James watched Augie walk back to sit in his chair. Soon Billy and Ben would be asleep. But how to get to Augie without waking the others? Could he take all three men?

He wasn’t sure. His head ached, but other than that he felt all right. He knew he had to get his feet free, then he’d have a chance. But Augie would notice if he sat up and began working the knot around his ankles. He settled for loosening the knots around his wrists. Thank God they believed he was still unconscious, otherwise they would have tied his hands behind him, likely tied him to the bed as well. It was then he caught a flash of movement. He looked at the dirty window behind Augie’s back. He saw something white waving back and forth, like a truce flag.

He blinked and refocused. Yes, it was still there. Augie’s head was slowly falling forward on his chest.

James saw a face.

Corrie.

He stared at her as he slowly raised his hand so she could see that he had his wits together. He wiggled his fingers.

He saw that grin of hers, white teeth shining through the dirty windowpane across the room.

Then she was gone. She was going to do something, and whatever she was planning, he had to be ready.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HIS EARS WERE on alert. He heard something on the roof, a light scurrying sound, or perhaps it was a branch of a tree swishing against the wood.

No, that was no tree nor animal up there. It had to be Corrie, light on her feet, but what was she doing? His brain seized up at thoughts of how she’d gotten here.

His question was answered in the next instant as smoke started billowing out of the fireplace. She’d bought him time to get the ropes off his ankles. James immediately sat up and began working the ropes. It took a couple of minutes before Augie, Billy, and Ben began coughing, and by then, the room was filling up fast with smoke.

Augie jumped out of his chair, yelling, “Boys, it’s fire! Tar and damnation, this jest ain’t fair! Quick, quick, we gots to grab up our cove and git out o’ this bloody ’ell ’ole!”

In that instant, the cottage door burst open and a furious, whinnying horse pounded into the room, rearing, snorting, Corrie on his back, aiming a pitchfork right at Ben, who was standing closest to her, struck dumb with shock and horror.

Then all three of the men were yelling, trying to get out of the room, trying to avoid the horse and the pitchfork, its long tongs rusted but still sharp. Ben wasn’t fast enough. She got him through the arm. He yelled and pulled out his gun, but James was on him, his leg slicing through the air, his foot kicking that gun right out of Ben’s hand. Then James was rolling to get the gun as Augie fired at him. Corrie and the horse turned and rode Augie down, sending his gun flying toward the door. Augie was crawling as close to the wall as he could get, toward the open doorway and into the night. At the last minute he managed to snag the gun and stuff it into his pants.

The horse was maddened by the smoke, and wanted out. “James, throw me one of the guns!”

He grabbed Billy’s gun right out of his hand and threw it to her as she stuck the pitchfork into the wall and rode out of the cottage on the horse.

James had only Billy to tend to, and it was easily done despite the choking, blinding smoke.

He was leaping over Billy, stopping just a moment to lean down and smash his fist into his jaw.

Corrie was sitting bareback atop the horse, the other bay just behind, waiting for him. She was covered in soot, grinning like a fool. “Hurry, James, hurry!” Even as she spoke, Augie fired from the cottage door, and the bullet whizzed by the horse’s ear. The horse jerked back and reared on his hind legs, hurling Corrie to the ground. Both horses reared and bucked, running madly back along the rutted road, away from the cottage, and away from them.

James cursed as he ran to Corrie. She was struggling to her knees. “We’ve got to hurry, Corrie. Sorry, but no horses. Can you walk? Are you badly hurt?”

“Oh dear, there’s Ben, holding his arm. I got him with the pitchfork. Let’s go, James. I’m all right.”

Each of them held a gun in one hand, James nearly dragging her after him. They ran into the woods that bordered the narrow road. There was a gunshot, more yelling-this one out of Ben’s mouth-if James wasn’t mistaken, since he was screaming about how the bitch stuck his arm with that nasty pitchfork.

Well, the three bastards had only one gun and no horses. He and Corrie were better off. He wanted to go back and pound them, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they had more guns. He didn’t think they did, but who knew how Augie’s brain worked?

They ran through the woods, tripping over roots, until he couldn’t hear any of the men yelling anymore.

“Hold, Corrie. Let’s wait a minute.”

She was breathing hard, gulping in air, and nearly fell against a pine tree, her arms wrapped around her chest, the gun dangling from two fingers.

James stood there, staring at her. Her once white ball gown was black with smoke and soot, ripped and grimy, one sleeve hanging by a thread. Her hair was streaming in wild tangles down her back and onto her face. She was still grinning at him, all white teeth against the black face, still panting hard.

James laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “Well done,” he said and grabbed her hand. “They’ve got to come after us, although I can’t imagine how they’re going to do it. Ben’s got your pitchfork tong through his arm and he won’t be good for much. Damn, I wish I knew how many guns they have.”

“If they catch those wretched horses, we might be in deep trouble again, James. I saw that lead horse run off the road and head toward the cliffs, out in the open, where we can’t go.”

James frowned thoughtfully down at his boots. “I don’t think they saw the horses or where they went. But if they do manage to catch them, they could go back to the shed and get the carriage. That wouldn’t be good.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Then let’s take care of that carriage, James.”

James was weighing the risks. “It’s a matter of how much they were paid to take me. If it’s a lot, then they will try their best to get me again.”

“I hope it was a carriage-full,” Corrie said, eyes narrowing. “Failure must really taste bad if you lose a lot of money. Let’s not take the chance. Let’s get that carriage.”

It took them only ten minutes to make their way back to the cottage. Augie and the boys had pulled the blanket off the chimney. James quickly saw that the cottage, with its door hanging on its rusted hinges, was quite empty, except for the pitchfork with a bit of blood on its tip. No Billy, Ben, or Augie.

When they got to the shed, James picked up an old, rotted axe, grinned like the Devil himself, and destroyed one wheel while Corrie took the pitchfork to the other. When the wheels were in shards on the ground, James dropped the axe, rubbed his hands together, and said, “That’s slowed them down. Let’s go.”

They were off again. Not more than a minute after they’d stepped into the woods, they heard Augie yell, “Tar and damnation, curse the young ’un! The little bastid ruined the carriage. I’ll have to kick ’im into the ground when I gits me fists on ’im.”

“He gave me no credit at all,” Corrie said.

“If they try for us again, you can shoot him.”

“Yes, yes, I think that’s a fine idea.”

There was generalized cursing, nothing really original, Corrie thought, from all three of the men as James and Corrie stood quietly, listening and smiling.

James whispered near her ear, “Do you know where we are?”

“I know we took a turnoff to Clacton-on-Sea.”