She was plunged back into the nightmare, the smell of unwashed wool, of whiskey, the bruising grip, the coldness. She screamed, a raw animal sound, and fought, her nails raking for his eyes. "Hold still, you heathen!" he snarled, trying to pin her wrists. Pike reined in his horse, his face a mask of pale fury. "Brother Hackett, do not harm her.
She is a ward of the church. Bind her." She needs to be taught a lesson first. Preacher, Hackett grunted, his face close to hers. He was enjoying this.
She could feel the brutal anticipation in him. Jeb Smith had a rope. Just get her tied. We'll take her back to town and let the law handle read. Hackett shifted his weight, fumbling for her hands, his grip loosened on one of her arms. in the kitchen.
She had been slicing dried apples with her small carving knife. She had tucked it into the waistband of her skirt when she ran. Her hand free for a second, found the handle. She did not think. She reacted.
She pulled the knife and slashed upward, all her strength and terror behind it. Hackett screamed. It was a high, thin sound. He recoiled, clutching his face. Blood poured through his fingers.
The knife had laid his cheek open from the corner of his mouth to his ear. In that moment of shock, Tyen scrambled free. She was on her feet and gone, a deer vanishing into the thick scrub oak. "Get her!" Pike shrieked, his composure shattering.
Don't let her escape. Jeb and the Drifter charged after her, but the terrain was too thick for horses. They dismounted and plunged into the brush. Hackett was on the ground howling and cursing, his bloodstaining the dry earth. Daniel heard the shot.
His blood turned to ice. He dropped the half-filled buckets and scrambled up the canyon wall, grabbing at roots and rocks, his lungs burning. One shot, run, she ran. He prayed she had run. He burst onto the flat, his rifle ready.
He saw the horses. He saw Hackett on the ground, a pool of blood beside him. He saw Pike, his face a mask of rage. Reed, Pike shouted, pointing a pistol. You will pay for this.
She has mutilated my man. "Where is she?" Daniel roared, his voice inhuman. "Gone," Pike yelled. "Into the rocks."
Jeb, find her. A shout came from the trees. "We got her, Preacher. She's trapped." Daniel did not wait.
He ran past Pike, past the bleeding Hackett, and followed the sounds. He moved with a speed and silence the others did not possess. He was a ghost in the trees, his buckskin shirt blending with the timber. He knew this land. He knew where she would go.
There was a series of ledges, a place they had watched hawks from with a sheer drop to the canyon floor below. It was a dead end. He heard them crashing through the brush ahead of him. He cut left, moving silently over the rockfall. Coming in above them, he found them.
Tyen was on the ledge 10 ft above them, her back to a sheer drop of 200 ft. The carving knife was still in her hand, her knuckles white. She was breathing hard, her eyes darting like a trapped animal, but she was not crying. Jeb Smith and the Drifter were below her, trying to find a way up. "Come down, girl," Jeb was saying, his voice a mocking Weedle.
We ain't going to hurt you. Preacher just wants to talk. "I'll go up," the drifter said, holstering his pistol and grabbing the rock. You cover me. Daniel raised his rifle.
He did not call out. He did not warn them. This was not a fight. This was an execution. He set his sights on the drifter, who was halfway up the rock face.
He squeezed the trigger. The.44 caliber slug hit the man in the center of the back. He grunted, his body slamming against the stone and then he fell, tumbling silently to the base of the cliff. Jeb Smith spun around, his pistol clearing his holster. "What the—?"
Daniel's second shot was ready. It took Jeb in the chest, spinning him around. He staggered, looked down at the blood blooming on his shirt and then pitched forward. Silence. The echo of the shots rolled down the canyon.
Tyen stared, her hand over her mouth. "Daniel," she whispered. He stepped out from the trees, his rifle still shouldered below them on the trail. Pike appeared, his face white. He looked at the two bodies, then up at Daniel.
"Murderer!" He shrieked. "You are a godless killer." Daniel walked down the game trail until he was on the same level as the preacher. He did not lower the rifle.
His face was a terrible thing. All emotion burned away, leaving only a cold, deadly calm. "They tried to take her," he said. "She is my ward. The law is on my side."
Pike was trembling, but his righteous fury held him together. "You will hang for this, Reed, you and your heathen." Daniel's rifle came up. The muzzle aimed not at Pike's chest, but at his face. You lay hands on her again, Daniel said, his voice a low, grading whisper.
And I will plant you in this dirt. Pike flinched. He saw the truth in Daniel's eyes. This was not a threat. It was a statement of fact.
You You can't, Pike stammered. You can't kill a man of God. "I can," Daniel said. Hoof beatats pounded on the trail. "Hold your fire, Reed.
In the name of the law." Sheriff Brody appeared, his horse lighting to a stop. He had two deputies with him. They had been on patrol, heard the shots, and come running. Brody took in the scene in a single sweeping glance.
The two dead men, Pike, pale and shaking. Hackett stumbling up the trail, his face a mask of blood. And Daniel, his rifle steady, his eyes locked on the preacher. "Reed, put the rifle down now," Brody commanded. Daniel did not move.