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for him to return to the others.
    “Aiieee!” the warrior shouted, wheeled his pony and galloped back up the ridge.
    Minutes later, the eight disappeared as quickly as they had come. Carlow told Kileen to keep watch while he and Mirabile saddled the horses.
    “We’ll eat while we ride. They might change their minds and come back,” Carlow said, grabbing a piece of bacon and pushing it into his mouth. He took another and held it to let it cool before giving it to Chance.
    “I’ll be havin’ me coffee first, lad. No damn redmen be stoppin’ me from it,” Kileen said as he filled his tin cup, added some whiskey from his flask and savored it.
    “That sounds good to me,” Mirabile said, holding out his own cup. His hand was shaking. “Maybe I won’t ride off by myself until we get closer.”
    “Pour me one, then the rest on the fire. The coffee, not the whiskey.” Carlow grinned.

Chapter Six
    Late that evening, Tanneman Rose selected the deputy who would help him escape. Peter Gaggratte didn’t know it. Yet. It was one o’clock in the morning. Gaggratte was alone, sitting at the marshal’s desk, his boots propped on its scratched top. He was examining an itch on his forearm. Another deputy, Henry Stevenson, sat outside on a bench. The two men would be relieved early in the morning.
    Tanneman said, “Got three thousand dollars waiting for you. A day from here. All you have to do is ride with me there. It’ll look like I broke out and you chased me. You’ll be a hero…for trying so hard.”
    He didn’t expect anything to happen right away. It was best to let the idea seduce the guard. Three thousand dollars would go a long way for a man with a wife and four kids. A long way.
    That morning before leaving his post, Deputy Gaggratte strutted over to the cell. “You think I’m some kinda fool? You ain’t got no money. None close anyway.”
    Tanneman said, “That’s where you—an’ the Rangers—are dead wrong.” He stood and looked around to make certain no one was listening. His voice lowered. “An hour’s ride. South.” He looked around again, like a deer at a stream. “It’s the money from our first bank job.”
    “How do I know you’re not makin’ this up?”
    “Look, we ride out at night, you behind me all the way. With your gun. If it’s there, we split it. If not, you bring me back. And you’re a hero. Either way, it’s good—for you.” Tanneman folded his arms. “No one will know. I’ll tell you how.”
    “I’ll think on it.”
    “Well, you’d better make up your mind quick. When those soldiers get here, there won’t be a chance.”
    “I don’t see how I get away…with it.” The guard’s voice was little more than a breath. “And what about Henry? He’s outside whenever I’m on duty.”
    “It’s easy,” Tanneman said. “You give Henry a bottle of whiskey. Take the money for it from my stuff in the drawer. You know where it is. In fact, keep the rest of it for yourself. I’m sure your family could use it.”
    Trying to keep from smiling, he continued, “When Henry’s asleep from the whiskey, we walk out. Together. Tomorrow night. Easy as that. You’ll need horses waiting. In the back.” He paused and continued, “If you don’t want to do it, I understand. I’ll find someone else. Just thought your family could benefit from some extra money.”
    The next day Tanneman was taken to the burials of his three brothers. Marshal Timble told him it was something Kileen had asked them to do. The ex-Ranger chuckled and chanted softly at the grave site. Gripping his hands together in front of him, he let his mind become the shaman he had been in another life. It was something he had developed over the years. None of his brothers had ever understood its meaning. Barnabas had said he did, but he had been a fool. Of course, the chant was something he made up. Rather, he told himself that it was a ritual coming through, hidden in his brain. The ritual would guide him toward