They did not wait for an explanation. Too many times in the past El Dragón’s instincts had been right—the only thing that had saved them. And now that instinct was telling him the way to safety lay not in the way they had planned but in the opposite direction.
The men whirled their horses, dug in their spurs, and urged their mounts into a flat-out run. A rifle shot rang out, then another and another, the shots not coming from town, but from somewhere behind them. Over his shoulder, Ramon saw a wave of men, mounted and riding full tilt, surge out of the arroyo and thunder toward the town. His own men answered fire, but didn’t slow down. One man fell, another took a lead ball in the shoulder but kept on riding.
Ramon jerked his pistol from the bandolero across his chest and fired over his shoulder, bringing one man down, while Ignacio wounded another. They rode past the front of the church and the men, now riding ahead of him, dropped over the ridge off toward the river. Ramon didn’t follow. Instead, the momenthe dropped out of sight, he wheeled his horse, leaned low over Viento’s neck, circled around to the left, and came up at the back of the mission.
Making his way toward the high bell wall, he saw what he knew he would see. Caralee’s palomino mare, his wife limping frantically toward her.
“Ramon!” she cried out when she saw him. He was down from his horse, running toward her, catching her up, and tossing her into the saddle before she could say any more.
“Ride, Cara—back through the arroyo. The men are no longer there and I will be right behind you.”
She spun the little mare and the horse leapt forward. Shots still rang out but they were coming from the riverbed below them, more sporadic now and echoing from different directions. The men had split up, their pursuers would have to do the same.
Ramon smiled grimly. His vaqueros were the finest horsemen in the world. In a life and death contest like this one, he did not doubt the Californios would win.
He glanced ahead, saw his wife leaning over her horse’s neck, riding hard through the arroyo ahead of him. Her plum silk skirts rode well above her knees, her petticoats white in the sliver of moon, her seat on the horse sure and steady. If he hadn’t been so worried for her safety, he might have smiled at how much she had learned. Instead, he closed the distance between them, shielding her from whoever might follow, then they settled into a steady lope over the rocky terrain.
They had just rounded the corner leading out of town to safety when hoofbeats sounded behind them. A rifle shot rang out, cutting the air beside his head, then another and another.
“Keep riding!” he shouted to Caralee, drawing his pistol once more. He fired at their pursuer, once, twice, saw the man stiffen as the lead ball slammed into his shoulder then snap off a return shot before he careened off his horse.
Ramon grunted in pain, the hot lead hitting him like the blow of a hammer, burning into his back and tearing out through his chest. The scorching pain nearly knocked him out of the saddle.
Unconsciously, his hold grew tighter on the reins and Viento began to slow.
“Ramon!” Carly shouted, her voice high-pitched with fear as she whirled her mare and rode up beside him.
“We have to keep going,” he said through teeth clenched hard against the pain. “We will not be safe until we are far from here.”
“But you’re wounded!”
“We will stop as soon as it is safe.”
“You need a doctor. We have to—”
“We must ride,querida.There is no other way.”
“A-are you sure you can make it?”
He smiled grimly, fighting the dizziness, trying not to succumb to the beckoning lure of unconsciousness. “Do not fear, Cara. I have much to live for. I will make it.”
They rode without stopping till they were well into the mountains south of town, then looped back toward Las Almas. By now, the others would have scattered. The safest place Ramon could be was at home.
Fighting his dizziness and the pain knifing into his back and chest, he glanced at the woman riding close beside him, her face tense with worry. Austin and his men had been waiting in ambush. Just a few seconds more and the trap would have been sprung. He and his men would be dead if it hadn’t been for Carly and the ringing of the bell.
He thought of it with an odd sense of rightness, just before he slid from his horse.
“Ramon!” Carly jerked rein on the mare, her heart leaping hard against her ribs. Scrambling down from the saddle, she limped back to where Ramon lay in the dirt. He was conscious, she saw, but only barely, groaning softly as he tried to sit up.
“Dear God…” Biting back a sob, she eased him down on the ground. “Don’t try to move,” she instructed, trying not to sound as frightened as she was, “just stay where you are until I can find some way to slow the bleeding.”
He settled heavily onto his back and lay still for a moment, his breathing harsh and labored. Carly tore open his shirt with shaking hands. Dear Lord, there was so much blood! A jagged hole yawned from a place just above his heart, the skin badly torn and already turning purple. The bloody entrance hole wept a stream down his back. It was a vicious, painful wound, one he could die from, yet she could not—would not—entertain the thought. They had come too far, suffered too much. The God she loved would not be so cruel.
“Rest easy, my love,” she said softly. “Everything’s going to be fine.” She bit hard on her lip to stifle the trembling in her limbs. Instead of giving into her fear, she yanked her silk faille skirt out of the way and hurriedly began to tear strips from her white ruffled petticoat. Folding the lengths into a pad, she pressed them against the exit wound in his chest, ignoring Ramon’s hiss of pain.
“The shot went all… all the way through,” she said, blinking back tears at the agony etched into his features. “I-I suppose that’s good, if we can get the bleeding to stop.”If.Such a frightening word when someone you loved might be dying.
Dear Lord, she prayed, I’ll do anything you ask—if you’ll only just let him live.
