Page 66 of At Love’s Command

Preach settled the bill while the rest of the Horsemen mounted. It felt odd not to have any gear. Their young guide, John Spafford, was better prepared for their journey than the Horsemen were. He, at least, had a canteen and a .22 caliber youth rifle in his scabbard. Matt felt naked without his guns. He missed the weight of the pistols on his hips. The security of having his repeater within easy reach. Their absence made his skin itch.

Preach swung a leg over a big roan that looked more like a plow horse than a cow pony, but Matt kept his opinion on the horseflesh to himself. Portman had given them the best of his available stock. Solid mounts with deep chests and muscular legs. Shod well, no swaybacks. They wouldn’t win any races, but they’d get them to Gringolet.

Matt patted his sorrel’s neck, wishing he had Phineas beneath him. He sent a brief prayer heavenward that his gelding was being treated well by Taggart’s men, then clicked his tongue and steered his sorrel alongside Wallace, giving a nod to Jonah on the far side. He caught Preach reaching to adjust his non-existent gun belt after he settled into the saddle and shared a look with his second-in-command. None of them were comfortable with the situation, but they’d make do. That was what soldiers did.

“Got a verse for us, Preach?” The familiar question brought some level of normalcy to the start of the mission as the four men drew their horses together behind young Spafford.

“‘With him is an arm of flesh; but with us is the Lord our God to help us, and to fight our battles.’ Second Chronicles 32:8.”

“Amen,” Wallace said softly.

Matt held his mount in check for a long moment, letting the words sink into his heart and strengthen his spirit. God’s warriors had been outnumbered and outmatched before, and that hadn’t stopped them from facing their enemies and emerging victorious. If Gideon could defeat the Midianites with nothing but horns, broken jars, and God, then the Horsemen could trust the Almighty to have their backs as well.

Setting his jaw, Matt leaned forward in his saddle and signaled their guide. “On to Gringolet, John. Fast as you can.”

John proved to be an accomplished rider for a youngster. He set a quick pace and carried himself with the confidence of one accustomed to the route. When he veered off the road to a slightly overgrown path, however, Matt called a halt.

John turned in his saddle, his forehead scrunched. “This is the shortcut I told ya about, Captain Hanger. It’ll save us a good twenty minutes.”

“I know, son, but there’s a chance that Burkett might have already left the ranch. If so, we risk missing him by leaving the road.” Matt nodded to his trumpeter. “Wallace, you’re the lightest in the saddle and have one of the better horses.”

“And you’re the one most likely to smooth-talk your way into Burkett’s confidence should you meet up on the road,” Preach added.

Wallace fingered a small salute. “They won’t get past me, Captain.”

“I’ll ride with him, boss.” Jonah tipped the brim of his hat back a couple inches. “A man alone with no weapons could be an easy target.”

Brooks didn’t mention Wallace’s injury, but they all knew it would complicate things should trouble arise. Matt would have assigned Jonah the duty, but a black man traveling alone was just as tempting a target. More so to some. His first thought had been to keep as many Horsemen on the short road as possible, but waiting for one was no different than waiting for two. And Brooks was right. Traveling in pairs was safer, even if the odds of coming across trouble this early in the morning were slim. As his uncle liked to say, an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

“Good idea, Sergeant.” Matt gave a decisive nod. “Watch each other’s backs.”

“Will do.” Jonah reined his mount around and, in a blink, he and Wallace were cantering down the road.

Matt turned back to John. “Lead on, young man.” He winked. “And make sure we beat them there.”

John grinned. “Yes, sir!”

The kid nudged his mare into an easy lope. Matt and Preach followed. Despite being overgrown with spring grasses, the ground was hard-packed and easily traveled, free of prairie dog holes and rocky soil that could bring a horse up lame.

They made good time, thanks to their able guide, who seemed to know the path’s location even when it disappeared from sight.

Finally, John reined in his mare at the top of a rise and pointed down into a lush valley. “There she is, Captain Hanger. Gringolet.”

Large paddocks ran the length of the valley, filled with horses bred for courage, stamina, and speed. A dark bay raced the length of a fence while Matt watched, his stride graceful, his black mane flowing, his head stretched forward as if nothing would stop him from reaching his goal. Matt’s breath caught at the sheer beauty of it.

Then another movement drew his gaze. Three, maybe four men in front of a barn. Tacking up their mounts. Prepping supplies. Readying for a journey.

One of the knots in Matt’s gut unraveled. They hadn’t missed them. Thank the Lord.

A man stood in the center of the commotion. Tall. Commanding. The bark of his voice carried to the top of the rise.

Thaddeus Burkett.

He wouldn’t welcome the interference of strangers, but Matt didn’t care. Josie was in danger, and her father needed the knowledge the Horsemen possessed about Taggart’s gang. And Matt needed the location of the ransom. Whether Burkett liked it or not, he’d just gotten himself a partner.

“Let’s go.” Not waiting for their young guide to lead the way, Matt touched his heels to his mount’s flanks and set off down the hill.

It didn’t take long for the men below to notice his approach. Shouts arose, rifles took aim, and a warning shot echoed above Matt’s head.