Carly wet her lips. “You’re wearing your gun. Are you expecting some kind of trouble?”
“As I said, it’s nothing to worry about. Go back inside. It’s time for us to leave.”
“But—”
“Do as I say, Caralee. I don’t want to tell you again.”
Carly said nothing, just backed away into the shadows, then turned and walked off toward the house. Her uncle had barely spoken in the last two days. He was angry at her for accepting Ramon’s gift of the mare. He’d demanded she return the horse to Las Almas, but Carly had staunchly refused.
Now she wished she had placated him somehow. Perhaps he would have told her his plans for tonight. Instead, she had only just chanced to see the men outside and now her heart pounded with fierce trepidation. She waited inside the house till the men rode out of sight, her legs feeling wobbly and her hands shaking with fear. There wasn’t time to change her clothes. Instead, as soon as the riders dropped over the rise, she raced to the barn, opened the door to Sunflower’s stall, and led the little mare outside.
In minutes, she had the horse saddled, bridled, and ready. Climbing up on the mounting block, she hoisted herself up into the sidesaddle, bunching her plum silk skirts around her, gathered up the reins, and set off into the darkness.
How in God’s name had her uncle discovered the plan to free Pedro and the men? Or perhaps he didn’t know for sure, just suspected they might make the attempt since the hanging was set for tomorrow.
She tossed that notion away. If that was the case, the men would have been watching the jail for the past two nights. They wouldn’t have known for certain for which night the raid was set. But they did know, Carly was sure. Someone had told them.
Who could have known?
Who would have betrayed them?
Who—besides herself?
Carly’s insides clenched so hard she swayed and nearly lost her seat atop the mare. God in heaven, Ramon would believe she was the one who had told them. He had told her his plans. He would believe she had told her uncle. Ramon would be killed and even as the shots slammed into his body, he would believe she had betrayed him again.
Dear God, she couldn’t bear to think of it.
Carly kicked the mare into a gallop, her chest so tight she could barely drag in a breath. She had to catch up with the men, but she couldn’t let them see her. She had to discover what her uncle intended and somehow warn Ramon.
The mare stumbled over a rock and nearly went down. Carly eased up on the reins, let the animal regain its feet, then rode on, her heartbeat more rapid with every passing mile. No moon shone, just a thin sliver of white and a faint silver trail to light the way. Dark swirling clouds rolled past, obscuring even that small source of comfort for long, ink-black minutes at a time.
She topped a ridge above the low, rolling, oak-covered hills and caught a glimpse of the men below. They were moving rapidly, covering much of the way at a gallop. She followed behind them, keeping up a steady pace yet always careful not to get too near.
As the night grew more chill, she untied the blanket she carried behind her saddle and drew it around her bare shoulders and the generous portion of her breasts the expensive silk gown exposed. Her stiffly starched muslin petticoats chafed against her legs and her whalebone corset pressed into the underside of her breasts. The pins in her hair came loose as the horse’s hooves pounded against the earth, and her long, dark copper hair flew wildly around her shoulders. Still she rode on.
She was nearly exhausted by the time she reached the outskirts of San Juan Bautista, slowing the mare when the lights came into view and silently picking her way along the dry arroyo the men had ridden into ahead of her. She drew rein when she heard them speaking and realized they had all dismounted.
Tying the mare some distance away, she crept over the rocky surface of the old dry streambed, ignoring the jab of a sharp stone in her shoe, until she got close enough to see what they were doing. They were settling in, she saw, finding places to lie in wait where they wouldn’t be discovered. Crouching behind downed trees, granite boulders, and out of sight around a bend in the arroyo, they prepared themselves to ambush Ramon and his men.
The trap was deadly. None of the men would escape.
A sharp stab of fear gouged through her as she made her way back to where her little mare waited.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Ramon sat astride his big black stallion, Viento Prieto. Dark Wind had carried its master as if he were the wind in truth, moving like a zephyr through the night. Beside him, Ruiz Dominguez, Ignacio Juarez, and a dozen of his vaqueros, all that remained after the raid on Llano Mirada, surveyed the village of San Juan Bautista, nestled at the base of the foothills in the fertile valley below.
“Each of you remembers what he is to do?”
“Si,Don Ramon,” muttered the men. The tension among them was so palpable even the horses could sense it. They snorted and blew, their nostrils flaring, hooves shifting nervously, and there was a wildness in their eyes that matched that of the men.
“Ruiz and Ignacio will come into the jail with me,” Ramon reminded them. “Emilio and Esteban will guard the door, while the rest of you take up the positions you were assigned. You are ready?”
Another muttered agreement.
“Fan out and move in quietly. Do not spare your horses once the men are freed and we are ready to ride out of town.” Grim-faced they set off down the hill, each of them knowing the price they would pay if they failed. Their friends would hang. And they would all be dead.
As they had planned, they spread out and rode in, traveling quietly along the narrow lanes and alleys till they reached the sheriff’s office across the street and down from the mission.Ramon’s jaw tightened at the sight of the makeshift gallows in the square, its four swinging nooses a grisly reminder of what might await them. Moving with stealth, he eased closer to the stoutly constructed, thick-timbered jail with its two small windows, and nodded to one of his men, who took out the guard at the rear.