"They had help. Casings are from 9 millimeters." José's plump, scarred face screwed up in anger as cigar smoke swirled in the gusting wind.

"Safe Haven," Dean stated flatly, sliding his coat back to finger the sniper rifle on his pommel. His rage towards the Witch grew as he watched his brother swing up onto his horse and wince. The painful pressure on his mangled wrist was too much to hide.

"Only group we know of organized enough to use those and do this. Go tell Cesar to make camp here. Last call said he's three hours out," Dillan ordered, knowing the Slavers were still finishing up with stragglers in Wellington who had barricaded themselves in. Rick had been sent to take care of it. "And tell him we'll track them, find out where they're camped."

Hand holding the dirty white sombrero on as the wind gusted sharply, the Mexican spun away angrily, and the twins rode off in a cloud of dust purposely kicked up to insult him further. When he was in charge, these two were dead and he would do it himself!

2

"Who has done this?" Cesar shouted furiously, brown face red with anger.

The dozen men in the gymnasium with him looked at the filthy, bloody floor and the bodies of their men, instead of meeting his eyes. They were glad when José hurried in.

José was Cesar's right-hand man, the scarred guerrilla the only one to speak his mind when choosing time had come, but all the men knew the Kelly twins (when they were here) were really second, and everyone else was behind them.

"Safe Haven. The twins are tracking."

"I want them dead!" Cesar screamed in frustration, stomping down a long, dim hall that should be full of bound slaves, but held only dust and cobwebs.

"I will get el los solsados ready to attack."

Cesar didn't slow, and José hurried to catch up, eyeing the gold-handled pistols in the Slaver's crisscrossed gun belts. Was this the moment?

"No."

"But now, while they don't..."

"No," Cesar lowered his voice, reluctantly confiding. "They have a powerful weapon. We will send in el traidor to take care of it."

"What kind of..."

Cesar scowled, shaking his tightly-kinked curls. Would the young never learn? "Not here."

He used his deformed hand to open a door marked Office and the two Mexicans stopped short, coming face to face with a tall, blonde woman wearing a long, unbuttoned brown trench coat.




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