Chapter 5 - Out the Roof
The jail roof had not been built for escape.
That helped.
Nobody guarded it.
Nalin climbed through the narrow stove opening first after Cade kicked loose two boards around the pipe.
She hauled herself onto sun-baked shingles.
Cade followed one-handed.
His injured arm had stiffened.
Every pull sent pain down into his fingers.
Below, men entered the jail.
“Rear cell!”
“Empty!”
“Roof!”
Too late.
Nalin crawled toward the far edge.
Dry Creek stretched below them.
Main street.
Stable.
Telegraph office.
Silver Dollar.
Blacksmith.
Beyond town, open desert shimmered.
“We need horses,” Cade said.
“We need your guns.”
“They’re in the jail.”
“So are twenty men.”
“Then horses.”
Nalin pointed to an alley behind the livery.
Two saddled horses stood tied.
Cade evaluated the drop.
Twelve feet.
His arm would not tolerate hanging.
Nalin noticed.
“You first.”
“No.”
“If I go first, you try to jump like an idiot.”
“I wasn’t going to jump.”
“You looked at the ground twice.”
He almost laughed.
Nalin lowered herself from the roof edge and dropped.
She landed badly but stayed upright.
Cade slid down, caught the gutter with his good hand, and released.
The impact drove pain through both knees.
He stumbled.
Nalin caught his poncho.
“No instant recovery?”
“Wasn’t planning one.”
Gunfire erupted above.
They ran.
Bullets struck the water barrel beside them.
Wood splintered.
They reached the horses.
Cade chose the gray gelding.
Nalin mounted the bay mare.
Vale appeared at the alley entrance.
Blood ran from his nose.
His revolver lifted.
Cade saw him hesitate.
Creed’s betrayal had changed something.
Cade said, “Amos.”
Vale’s revolver remained aimed.
Behind him, Creed shouted:
“Shoot!”
Vale fired.
The bullet struck the dirt beside Cade’s horse.
Deliberate miss.
Cade understood.
So did Creed.
“You worthless son of a—”
Vale turned and hit Creed with his shoulder.
Cade kicked the gelding forward.
Nalin’s mare lunged beside him.
They raced through the alley as gunshots followed.
One bullet tore through Cade’s poncho near his back.
Another struck a hitching post.
No miraculous misses.
Men were shooting from unstable positions at moving targets.
Accuracy became chaos.
They broke from town.
Desert opened ahead.
Nalin leaned low over her mare.
Cade struggled to control the gray with one arm.
He looked back.
Five riders pursued.
Gabe was not among them.
Pike either.
Harlan rode poorly, favoring his struck arm.
Creed remained behind.
Vale too.
“Where?” Cade shouted.
Nalin pointed southeast.
“My uncle’s ranch.”
“How far?”
“Three hours.”
“We have one.”
She understood.
They needed terrain.
Dry Creek lay near broken country—dry washes, mesquite, basalt ridges.
Nalin led them toward a narrow arroyo.
The riders gained.
Cade’s wounded arm continued bleeding.
His sleeve was dark.
Nalin glanced over.
“You need to stop that.”
“Later.”
“You faint, I leave you.”
“Fair.”
They entered the arroyo.
Sound changed.
Hooves thundered between stone walls.
Nalin suddenly turned up a side wash so narrow Cade almost missed it.
Two pursuers overshot.
Three followed.
Cade looked ahead.
Dead end.
“Nalin.”
“Trust me.”
“I barely know you.”
“Good.”
She pushed the mare directly toward a sloping rock shelf.
The horse scrambled upward.
Cade followed.
The gelding slipped once.
Recovered.
Behind them, one pursuer attempted the same climb too fast.
His horse lost footing.
The rider fell sideways into dust.
Not dead.
But out.
Two remained.
Nalin reached the ridge.
Cade came beside her.
Below, the wash twisted back toward Dry Creek.
“Left,” she said.
They rode along the ridge for half a mile and descended where sandstone gave way to softer earth.
No riders behind.
For now.
Nalin finally slowed.
Cade swayed slightly in the saddle.
She noticed.
“Off.”
“I can ride.”
“That was not a question.”
They stopped beneath an overhang.
Nalin dismounted and approached.
Cade tried to remove his poncho.
His left arm refused.
Nalin helped.
The bullet had grazed the outside of his upper arm.
No embedded slug.
But the groove was deep enough to keep bleeding.
“Sit.”
Cade did.
Nalin tore cloth from the inside hem of her dress.
Cade looked at it.
“You keep tearing that, you’ll be wearing nothing by Tucson.”
“Then stop getting shot.”
She cleaned the wound with water from a canteen.
Cade gritted his teeth.
“Hurts?”
“No.”
Nalin poured more.
He cursed.
She smiled.
“Thought so.”
For several minutes they said nothing.
Wind moved through dry grass.
Finally Nalin held out her hand.
“The medallion.”
Cade gave it to her.
She studied the sunburst.
Her expression softened in a way he had not seen.
“Our mother made this.”
“Taza said.”
“She died when I was eleven.”
Cade nodded.
“Taza kept it.”
“Until he gave it to you.”
“Yes.”
Nalin looked at him.
“You really killed him.”
Cade did not hide.
“Yes.”
“And you believe it was mercy.”
“He asked.”
“That does not answer what you believe.”
Cade thought.
“No.”
Nalin waited.
“I believe I was afraid Creed would take us both.”
There.
A harder truth.
“I told myself it was mercy.”
Nalin’s eyes stayed on him.
“Was it?”
“I don’t know.”
She closed her fingers around the medallion.
“Good.”
Cade frowned.
“Good?”
“I would hate you more if you were certain.”
She stood.
They remounted.
As the sun lowered, they reached the burned ranch.
Only stone sections remained.
Roof collapsed.
Corral blackened.
Nalin dismounted slowly.
Her uncle had died here.
Cade let her walk alone for a moment.
Then she entered what had been the bedroom.
Charred floorboards.
Collapsed beams.
Nalin knelt.
“My uncle pulled these up.”
Cade helped with his good arm.
Under the ruined boards was packed earth.
Nothing.
Then Nalin saw a flat stone darker than those around it.
She lifted it.
Beneath lay a narrow cavity.
Inside was an oilskin bundle.
Nalin looked at Cade.
Neither spoke.
She opened it.
A ledger.
Old.
Water damaged.
But intact.
Cade recognized Silas Creed’s handwriting.
Names.
Army contracts.
Weapon shipments.
Land purchases.
Payments.
Then Nalin turned to the final pages.
Recent entries.
Dry Creek.
Sheriff Vale.
Gabe Mercer.
Railroad surveyors.
And one name Cade did not expect.
Cade Thorn — $5,000 upon confirmed death.
Below it:
Authorized by C.T.
Nalin frowned.
“Your initials.”
Cade stared at the page.
“Yes.”
“You authorized your own death?”
“No.”
He looked at the handwriting beside the initials.
Then he understood why Creed had waited eleven years.
“C.T. isn’t me.”
“Who?”
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Cade closed the ledger.
“My brother.”
