Chapter Six

Davy struggled against the ropes that bound him to the sturdy tree. Already he’d managed to slip three knots and was working hard on the fourth. He just prayed his captors wouldn’t realize what he was doing this time. He’d fought his way out of the first set of ropes, making it nearly to the edge of the clearing before three bandits brought him down, choking him into submission and dragging him back to the tree. The second binding had been tighter but just as careless, and he fought with the last knot, readying himself for a quick flight to the trees.

At last, triumph detonated in his heart as the last knot shifted and loosened. Before the bindings even cleared his wrists, Davy was on the move, heading toward the trees.

His headlong plunge was halted when he was tackled and quite literally sat upon. Wrists, legs, and head were held or twisted as he was lifted up and carried back to the tree. The struggles he put up as he was being forced into binding position were halted by the abrupt meeting of a gunstock to his head—dazing him into limp submission and fuzzy consciousness.

“This gringo is a feisty one, eh?” one of the bandits said, pulling his arms back once again. “You like to play, eh chica?” He threaded his fingers through Davy’s hair and gave a sharp yank. “You are so pretty, so like a woman!”

Davy yelped, consciousness returning with a jolt. “I’m n-no threat to you . . . ” he deliberately whimpered, trying to make himself sound small and unimportant. “Pl . . . Please . . . j-just let me go . . . ”

Hot breath sizzled in his ear as a voice whispered, “You beg like one, too, chica. Oooohh . . . ” Davy felt fingers brush his tightly bound hands. His elbows had been wrenched forward and tied, leaving his wrists immobile. “These are so pretty . . . ”

“No!” Davy cried as he felt the ring slide from his finger. “No, you can’t take that!” The bandits only laughed.

“Eh, don’t forget that!” one said, and Davy felt rough fingers pry the heavy linked bracelet loose from his wrist. He screamed helplessly.

“Ah, he even screams like one!” came the laughter and callused fingers stroked his neck, his cheek . . . but Davy had been touched before like that and recognized the nuances for what they were—and they made him madder. It was a touch meant to intimidate, to cow. Davy would not be cowed by this lot.

But that could wait—for now, he needed to gather his strength . . . to plan, so he gave in. He bowed his head and wept bitter tears for the loss of the only link he had to his parents.

~~~~~

Mike surveyed the weapons laid out on the table. Two guns for each of them, and several neatly stacked boxes of shells that Angelita’s father had kept well hidden from El Diablo and his men. The outfits—gaudy garments that had been thrown together seemingly at random—would hopefully be enough to disguise them as bandits as well.

Long enough to get in and get Davy out alive.

Peter finished loading his gun, then a sly grin crossed his face. Closing the chamber, he shifted it onto his finger and spun it easily, then spun it back the other way, catching the stock easily in the palm of his hand. He grinned cheekily at Micky and Mike’s pop-eyed and drop-jawed expressions.

“Do that again,” Mike said. Peter complied, spinning the gun quickly through his nimble fingers. There was the slightest hint of a cocky grin on his face when he finished. “Wow, Peter. I didn’t know you could do that. You usually act like the dummy.”

Peter’s grin grew and he winked. Then, slowly, it faded. “So we just . . . wait?”

Mike nodded. “We won’t do Davy any good runnin’ out now. We’re all exhausted. We’ll go first thing in the morning . . . which is only a few hours away, anyway.”

Micky nodded and stretched lithely, yawning. “By then,” he said as he came out of the yawn, his shirt riding up to expose a line of tanned muscle just above his jeans, “the car should be finished.”

“Good,” Mike said, turning to Angelita’s father. “Is there somewhere where we can sleep for a few hours?”

“Si, I have a spare room over the cantina. It is large enough for you all to sleep easily. Follow me.”

Angelita smiled and watched the others as they fell in step behind her father. She turned to the bar and moved behind it, wondering what they were going to do. She despaired of ever being free of El Diablo. They talked a good game. Perhaps they even meant what they said. But what hope did anyone have against the Devil himself?

~~~~~

The clouds parted to reveal a full, pregnant moon overhead, shining down on the silent, still town of El Monotono. Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf howled, separated from its pack and crying out in loneliness.

As if in sympathy, the moon shed silver tears, one of the beams shining through the dusty windows of the cantina’s upper floors. Peter lay on his back, his blankets long since kicked aside. In the double bed above, Mike and Micky slept peacefully—they’d shot fingers to decide who slept where, and Peter had lost, shaking Mike off when he’d wanted to trade.

“I’m fine,” he’d said. “Doesn’t matter whether I sleep on the floor or on the bed. My head still hurts.”

He rolled onto his side, crossing his arms. His head hurt from the blow of losing Davy—he had faith in Mike and Micky and himself, but things didn’t always go smoothly and he knew it would be only too easy for Davy to get caught in a crossfire.

“Please,” he whispered. “Whatever gods there are out there, whoever’s listening—please help us get Davy back safely.” The back of his neck tingled gently, sending thrills of gentle warmth through him.

Along with resolution.

Drawing his legs up under him, he silently crept to the door, snatching up some of the clothes on the way to the door. Out in the dim hallway, he dressed without really paying attention to what he was doing, his thoughts and attention focused miles away in the wilderness.

The cantina stairs were silent as his booted feet gently hit them—no creaks gave him away. He slid out the front door and looked up at the moon. “Where do I go?” he whispered.

As if in answer, the wolf howled in the distance again. Peter turned in that direction, but the distant sound of shots rang through the hills. Fear stabbed through him, but he channeled it into action, using it to give his feet wings as he sped in the direction from which the shots had come.