Judgment Day. William W. Johnstone

tightly as you can. Or square them up. Whichever configuration you care to convert it to. Understand?”

      Beside him, he heard Laura whisper, “Don’t press your luck, darling.”

      He knew she meant that Olin was at least six feet three, had no respect for him, and had a bad temper, to boot. But he stood his ground. And said a silent prayer.

      Dear Father in heaven, he prayed as he stared at Olin, please get this big lummox to listen without hitting….

      God must have been paying attention, because Olin angrily stared at him a moment longer, then turned on his heel and stalked off toward his wagon and his family.

      “Shall Becky and I start gathering firewood?” Laura asked.

      He turned away from Olin’s retreating form and toward her. “Yes, that would be a good idea,” he said, reaching for baby Seth as he sighed with relief. “Watch out for snakes.”

      “Don’t forget the spiders,” she added, walking off.

      “And spiders,” he said, chuckling a bit. He waved at Randy Mankiller, the only one of the men looking his way, to come along. Laura and Becky couldn’t get enough wood by themselves. In fact, he’d be surprised if they could find any at all out here. The view to the horizon was clear in all directions. No trees, living or dead.

      Randy, a lanky, part-Cherokee who originally came from northern Texas, joined him at a trot. “Whatcha need, Reverend?”

      Blake grinned. “Want to help me fetch some wood, Randy?”

      “Not really, but I reckon I’m game.”

      Blake clapped him on the back. “Just what I like to hear. The game part anyhow.”

      “I hear you, Reverend,” Randy answered. “You think we’re actually gonna find any downed trees out here?”

      “Randy, I’m hoping that the Lord will provide.”

      The two set off across the prairie.

      Fury

      At eleven that night, his belly bursting with Olympia Morelli’s good beef stew and biscuits, Jason finally fell asleep in the second cell despite Ward’s heavy snores.

      But good things never lasted long, at least so far as Jason was concerned. He was awakened at half past one by a shout and someone roughly shaking him and kicking the frame of his cot.

      “What!” he snarled as he rose, aiming a punch at the kicker and shaker.

      He connected with something just as his eyes came fully open to see a figure fall back into the bars of the cell with an audible grunt of pain.

      He swung his legs off the side of the cot, then struck a match to reveal boots and pants. Not an Apache. He lit the lantern he’d carried inside.

      When he turned up the wick, he saw Ward Wanamaker sitting on the floor opposite him, slouched forward, one arm crossed over his chest and pressed to the bandages that swathed his shoulder and back.

      “Aw, crud, Ward,” Jason said as he leapt to his feet and knelt beside his deputy. “You all right? Didn’t know it was you.”

      “Didn’t know it was you either,” Ward breathed, his voice slurry with the last remnants of Morelli’s medication. “What happened, Jason?”

      “On your feet, first.” Jason helped him up and around the corner and back to his own cell. Slowly, he lowered Ward to his own cot and helped him stretch out. “All right,” he said. “Better?”

      Ward nodded, his eyes half closed.

      “What happened is that you took an arrow, and Doc patched you up. Then they moved you in here and gave you enough painkiller to make a half-grown bullock sleep for a week straight.”

      “Indians gone? You take care of ’em?”

      “No,” Jason said, and he couldn’t keep the disappointment from oozing into his voice. “The night took care of ’em, but they’ll be back come sunup if I’m any judge.”

      It was still quiet outside, but he knew it was only a brief respite from the next barrage of arrows and gunfire and the sounds of men’s screams.

      At least they wouldn’t have the Milchers’ steeple to aim at anymore.

      “You send for the cavalry?” Ward asked.

      Jason shook his head. “You know it’d take a week for them to get here. Either we’ll all be dead by that time, or the Apache will.”

      Ward nodded. His eyes fluttered.

      Jason said, “Get some shut-eye for now.”

      “You’ll wake me for the next fight?”

      “The minute we need you.”

      “Right,” Ward whispered as his eyes closed.

      Jason stood up quietly and went back to his own cell. As he settled back onto his cot, he whispered, “Next time, I’m gonna have to tell Morelli to give you enough for a full-grown bull.”

      Down at the MacDonald ranch, Jenny had insisted they sleep down in the hidden compartment beneath the living room of the house. Matt had fought her on it, but not very hard, she noted. He was asleep across the way, snugged into his blankets and softly snoring.

      How nice that he could sleep.

      Through the darkness, Jenny made a face at him.

      Everything was quiet so far. The night was still, and she knew that Curly was secreted in the bunkhouse hidey-hole, too, along with the other hands, Carlos and Wilmer. She supposed she should feel safe, but she knew that if the Apache set fire to the place, they were locked in down here, and likely doomed.

      It wasn’t the most pleasant outcome, and she hoped that the Apache would ride off on the same trail they’d used to ride up to Fury. It would swing them far out to the east. Close enough that their dust cloud could be seen by anyone at the ranch, but far enough to hide her and hers from the naked Apache eye.

      She hoped.

      She rolled onto her side and flipped the blanket over her head, hoping to screen out Matt’s snores. When that didn’t work, she tried listing the things that they’d brought down with them, in hopes of saving them in case the Apache torched the house.

      She hadn’t been able to bring the piano, more’s the pity, or her mother’s breakfront. Just small things, Matthew had insisted, and in this case, he’d been right. So they’d brought along his important papers, the ones he usually kept at the bank, and the jewelry and the silverware. They had also brought plenty of water, a thunder mug, a bag filled with foodstuffs, and enough kerosene to last them through several days and nights, should it come to that.

      She hoped it wouldn’t, but it was best to be prepared. She had sent food, water, and kerosene to the bunkhouse with Curly, too.

      Matt grunted in his sleep, and she rolled toward him. What was he saying?

      He muttered it again.

      Beneath her blankets, she shrugged. He sounded so happy. It was probably some girl’s name, if she knew him. And she’d learned all his tricks this last nearly two years. She knew he had other women. And he knew that she knew, not that he’d ever admit it.

      She stared up toward the ceiling, up toward the trapdoor and the crossbar that secured it in place. If I had half the guts my brother thinks I do, she thought, I’d climb up and open that door.

      But she didn’t. She’d learned that long ago. If she was braver and not half so silly, she’d still be single and living in town with Jason.

      With a sigh, she closed her eyes and fell slowly into a fitful sleep.

      What is wrong with us? Lone Wolf asked himself as he stared around him.

      All around him, braves were