Finn had barely cleared half his pistol from the holster when the bullet tore through his thigh. He dropped to his knees with a scream sharp enough to silence every bird in the brush. "Hank and Otis went perfectly still." "The next one won't land in a leg," I said, working the rifle's lever with a motion my hands remembered even after all those empty years. "Pick up your friend and ride."
Hank clenched his jaw. For several seconds, I thought he might take his chances and reach for his gun, but he was counting the odds, too. The train was closing fast, and any time wasted there could cost all three of them their lives. He and Otus hauled Finn upright between them, while the younger man cursed through gritted teeth and pressed both hands against his bleeding thigh. Before climbing into his saddle, Hank pointed a thick finger at me.
This isn't finished, weighed Coulter. I said nothing. I watched them ride south, their horses throwing up a wall of dust that the morning wind scattered across the flats. But something troubled me more than Hank's threat. Those men had not retreated because they were afraid.
They were riding away to bring back more guns. I secured the Winchester and ran toward the tracks. The ground shuddered beneath my boots. With every passing second, the approaching locomotive made its power known more clearly. I drew the knife from my belt and dropped to one knee beside the woman.
The ropes had been pulled so tight that almost no blood could reach her hands. I'm getting you off these rails. She did not answer. She only watched me through dark, fierce eyes filled with suspicion. I began sawing through the rope around her wrists.
The coarse fibers fought against my blade as if they too were determined to keep her there until the train arrived. The first binding broke, then the second. Another whistle screamed through the valley. 5 minutes. I moved quickly to her ankles.
As I cut, the rails began humming and the earth trembled beneath us with the rhythm of iron wheels. When the final length of rope fell away, I reached out to help her stand. What happened next came so quickly that I barely understood it. Her fist struck me square across the jaw. I stumbled back two paces, tasting blood.
She was already on her feet. Her body swayed from exhaustion, but she refused to fall. Don't touch me. Her English was clear and precise, spoken with the careful sharpness of someone who had been forced to learn every word correctly. I never asked you to save me.
I spat a thin streak of blood onto the gravel. Fine, we can argue about it after that train isn't about to run over both of us. For the first time, she turned toward the approaching locomotive. Black smoke was already rising above the next bend in the tracks. Pride finally surrendered to reality.
Without another word, she started running. We raced down the embankment together while the roar of steel swallowed the valley. The locomotive burst around the curve like an iron beast. It tore past us with such force that the rushing air struck our faces and nearly knocked us from our feet. Sparks flew beneath the wheels.
Cold smoke covered the hillside in darkness for several seconds, and the ground shook hard enough to rattle a man's bones. When the final rail car vanished into the distance, neither of us spoke. We simply stood there breathing. I offered her my canteen. She studied it with open suspicion.