Morgan picked up the Remington, took out the cylinder pin, removed the cylinder, and thrust the gun into Finn’s hands. He further surprised the boy by hefting him over his shoulder. “We’re leaving by the front door.”
They made it halfway across the lobby when Dix called from behind them to stop. Morgan turned, fired twice, and dropped Dix where he stood. He was done picking locks, so when he reached the bank’s entrance, he kicked the door until it gave way and then he carried Finn outside to where the wind was biting and brisk and where people were congregating in spite of it.
“You cut off my goddamn cock!” Marcie screamed. “Jesus, lady, you cut off my?—”
Jane shoved him away and stepped back at the same time. His fingers were so deeply embedded in her hair that he took some of it with him. For a moment, tears blurred her vision. She was still able to see the spread of blood staining his trousers before he bent over and cupped his groin. Only seconds passed before blood began to seep through his fingers.
Jane thought she would be sick, but when she held up the bloody knife she was filled with an eerie calm. She made quick, jabbing motions with the knife so that he was forced to bob and weave and protect himself at the same time. Tears flooded his eyes. One of them followed the path of his scar. Jane did not care.
When she had backed him into the washroom, she slammed the door shut and leaned against it just long enough to catch her breath. On the other side of the door, Marcie stopped howling and began to whimper. She imagined that he was checking the condition of his parts. Jane doubted that she had cut off his penis but wondered if perhaps what she had done was not worse. There was so much blood, so much bright red blood, that she thought she might have cut into his femoral artery.
“There are towels in there. Use them to press hard on your injuries.”
“Go to hell, lady. I’m gonna bleed all over your goddamn floor.”
It occurred to Jane that he was angry enough that he might live after all. She dropped the paring knife in her apron pocket and walked to the other side of the wardrobe. She put her shoulder against it and heaved. Her feet slid on the floor and the wardrobe did not budge. She dug in again and pushed harder. This time it slid inches. Again, and it moved far enough to block half the washroom door. She stopped using her shoulder and put her back into it instead. The wardrobe moved the rest of the way.
Jane stood on tiptoes to reach Marcie’s gun and holster. She caught the edge of the belt with her fingertips and pulled it toward the edge. She carefully took it down and removed the gun from the holster. After tossing the belt aside, she opened the cylinder, saw that all chambers were loaded, and closed it again.
Satisfied, she went to the adjoining bedroom and freed Max. She gave him Marcie’s gun. She picked up Morgan’s Colt on her way to the kitchen. It was lying on the floor just where Gideon had kicked it. She set it on the table while she untied Rabbit.
“Are you hurt, Mrs. Longstreet?” It was Rabbit’s first question when she removed his gag. It was the same one Max had asked.
Jane looked down at herself. Her apron front was stained with blood. Marcie’s blood. “I’m fine.”
Rabbit’s cheeks ballooned as he blew out a long breath, and then he dared to ask the question that Max had not. “Did you really cut off his piss whistle?”
Ted Rush was the first person Morgan recognized when he waded into the crowd. He put Finn in Ted’s arms and told him to take the boy to Dr. Kent. “Finn will tell you everything. Send Bridger after me.” He grabbed Ted by the collar when the man stared dumbly at him. “Send the marshal after me!”
Morgan let him go, spun on his heels, and ran off toward the alley. Someone in the crowd must have thought it would be a good idea to shoot him first and sort it out later because he heard Finn scream with bloodcurdling ferocity to drop the gun. So much for the ordinance against carrying.
He ducked into the alley and ran to the back of the bank. He untied Condor, but it was Sophie that he mounted. If the gelding could keep up, he was welcome to come.
Morgan took the straight route out of town that none of them had discussed going in. He wanted to be noticed now. He and Sophie emerged from the alley as if they had been catapulted from a slingshot. The crowd scattered, and no one tried to shoot him this time. Their trail down the middle of the street was as true as a compass needle and as quick as a bead of mercury.
Avery surrendered without drawing his weapon except to toss it on the bunkhouse floor. It pained him some that he was outmaneuvered by a man who could only see out of one eye and a woman who had to hold her gun in two hands to keep it steady. They had him crosswise before he knew what was happening. His chest made for a very large target.
The boy entered when they called for him and cut through the ropes that secured all three Davis brothers to the bunkhouse’s center post and to each other. They stood, shook out their cramped limbs, massaged their wrists, and then took turns raining blows on Avery’s head, his stomach, and occasionally, his groin. Jem, in particular, seemed to enjoy every punch he landed.
They stopped when Mrs. Longstreet called a halt, but by then, Avery was already on his knees.
The brothers made the same short work of tying him up as they had of beating him up.
Once Morgan set Sophie on her course, he never looked back. He carried no timepiece except the one in his head. He counted out the seconds, the minutes, and he, the godless man, prayed that he would arrive in time.
Rabbit brought the buckboard to the front of the house. He was flanked by Jem and Jake on one side and Jessop and Max on the other. They were mounted, ready to ride. There had been no debate, no disagreement when Jane had said they must go. They were waiting for her now because she had gone back into the house at the last moment. There was something she had to do, she told them, before she went out to meet Morgan.
They let her go. Not one of them would stand in the way of her unwavering faith that Morgan was coming back.
When she left them, she was wearing her black velvet hat with the spray of scarlet poppies. When she returned, the hat was gone, replaced by a red woolen scarf. It covered her hair and wrapped around her throat. The long fringed tails were knotted once.
Rabbit held out his hand to help her up. She thanked him, thanked all of them, and then the wagon began to roll.
Morgan saw them as silhouettes. Four men on horseback, two people in a wagon. He thought Sophie must have seen them, too, because she dug deep and flew. The last hundred yards were a blur, but Sophie’s speed did not wholly account for it.
Jane jumped out of the wagon before Rabbit brought it to a full stop. She spread her arms high and wide as Morgan pulled Sophie up hard and threw himself out of the saddle. His momentum carried him into Jane’s embrace. He lifted her off her feet. She held on as he spun them round and round. She thought his shout of joy, of relief, rode the wind all the way back to Bitter Springs.
He set her down and cupped her face. He kissed hard. He kissed long. He unwound her scarf to thread his fingers in her hair…and stopped.
