Peacemaker (9780698140820) (18 page)

That declaration spawned another chorus of impassioned pleas, and it was a few more minutes before Caleb could restore order. “Who won't let them leave where?” He knew, though. What better way to control a town than to hold their children hostage?

“Mr. Warner! They went out there this morning, like usual for schoolin'. Then folks from the homesteads started arrivin' in town, saying that the Injuns were on the warpath, riding down outta the mountains and all. So some o' the men went to collect the children, give 'em safe escort back here. Only Mr. Warner wouldn't even let them on his place. Says it's too dangerous to have the kids out in the open if the reds are on the warpath.”

“They threatened to shoot my David if he didn't leave!”

Someone finally noticed Caleb's state of undress and his unconventional mode of transportation. “You been with the Indians, Agent Marcus? Are they really comin' down ta scalp us?”

Fearful cries rang out, and once again Caleb had to shout them down. “No! The Cheyenne are no danger to you. I have a feeling that Mr. Warner's motives are not nearly so noble.”

“What's happening, Agent Marcus?” They fell silent as a whole, their desperate eyes looking to him for some answers, any answers.

“I will see to your children. I need a few moments to change and gather some things, but I promise you, I will bring them back. All right?”

“Well, we'll go with you!”

“No. This has become a law enforcement matter. I'll be going on my own.”

The townsfolk clamored in protest, but he did his best to ignore them. Sven Isby shouldered his way through the crowd with a scowl and yanked the horse's reins from Caleb's hand.

“Horse run too much. Must walk.” He glared at the Peacemaker and walked off with the painted horse following docilely behind. He was already gone before Caleb thought to tell him about his destroyed hauler.

“Agent Marcus!” Teddy appeared at his elbow, offering him a shirt, which Caleb took gratefully. “There's somethin' else.”

“What's wrong?” He winced as he pulled the cotton garment on over his sunburned shoulders.

“Miss Ellen. I just went upstairs ta tell her you were back, and she's gone.”

Caleb froze in the act of donning the shirt. “What do you mean, gone?”

“She left a note.” Teddy handed over a crisp piece of paper, and Caleb glanced over the precise penmanship.

I intend to tell Mr. Warner that I will not testify against his men, in exchange for the release of the children. Agent Marcus will still have Jimmy for a witness. My testimony will not be important. I will return soon. ~Ellen

Caleb swore, and dropped the letter so he could work at his shirt buttons faster. “He was willing to kill me just for knowing about that mine, Teddy. What do you think he's going to do to her for possessing truly damning evidence?”

The Scot went pale under his beard. “She can't have been gone more than an hour.”

“That's long enough to get her to Warner's.” He tucked the shirt in with brusque movements. “Find Jimmy; tell him to get my trunk. Get me some water and something to eat quickly.” Nodding, Teddy took off at a dead run. “Ernst!”

The jackalope popped into existence balanced on the sidewalk railing. “We're going?”

Caleb nodded. “Go ahead. Find Miss Sinclair and the children. I need to know where they're being held.”

“There's nullstone there somewhere.”

“Do your best, but stay safe.” He reached out to scratch the familiar's ears. “I'll catch up around sundown if you're not back to me by then.”

Teddy returned with Jimmy on his heels, the boy struggling to carry the large trunk by himself but proudly refusing all help. Caleb gave the boy a brief smile as he took the box from him. “I hear you're making good progress on the telegraph.”

“Yessir. Mr. Pratt and Mr. Isby and me. We might get it workin' in a few days.”

“Get it working tonight, Jimmy. Tell Hector to send a message to the Peacemaker office in Kansas City. Tell him to use the gibberish; he'll know what it means.” The authentication codes would get Graeme moving, if nothing else.

The boy's eyes went wide. “Yer goin' out ta Warner's alone, ain'cha? Lemme go, too!”

“No. I need you to get that telegraph working and that message out in case . . .” In case he didn't come back. Which was highly likely.
Crying Elk said it would be a good day to die.
“Just get that machine working. If anybody can, it's you.” He mussed the boy's hair and flashed him a smile he didn't truly feel. “And thank you for taking care of my trunk.”

“Yessir. Yer welcome, sir.”

Shouldering his trunk, he ducked into the relative coolness of the tavern. No one was inside, save Teddy, who produced a glass of water and a dripping wet canteen, as well as a plate of beef and cold potatoes. “It's the best I have on short notice, sorry.”

“That's fine. I just haven't eaten in a day or so.” Unless he counted the broth from Falcon Woman . . . if that had even happened. “I need to get my strength up for this little excursion.”

“Did ye even make it to Tasco? What happened to ye out there, Agent Marcus? Ye came ridin' in here like a red Indian.”

Caleb talked around mouthfuls of food. “I didn't make it to Tasco. They shot the hauler out from under me, went up like a Chinese rocket. It was a long shot; I never saw it coming. I'm willing to bet it was Schmidt.”

“Sweet Mary, mother of God. Yer lucky yer not in bits all over the prairie!”

Caleb nodded his agreement. “Knocked me cold, and when I woke up, Warner and his boys were there. They tied me to stakes and left me to die. Put a nullstone around my neck.”

“So how'd ye get loose?”

“I just . . . did. It took me a while.” There was no need to tell him about shamans or dark-eyed Indian women with hypnotic voices. “Now, I need you to listen to some things, Teddy, and tell the other Peacemakers when they get here.”

The bartender nodded and leaned in attentively.

“First and foremost, Warner has my staff.” It was almost impossible to destroy an ironwood staff, and Caleb had no doubt that if it had survived the explosion, it was in the rancher's hands now. “He shouldn't be able to use it, but they need to get it back from him. Tell them to take at least four men.”

Teddy blinked slowly. “Ye think he's a danger ta more'n one Peacemaker, but yer goin' alone? Are ye mad?”

“It's possible.” Caleb guzzled the glass of water and motioned for more. Who knew when he'd get a chance to replenish himself again? “Second, he has a stockpile of nullstone somewhere on that ranch. They need to be prepared for him to use it as a weapon.” The use of weaponized nullstone had long been banned by combatants in all of the world's civilized nations. Warner was in no way civilized.

“And third?”

“Third . . . tell them about Schmidt. He'll kill them before they even reach the ranch if they're not warned.”

“Ye honestly dinnae think yer comin' back.”

“Probably not. But I have to try. He'll hold those kids to keep the town obedient, and God only knows what he'll do to Miss Sinclair.”
Or has done already,
he thought with a private grimace.

“Yer goin' out there empty-handed?”

“No.” Caleb wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin on the bar. “That's what the trunk is for.”

The lock popped open with a click when Caleb channeled a bit of power into the warding runes, and he eased the lid up just in case the contents had become unstable during travel. Fortunately, everything looked to be in its place.

The twelve glass vials were the most important, and he checked the seal and cork on each of them carefully as he drew them from their resting places. The blue glow was serene and soothing, belying the destructive power locked within the fragile glass shells. He tucked those explosive charges into loops on the inside of his heavy duster, taking care not to clink them together.

The slender length of wood he drew out next was no replacement for his staff, but it would do in a pinch. It was barely the length of his forearm and only as big around as one of his fingers, and the runes etched into it were shallow and barely visible. It would last through two, maybe three strong blasts before the sheer force it channeled would disintegrate it. Odds were, if Caleb needed more than three shots, things would be going against him anyway. He let it dangle from his right wrist on a thong, within easy grasp.

The nullstone handcuffs he handled gingerly, tucking them deep into his duster pocket along with the lead-cased amulet. His revolver was long gone, either blasted over the prairie or in the hands of one of Warner's men, but he tucked extra rounds for it in his other pocket anyway, just in case. If nothing else, it balanced out the weight.

The last thing he took from the trunk was his badge, which he pinned over his heart. The one he'd lost on the prairie was nothing more than a tin star to denote his occupation. The one he kept locked within his trunk would not only act as a shield stronger than anything he could conjure with his staff but also lead other Peacemakers straight to him.

Teddy watched Caleb's preparations, keeping silent for a long moment before he simply had to speak. “And just how are ye goin' ta get out there? That Schmidt will see a transport comin' a mile away, especially after dark.”

“He's not looking for me yet. As far as he knows, I'm dead. And he won't see what doesn't glow.”

Teddy looked puzzled.

“I'll ride the horse.”

The Scot shook his head. “Ye really have gone native on us.”

“You have no idea.”

Chapter 15

Caleb waited in town until the sun was nearly down and only the last vestiges of red and purple were visible over the mountain peaks in the west. By that time, Sven Isby had deemed the horse at least semirecovered from its day-long gallop, but the old smith was still very displeased with Caleb for taking the animal again. The Peacemaker rode out of town with dark glares from the Swede and many prayers from the other residents.

The horse, for its part, didn't seem to mind the additional exertion now that it and the human had reached some kind of understanding about things. Though Caleb would have happily paid for a saddle and some stirrups, it wasn't that bad a ride once he became accustomed to the animal's gait. Caleb held it to an easy lope on the way out to Warner's place. There was no hurry, and only the darkness would save him from Schmidt's long eye.

Standing out like a lighthouse in a sea of tall grass, the lights from the A-bar-W were visible miles before he got there. Though his skin itched terribly as he rode closer, certain he was about to hear the hiss of an augmented bullet cutting through the grass, he rode within a half mile of the ranch before he pulled the horse up and slid off its painted back.

The animal tossed its head, snorting, when Caleb removed the bridle. “Go back to wherever you came from, friend. This won't be a place for you.” Contrary to orders, the animal didn't seem inclined to leave at all, though it did wander off a few paces to graze.

Caleb crouched in the tall grass, pulling out a pair of binoculars to survey the ranch. “Ernst . . .” The small form of his familiar appeared next to his right boot, the tips of his antlers sparking in the darkness. “What did you learn?”

“I can't see the children, but he's buried the nullstone all around the schoolhouse on the southern side of the compound. I'm guessing they're in there. What easier way to control them?”

“And Miss Sinclair?” There were men posted at the fence, several yards apart. He could see their silhouettes, and the long lines of the rifles they carried.

“She's in the main house. I couldn't get close enough for her to see me, but she appeared unharmed.”

“Warner?”

“He's got them set for a siege. He's armed the barren men around the interior and set the others around the perimeter to keep watch and power the fence. I think he believes the townsfolk will rally and try to retrieve their children. He's got the guards watching the road, but he's not worried. He knows he's stronger than anyone else out here.”

Caleb fingered the vials inside his coat with a grim frown. “He may be stronger, but he's not better trained. Where's Schmidt?”

“I can't find him anywhere.” The jackalope's tiny form shivered, the motion rustling the dry grasses around them. “Be careful, Caleb. All the training in the world won't stop a bullet if you can't see it coming.”

His power nestled inside his chest, warm and comforting. The last of the nullstone had cleared hours ago, and he finally felt like himself again. “That's why I have you to watch my back, right?”

“As long as I can.”

“First things first. I need to get inside that fence. We may have to take out a sentry or two.” With any luck, he could disable them without harming them. If not . . . He'd deal with that when the time came, but he wouldn't like it.

Caleb began his long creep through the dry grasses, moving slowly through the drowsing herd of cows. The massive animals shuffled a bit at his passing, but not enough to raise an alarm. As he got closer, he could see the men patrolling the fence line within easy sight of each other. Flickers of arcane power danced from one fence post to the next, lighting the night with blue flashes. The pulses were steady, uniform, and he could probably slip through the fence itself, but taking out one of the sentries was going to leave a gap in the power feed, and that would be noticed.

However, at the corner near the smithy, there was one area where the building broke the line of sight.
Best to confront one man instead of two.
A scuffle would still be heard, but it was their best chance, and perhaps it would be some time before someone came to investigate the fence.

As they maneuvered around to approach in that blind spot, Caleb could see no sentry standing there. It was enough to make him pause for a long moment. The fence continued to pulse, the tiny blue spark traveling down the wires and around the corner out of sight. Why would Warner leave one section unguarded? Was it a trap? He exchanged looks with Ernst, who shrugged his furry shoulders in the darkness.

“If it's a trap . . . at least I know it.” As silent as he could, he moved forward.

The mystery of the unmanned fence was quickly solved, though the answer left more questions. Placed carefully beneath the fence wire was a small metronome, very like the one Caleb's childhood piano teacher had used. Its arm swung slowly but steadily back and forth, and every time it connected with the wire, a small spark would jump, sending a pulse down the fence. It kept time like a long heartbeat, the same as if a person had been there to power it.

“Who . . . ?” Caleb could only shake his head at Ernst's question. He had no idea who was aiding them, or why.
They're supposed to think I'm dead.
They both slipped under the fence between pulses, careful not to disturb the little mechanical device.

The reason for the lack of sentry became apparent when they discovered an unconscious man behind the smithy. Caleb slipped over the open space quickly, imagining a target painted across his shoulders until he could take refuge in the shadows behind the building again. His fingers found a pulse in the man's throat, but the large purpling bruise on his forehead assured him the man would not be waking anytime soon.

“I don't like this, Ernst.” There was an unknown factor in this equation, and it made the skin itch between his shoulder blades.

“You're never so rich as to turn down a friend, Caleb,” Ernst murmured quietly, hopping to the far corner of the building to peer around.

Caleb took the hunting knife off his belt and scraped at the hard-packed soil enough to bury one of the glowing blue vials, transferred from his coat to the dirt before the light could be noticed, then moved to join Ernst. “Try to get to Miss Sinclair; let her know help is coming. I'm going to work my way to the schoolhouse for the kids.”

“Watch the nullstone. It's just barely under the dirt.”

“I'm going to leave a trail.” Caleb patted his coat. “If I get in trouble, you know what to do.”

There was no one in view between the buildings, though Caleb could still hear the roar of the forge just beyond the wall that concealed him. The next shelter he would find would be the shadows behind the smokehouse, and there was a large patch of open ground to cross.

He counted off ten to himself, then darted out, keeping low as he scurried to the next patch of darkness. Footsteps alerted him at the last possible second, and he pressed himself flat against the wall. One of the fence sentries passed within ten feet of him, and Caleb held himself motionless, trusting darkness and the sentry's apathy to conceal him in plain sight. The man reached the edge of his assigned patrol and turned about, his eyes giving a cursory glance around. If the man had been truly paying attention, he'd have seen the Peacemaker crouched against the stone foundation, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. He moved on, an irritated sigh carrying to Caleb where he hid. Apparently, Warner's men thought the extra precautions unnecessary.

And if I were dead, they most likely would be.
That thought gave him a sort of dark satisfaction. He concealed another of the glowing vials before the sentry made his return pass, and when the man cleared the corner of the building, Caleb was waiting.

Pouncing on him from behind, he clamped a forearm over the man's windpipe before any cries could alert the others. He was bigger than the guard, but physically overpowering him was only the beginning of it.

There was a brief surge of power, born of fear and anger, but Caleb opened himself to it, allowing it to pass through his body and into the soil without so much as a spark or crackle. It stung, really, but not nearly as much as resisting the charge would have.

The man's struggles became stronger for a moment, thrashing in the body's last desperate act of self-preservation, then he slumped into unconsciousness. Caleb eased him to the ground and crouched there next to him for a long, tense moment, waiting to hear alarms clamoring. Nothing came. He now had limited time, though, before the gap in the fence drew attention.
Best be moving.

He arranged the unconscious man as comfortably as he could. “You're a lucky one. Just remember that when you wake up.”

Ernst was on the far side of the compound. Caleb could feel him, a tiny pull against his own power. Had he reached the schoolteacher yet?

Two buildings still remained between him and the schoolhouse. One appeared to be simply a supply shed, small with no windows in the tall walls. The other housed the kennels. Until this moment, Caleb had forgotten about the pack of bluetick coonhounds. If the kennel doors were open, things were going to get complicated.

Behind the shed, he planted another glowing vial, and then waited while a group of three men walked past his position, laughing and exchanging bawdy jokes. Obviously, no one had noticed the malfunctioning fence yet. They were still unaware that they had been invaded.
They're too cocky, counting on the fact that they're facing only townsfolk.

At the kennels, his luck ran out. Before he'd even reached the side of the structure, a furry head poked out of an open door, its sensitive nose sniffing the hot night air. A low growl rumbled from a spotted chest, and Caleb froze where he was, caught in the open space between two buildings. The hound padded out, hackles raised, head turning to find the scent that did not belong. There was no breeze, nothing to carry Caleb's scent away. Unerringly, the flat head turned in his direction.

Goooood doggy . . .

The dog opened its mouth and bayed, instantly echoed by the rest of its pack. They boiled out of the kennels in a spotted tide, every one of them yowling at the top of its lungs.

It was already too late to shut them up. Caleb could hear annoyed voices yelling at the noisy animals, coming to investigate the commotion. And worse than that, it was clear that the dogs weren't going to settle for raising the alarm. They came at him with fangs bared, saliva spattering in all directions in their zeal.

As much as he hated to hurt a dog, he summoned force into his clenched fist, readying it to blast the hounds into silence. It was going to give away his presence, sadly, but he couldn't afford to get mauled either.

The dark shape darted past him and was in the midst of the dogs before Caleb even realized what was happening. The baying of the hounds became furious snarls, and then cries of pain as they turned on the new attacker in their midst. Something small and dark was tearing them to bits.

In moments, it was over. Three of the hounds turned tail and ran, yelping to the high heavens. One of them was never going to get up again. The others limped a wary distance away, eyeing the creature that had humiliated them.

The coyote sat licking one forepaw nonchalantly, then turned to attend an itch on its back as if it had not a care in the world.

As the shouting voices and running footsteps closed in, it occurred to Caleb that he was still out in the open. He squeezed inside the first kennel just as the guards rounded the corner.

“Gawddam coyote tore up the dogs! Lookit the smug little bastard just sittin' there!”

Through a knothole, Caleb watched, holding his breath against the stifling dog stench in the small enclosure, as the coyote went streaking back toward the prairie, bullets kicking up dirt all around it.

“Betcha that was the same one that got the chickens last week.”

“Damn varmints. I'm goin' huntin' tomorrow, skin me some coyotes.”

The men were barren. Caleb couldn't find them in his arcane sense, and so he could only wait for a long, tense moment as they wandered back to their posts. He could only hope that they wouldn't suddenly decide to come back, because he'd have no warning.

He rested his head against the side of the kennel, letting his heart resume its normal pace. That had been too close. If it weren't for the coyote . . . Or was it Coyote? Not a question he was willing to ponder, at the moment. It was merely comforting to know that he was not alone.

As he slipped from the kennel, he buried another vial at the corner of the building, with regrets for any harm he might cause the unwitting animals. Creeping to the opposite corner, he pondered his next course of action.

The schoolhouse stood apart from the rest of the buildings, no doubt to avoid contaminating anyone else with the nullstone taint. There were no lights on in the little building, so it was impossible to see if anyone lurked behind the dark windowpanes. The clear area he would have to cross to get there seemed acres wide, but there was no help for it. He gritted his teeth and ran.

He almost made it.

The gunshot sounded at the same moment that a train hit his left shoulder and rolled him head over heels into the dirt. His head was still swimming when the second report exploded the dirt in front of his face.

Instinct forced power through his badge, and a shield sprang up around him, shimmering in the darkness. As the flying dust settled, he saw Schmidt calmly walking across the compound toward him. “Oh, hell.”

His left arm hadn't started hurting yet, but it was also not obeying his commands. Caleb struggled to his feet to face the sharpshooter, summoning power into his uninjured hand.

Schmidt raised the rifle to his shoulder, taking careful aim, and fired twice, reloading impossibly fast. The bullets ricocheted off Caleb's shield, sending spiderwebs of colors dancing across the surface, and impacting hard enough to make him stagger back a pace or two. Onward Schmidt came.