7th Sigma (10 page)

Maybe Mr. Costillo thought they'd stop or at least turn and go back the way they'd come. He probably didn't expect them to fire first.

The lead rider lifted a multi-barrel disposable, like Mr. Costillo's, but when he fired each barrel in quick succession it was clear from the sharp reports that he was firing rifled ceramic slugs. Kimble ducked reflexively. From a galloping horse the bandit was more likely to hit someone by accident than deliberately, but Mr. Costillo was not so lucky. He clutched at his chest and tumbled backward over his horse's rump.

There were simultaneous cries of “Daddy!” and “John” from Mr. Costillo's daughters and wife. His son Paco spurred his horse so hard that it jumped out into the wash, colliding with the first rider's horse. Both Paco, the rider, and horses went down in a tangle of flailing limbs.

Mr. Costillo, on the ground, thrust his gun out in the direction of the trailing rider and fired.

Gravel buzzed through the air and the second horse screamed and jumped sideways. The rider stayed on for the first convulsive jump but a second buck shook him free. He cleared the saddle cleanly and landed in a crouch. He took one step toward the horse and it bolted away, blood streaming from several gravel wounds.

Paco and the rider he'd collided with were wrestling on the ground. For a moment, both were in far more danger from flailing hooves, but then their mounts heaved themselves upright and danced away from the struggling pair.

Kimble hesitated, but at the sight of the red spreading across Mr. Costillo's chest, he thumped Suze's side and steered her past the struggling pair to where Mr. Costillo lay and jumped down, dropping the reins on the ground.

He ripped Mr. Costillo's shirt open, sending buttons flying. He was expecting a hideous wound, the heart or lungs, but the slug had gone in high, just above the collarbone, and torn into the trapezius. The ceramic projectile was actually sticking half out of the back of Mr. Costillo's shoulder.

Mrs. Costillo said sharply, “Parker, go get the Ranger's medic!” Kimble heard pounding hooves and looked up and to see the eldest daughter's horse flying down the arroyo, swinging wide around the second bandit. Mrs. Costillo's knees thumped to the ground beside Kimble and she had a clean handkerchief in her hand, already folding it into a pad. Sarah was right behind her, doing exactly the same. “Pull that on through,” Mrs. Costillo said, jerking her chin at the projectile. She was holding Mr. Costillo's shoulder up slightly, keeping it out of the dirt, while she pressed the makeshift bandage against the entry wound in front.

“Right,” Kimble said. He felt faint, and a bit nauseated at the blood. He took a deep breath, and tried to grip the projectile, but his hands slipped off the bloody point. “Gimme,” he said to Sarah, taking the handkerchief out of her hand. The slug popped right out once he used the cloth to grip it, but blood, staunched on the front, poured freely out the rear wound. He wadded the cloth up and pressed it against the back. Mrs. Costillo slipped her hand over his.

“Help Paco,” she said, jerking her head back where the two men had been struggling.

By the time Kimble stood and turned, Paco had his opponent facedown in the sand and was using a rawhide piggin' string to secure the man's hands behind his back.

“You rope calves?” Kimble asked.

Paco grinned, an odd contrast, a flash of white teeth against bloody lips. He started to answer when Mrs. Costillo screamed.

It was the second rider, the one who'd been bucked off by his horse. He'd come up and grabbed Sarah from behind. He pulled her back toward the center of the wash, a ceramic knife held to her throat.

“Get me a horse!” he yelled. “Right now or I swear to God I'll cut her throat!” The man's eyes were wide, showing lots of white. He kept glancing back toward the ford. “I mean it!” he shouted, giving Sarah a shake that startled a sob out of her.

The only horse still standing in the immediate vicinity was Suze, reins trailing. Paco's, the first rider's, Patowski's, and the other two borrowed Ranger mounts were fifty yards down the arroyo. The bandit's own gravel-stung horse had completely disappeared, having run back around the bend toward the ford.

Paco started to step forward, his face suddenly white, his hands balled into fists, but the bandit shouted, “You'll kill 'er! Get back! I mean it.” He pointed the knife at Kimble. “You, kid. Get that horse and bring it here!” He brought the knife back to Sarah's throat by way of emphasis.

Sarah was blinking rapidly and her jaw was clenched, but she actually seemed calmer than her captor. She was holding her head very still.

“Do I gotta cut her? NOW!”

Kimble walked gingerly over to Suze, clucking his tongue, and took her reins. The little horse jerked her head suddenly, nostril flaring, but he had her firmly. “Shhhhhhhh.” He moved his hand to stroke her nose and she jerked even more. He realized,
it's the smell of the blood on my hands
. His hands were also shaking.

“Get a move on, kid!”

Kimble led Suze over, holding the reins at their full length to keep the blood away from her head.
Nice and easy
, he told himself. The horse wasn't the only creature he wanted to avoid startling.

“Stop there! Hold her head.”

The man had lost his hat, either in his earlier fall or during his initial encounter with the Rangers, but the impression of the hatband was still across his forehead. His shirt had greasy stains on the front, and even from two yards away, Kimble could smell stale sweat and wood smoke. The man's jeans were faded, but he had on fancy boots with composite spurs. He was so tan that at first Kimble thought he was Hispanic, but his upper forehead was practically pink.

Kimble couldn't take his eyes off the knife on Sarah's throat.

“Hold her head, dammit! On the other side!” The man backed Sarah up to Suze's shoulder and grabbed her hair and pulled it until she was arched back to the saddle. He pinched her hair between his hand and the pommel and jerked up onto the saddle. “Up!” he said to Sarah, pulling on her hair.

Sarah gasped and hopped involuntarily. The man dipped and snagged her belt, pulled her up and across his legs, turning her facedown, head on one side, legs on the other. “Reins!”

Kimble handed him the right rein, then stepped around to the left side to give him the other.

The man had his knife arm across Sarah's back. He took the rein from Kimble and said loudly, “You tell those Rangers that each time I see them, I'm cutting off an ear. When I run out of ears, they'll find her head, you got that?”

Kimble thought he was talking to Mrs. Costillo, but just in case, he nodded.

The man gathered the reins in his knife hand and grabbed the pommel to secure Sarah. As he sawed the reins around, Kimble dropped to his knee and darted his hand forward, grabbing the free end of the slipknot on the cinch strap. At the same time the man jabbed his spurs back into Suze's ribs.

Suze, unused to such treatment gave a tremendous leap forward, her left hip knocking Kimble over. He slapped and rolled, coming to his feet in time to see the saddle, Sarah, and her captor fly off Suze's back.

Sarah, facedown, came off best, landing on her feet and falling forward. The man landed on his back with the saddle on top of him. The white ceramic knife winked as it tumbled through the air.

Kimble took three strides and picked up the knife, keeping an eye on the man. The man was having trouble breathing, but he shoved the saddle off and was struggling to sit up when Sarah grabbed him by
his
hair and slammed him back down. She had a rock in the other hand. “
See how YOU like it
,” she screamed, holding the rock up in the air.

Then her brother arrived and took over, turning the man facedown and pulling another piggin' rawhide thong from his back pocket. For good measure, he tied the man's hands to one of his ankles, arching the leg up behind.

Sarah kicked the man in the side and went back to her mother.

Kimble's hands stopped shaking, but his knees buckled and he dropped back to the ground.
She could've broken her neck and it would've been my fault. What was I thinking?

Suze came up and prodded him with her nose. Keeping the bloody hands away from her head, he climbed to his feet and stroked her neck. Mrs. Costillo spared an arm to pull her daughter to her, running her free hand across her neck, to assure herself there'd been no cut.

Kimble slid up onto Suze's bare back. “Right, girl. Let's go get those other horses.”

*   *   *

“SO
, you want to tell me what happened?”

Captain Bentham and Kimble were riding alone, forty yards in front of the Costillos' wagon. A single squad rode behind the wagon. Bentham had sent the remainder of his troop back to Nuevo Santa Fe with the prisoners. He'd offered to send Mr. Costillo back with them, to the Territorial Medical Facility, but Mrs. Costillo, after consultation with the Rangers' medic, decided he would heal better in his own bed.

“Saddle came off. He shouldn't of spurred Suze.” Kimble reached forward and patted the side of Suze's neck. “She's not used to that kind of treatment.”

“The saddle came off? How did that happen? I mean, if the cinch had been loose, he couldn't have climbed up in the saddle like he did, could he? Or hauled Sarah up. The saddle would've just slid around.” He glanced sideways at Kimble. “Mrs. Costillo and Paco saw you grab the cinch. Sarah told me you kept it in a slipknot.”

Dammit.
“Okay. Yeah, I untied it. I'm sorry.”

Captain Bentham had been drawing breath to speak but shut his mouth abruptly, blinking. “Sorry? For what?”

“She could've broken her neck. He'd taken the knife off of her to grab the pommel but he could've stabbed her as they fell. He could've landed on his feet and we'd be back in the same hostage situation only he'd be even
more
desperate.”

Kimble glanced at Bentham who was looking back, eyebrows raised.

“Thought about it, I see. How old are you?”

“Turned thirteen in February.”

“That's right.”

Kimble frowned. “Right? What do you mean? Oh, yeah, told Sarah.”

“Did you? No, that's not how I knew, Mr. Creighton.”

Kimble felt his stomach sink but he tried to brazen it out. “Pardon? Name's Monroe.”

“So you say, Kim. I was going to give you a lecture about how dangerous your stunt was. But I'm also mad at Patowski. Not only did he leave his assigned post when he blocked them at the ford, but that's what drove them up the wash. And I'm furious with myself. I should've left an entire squad behind.”

“Save some of that anger for Mr. Costillo. If he hadn't tried to stop them, they would've just ridden on by.”

“Yeah, well he paid for that choice, didn't he?” Bentham looked sideways at him again, considering. “You've a clear way of looking at things. It worked out that you pulled the cinch. Sarah is okay and the rat bastard didn't get away. But I'm also glad you see it could've gone wrong.”

“I just did it, though. Didn't think about all that other stuff until after. He was so afraid.”

“You mean her, right? Sarah was so afraid?”

“Hell, no. She was angry, I could tell. But he looked like a cow in quicksand, the whites showing all around. He could've done
anything
in that state. And, dammit, Sensei's medicine was in those saddlebags!”

“Sensei. Is that who you live with?”

Kimble nodded.

“What does he teach?”

“
She
.
She's
a fifth dan in aikido. I'm her
uchideshi
.” At Bentham's blank look he translated, “Inside student.”

“You've been studying long?”

“A couple of years. Nine months with Monroe Sensei.”

“Ah. So that's where the name comes from.”

Kimble clamped his mouth shut.

“Let's leave it for now, Kimble. I'm not usually out in the field like this, you know. This was the result of a platoon leader being on sick leave. What I usually do is sit at a desk and read reports. I tag things and collect things and put things together. When I think I see a pattern, I go investigate or send someone to investigate.”

Kimble licked his lips. “Where is this going?”

“I've seen the missing child fliers coming from outside. The territory is a favorite destination for runaways, at least until they find out how hard life is out here. I remember things. It's my talent, the aptitude that got me my job, so I remember the fliers from after your father was medevaced. I remember the occasional queries since, and then the recent version with the computer-aged photo. Pretty close, by the way.” He took a deep breath. “But I also remember the domestic violence reports from Golondrinas stretching back four years from before your father was transported.”

“Oh.” Kimble remembered visits from the village deputies, but hadn't realized that they'd resulted in reports. He blinked his eyes rapidly for a moment. He thought about some of their neighbors.
Guess they weren't ignoring the yelling after all.

“You've got to balance things, sometimes,” said Bentham. “We could go have an administrative hearing at the capital, but because your father can't enter the territory, I'd have to transfer you up to Colorado. Your sick instructor would have to travel there, to make a case for custody. Other relatives could get involved. Sounds like a right mess.”

“I'd run,” Kimble said. “I swear it. I'm not going back to that man.”

Bentham eyed him. “No hearing necessary if I never recognized you in the first place. Getting older, you know,” he said in a confiding tone. “Memory isn't what it used to be.”

“You'd do that?” Kimble said.