Chapter 5: Hills Have Faces, They Do Not See

There was another lull in activity after the last charge. This time a good number of the attackers had been hurt badly, particularly those who had tried to sneak along the canyon wall during the distraction. Again Pip's twin pistols wreaked havoc, this time on those who tried to come along the base of the cliff wall on his side.

Conway had moved up alongside Huck, and from his vantage point they both could hear the sound of wounded men moaning and calling for aid. "It'll be a while before they try that again," Huck said. "I just hope they don't decide to try something more ... explosive."

"Do you think they have any explosives?" Conway asked, with a slightly panicked tone.

"I'd bet on it, but they won't use them until they get truly desperate. A dead Kendall is nowhere near as valuable to them as a live one."

"Let's not leave them the option," came a quiet voice behind them. Both turned to see Jenna, returned again from the back of the wash.

"What's up?" Huck asked, his hopes rising at Jenna's triumphant grin.

"I've found us a way out of the back of the wash. We should start moving there one at a time."

"You move everyone else through first. I'll stay here and you come get me when everyone else is out of danger."

"Wait ten minutes and then move towards the back of the wash. I'll meet you there," Jenna offered. Huck nodded his head, and at that signal she grabbed Conway and moved him back towards the wash.

Huck signaled the rest of them to follow her, and, sliding his rifle into a more comfortable position on the boulder between him and the ambushers, he waited.

Jenna led the rest of them to the back of the wash.

"What the hell did you do with the horses?" Taegan asked. "I didn't know you were a magician."

"I'm not, they're up there," she said, pointing up the steep sided wash in front of them. "You're going there too, lets get moving. Everyone put your left hand on the shoulder in front of you and follow me."

Halfway up, Lily muttered just loud enough for those around her to hear. "Christ! How the hell did you get horses to follow you up this?"

All they heard from the front of the line was a small giggle, followed by the hushed command to keep their eyes on the feet in front of them and keep moving.

Huck had made some harrowing ascents in his time, some of them while under fire. This wasn't one of them, but he still had to wonder how the girl had gotten the horses to climb this thin seam of rock without losing one of them. The Porters were known to be good with horses, but this was somewhere beyond that. When he got to the top, he was pleased to see that the rest of the group were already on horseback, and ready to go.

"Okay folks," He said as soon as he was on his own mount. "Jenna's delivered us something of a miracle, but we've got very little time before those assholes figure out that something's going on. What we don't know is whether they'll spend any time trying to follow us up the wash, or if they'll anticipate where we're going and try to head us off. We can't afford to wait around to find out, so let's get moving."

They moved at a walk at first, wanting to gain some distance from the cliff's edge before they ran the horses. Running horses make noise, distinctive, clue-giving noise. Once they had gotten a few hundred yards from their starting point, Huck let his horse pick up the pace. The memory he had in his head of the area told him they had a couple of miles to cover, perhaps a little more, before they would get to where they could hope to run into Mud Hollow Road. In the meantime, he only hoped the terrain was as promising as his memory suggested.

The Broken Wheel Inn was not the kind of place one would remark on, good or bad, after staying there. Its beds were clean, its staff efficient, its food adequate. Multnomah Falls behind it was something of an attraction, and people did enjoy walking back to view them close up, but mostly people stopped there because they found themselves getting caught by nightfall while traveling along the river. No man outside the elders of the Church of the Denied knew it was the Church's headquarters. Those who did learn of it, did not live long outside the embrace of the Church, but then some did not live long within it.

The Right Reverend Thaddeus Marchand sat in his office on the top floor of the inn, listening to the shortwave radio behind his desk. As usual, the damned canyons kept the signals from coming in directly from where his Churchmen were operating, so he was forced to listen to a relayed accounting of the events.

One of those damned Cayuse had apparently pulled off some sleight of hand and disappeared six or seven people and their horses up a wash in Spanish Hollow Canyon, managing to slip neatly out of a trap the reverend had organized in hopes of capturing a Kendall or two. The band of Churchmen had suffered heavy losses as well, attempting to rush the defensive position. Deaths and injuries were always hard to cover up and still maintain the covert aspects of the service of some of these men.

Even now Elder Hobson rode to him to make his report. It would not do to let him go unpunished for his failure, but the man was a trusted Elder, the senior and deadliest of the church's enforcers and, normally, an efficient and effective leader of men.

He would make the punishment something quick, but harsh. Something Hobson would know was not just for show. Hobson had to feel he had been outmaneuvered in a way that was impossible to anticipate, and punishing him for that would be counterproductive, but he must know as well that his trap had been poorly sprung, and he had let the prey anticipate and react to the danger ahead. Failing to take advantage of the information their Kendall traitor was feeding them was a sin, and since they risked exposing their source every time they acted on his information, it was a sin with serious consequences.

The road had been a typical service road. Dirt and loose gravel cut into the dust and grass of the high desert. The two canyons it crossed between the point where the riders had found it and its juncture with the east-west running road it ran into had been dicey, but manageable. Washouts and steep grades didn't combine for smooth traveling. That road lead to another north-south access road, but barely a half mile later, joined up with highway 97 again. Getting back on the highway and headed for Echo Point again had been a relief, but one dipped in a sense of trepidation. A band of men intent on doing them harm was still just down the highway a few miles.

"Alright, decision time," Huck said once they stood atop the surface of highway 97 again. "We can go back to our original route here and take the highway cutoff all the way into Wasco, or we can keep following the main highway until it runs into 206, and follow that in."

Huck looked them all in the eye, one after another as he spoke.

"The main highway route will actually take longer and we'll be less likely to run into any help going that way. It should be safer though. The Church won't be looking for us there."

"Safer is better," Conway offered.

"A lack of Churchmen on it doesn't mean its safer," Taegan said after a moment of thought. "We know we've slipped the Church's trap, and more importantly, they know it. They'll have no surprise if they make further attempts to catch us, and we are too close to witnesses now to make extended operations safe for the Church. I think we'll be better off taking the cutoff."

Even as the group rode south, the Churchmen were dispersing, filtering, in small groups, back through the canyons into Rufus, Biggs and the other small towns along the Columbia.

The first surprise came only two days after John's Cantor's arrival in Wasco. A string of three pack mules, led by a woman on yet another mule.

"Hello there," she said with a grin, "might you be John Cantor?"

"I am," John said, amazed that this person was here seeking him. For these mules to arrive only two days after he did meant they had to have already been on their way to Wasco before he had even been given his orders.

The amazement over this seamless organization was quickly swept away by the sight of a young woman clad in riding leathers, with a knife at her belt and a rifle in a sling behind her saddle, riding the lead mule.