Crane reined in 50 yards from the rock wall. His men spread out in a line behind him, rifles ready. For a long moment, nobody spoke. The desert wind whispered through the canyon. A hawk circled overhead, indifferent to the violence about to unfold.
"Jesse Walker," Crane called out. His voice echoed off the stone walls. "I'm almost impressed. Old man with a bad heart making it this far. But this is where it ends. " Jesse stood up behind the wall, rifle in hand, but not pointed.
"You're right. This is where it ends. You turn around and ride away, or you die here. Your choice, Bear Clan. " Crane laughed. "Die?
I have 11 men. You have, what, two? Maybe three if that Apache girl can still hold a bow? " "We have the high ground. We have cover. We have nothing left to lose. " Jesse's voice was hard as granite.
"You want these girls, you come through us. But I guarantee you won't all make it. " Crane studied the canyon, his strategist's mind clearly calculating angles and odds. His eyes moved to the walls, saw Nala's position, saw the boulders at the rear providing cover for the others. His face tightened. "Last chance, Walker.
Send out the black feather women, and I'll let you ride away. You can die somewhere else. Might even make it back to that boy of yours in Texas before your heart gives out. " Jesse felt something cold and dark unfurl in his chest. Crane had done his research, knew about Ethan, knew exactly where to place the knife. "My boy is none of your concern," Jesse said quietly.
"Everything is my concern when it stands between me and what I want. Those girls are my property. That land is my claim. " "You're just a dying man who doesn't know when to quit. " "Then I guess I'll die not knowing. " Crane's face hardened. "So be it. " He raised his hand. His men brought their rifles up.
"Take them," Crane ordered. The battle began with a hail of gunfire. 11 rifles opened up at once, a rolling thunder of reports. Bullets smashed into the rock wall, sending chips of stone flying. Jesse and Swift Bird kept their heads down as the first volley passed overhead.
Then Jesse rose and fired. His first shot took one of Crane's men through the shoulder, spinning him out of his saddle. His second shot hit another in the thigh. The man screamed and his horse bolted. Swift Bird fired, too, but the boy was nervous.
His shots went wide. "Breathe," Jesse said between his own shots. "Pick your target. Squeeze slow. " Swift Bird tried again. This time his bullet found its mark, hitting a rider's horse.
The animal went down hard, throwing its rider into the dirt. Three men down, eight left, plus Crane. Nala's arrow took the fourth. It appeared from above like a judgment from heaven, burying itself in a rider's chest. He fell backward off his horse without a sound.
Crane's men scattered, seeking cover behind rocks and sparse vegetation. They'd expected an easy fight, overwhelmed by numbers. Instead, they were pinned down, taking casualties, unable to advance. "Flank them," Crane roared. "Get around the sides. " Three riders broke left, three broke right, trying to circle around the rock wall and attack from multiple directions.
Jesse had expected this. He turned and fired at the left group. Hit one in the arm, missed the second. The third made it past the rock wall and charged toward the rear, where Kiyana, Yazhi, and the horses waited. But Kiyana was ready.
Despite her fever, despite her infected leg, she rose from behind her boulder with a rifle Jesse had given her. She fired once. The rider jerked and fell from his saddle, a bloom of red on his chest. It was her first kill. Jesse saw her face go pale, saw her bend over and vomit.
But when she straightened, the rifle was still in her hands. The right flank was having more success. They'd made it past the rock wall and were advancing on Swift Bird's position. The boy fired rapidly, panic overcoming training. His bullets went wild.
Jesse swung his rifle around, shot one of the flanking riders in the leg. The man fell, but kept crawling forward, pistol in hand. Shot another in the shoulder. That one stayed down. But the third rider made it through.
He was young, maybe 20, with wild eyes and a gun already firing. His first shot missed Swift Bird by inches. His second would have killed the boy, except Jesse threw himself sideways, knocking Swift Bird down. The bullet meant for Swift Bird hit Jesse instead. It punched through his left shoulder, missing bone, but tearing through muscle.
Pain exploded white and hot. Jesse hit the ground hard, his Winchester flying from his hands. His vision grayed. The young rider aimed again, this time at Jesse's chest. An arrow sprouted from his throat.
The rider made a choking sound and fell forward, dying before he hit the ground. Nala had shot him from her perch, an impossible shot at that angle, but she'd made it anyway. Seven down, four left, plus Crane. But Jesse was hurt badly now. He could feel blood pumping from his shoulder wound, hot and fast.
Too fast. The bullet must have nicked an artery. He pressed his right hand against it, trying to slow the bleeding, but it wasn't working. Swift Bird was beside him, his young face terrified. "Jesse, don't die.
Please don't die. " "Not planning on it," Jesse said through gritted teeth. "Get me behind that boulder. Need cover. " Swift Bird helped him drag himself to better cover. Jesse's vision kept dimming and clearing, dimming and clearing. His heart was doing something terrible in his chest, skipping beats, racing, then almost stopping.
The combination of blood loss and cardiac failure was killing him faster than any bullet. He fumbled for the digitalis bottle. It had fallen from his vest during the impact. He couldn't find it. His hands were slick with blood, clumsy, useless.