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“And you’re Blake Dollarhide’s son.”
“Yes, I’m Blake’s son,” Joseph said. And suddenly there was nothing more to say about that. He knew the truth of it, as he should have known all along.
Farther down along the road, the truck had run a wheel into the wagon rut and high-centered. It was tilted sharply to one side, but the motor was still running and the shooting continued. “Come on,” the major said. “I’ll get you somewhere safe. Then you can tell me what’s going on and what you’re doing here. Keep down and follow me.”
* * *
Chase had planned to wait where the wagon road began, in the hope his friends would show up there. But after examining the fresh tracks in the dust, he’d realized that the truck had already arrived—and that his friends would have left with it.
His heart sank, but he couldn’t give up and go home. If there was any chance to warn them of the danger, he would have to take it.
Following the wagon road, he kicked the horse to a gallop. Somewhere along the way, the sheriff and his partners would spring their trap.
His hopes had begun to fade when the sound of distant gunfire reached his ears. He paused for an instant, then urged the horse ahead. If there was gunplay, his friends could be trapped or hurt. He couldn’t just turn his back and leave them.
Ahead now, in the moonlight, he could see the truck leaning to one side and hear the whang of bullets striking the thick metal chassis of the ex-military vehicle. The smugglers would be inside the cab, the sheriff’s team hunkered down somewhere outside. But where were his friends? Had they already been arrested? Could they have been killed in the firefight?
He was moving closer when, with no warning, pain burst in his head and the world imploded into blackness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LOGAN SETTLEDJOSEPH IN THE BEDROOM, WHERE HE’D BE SAFEand out of sight. Then he went outside and waited on the porch until he could be satisfied that there was no more activity on the wagon road. He needed to know what was happening, but he didn’t want to be seen and questioned.
The story Joseph had told him was almost unbelievable. But the boy was too scared and shaken to be lying. Logan had never met Mason Dollarhide, but a man who’d manipulate young boys into doing dangerous, illegal work for him had to have a dark soul. Prison would be too good for him—even though he was Kristin’s half-brother.
Logan sensed that the boy wasn’t telling him everything. But maybe the rest of what he knew was best saved for his parents or the law.
After about twenty minutes without a sound, Logan walked down toward the road and made a cautious approach. If the truck had been carrying illegal liquor, the cargo could be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Even if the sheriff had left, someone might have stayed behind to guard it.
But for now, at least, no one was there. In the moonlight, he could see the truck, tilted partway into the hollow of the road, its cargo of wooden boxes spilling out the side. The canvas cover was riddled with bullet holes. Many of the boxes were shot through and their treasured contents dripping into the earth. The air was rank with the odors of alcohol and cordite. The ground was trampled and littered with brass casings from the rifle fire.
The outside of the cab was dented where the bullets had struck. There were a few holes where they’d penetrated. The inside of the cab was empty, the windows shattered. The driver’s seat was splotched with blood.
How had the sheriff known the loaded truck would be coming this way? Had he known that the boys would be with it? But those questions could wait for a less urgent time.
A saddled horse, maybe Joseph’s, was wandering loose. Logan was approaching the animal, hoping to catch it, when the two dogs came bounding through the grass with Joseph behind them. He must’ve let them out.
The horse shied and moved away as the dogs came close. Logan scowled at the boy. “I told you to stay in the house.”
“I know. But everybody’s gone now, and I’m feeling good enough to go home.”
“You’re sure?”
Joseph nodded. “I know the way. And that’s my horse over there. I can catch him.”
“Fine. Go ahead.” Logan couldn’t very well keep the boy against his will. And as long as he was safe, better to have him show up at home alone than to be delivered by an enemy.
“You’ll need to check that little wound on your horse’s hip,” Logan said. “Looks like he might’ve been grazed by a bullet.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean the wound when I get home.”
“All right, then. But don’t leave it too long. You don’t want it getting infected.”
“I won’t.” Joseph trotted off to catch his horse, then paused and turned around. “Thanks for saving me, Major. You aren’t going to get me in trouble, are you?”
“Not unless I’m forced to. But I hope you’ve learned a lesson.”
“Yes, sir.”
