The Cowboy and the Angel | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Hehe, so you filled 'im with lead, huh Plaga?" the gravely voice grated out from behind the boards Micah was pressed against.

"Sí," the deep voice of the Mexican droned. "Just as Trent asked."

A dry, harsh cackle met Micah's ears. "You never told me the details."

"What is there to say, Trick? I waited, he showed, I shot. Hit him right in the chest."

"And took his horse," Trick added. He gave a low whistle. "That thing's pretty as can be, but meaner than a rattler."

"Sí, but even rattlers can be dealt with."

Micah shivered. His eyes flickered just beyond the wall to to the round pen where Raven was running in circles. No one could get near him, and Micah knew it was only a matter of time before they resulted to other methods to reach the stallion. He closed his eyes, careful not to breathe too deep for fear he'd cause a board to creak. Who knew the very people he worked for were the ones who'd killed his friend?

"Did ya leave his body?"

"No," came the clipped reply.

A surge of hope welled up in Micah's chest. If he didn't leave Jason's body. . . .

"Then how in tarnation did they find him dead?"

Plaga gave an evil laugh. "Remember the hombre on the trail from Dusty Hollow?"

"The one you shot?" Trick asked, the confusion evident in his tone.

"Sí. The Archer was not dead, so I put his shirt on the other man, along with the note from his mujer."

A cynical chuckle greeted Plaga's words. "Lemme guess, you dumped Archer's body somewhere no one would find him."

"Sí. Just in case he should survive longer than the wound would allow."

Trick slapped Plaga on the back with glee. "Smart move, amigo. You Mexicans are more savvy than we give you credit for."

Micah recoiled from his eavesdropping position. He couldn't stand to listen to anymore. He'd heard enough to know the truth. Despite knowing they'd found the body of another man, it didn't change the fact that Jason was dead. It had been a week since that terrible day, and the hurt still stung like a fresh cut. His emotions were fighting for top position in his mind. Fear snaked it's way to the forefront and trumped them all.

He was surrounded by murderers. What a jolly thought! The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? Micah reminded himself, the words settling over his heart like a blanket. God would never leave him, nor forsake him.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," Micah recited, strolling confidently to the pen. He stopped, resting his hands on the rough wood. "I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." He heaved himself over the fencing, confident God would make a way where there seemed to be no way.

Raven paused in his fearful rampaging, quivering in the middle of the pen, his body lathered with sweat. His nostrils flared, accepting every ounce of air he could breathe in. His eyes were wild as he stared at Micah, flicking his ears at every little sound.

Micah winged a prayer heavenward. He inched toward Raven as slow as the current circumstances would allow, clicking his tongue softly. He grabbed the reins and jumped astride Raven's broad back fully expecting chaos. It never came.

Without warning, Raven took off in a gallop--straight for the side of the fence.

Micah squeezed his eyes closed as they sailed through the air and over the top board of the fence with room to spare. They landed with a shuddering jolt before thundering down the road to the yells of a handful of cowpunchers.