to let you shoot me.”

“What the hell you going to do about it?” Ricochet must have sensed something dangerous in Braddock, because he sat up and steadied his rifle with his other hand.