Buck was already moving as he tossed the rod. He had a hand under Ezra's arm and they were on the run.
There were shouts of warning and alarm as they scrambled toward the wagon.
Buck's entire focus was in getting them both to the horses.
The blast caused them to stumble but never fall.
Ezra was hopping and limping on his wounded leg, but he was keeping up. That struck Ezra as funny. He and Mr. Wilmington were so battered that they must both be moving at half speed.
Somehow they reached the horses despite the bullets now flying around them.
Buck grabbed the rifle from its scabbard and covered Ezra as he mounted up.
Buck took out two guards who were firing arbitrarily into the prisoners.
Two of the prisoners picked up the weapons these men dropped as soon as they fell.
The prisoners had come through. They were fighting the guards. It was mostly hand to hand. They were still outgunned.
One of the phony Union soldiers broke free and his pistol coughed, it brought down three prisoners before Erza's bullet took him out.
It might be hopeless, but if they could lure any number of the guards after them, that would even the odds for the others.
"Mr. Wilmington!" Ezra tossed him the reins of the other horse.
He swung into the saddle and they raced toward the craggy hills in front of them.
"Samuels! Escape. Stop them!" Kestrel bellowed.
The man looked up from his gun when he heard his name called. He saw the two men riding out. He fired.
They were out of pistol range.
Military training took over.
The ex-soldiers and their highwaymen tag-a-longs began shouting orders to regroup.
"Samuels!"
"Retreat!"
"Back up. They're no match for our guns."
On the other side of the battle were heard shouts of "Hand to hand."
"Grab the guns they drop!"
"Keep in close and they can't use the guns."
Everything was running together. But the soldiers were regrouping. They were backing up to the wagon and calling their shots.
Those recently imprisoned scrambled to hide behind rocks. A few had come up with guns from the fallen enemy and returned fire.
Kestrel ran by, slapped ten men on the shoulder.
These men fell in behind him, swung onto their horses and went after the firebrands who had instigated this disaster.
Buck and Ezra were only now several hundred yards ahead of them.
Buck and Ezra concentrated on outrunning the men they knew were following.
They had to get them as far away from the center of the uprising as possible. They would wait to return fire until they felt the bullets zing around them. The top priority now was to divide the enemy and give the others a chance.
Buck could feel a stickiness that meant his back wound had opened up. Sweat burned his eyes. The rope burns were a little worse than he had let on.
The exertion was causing each coughing breath to burn through his throat. And damn, he was tired.
With nothing to do but to give the horse its head and hold on, this was the first time his body had time to acknowledge his exhaustion. It threatened to shut down. He held on to consciousness.
Ezra's leg throbbed every time the horse's hooves hit the ground. This gait was nowhere near as smooth as Gambit.
The truth was his back would never stop itching and the fever was finally reaching beyond the original wound to attack the rest of his body.
His horse hopped over a fallen log and jarred his bruised body almost to the point of intolerance. But he kept going. He wasn't sure he ever thought he'd get this far.
Chris and the others had almost caught up with Vin's Indian pony when they came upon the showdown.
The soldiers, several hiding behind the wagon and nearby slabs of rock were outnumbered but held the distinct advantage in firepower.
Several soldiers lie unmoving on the ground.
Many more prisoners, identified by their rags that passed for clothes, had fallen. Some were moving, but had nowhere to go as the bullets flew around them.
Bridger and Carlisle both sat their mounts and directed their men toward victory.
Carlisle fell with a bullet hole in his throat. He meant nothing more to Tanner than a target, an outlet for his rage he had kept hidden inside.
Rifle and pistol fire erupted behind the prisoners.
Chris Larabee and his men, spread out only enough to not present a single tight-knit target, rode through the freedom fighters and straight toward their captors.
Carson, Bonner and Darby leapt from their horses and, rifles blazing, took the assignment of gathering the guns of the fallen and redistributing them to their new allies.
A cheer went up from the rag-tag fighters.
"Buck!" Chris called out. He stayed on his horse and used the vantage point to seek out his men. "Ezra!"
Distracted, looking for his friends, Chris ignored the bullets around him.
Vin and Josiah moved to his side so that all three could cover each others' backs and at the same time give a part of their attention to seeking out the others.
"Ezra!" Vin barked.
Across the battle arena he heard JD calling for Buck.
Jack Phillips hobbled up to Larabee and grabbed Habanero's reins to get his attention.
The fierce glare that was thrown at him brought him up short. But he made himself heard over the gunfire and shouting. "Wilmington. Standish. They led the others away from us. Kestrel will kill them." He pointed in the direction the two regulators had ridden.
"Damn." He met the eyes of Vin and Josiah.
His eyes flashed around the conflict, "Like hell he will."
The free POW's had reached the wagon and the weapons and ammunition there. It took a blink to see this.
"Nathan! JD!" Larabee's hail cut across everything to those who were used to hearing him give commands. By the time they looked around, their leader, the tracker and the priest where headed out.
Immediately they kicked their horses after them.
Carson, Bonner and Darby continued to organize the men. Carson's military knowledge and strategy rivaled Bridger.
In the distance they heard a bugle.
The first bullet sang past Standish's head just about the time he thought they might keep ahead of the men chasing them. He glanced over at his partner.
Buck was focused on staying in his saddle. The bullet had missed both of them.
Ezra glanced back. Kestrel and the others weren't really gaining on them. That had been a lucky shot to even reach their range. Their luck was holding.
And then the luck ran out.
Ezra felt the cinch snap on his horse.
The woven cotton dropped down to where it tickled at the skittish animal's flanks. She began to buck and bounce on all fours.
Ezra felt himself losing his seat and the saddle was swaying to the left with the movement.
Ezra lost his right stirrup and instinctively tried to free his left foot as well. The sudden movement caused a painful cramp in the leg and, leaning into the pain, he also leaned into the stirrup.
The saddle began to swing.
The britchens and breast collars held. Instead of the saddle sliding off the back of the horse, it rotated under its belly.
All the time Ezra fought to free his left leg. It was no use. His injuries played against him.
His ankle slid forward in the stirrup and he and the saddle where dragged much too near the terrified mare's back hooves.
Buck had sensed problems almost as soon as things began to fall apart.
He reached out and grabbed Ezra's mare's reins and shuffled both animals to a stop. But Ezra's weight combined with the gear caused the poor creature to lose balance as well and it rolled over him.
At least the momentum kept her going and ribs, which could easily have been broken, were only cracked.
On her way up the mare kicked out and caught Buck's left hand as he put it up to protect his face. He felt the bones break in his palm even as he tried to go with the strike. The pain immediately radiated down his arm.
Buck had extra ammo belts and gunbelts wrapped across his chest.
His left hand all but useless, he wrapped his elbow around a rifle to pull it from Ezra's saddle. He scooped his arm through the extra gun belt and holster.
With a glance he noticed that the cinch on Ezra's saddle had been cut half in two.
This was no accident.
Kestrel had never planned that they make it further than this.
There wasn't time to speculate on the bastard's motives. His convoluted thought processes... to hell with him.
Buck grabbed Ezra under the arm and practically jerked him to his feet.
Ezra couldn't control the sharp cry that escaped his lips. He was sweating and had both arms wrapped around his chest.
"Sorry, Pard, but we move now or we don't move."
Their horses were gone.
Ezra glanced up to see Kestrel and his men bearing down on them.
The accident had occurred in the span of a few heartbeats.
But injured and with their mounts lost, there was no escape.
The two men ran, stumbled, crawled and finally tumbled down a small ravine into a dry creek bed and the scant, temporary protection it provided.
Chris was low over Habanero's neck. His hat, held by its strap, flapped to escape the buffeting wind.
Chris shut his mind down to a narrow focus. He'd gotten good at it. He wouldn't think until he got to Buck and Ezra and the soldiers.
He didn't plan on thinking then. He'd just act.
He was relieved when he finally heard gunfire. He hoped that meant his friends were still alive and fighting. He never thought he would be praying to not hear gunfire end.