His palm was calloused, his grip strong.

We attack tomorrow night, Garrett said.

I have to be at Ghost Ridge by sunset the day after tomorrow to meet Ayana.

That gives us tonight to plan tomorrow night to execute and one full day to ride to Ghost Ridge.

Tight, but possible.

One day is enough, Kona unslung his bow.

I know a way into the mine that the guards do not watch, but we will need a distraction.

They spent the rest of the afternoon planning.

Kona had been watching the mine for three weeks, knew the guard rotations, knew which men were lazy and which were alert.

He sketched a rough map in the dirt with a stick, showed Garrett the layout.

The prisoners are kept in the deepest shaft, Kona said, chained at the ankle.

They work 16 hours a day, sleep where they stand.

Morrison keeps them weak.

Easier to control.

How many prisoners? Eight.

All Apache.

Nishod is the oldest.

The others are younger.

Boys mostly, 14, 15 years old.

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

Children, Morrison was using children.

Here is what we do, Kona continued.

Tomorrow night, just after the guard change at sunset, I create a diversion on the eastern side.

Fire explosions make them think they are under attack.

While they respond, you go in through the ventilation shaft on the western wall.

It is a tight fit, but you can make it.

What kind of explosions? Kona smiled grimly.

I have been stealing Morrison’s blasting powder for weeks.

I have enough to make them think the whole canyon is coming down.

They waited for nightfall, then moved closer to the mine, taking positions in the rocks.

Kona pointed out the ventilation shaft, a narrow opening in the canyon wall about 40 ft above the mine entrance, partially hidden by an overhang.

“Can you climb that?” Kona asked.

Garrett studied the rock face.

It was steep, but not impossible.

Plenty of hand holds.

I can climb it.

Good.

When you hear the first explosion, you go.

Move fast.

You will have maybe 20 minutes before they realize it is a diversion and return to the mine.

20 minutes to find eight prisoners, break their chains, and get them out.

Yes.

What about you? I will meet you at the northern end of the canyon.

There is a trail there hidden.

We can lose them in the rocks.

Garrett nodded.

It was a bad plan.

Too many things could go wrong, but it was the only plan they had.

They separated.

Kona disappeared into the darkness, moving toward the eastern approach.

Garrett positioned himself below the ventilation shaft and waited.

The night was cold.

Stars emerged sharp and bright.

The moon rose a thin crescent that gave just enough light to see by.

From the mine below, Garrett heard voices, laughter, the guards changing shifts.

He thought about Ayana riding alone toward Fort Sumner.

Thought about the ledger she carried the proof that could bring Morrison down.

Thought about the promise he had made.

Bring her brother home alive.

The first explosion shattered the night.

A bloom of orange fire erupted on the eastern side of the mine, followed by a concussive boom that echoed off the canyon walls.

Shouts, bells ringing, men running.

Garrett did not wait.

He started climbing.

The rock was rough under his hands, still warm from the day’s heat.

He moved quickly, finding holds, pulling himself up.

40 ft, 30, 20.

Another explosion below, bigger than the first.

The guards were panicking now, firing randomly into the darkness.

Garrett reached the ventilation shaft, pulled himself inside.

It was narrow, barely wide enough for his shoulders.

He had to turn sideways, inch forward in the blackness.

The air was thick with dust and the smell of sulfur and sweat.

He crawled for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only 5 minutes.

Then the shaft opened up and he dropped into a larger tunnel.

Lantern light flickered ahead, the sound of metal striking stone.

Garrett drew his pistol, moved forward carefully.

The tunnel sloped downward, the air getting hotter.

He passed side shafts, storage aloves filled with tools and timber, kept going deeper.

Then he heard it, a rhythmic clanking, the sound of chains.

He rounded a corner and found them.

Eight men chained by their ankles to iron rings set into the stone floor.

They were emaciated, their ribs visible through torn shirts, their faces hollow with exhaustion.

Most were boys, just as Kona had said, 14, 15 years old.

Their eyes were dull, defeated.

But one man, older than the rest, raised his head when Garrett appeared.

His face was gaunt, covered in a thick beard, but his eyes still held fire.

Garrett knew those eyes.

They were Ayana’s eyes.

Nash.

The man blinked.

Who are you? My name is Garrett Vale.

Your sister sent me.

Nishoda’s face went through a series of emotions.

Shock, disbelief, hope so desperate it was painful to witness.

Ayana is alive.

Alive and fighting Morrison.

I am here to get you out.

Nishoda stared at him.

Then his gaze dropped to Garrett’s face, studying the scar the features.

I know you, Nishod said slowly.

You were there six years ago at the village.

Yes.

You led Morrison’s men to us.

Yes, you helped kill my family.

Garrett met his eyes, did not look away.

Yes, and I have spent every day since trying to make it right.

Starting now.

Nishoda’s jaw worked.

Fury and pain wared in his expression.

Then he looked at the chains at the boys around him at the dark mineshaft stretching away into blackness.

If you are lying, if this is some trick, I will kill you myself.

Fair enough.

Garrett moved to the nearest chain, examined the lock, old, rusted, but solid.

He pulled a small pry bar from his belt, wedged it into the shackle, and levered hard.

The metal groaned, but held.

Damn it, he tried again.

Same result.

The keys, one of the younger prisoners said, his voice weak.

Guard keeps them in the office.

Top level.

No time to go up.

The explosions outside had stopped.

The guards would be returning soon.

Garrett looked at the chain where it connected to the floor ring.

The ring itself was set in old mortar crumbling at the edges.

He wedged the pry bar underneath, threw his full weight against it.

The mortar cracked.

He levered again.

The ring came free.

I cannot unlock you, Garrett said.

But I can free you from the floor.

You will have to run with the chains on.

He worked quickly, freeing each prisoner in turn.

The boys could barely stand their legs weak from months of hard labor and little food.

Nishoda helped them his own chains dragging his movement stiff.

Garrett had just freed the last prisoner when he heard footsteps in the tunnel, voices, guards returning.

Move, Garrett hissed.

Back the way I came.

They stumbled toward the ventilation shaft, the chains clanking with every step.

Too loud.

the guards would hear.

“Wait,” Nashoda said.

He turned to one of the younger prisoners.

“Go back, make noise, lead them the other direction.

” The boy’s eyes went wide with fear.

“They will kill me.

” “Maybe, or maybe you save your brothers and become a hero.

Choose.

” The boy looked at the others, at their desperate faces, their chains, their weakness.

Something hardened in his expression.

He nodded.

Go,” Nashodto said gently.

“Run fast.

” The boy turned and ran deeper into the mine, his chains clanking loudly.

He started shouting, making as much noise as possible.

The guard’s footsteps changed direction, chasing the sound.

“Now,” Garrett said.

Move.

They ran.

Nishoda helped the weaker boys half carrying them.

Garrett brought up the rear pistol drawn.

They reached the ventilation shaft.

I cannot fit through that,” Nishoda said, looking at the narrow opening.

“You have to.

I am too big.

The chains will catch.

” Garrett looked at the shaft at Nishod’s broad shoulders at the thick lengths of chain.

Nishoda was right.

He would get stuck.

Behind them, gunfire erupted.

Screams.

The boy who had led the guards away was dying, buying them time with his life.

“There is another way,” Nashoto said.

“The main entrance.

We fight our way out.

There are too many guards.

Then we die fighting instead of crawling.

Nishoda’s eyes blazed.

I have been a slave for 6 years.

I will not spend another minute in this hole.

The other prisoners nodded.

Even weak, even starving, they would rather die in open air than live one more day underground.

Garrett made the decision.

All right, we fight.

They moved back through the mine.

This time heading up instead of deeper.

The tunnels grew brighter as they approached the entrance.

Voices ahead, guards organizing, responding to the attack.

Garrett held up his hand, stopped.

Listened.

How many? Nishto whispered.

At least 10, maybe more.

Can you shoot? Yes.

Then shoot fast.

They burst from the tunnel entrance into chaos.

Kona’s explosions had set half the supply shed on fire.

Guards ran in every direction, shouting orders, firing into the darkness.

No one was looking at the mine entrance.

Garrett shot the nearest guard in the back.

The man fell.

Garrett grabbed his rifle, tossed it to Nishod.

Go north end of the canyon.

There is a trail.

They ran.

Guards spotted them, opened fire.

Bullets kicked up dust.

One of the young prisoners screamed, “Went down.

” Nishoda tried to help him, but the boy was dead.

“Keep moving,” Garrett fired back, covering their retreat.

They reached the canyon wall, started climbing the narrow trail Kona had described.

It was steep, treacherous.

The chains made every step harder.

One of the boys slipped, nearly fell.

Nishoda caught him.

Behind them, guards flooded out of the mine.

At least 15 men, all armed.

They formed a line, started shooting.

Garrett and Nishoda returned fire from higher ground, dropped three guards.

The others took cover.

“We are not going to make it,” one of the prisoners gasped.

“Yes, we are,” Nishoda said, but his voice held out.

Then from above, arrows began to fall.

Kona appeared on the canyon rim, shooting down into the guards below.

His arrows were deadly accurate.

One guard, two, three, the others scattered.

“Climb!” Kona shouted.

I will hold them.

They climbed.

Garrett’s lungs burned.

His legs screamed.

The young prisoners were barely conscious, pulling themselves up on pure will.

More gunfire from below.

A bullet struck the rock next to Garrett’s head sent stone fragments into his face.

He kept climbing.

They reached the rim, collapsed on solid ground.

Kona was still firing, keeping the guards pinned.

How many left? Garrett gasped.

Too many and they will bring reinforcements from the main camp.

We need to move now.

They ran or tried to.

The prisoners could barely walk.

Nishod and Garrett had to support them carrying the weakest behind them.

The guards reached the rim, started pursuit.

We cannot outrun them.

Nishoda said.

Not like this.

Kona looked at the prisoners at their chains at their weakness.

Looked at the guards closing in.

Made his decision.

You go, Kona said.

I will slow them down.

No, Garrett said.

We do not leave anyone behind.

You do not leave them behind.

Kona nodded at the prisoners.

But I am not one of them.

This is my choice.

Kona, there are too many.

You will die.

I know.

Kona smiled.

It was a terrible smile full of pain and fury and six years of waiting.

But I will die hurting Morrison.

That is enough.

He pulled something from his pack.

Three bottles filled with oil rags stuffed in the necks.

Homemade bombs.

There is a narrow pass ahead.

Kona said they will have to go through single file.

I will make them pay for every step.

Nishoda gripped Kona’s shoulder.

You are brave.

Your father would be proud.

Tell Ayana I am sorry I could not see her again.

Then Kona turned and ran back toward the pursuing guards.

Garrett wanted to stop him, wanted to argue, but there was no time.

Kona was already gone, running toward his death with the same fierce determination he had lived with for 6 years.

Garrett gripped Nishoda’s arm.

We make his death mean something.

We get these boys home.

We destroy Morrison.

That is how we honor him.

Nashod nodded, tears on his face.

He was the bravest of us all.

The prisoners were dying on their feet.

Every second mattered.

Move, Garrett said.

Do not let his sacrifice be for nothing.

They moved.

Heard the first explosion behind them.

Screams.

Another explosion.

Gunfire sustained and vicious.

Then silence.

Kona was gone.

Garrett would carry that silence for the rest of his life.

The silence that meant a brave young man had died buying time for others to live.

Kona had spent six years hunting Morrison.

And in the end, he had traded his life not for revenge, but for rescue.

That was worth remembering, worth honoring.

They reached the horses Garrett had hidden in the rocks.

Not enough for everyone.

Garrett and Nashoda rode double the prisoners, clinging to the saddles as best they could.

They rode through the night, did not stop, did not look back.

When dawn came, they were 20 miles from Red Canyon, deep in broken country, where Morrison’s men would have trouble tracking them.

They stopped in a sheltered ravine, built a small fire, broke the chains with rocks, and a hammer Garrett had in his saddle bag.

It took two hours, but finally all the prisoners were free.

Nashoda sat apart from the others, staring at nothing.

His wrists were raw from the shackles bleeding.

His face was hollow.

Garrett sat down next to him, said nothing.

Sometimes there were no words.

Finally, Nashoda spoke.

Ayana, tell me about her.

Tell me she is all right.

She is strong, stronger than you know.

She was 12 when I last saw her.

Just a child.

She is a woman now, a fighter.

Nashoda closed his eyes.

Tears ran down his face, cut tracks through the dirt and soot.

I thought she was dead for 6 years.

I thought I was alone.

That I was the last.

You were not alone.

And you never will be again.

Nishada looked at Garrett.

Why did you do this? Really? You do not know me.

Do not owe me anything.

I owe Ayana.

She saved my life once.

I am repaying the debt.

When did she save you? Garrett touched the scar on his face.

The night Morrison tried to kill me.

After I hid your sister Morris and set fire to my house with me inside, I was trapped at burning.

I gave up, accepted death.

He paused, remembering, but then someone pulled me out, dragged me through the flames, saved me.

I never saw who.

Was unconscious by the time I got outside, but later when I woke up, there was a message scratched in the dirt next to me.

Two words in Apache.

I had a friend translate.

What did it say? We are even.

Nishoda stared at him.

Understanding dawned.

Ayana, she came back for you.

A 12-year-old girl walked back into a burning building to save the man who had hidden her from men trying to kill her.

She should have run, should have left me to die.

But she did not.

Garrett stood looked toward the east where Ayana was riding alone toward Fort Sumner.

So yes, I owe her.

I owe her everything, and I will not rest until she is safe.

and Morrison is dead.

Nishoda stood as well, extended his hand.

Then we are allies for Ayana and for everyone Morrison has hurt.

They shook, not as enemies, not even quite as friends, but as men, bound by the same promise.

The sun climbed higher.

The day grew hot.

They shared what little food and water they had.

The young prisoners, freed from their chains, began to look more like boys again.

They spoke in low voices, planned what they would do when they returned to their people.

We need to split up, Garrett said.

I need to get to Ghost Ridge by tomorrow sunset to meet Ayana.

You need to get these boys somewhere safe.

There is an Apache camp 2 days west.

Nishoda said, “They will take us in.

We will be safe there.

” Good.

When this is over, when Morrison is finished, I will find you.

Bring Ayana to you.

When this is over, Nishoda said, I want to look Morrison in the eyes before he dies.

I want him to know who beat him.

You will get your chance.

They parted ways at midday.

Nishoda and the six surviving boys headed west.

Garrett turned south toward Ghost Ridge, toward the meeting place toward Ayana.

He had one day, one day to cross 60 mi of desert.

It was possible barely if he pushed hard and the horse held up.

He rode.

The sun beat down.

The horse began to tire.

Garrett walked when he could, giving the animal rest, but every hour counted.

He ate in the saddle, drank sparingly from his canteen, kept moving.

Night fell.

He rode by starlight, trusting the horse to find its footing.

His eyes burned from lack of sleep.

His body achd from two days of fighting and climbing and running, but he did not stop.

Dawn of the fourth day found him on the final approach to Ghost Ridge.

The landmark was visible in the distance, a distinctive rock formation that rose above the surrounding desert like a broken tooth.

He was close.

So close.

That was when he saw the writers, six men coming from the east, moving fast.

Not Morrison’s men.

These were different clothes, official clothes.

Garrett’s blood went cold.

He spurred his horse forward, raced toward Ghost Ridge.

Please let her be there.

Please let her be safe.

He reached the ridge as the sun touched the horizon, dismounted, climbed the rocks, and saw her.

Ayana sat at the base of the ridge, her back against the stone, her rifle across her knees.

She looked exhausted, her clothes were torn, blood stained her sleeve, but she was alive.

She looked up as Garrett approached, her face transformed.

relief, joy, something deeper.

You came, she said.

I promised.

Nashoda, alive, safe, on his way to a camp west of here with six others we freed.

Ayana closed her eyes.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Garrett sat down beside her.

The ledger.

Did you deliver it? Ayana’s face darkened.

I tried.

The governor is dead.

murdered two days before I arrived.

His deputy is one of Morrison’s men.

He tried to take the ledger, tried to arrest me.

How did you escape? A woman helped me.

A Mexican woman named Rosa.

Her daughter was sold by Morrison.

Died in the mines.

Ayana’s voice broke.

Rosa held off the guard so I could run.

They killed her.

Garrett put his arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him, shaking.

Too many people are dying for this, she whispered.

Kona, Rosa, that boy in the mine.

How many more before it ends? I do not know.

But it will end.

Morrison will pay.

How the governor is dead.

Morrison owns the deputy.

Who is left to stop him? Garrett looked toward the east where the six riders were approaching Ghost Ridge.

They were close now.

Close enough to see details.

They were soldiers.

federal cavalry and riding at their head was a man Garrett recognized.

Brigadier General Henry Carlton, commander of the Department of New Mexico.

Them, Garrett said.

Ayana followed his gaze saw the soldiers.

Who are they? The only man in New Mexico who outranks Morrison.

The only man Morrison cannot buy.

Continue reading….
« Prev Next »