Chapter Fifty-Two

With a burning cough, Luke sat upright on his cot. He blinked, the searing air bringing him quickly to his senses.

They hadn’t found the key.

It was the middle of the night.

He was still in his cell.

Rolling to his side, he stood, only to drop to his hands and knees, gasping for air. Black, acrid smoke roiled around the room and an amber glow radiated through the doorway to the front office. The place was on fire!

“Wake up!” he shouted to Blanche. “Get on the floor!” With blood pounding in his ears, he jerked down the blanket he’d nailed to the ceiling to give her a modicum of privacy and plunged the covering in the bucket of water, which he and Jack had filled only halfway by passing glasses of water through the bars the day before. Soaking up as much moisture as was available, he pushed the dripping wool through the bars to Blanche. “Stay down and cover yourself with this until help arrives!”

“We’re going to die! Burn to death!” Her eyes, rounded in fear, cut from corner to corner of her enclosure. “Benson has exacted his revenge straight from hell!”

You won’t die, but I might. Luke quickly stripped off his grimy shirt, soaked up the remainder of water left in his bucket, then held the garment to his mouth. Climbing onto his cot, he grasped the bars with one hand and pulled his face close, trying to find fresh air while scanning the area as he looked for help.

“Fire!” he shouted. Had anyone seen the flames? All seemed quiet. “Fire! Fire!”

Suddenly a cry went up. He didn’t recognize the voice.

Coughing, he looked around. Flames snapped around the edges of the door. It creeped inside. If they were going to rescue Blanche, they’d have to move soon. After the doorway was blocked, no one could enter. “Fire!”

“Fire, fire, help me, please!” Blanche shrieked, her volume loud even over the crackling flames. “It’s hot! The heat’s unbearable! Help me, please!”

The town bell clanged.

Luke sensed movement all around. Roady yelled from outside his window. Stepping up on his cot, he saw Faith and Colton. “If you don’t get in here quick,” he yelled. “Blanche will die! The way is still clear. But not for long!”

“Luke! Luke!” Faith screamed, her face contorted in horror. Her head twisted back and forth as she searched for something to do, some way to save him. She reached up. “My love, my love!”

Colton was at the side of the building, jumping toward the window. “Pa! Pa!”

Fear, an emotion he wasn’t used to feeling, speared through him with exacting pain. Reaching out, he touched the tips of Faith’s fingers one time and then glared at Roady. “Get them out of here! Now!”

One last touch. One last look for eternity. How had this travesty come to pass?

From behind, Shad grasped Faith around the middle and hoisted her up, kicking and screaming. Nick did the same with Colton. Ike had arrived as well as Jonathan and the rest. In the blink of an eye, Faith and Colton were gone.

“Get on the floor and wait!” Roady shouted. “I’ll be right back with horses and ropes. We’ll bust out the bars.”

“That’ll take too long. Blanche will be dead by then. She can’t last much longer in this smoke.” He looked over his shoulder, first at her and then at the spreading fire. “It’s risky, but I think someone can still get through the flames to her cell. Hurry! Jones has that key!”

All Luke saw was a blur of movement. With his head turned and face pushed at the bars, he gasped for breath then stepped off his cot and swabbed the empty bucket with his shirt, hoping for a few more drops of water. Through the smoke, he saw Blanche’s form huddled under the wet blanket on the floor. She wasn’t screaming anymore, and he wondered if she was dead.

Suddenly Shad was inside, darting around the flames. He jammed a key into Blanche’s lock and swung the door wide. He barely gave Luke a moment’s glance before scooping her up, blanket and all, then dashed from the room amid racking coughs. A moment later, the blanket, freshly drenched in water, was pushed through the bars of his window.

The wet cloth fell on his back, giving an instant of relief from the sweltering heat. He tried to stand but collapsed to one knee, pulling the blanket to his face. Who would have thought that this wretched, flea-filled blanket would feel like a blessing? Next to him the flames ate up the side of Blanche’s cell. They’d be overhead soon.

A moment of clarity filled Luke’s mind. Everyone he loved was here in the cell with him. His parents, brothers, Charity, and of course Faith, and all his children. His heart filled so tight pain crushed his chest. A male Indian face became clear. My father. His blood flows through my veins. A Cheyenne death song he’d never heard before came through Luke’s lips, surprising him. The chant was so weak he was sure he was the only person to hear.

Peace descended over his mind, and he crumpled to the floor.

Francis tore down the street toward the livery, the heavy weight of his Colt back on his hip. Halfway there, Fox Dancing and Painted Bear Stone met him, each leading three saddled horses. Not a word was said as Francis swung aboard his, noting the ropes on the saddles, and grasped the reins of the others. With feet still out of the stirrups, he hauled his horse around and galloped back to the orange inferno, lashing the end of his reins over and under to demand more speed, dragging the other horses behind.

Who set the fire? Bob, the newly arrived ranch hand who Roady had recruited to keep watch over the jail, had been hit over the head and was just now coming around. This blaze was deliberate. The killer wanted Blanche dead so she couldn’t talk. Wanted Luke dead, as well, probably thinking the case would be put to rest if somebody paid.

Rage ripped inside. Not at the killer, but himself. He should’ve done more! Dug deeper! Moved faster! Because he hadn’t, Luke might die.

As diligent as the water brigade of townspeople worked, their buckets of water weren’t doing much.

He circled to the back. Roady, Shad, Smokey, and all the hands didn’t need orders. Within seconds, six ropes wrapped around the window bars, strung back to the horses, and wrapped around the saddle horns. The men mounted up.

“This won’t be enough!” Jonathan yelled, his face contorted with anguish. “We need tools!”

Amazingly, Harrison Wesley and Leonard Browning appeared around the building with two hefty splitting mauls and an ax from the blacksmith shop. Nick, Tanner, and Pedro grabbed the gear, ran forward, and began chopping away at the window frame.

Sixty seconds felt like sixty years. The men worked as if the devil was spurring them on with a flaming-hot pitchfork, and in some ways, that was true. Redmond, fearful of the fiery sparks, snorted and pawed the ground. With an aching clenched jaw, he glanced over to the others mounted beside him. Roady, Smokey, Shad, Ike, Jonathan. They waited for the signal like contenders in a horse race. Francis felt their pain. The sight was the only thing that kept him from breaking down. He couldn’t lose Luke. They couldn’t lose Luke. This was a nightmare that wouldn’t end.

Turning, Pedro shouted, “Go, go!” He waved them away as the others stepped clear from the window and ropes.

The riders swung their horses around and spurred with a vengeance. Francis goaded with every ounce of strength he had and galloped forward, bracing himself for the jolt to come.

God, we’re all counting on you! Let’s get this done…

The horses hit hard. Redmond went down on his knees and almost rolled to his side. Clinging to the saddle, Francis stayed aboard as the gelding scrambled to his feet. Smokey hadn’t been as lucky. Through the thick, cinder-filled air, Francis couldn’t see if they’d been successful. Sparks rained down, singeing Redmond’s ears and crest, making him snort and jerk to the side. Francis felt a drag on the rope. Not heavy, but something anchored to the end.

Hope leaped up. He forced Redmond forward, unwinding the rope from the saddle horn and flicking it out of the way of his horse’s prancing hooves. When he was closer, he saw the men hefting Nick up on their shoulders. Petty disappeared into the window. Would he be strong enough to lift Luke out if he were unconscious? Dead weight was a curse.

Whoever tried to kill Luke will pay! Francis swung out of his saddle, not minding when Redmond galloped off. He pushed his way through the crowd until he found Tanner. The boot print had only excluded Neil Huntsman. Clark and Kasterlee could go either way. Whenever Francis was in the restaurant, Clevenger never stopped long enough for him to get a fix.

“Tanner,” he shouted above the ruckus, his eyes glued on the jail window. “Give me the money clip.” Having the piece once again in his possession, Francis, determined, strode to the front of the building. He shoved the clip in everyone’s face as they worked. “Seen this before?” All he got were head shakes and shrugs until finally, a man he didn’t know said the piece belonged to Neil Huntsman.

Frustrated, he saw a man and the local bartender standing at the mouth of the alley with their hands on their sides as if they needed to catch their breath. Francis ran forward. “You ever see this before?”

“Sure,” both said at the same time.

Don’t say Neil Huntsman. “Where? Who’s the proper owner? I found it in the dirt.”

“Pink Kelly, the livery man,” the stranger said.

“That ain’t so,” the bartender countered. “Belongs to some young man new to town. He showed me today, in the saloon,” the barkeep said, looking smug. “Pink was there too. Asked about the clip, being the shape is unusual and all. If the thing belonged to him, he would’ve said so then and there.”

Oh, no, he wouldn’t! He knew the money clip was an albatross that could drop a noose around his neck.

Without a word, Francis turned and scanned the melee of men through the smoke. Pink had been missing when they’d needed him to break the lock on the cell. He’d been staying out of sight until he could set the fire. That piece of dung was here somewhere, and Francis aimed to find him before he got away. He ran to the back. Counted the men. Who was with the women? Had anyone stayed back to make sure they were safe?