"Aren't you lonely?"

"I've the horses, dogs, cats, goats, chickens. Some ducks flew over and decided to stay. Then there're the animals who come through with the seasons. That's enough."

"But you came out to save us."

"I owed Emilio."

"So you said . . . And now we have invaded your refuge."

"For now. We're going to have to get you out of here."

"Yes, even with the big pasture out in back, there's not enough to support us all."

"Not just that," Brett said. "You ran away so you could make a life for your children. This here isn't a life for them."

It's hardly even, he thought, a life for me.

When Brett returned from scouting early the next morning, he could tell that Felicita had shared his story. He was glad. He didn't want to tell it again and, from their expressions, he could tell no one was going to ask questions. His guests had taken care of the milking, egg gathering, and picking vegetables. Breakfast was waiting for him. As he ate, he called the adults in for a counsel.

"No sign of anyone near. That's good. Jerome needs a chance to mend a bit before we even think about having him ride."

There, Brett thought. I've reassured them that I'm not interested in moving them along anytime soon. Now for the hard part.

"I've been thinking over what Felicita told me last night, about why you folks decided to leave the Double A. I was wondering if you wanted to try and put a hobble on how Annabella and Andy think they can treat people."

From the way their eyes brightened, the Gallardos and Murchinsons were indeed interested. That was reassuring. He'd thought they might just care about getting away-and with six kids, that would be sensible.

"Here's how I see it," Brett went on. "La Padrona values two things: her control of the ranch and her son. Andy values himself pretty highly, too. So how about we arrange to acquire Andy? After all, if she can keep slaves, so can other people. Might help her see her behavior in another light."

Winna wrinkled her nose. "I don't want to keep any sort of slaves, especially not that tomcat."

"I didn't think you would, but it's funny how often people believe that everyone is like them. La Padrona will believe it and that's what matters."

"So," Emilio asked, "how do we catch him? He's not going to be alone."

"We set a trap." Brett dipped the tip of one finger in his mug and drew a few lines on the table. "This is a rough outline of the malpais. This space here is what's called a 'kipuka'-an island. In the day, it was called Hole in the Wall."

"Like Butch Cassidy?" asked Jerome, just as Brett and Leo had all those years before.

"Same name, different place. This Hole in the Wall is some six thousand acres of grassland and trees, surrounded on all sides by the lava flow. The easiest way to get into it is on the south side of the malpais. The lava is only three miles wide there and there's an old trail in. As hikes in the malpais go, it's an easy one. Thing is, you really shouldn't ride in. The lava's dangerous footing for horses. That's going to cut down on Andy's troops right there. Unless cowboys have changed a lot these past three years, they'll do just about anything unless they have to get off a horse to do it."

Emilio flashed a grin. "That hasn't changed. Gotten worse if anything. Man on a horse is somebody. Man walking's just a peon."

"So we make it look as if you folks decided to head into Hole in the Wall. Why not? It's close. There's water, game, even the means to build shelter. Probably the reason no one ever settled in there is the isolation. But for people who want to hide out, it would be a good choice."

"What about our horses?" Emilio asked. "They'll know we had horses."

"If you don't mind," Brett said, "I was going to ask if I could turn a couple loose in the right area-sort of place us. They'll figure you turned them loose when you couldn't take them into the malpais."

"Nice," Jerome said. "Take that son of a storm cloud that threw me. Puff's bad-tempered enough that anything short of a mountain lion won't be able to faze him."

"They're all pretty tough," Emilio agreed. "They might even head back for the ranch-or if they scent horses they know, they may join them. Either way, they'll help point the Double A riders where we want them."

"Good thought," Brett said. "Now, remember. Our plan is to grab Andy. We're not looking for a fight."

Winna frowned. "If we're not going to keep Andy as a slave, then what are we going to do with him?"

"Use him to make this whole thing public. When La Padrona complains that we kidnapped her kid, you folks can explain why."

"Who would listen?"

"I think plenty of people," Brett said. "Grandfather Nathan gave me the impression that Acoma wasn't happy about her hunting after you. Even the other ranchers might not be thrilled. Once humans start using other humans as property, it sets a dangerous precedent."

He was pushing back his chair and grabbing his hat, planning to leave the others to confer in decent privacy, when the door was flung open. Rosamaria strode in, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"I listened," she said defiantly. "The window was open. I want to help."

Felicita said, "You will, mija. Someone's got to watch over the children. I don't think Carl's up to keeping them in line, especially since they're his brother and sisters."

"Aunt Winna should," Rosamaria said. "Anyhow, she'd be best to take care of Uncle Jerome. He's being a hero but, even with his leg set, he's got to hurt a lot. I held the basin while Aunt Winna washed him and he's all over bruises."

Brett considered. Rosamaria had already shown herself tough and stubborn. And Andy was a whole lot more likely to be dumb if he caught a glimpse of his prey, but Brett kept his thoughts to himself. This had to be between the kid and her folks.

Rosamaria continued, her voice sinking to a fierce whisper. "You think I don't know why we left Double A, but I'm not dumb and I'm not just a kid. Valerie was my friend and I know what Andy did to her. She told me and she cried because he kept doing it. A couple times he's come up to me, right in public, and said things about the nice big present he has for me on my birthday."

"Oh!" Felicita's soft gasp was pure pain. Emilio's expression was grim. Winna and Jerome looked uneasy.

Brett continued his interrupted departure. "You folks'll talk better without me listening, but I'll say one thing. Think about what she said."

The refugees resolved matters faster than Brett had dared hope. The Gallardo family would be backing Brett in Hole in the Wall. The Murchinsons would remain behind. It hadn't been an easy choice for anyone, but Brett was coming to see that lately these folks had made enough hard choices that one more didn't come as hard as it might have.

Even so, by the time they finished their confab, the day was already getting hot and midday was no time to cross the black rock of the malpais.

In the distance, thunderheads were building up, promising a storm to match that of the day before. First, Brett briefed Jerome and Winna on the various security precautions he'd made. Next he taught them the commands to work with Fida and Rover. Then he went out to set the decoy horses loose.

The afternoon rains came a touch earlier than the day before. "We'll go now," he said, when the worst of the storm had rolled passed.

Winna accepted baby Ignacio from Felicita. Both women's eyes were bright with tears, but neither admitted how scared they were.

Brett found a grin. "Don't you worry, Ms. Winna. I've got a few tricks to make sure Andy and his posse come right where we want 'em. Help yourself to whatever's in the garden and stores. We might not be back for supper, but with any luck you'll see us by this time tomorrow."

On the western side of the back thirty, Brett pulled a pueblo-style ladder from where he'd stowed it in a cleft in the rock. As he checked the lashings that held the crosspieces in place, Brett talked to ease the sudden tense expectancy.

"Thirty acres is a good pasture, but it isn't enough to support my horses through the winter. I've been cutting hay in Hole in the Wall since my first year."

Emilio raised his bushy eyebrows. "Hard work, that."

Brett shrugged. "Grass there's belly high on a tall horse, just like when the European's first came to this part of the world. It hasn't been overgrazed like so many other places around here. When the weeds got out of control at my parents' house, we'd have to cut 'em by hand, so I know how to use a scythe. I didn't want to always go the long way around, though, so I scouted a shorter way over the malpais. That's what we're taking.

"I'll point out my trail markers as we go," Brett continued as he led the way up the first ladder. "If we get separated, look for them. Don't trust your compasses. There's enough iron ore in the malpais to screw them up. My trail weaves about a bit, but there's a reason. All lava isn't the same. Aa will chew your boots to shreds. Pahoehoe gives better footing, but still can be tricky. Some of the basalt offers pretty good walking, other times a block that looks stable might wobble so you turn an ankle. I've filled in a couple of crevices, to make the route a touch more direct. Miss my bridges and you're going to have to go a long way around."

Rosamaria followed him up the ladder. "Those words-pah-hoy-hoy and ah-ah and kipuka-are they Indian words?"

"Hawaiian," Brett said, getting out the second ladder and setting it in place. "Their words for things you find in lava flows became sort of common currency. Even Grandfather Nathan uses them."

Brett climbed the second ladder, then looked down to check the others' progress. "Emilio, gloves on. I know it's hot, but if you grab the wrong rock, or stumble and tear up your hands, you're going to be no good to your wife and daughter."

When Brett checked at the top of the third ladder, he saw that Emilio had complied. All of them wore clothing that would blend into the reddish browns and blacks of the surrounding terrain. All wore broad-brimmed hats. Long hair-his own included-was tightly braided, so as not to get in the way. Each wore a bulky pack, topped with a rolled tarp.

As always when he emerged from within the kipuka's surrounding walls, Brett felt like a bug on a tabletop. The sense of being exposed was an illusion. The lava field was far from smooth. Although barren compared to the surrounding forested plains, it was not without vegetation-including trees. Slender aspen grew alongside scrubby pion and juniper. There were ponderosa pines, Douglas fir, and rough barked alligator juniper. Vegetation tended to be widely scattered, taking advantage of moisture invisible to human or animal. Combined with erratic upthrusts of broken stone, there was ample cover.

Though Brett set a stiff pace, the Gallardos kept up with him. The rain had finished by the time they came to Brett's personal entry into Hole in the Wall.

"There're remnants of an old road over west," Brett said, waving a hand in the general direction. "We'll set our trap closer to that. Once we're down, you can take off your gloves, but keep a watch out for cactus and the like."

He saw Rosamaria roll her eyes.

"I know you've lived in New Mexico all your lives, but I'm just doing my job."

She flashed him a smile, part-embarrassed, completely amused. "Sorry."

After hiking over the uncertain footing of the malpais, the relatively regular footing down in the kipuka's grasslands made the next part of their journey seem easy. Eventually, they came to where the old trail in from the malpais merged into thick grass interspersed with scattered trees.

A denser copse of trees grew slightly west of the trail, near where a narrow streamlet augmented by runoff provided encouragement to vegetation.

Brett pointed to the copse. "I was thinking we should set up 'camp' there. Do you think we need to go farther in?"

Emilio shook his head. "If we'd just hiked three miles through malpais anywhere near as rough as what we crossed just now, I don't think we'd have gone much farther-not with the Murchinson kids. Along with our packs, we'd have had to carry Yolanda, Nancy, and our own Ignacio. Carl would be beat."

"We'd all be beat," Rosamaria said, wiping a hand across her forehead. "If I wasn't so scared they'll get here before we're ready, I'd just flop down."

Brett shrugged out of his pack. "I'm going to get a fire started. You folks set up tents. Do it just like you would have if you were really using this as a hideout."

They did so, choosing an area that offered some concealment in a patch of cottonwood and scrub growth. From their packs they took props to give the impression that their entire group was present. Felicita strung a line between two saplings and pinned some diapers and pair of Oscar's trousers on to it. Rosamaria carried a bucket over to the rain-fed streamlet and arranged it artistically.

Brett called, "Rosamaria, get me some wet grass-not soggy, but a bit more than damp. I'm going to need a fair amount."

The girl complied, streaking her shirt with mud in the process. "Why wet grass?"

"I want them to see our smoke," Brett explained. "Wet grass will create a darker smoke. The Indians used it when they sent smoke signals."

"Won't the posse be suspicious?" Emilio asked.

"Not after all the rain," Brett said. "They'd figure someone threw a bundle of damp wood on the fire. We can hope they find the horses, but, even if they don't, this should help them draw the 'right' conclusion."

"I hope the smoke shows far enough," Felicita said with soft intensity.

"If they don't see it, they're too dumb for the job," Brett said. "Leo and I were into smoke signals in junior high. You can see smoke for quite a distance."

After the dummy camp was set up and a few other arrangements made, they took turns keeping watch from a big piece of basalt that had calved off the lava wall a long time back. Brett was beginning to wonder if they might need to try fresh smoke in the morning when Rosamaria slid down and came running over, Brett's binoculars bouncing around her neck.

"They're coming! Eight men."

"Eight men," Brett repeated amused, "to go after four adults and a passel of children. They certainly think you jackalopes have horns."

"Jackalopes?" Rosamaria asked, too startled to object at being lumped in with the children.

Brett strung his bow. "I had a dream. Now, get to your places, folks. Remember they've got to think there are a lot more of you."

Reclaiming his binoculars from Rosamaria, Brett moved to a place he'd already marked as giving him a good vantage from which to cover the area with his bow. He wished he could have brought along Fida and Rover. A couple of guard dogs would have evened the odds a lot, but walking over the malpais would have ruined their paws. Even the wild creatures crossed the lava flow with care.

Careful to ensure that the westering sun didn't reflect off the lenses, Brett periodically checked the trail, picking up details as the group came closer. Eight men trudged along-uniformed in worn blue jeans, Western shirts, and broad-brimmed hats. Several wore sunglasses. Of them, only three-a sandy-haired fellow wearing a big Stetson, who Brett recognized as Andy Andrews, and the two closest behind him-looked at all eager. The other five just looked beat. Two of these were limping, one badly enough that he was leaning on a stick. One had his right hand bound up in a bandanna.

Not dressed for the malpais, Brett thought scornfully. A couple are wearing riding boots, I bet, and not all of them are wearing gloves. They all have truncheons, though. I see at least three whips. Lassos. No bows or spears, but then they didn't want to kill anybody, just haul them back. Probably planned to grab a kid or two, use them to make the adults cooperate. Good plan if you're chasing rabbits, but these are jackalopes.

One of their preparations had been to tromp a path through the grass in the vicinity of the "camp." The widest path led in from the trail, as if a whole group had trooped along it. Various narrower paths radiated out of the grove, presumably created when collecting firewood. Brett found himself impressed by the impression of activity created by these vegetative hieroglyphs. Within the shelter of the trees, Felicita was just visible, singing in Spanish to shadowy shapes that looked convincingly-at least from a distance-like a group of children. Out in the open, Rosamaria was tending the fire.

Brett held his breath, counting down. In a few steps, the first members of the posse would have a clear line of sight on the camp, then . . .

Andy strode down the trail as confidently as if he were on his own ranch. Maybe he fancied he was. Men often laid claim to lands they'd never seen. In addition to sandy hair and the oversize hat, Andy possessed an abundance of freckles. His build was lanky and his ears stuck out a little. He had strong shoulders, though, and the slightly bowlegged gait of a man who spent a lot of time in the saddle. Heir apparent to the Double A he might be, but he was no idler.

The two men backing him both looked like trouble. One was big and broad all over, with white-blond hair and a close-cut beard. From his time working at the Double A, Brett recognized him as a bull wrestler called the Finn. The other was darker, a young tough probably Brett's own age. His nose had been broken and inexpertly set, giving him an unbalanced look. As they came forward, the Finn uncoiled a bullwhip with an easy grace that said he knew how to use it. The Tough only smiled, showing a broken front tooth in an unlovely grin.

Andy Andersen called out, "What's for dinner, chiquita? Where's your dad and Jerome Murchinson?"

Rosamaria froze. Brett didn't think the fear on her face was all playacting, but her voice was only a little higher and tighter when she answered.

"They're setting snares. Aunt Winna's off with Carl, digging some sort of roots for tomorrow's dinner. We had to leave some of our supplies, so I can't offer you much for dinner."

She rose. If a piece of the sapling she'd been feeding the fire remained in her hand, it looked like an oversight. Felicita had stopped singing and could be heard hushing frightened children. She did the voices for them, too. Brett was impressed.

"So you and your mama are all alone except for the bambinos, eh?" Andy's use of Spanish was flawed, like something learned from a television Western. "And here we were all ready to escort you home. I guess while we wait, we should come in and get warm."

Given that the temperature had gone back up into the eighties following the rain, it was very clear that Andy didn't have the fire in mind for warming himself. When Rosamaria gave a nervous nod, Andy strode along the wide path that led into camp. The Tough fanned left, moving toward the tents under the trees, while the Finn fanned right, obviously moving to where he could strike with the whip. The other five men had slowed. One of the footsore ones sat on a rock and started working off a boot. The one with the hurt hand was eyeing the stream, clearly thinking about soaking his wound.

The two hale ones were scanning the area, looking for the absent members of the group. They didn't look too worried, though. After all, they had women and children as hostages.

They're overconfident. Maybe some aren't crazy about Master Andy's hunt. They've followed, but they're not going to make it easy for him. The Finn, though. He's dangerous. The other one . . . He's just mean.

Brett fit an arrow to his bowstring. He kept his gaze on Andy, silently counting off each stride: "One step, two, three . . . Now!"

As Andy passed between two trees, a sharp snap broke the uneasy hush.

"God damn!" The young rancher struggled to keep his balance.

Brett knew that his legs were looped in wire snares hidden in the grass. Without waiting to see how tightly Andy had been caught, Brett drew back his bowstring and shot at the Finn. He didn't want to kill the man, but that whip couldn't be allowed to get into play. His first arrow passed through the man's upper torso, his second caught him in the thigh.