They were trapping them.
The old man barked instructions.
Riders moved.
Corvin caught Sena’s arm.
“Wait.”
Her entire body went rigid.
He immediately released her.
“If soldiers die here, whoever planned this still gets his war.”
Sena stared at him.
He pointed toward the papers.
“This is proof.”
Then toward Hale.
“He’s proof.”
She understood.
The elder approached.
Corvin pointed toward the southern pass.
“No killing unless they force it.”
Sena translated.
The elder’s eyes hardened.
He spoke several sentences.
Sena looked at Corvin.
“He says our dead did not receive such mercy.”
Corvin nodded.
“He’s right.”
The elder seemed surprised.
“But if every soldier down there dies, men in Washington won’t care about our papers.”
Corvin lifted the ledger.
“They’ll care about eighty bodies.”
The elder studied him.
Corvin continued.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“For what?”
“To make them surrender.”
Hale burst out laughing.
Corvin turned toward him.
“Captain, who commands those men?”
No answer.
Corvin crouched.
“Who?”
“Major Brennan.”
“Does Brennan know what this operation really is?”
Something flickered across Hale’s face.
That was enough.
“He doesn’t.”
Hale spat.
Corvin smiled grimly.
“Thank you.”
He saddled his horse.
Sena stepped in front of him.
“You go there, they shoot.”
“Maybe.”
“You die.”
“Possibly.”
She looked furious.
Corvin could not understand why.
“You’ve known me one day.”
Her expression changed.
Again, that strange pain.
“No,” she whispered.
Corvin froze.
“What?”
She stepped away.
“Go.”
He stared at her.
Then mounted.
Major Brennan nearly shot Corvin before recognizing him.
“TORNE!”
The major’s voice boomed from behind an overturned supply wagon.
“Get down!”
Corvin raised both hands.
“Tell your men not to fire!”
“You’re surrounded by hostiles!”
“You’re surrounded because Captain Hale murdered three families and intended to murder me!”
Silence.
Even the distant gunfire quieted.
Brennan stared.
“What did you say?”
Corvin pulled the map from inside his shirt.
“Hale’s orders!”
A bullet struck dirt near Corvin’s horse.
Not from the hills.
From somewhere behind Brennan.
Corvin twisted.
A civilian gunman fired again.
The shot struck Corvin’s saddle horn.
Brennan whirled.
“Hold your fire!”
The civilian ignored him.
Corvin understood instantly.
The Barstow men could not allow him to speak.
Three civilian riders charged.
Before they traveled twenty yards, shots cracked from the ridge.
One man’s rifle flew from his hands.
Another’s hat vanished.
The third man’s horse reared.
None of them were hit.
A warning.
Brennan stared at the ridgeline.
Corvin shouted.
“They could have killed every one of us!”
Brennan looked back.
Corvin held the documents above his head.
“Hale is alive.
He’s my prisoner.”
“Your prisoner?”
“Not exactly.”
Despite everything, Brennan nearly smiled.
“Come here.”
Corvin rode forward.
For ten minutes, the two men examined the documents behind the overturned wagon.
With every page, Brennan’s face changed.
Confusion.
Disbelief.
Then disgust.
Finally rage.
“My name is here.”
Corvin looked.
MAJOR E.
BRENNAN — expendable witness.
Beside it was an instruction.
If command questions operation, include among casualties.
Brennan read the line three times.
Then slowly looked toward the Barstow gunmen.
“They were going to kill us too.”
