"When Harry comes back you'll need to follow my lead," he said.

"Do you understand?"

"You've made yourself quite clear." She was no longer fingering her rosary.

Her arms were crossed in front of her in a challenging posture.

"You shouldn't have used me," she said.

"You should have asked for my help." Ryder let his hand drop away. He went back to the cot and began stuffing his old clothes in the valise.

When he was done he thrust it in Mary's direction.

"Are you saying you would have said yes?" he asked. She took the valise and set it on her lap.

"I'm saying it would have been polite to ask. Apparently Florence Gardner had a choice. You haven't given me one." Ryder didn't respond. If he apologized for this he'd be apologizing at every turn.

The truth was, he wasn't sorry. He picked up the Bible and opened it.

The book of Psalms was hollowed out. Ryder removed an object and held it up to Mary.

"The key to the kingdom." Mary was past surprise.

"Small wonder my Bible wasn't good enough for the general's mother." He nodded, palming the key.

"The Bible was Flo's inspiration. Not mine."

"Then she's a volunteer. You didn't have to threaten anyone to elicit her cooperation." Ryder realized he had said too much. The less Mary understood about Florence Gardner's role, the better. He ignored her comment, placed his hand through the bars, and inserted the key into the lock. It opened easily. Ryder stepped out, pocketed the key, then pulled out the Colt which had been placed in the waistband of his trousers. He had half expected Harry to have checked on them by now.

The private's inattention to his duty worked in Ryder's favor.

"You can call him in now," he said, closing the door.

"Be careful what you say." While Mary turned, Ryder took his position behind the door to the guardroom. When Harry opened it the door would offer Ryder cover. By the time Harry realized Ryder wasn't in the cell, it would be too late for him. Ryder cocked one eyebrow when Mary simply sat on her chair, her mouth set mutinously. When that didn't work, he cocked the Colt. Mary's response was immediate.

"Private Bishop," she called.

"Will you come in here, please? I'm ready to leave."

Still eager to make amends for his previous wayward thoughts, Harry Bishop responded with alacrity. He was just as quickly dispatched to the floor as Ryder brought him down with the butt of his peacemaker.

Ryder shut the door so they wouldn't be surprised by anyone entering the stockade and dragged Harry to the cell, then he pushed him inside.

He took the private's hat and placed it on his head, shoving some of his own, longer hair under it.

"You can stop looking so stricken. I didn't shoot him."

"He's still been injured on my account," she said. Her eyes strayed from the unconscious guard back to Ryder.

"Go on. What are you waiting for? You're free to leave." She hadn't expected to amuse him, but Mary was certain that was what she glimpsed in the frost gray eyes.

"Not that it matters to me, but you're wasting time." He gestured to her with his index finger, crooking it to indicate she was to come toward him. Mary's dark red brows drew together.

"I'm fine just where I am, thank you." Ryder raised his gun again. He didn't point it at Mary; he aimed at Harry Bishop's hapless head.

"It's not too late," he said.

"I can still kill him." Mary's own head was beginning to clear, and she had had time to take stock of the situation. She was feeling infinitely more confident than she had moments earlier.

"If you shoot you'll bring soldiers running.

I don't think you want that." He didn't blink.

"They're going to hang me," he said steadily.

"I think I'll take my chances." He pulled back the hammer. Mary stood.

"Bully."

"Bring the valise. The Bible, too, if you want it." She took it off the cot and stepped over Harry's body to precede Ryder out of the cell.

He locked the door behind them and ushered her to the guardroom. It was still empty. He motioned her through.

"Now what?" she demanded stubbornly. Ryder placed one hand at the small of her back. He noticed she responded as skittishly as if he'd placed his gun there.

"Through those doors," he said softly, leaning close to her ear.

"And into the courtyard. You know not to call attention to yourself."

"I think you and the gun will do that nicely."

"It's dark," he said.

"The uniform I'm wearing has a captain's insignia--something Harry didn't notice--and my gun is going to be under my jacket. You walked in with a valise, and you're walking out with one. You're going to slip your arm through mine and I'm going to escort you away from the buildings and past the guards."

"To where your horse is waiting." He didn't correct her. His firm prod was enough this time to get her moving.

When she opened the door to the stockade, Ryder followed her out into the clear night air. She didn't require a reminder to loop her arm through his. He adjusted his hat a notch lower and forced himself to accept the unhurried pace she set.

"You must think you're very clever," she said through gritted teeth.

"It's going remarkably well," he replied pleasantly. The common grounds between the buildings weren't deserted, but Ryder only felt a few glances in their direction. Mary was targeted with looks more often than he. She felt it, too.

"Not many people have seen me in my habit," she explained softly. Ryder nodded.

"I thought it might be something like--"

"Mary!" It was Rennie's strident call from the long porch of the officers' quarters that cut Ryder off.

"Mary! What in the world are you--" Ryder didn't wait to hear more.

"Ignore her," he said.

"And move a little faster."

"One doesn't ignore Mary Renee," she said under her breath, but she walked faster to stay with Ryder. To her sister she called, "I'll be there in a moment, Rennie. I'll explain it all to you." Moira joined her daughter on the porch just then.