The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

170: Willing To Risk Death Daily

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Rosie by Melissa Zayas. All graphics by me.

Rosie's hands shook as she fastened the rough-hewn bunkhouse door behind Luis with the heavy crosspiece. She felt lightheaded and realized she was breathing too fast. She consciously forced herself to calm down. Luis Santana, the youngest of Lynch's Boys, the smallest of Lynch's boys, the particular Lynch's Boy who made her heart pound and her palms sweat and who she couldn't stop thinking about since she'd met him, had just walked out into the rain alone to face the most terrifying man Rosie had ever seen. She was terrified she'd never see Luis alive again.

She turned, her eyes falling on Tommy as he lay injured and ashen-faced on Saint's bunk. He was staring at the low timbers of the bunk above his head, his eyes dark and far too bright in the shadows.

"Tommy..." she whispered, stepping closer to him. She didn't want to see tears in his eyes. She was having a hard enough time keeping her own in check. She shook her head. "Are you...are you...."

"Sorry," he grunted gruffly, roughly scrubbing the cuff of his soaked, bloodstained white shirt across his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and wet, hollow in his pale face. He pushed himself up on his elbows, gingerly feeling the crusting laceration across his face. "Thinking about...Wash...and..." He stopped, fighting dizziness before pulling himself to a sitting position and letting his head fall into his hands. "I g...gotta go help Luis before we lose him and Storm, too."

It was certainly not the first time Rosie had thought about the fact that sweet Mr. Monahan hadn't been seen in quite some time and was rumored to be dead. But hearing it spoken out loud made it too real, too awful. Mr. Monahan probably really is dead. Otherwise, he'd have come back. She felt her face grow hot, her throat tightening. And God only knows what's happening to Mr. Peltier right now. The helplessness she felt was overwhelming, maddening. Tommy had argued briefly with Luis about going out alone, the increasingly frantic tone of his voice ratcheting her fear up with every word. He'd pushed her hands away, trying desperately to stand, to follow his friend out into the rain, to do something. His trembling and weakness frightened her. "Tommy," she begged him." I don't even think you should be sitting up. You're gonna pass out again."

Tommy scrubbed at his eyes again. His voice was grim and he spoke slowly in an effort to keep his voice steady. "He got the jump on Wash and Storm, understand? Wash and Storm. Thhh...that man." He raised his head to look at her. "He gets...into your head...so you can't think straight. He...Miss Rosie, Luis is out there by...by himself. Help me up."

"Tommy, no." Rosie sat down on the bunk and settled a hand on his shoulder, keeping him still. She could feel the chill of his skin through the wet shirt. "What if I ride for help?" she said suddenly, seizing the idea. "What's the fastest I could get to the Sheriff's place and back?"

"You...you...you take one of the express horses, ride full out, maybe half an hour m...more or less, with the weather." She could see him carefully weighing this idea, thinking. "It would get you out of here...but..." He sighed, frustrated. "It...no. It'll take longer. You can't take...an express horse. They're half broke, might throw you, and the road will b...be mud by now. Take a freight horse or...or yours." He grabbed the post holding the upper bunk and tried to stand. His knees immediately buckled, nearly dumping him onto the floor at Rosie's feet.

"Tommy!" She grabbed him, wrestling him clumsily back onto the bunk.

"I'm really...I'm....oh, this isn't going to work..." He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to remain conscious.

"Tommy, how am I supposed to leave you alone? I can't just..."

"I'll be alright. J...j...just find me a gun. I can shoot." He put his hands over his face as he lay on the bunk. "I can't believe I'm talk...talking about you going out there."

"Well, we can't just sit in here while Luis and Mr. Peltier get killed!"

"No. We can't."

Rosie could see the thoughts swirling behind his eyes as he stared up at the bunk over his head. He gave a sigh of resignation. "It was him that...that...that burned Williams." He nodded, almost to himself. "Had to be. Had to be." His gaze locked on hers. "We've been jumping at the...the...wrong shadows all this time. We've been scared to g...go out west...afraid of the Paiutes and..." he shook his head. "He's got Storm...he's going to...we can't just..."

The look of abject horror on Tommy's face chilled Rosie like a blast of icy wind. "Williams?" She'd heard rumors of murders and torture along the western mail line. Her classmate Jed had talked about it with morbid enthusiasm, clearly intending to shock and frighten the girls. She'd ignored him at the time, dismissed his gruesome speculation as his typical obnoxiousness. But now his words echoed in her head, ringing with a thunderclap of truth.

Tommy gave her a wary glance and cut his gaze, nodding slowly. "Yeah. They were..." he licked his lips, choosing his words carefully. "attacked."

The word 'attacked' doesn't even begin to cover it, if the stories are even half true. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms and she remembered Mr. Peltier in the kitchen a few hours ago, seeing his arms prickle with fear as they talked about the intruder. Lynch's boys know something they're not telling me. This mess is even worse than it seems.

"I'm going," she blurted, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of urgency. "Which Is the fastest express horse?"

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