“There’s no key for this.” Devon jiggled his chain.
“We’re prepared.” Jeremy slapped him on the shoulder.
Squeezed into a Reb uniform that was busting at the seams, Frederick stepped forward, sledgehammer in hand. Two men Devon didn’t recognize hustled in with a hammer and a coal chisel to help. Oscar’s brother, Henry, jerked the jailer’s hands behind his back and snagged a rope around the man’s wrists.
Ten minutes later, Devon was running down the stairs with his rescuers, a mix of the German League and a small squad of cavalry Jeremy had rounded up, leaving the jailer and the guards tied, gagged, and locked in the cell.
Jeremy stopped him at the door to the courtyard. “From here, we take it slow until we’re out of town. As far as any passersby are concerned, we’re the troop escort sent to haul you down to San Antonio.”
“In that case, you’d better point your gun on me.” Devon brought his hands in front of him and held them as if he were still bound.
Darkness draped the streets. Two men waited outside the fence, securing the horses for the others. A rooster crowed from behind a nearby house. The bird would have people stirring even before the sliver of dawn. Devon quickstepped with his supposed captors out through the gate. He went through themotions of having to be helped into the saddle on a mustang. As they headed out, the men rode close to him on all sides.
Wearing Confederate captain bars and a slouch hat, Jeremy led them west at a trot. Every crunch of their horse hooves raked across Devon’s nerves. Any second, someone could sound the alarm, and they’d all be running for their lives.Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
A man staggered to his front porch and waved at them, almost falling over in the process. On another corner, a dog padded across the street. Farther down the lane, a candle burned in a shop window. A small buggy rattled by. Devon’s breath caught at every movement.
Scrubs and trees. The last of the buildings. Still at a steady pace, they rounded a bend.
Jeremy moved his mount closer to Devon’s. “A couple of the men are going to head back home. They have families there. They plan to act as if they had nothing to do with this. The rest of us are going to take off at a gallop and head south across the next field, cut across the Cotton Road to throw off any pursuers, and head for Matagorda.”
“And Morning Fawn?”
Jeremy shifted in the saddle. “She’s nowhere near here. And the best thing you can do for her is stay alive.” He raised his hand, swept it downward in a sharp, swift motion, and snapped his reins, bolting forward and cutting off any opportunity for further discussion.
Two men cut sharp to the north through the shrubs. The rest followed Jeremy, picking up speed. Devon pressed his thighs to the mustang. Back straight, he lowered his elbows close to his knees and pressed the animal to a gallop.
Thump, thump, thump, he rode with the movement of the horse, his boots snug in the stirrups. Down the road, then a cut to the left, gravel and dust flying. Another road and then a field. A sliver of orange peaked above the horizon. They shiftedthrough a wooded area, slowing their pace to a canter, driving forward, creeping to a walk when they came to a creek, splashing through the water for a couple miles before heading up the other side of the bank.
They sped up again, then galloped as they crossed to another road, the morning sun on their left. When they reached the wide, dusty trail known as the Cotton Road, they stuck to it for four or five miles, letting their hoof prints mix with the hundreds of others that marred the dirt. Wisps of cotton clung to the scattered grasses, sage, and the claw-like branches of the mesquite trees, leftover traces of the tens of thousands of bales which had made this trek since the beginning of the war.
As the afternoon sun hit their backs, they peeled off into the brush two by two. Hopefully, leaving the road in such small numbers, it wouldn’t garner any tracker’s attention.
Late afternoon, they stopped in a wooded spot close to the Colorado River. Devon slid out of the saddle and shook each man’s hand, seven in all, thanking them heartily.
Jeremy swiped his brow with his neckerchief. “We’ll give the horses a rest and then start again at dark. Travel all night.”
One of the cavalry troopers Jeremy had brought along glanced up from pouring feed into a canvas bucket for his horse. “Be quicker to take the river down to Matagorda.”
“Too bad the Rebs will think of that too.” Jeremy grabbed his horse’s lead rope. “No fires. And by the time we leave this spot, I want every trace of Confederate uniform gone. No use inviting a firing squad.” He motioned for Devon to follow him to the river with his horse.
Devon limped along the way. Hours in the saddle had left his injured hip worse for the wear. Pecan, hickory, and oak lined the banks. The sluggish river swirled around a downed tree branch and cattails as the horses drank their fill.
“I had a chance to survey your work from a distance.”Jeremy swigged from his canteen and passed it to Devon. “That supply depot looks like a Gettysburg cannonade struck it?—”
“I need to know about Morning Fawn. Now.” Devon guzzled the sweet liquid. His sandpaper throat rejoiced. “I’m done waiting.” He swiped his hand over his mouth. “Where is she? Did she find the horse in the woods? Did she get away from Moyer?”
Jeremy shifted his gaze to the river and dragged a hand down across his thick brown beard. “Morning Fawn got the information from Moyer and sent Lucy to Alleyton to deliver it. Morning Fawn was determined to save you at all costs.” Jeremy’s words thudded like handfuls of dirt on a grave.
“At all costs?” A chill swept over Devon. “What is that supposed to mean? If I need to turn around right now and go after her, I will.”
“Don’t even think about it. I’ll have my men tie you up, gag you, and take you prisoner for real.” Jeremy jutted his finger at him. “As far as I know, she left Colorado County last night. The way to save her is to get to Federal-held territory as quickly as you can before you end up with a bullet in your back and get all of us killed trying to protect you. Get to Matagorda Peninsula, then work on a plan.”
“A plan? For what?” Devon flexed his hands at his sides. His pulse strummed in his head. “If you don’t tell me the whole story right now, I swear?—”
“There’s a letter.” Jeremy fished a note out of his shell jacket pocket.
Devon’s stomach dropped to his toes. A letter wasn’t good. She wasn’t here in person. She’d left Colorado County. Where the devil was she, and how had she gotten the information from Moyer?
