The guards were coming up the stairs, heavy boots pounding. Rhett fired twice through the doorway, not aiming to hit, just to slow them down. It worked. The footsteps retreated.
"Ayah, now!" She stuffed the last papers into the bag, and they ran out the door, down the back stairs, into the alley behind the building. Shouts followed them. Another gunshot cracked against the wall near Rhett's head.
They ran through the darkening streets, cutting through alleys, jumping fences, moving on instinct and adrenaline. Behind them, the shouts were getting organized, spreading out. "We need horses," Rhett gasped. They made it to the stable where they'd left Ash and another horse they'd borrowed.
Rhett saddled both animals in record time while Ayah kept watch at the door. "They're coming," she said. "I can hear them." "Almost done."
He cinched the last strap, grabbed the reins, and they mounted just as torchlight appeared at the end of the street. Rhett kicked Ash into a gallop, Ayah right behind him, and they thundered out of Domingo Springs with half the town chasing them. The pursuit lasted three miles before they lost them in the darkness. Rhett knew these trails.
Knew where the ground got rocky and tracks disappeared. Knew which turns led to dead ends and which led to freedom. By the time they reached the canyon, the torches were distant fireflies behind them. They didn't stop until they were deep in the passages, back in the sacred chamber where Ayah had sung to the stone.
Only then did Rhett allow himself to dismount, legs shaking, heart hammering. "That was insane," he said. Ayah slid off her horse and immediately checked the bag. The documents were crushed, some torn, but mostly intact.
She pulled out the ledger and held it like it was made of gold. "We have it," she said. "We actually have it." "Yeah. Now what do we do with it?"
That was the question neither of them had answered. They sat by the pool, spreading documents on the rock, and Rhett felt the weight of what they'd stolen settle on his shoulders. "Hank was right," he said. "The territorial governor won't care."
"The military won't care. Hell, even if we rode to Santa Fe and showed this to every official in the territory, half of them are probably getting paid by Vickers." "Then we go higher," Ayah said. "Higher than the territory."
"Federal?" "We take it to the federal government." Rhett laughed bitterly. "You think they care any more than the territory does?"
"Some of them might. There are people in Washington who've been trying to stop this kind of thing. Indian-rights advocates. Abolitionists who didn't stop fighting when the war ended."
She looked at him. "My mother used to tell stories about a woman who traveled to Washington to speak for our people. They didn't listen to her. But maybe they'll listen to this."
She held up the ledger, and Rhett saw something in her eyes that made his chest tight. Hope. Fierce, stubborn, probably foolish hope. "That's a thousand miles away," he said quietly.
"Maybe more. Through territory where we're wanted criminals. With men hunting us. No money."
"No supplies. No guarantee anyone will listen even if we make it." "I know." "We could die trying."