Part 19 (1/2)

Luke glanced up and locked eyes with Silas, but again the reaction was fleeting so the guard wouldn't notice it. In that heartbeat, Luke acknowledged what Silas and Georgia were doing. The knife was slender, the sort of thing that would be used in a kitchen, and Luke had no doubt Georgia had brought it with her from the cafe, holding it under the tray.

The guard's insistence on not letting her into the tack room had thrown a kink into her plan, but she had recovered and managed to pa.s.s both tray and knife to Silas without Harmon's man noticing. Silas had been quick to realize what she was doing and got the knife to Luke.

Their attempt to help him was also a way of asking him to help them, he realized. They needed someone to break Dave Harmon's stronghold on Pine City.

Luke wouldn't let them down.

”I really appreciate this, Silas.” He hoped Silas and Georgia would understand what he meant.

”All right, Jensen. Back away again,” the guard said impatiently. ”Come on outta there, darky. You don't want to make me nervous.”

”I'm comin'.” Silas nodded to Luke, the motion so small it was almost invisible.

But Luke saw it. He knew that if he could get out of there, he could count on Silas for help.

”Close the door on your way out and put that padlock back on it,” the guard told Silas.

Luke thought maybe Silas would try to leave the padlock unfastened but make it look like it was closed. That hope died aborning as Luke heard the guard pull on the lock to make sure it was secure.

So, he was still locked up, but at least he was armed. He stepped over to the door and called through the crack, ”Thank you, Mrs. Walton. Your kindness means a great deal to me.” He hoped she understood what he meant by that.

”I wish there was more I could do, Mr. Jensen.”

”Well, what you've already done will just have to be enough.”

If nothing else, the food was very good. The condemned man ate a hearty meal, as the old saying went, Luke thought.

As he ate, he examined the knife. It was slender, with a bone handle and no hilt. The serrated blade was about five inches long. It was an eating utensil, not a weapon, something designed for cutting a steak rather than inflicting mayhem.

But it would slash a throat just fine, and plunged into a man's back it would reach his heart.

A good workman made do with whatever tools were at hand.

The knife's serrated edge put Luke in mind of a saw blade, and that made him glance toward the door. While the lantern still burned outside and he had some light, he got up and moved closer to examine the obstacles facing him.

The door hinges were on the outside, so that did him no good. The floor was dirt. He might be able to dig out eventually, but that would take too long and someone was bound to notice.

That left the lock. He couldn't get to the padlock itself, but the hasp might be vulnerable. It was nailed into the jamb.

He could tell exactly where the lock was. He could see the hasp's tongue blocking the light coming through the crack and that allowed him to estimate closely the location of the nails.

He counted on the sounds of the guard's pacing around to mask any noises he might make, placed the knife against the four-by-four that served as the jamb, and began sawing.

Even if he had the proper tools, it would be a challenging job. With nothing but a kitchen knife, it was almost impossible. The blade might not even hold up long enough for him to loosen the nails.

But it was his only chance, and he had learned a long time ago that when faced with death, attempting the impossible was better than giving up.

CHAPTER 31.

About an hour later, another of Harmon's men showed up to take over the guard duties. ”Has Jensen given any trouble?”

”Nope. He's been quiet ever since he ate his supper. I reckon he might be asleep.”

”Well, go on over to the cafe and get yourself something to eat. The place is doing a good business tonight, what with all of us bein' in town.”

The first guard laughed. ”Yeah, it's too bad that pretty widow don't make much money off us, ain't it? She brought Jensen's supper over earlier, and I tell you . . .”

Luke tried to shut his mind to it as the man launched into an obscene commentary about Georgia Walton. It wasn't easy. But in a way he was grateful for the offensive rant. As long as the man was spewing filth, he wasn't listening for the steady sc.r.a.ping sound of the knife cutting through the wood around the nails.

Eventually, the first guard either ran out of l.u.s.tful steam or a different appet.i.te got the best of him. He left, heading for the cafe. The second guard settled in, probably for the night. Luke heard him moving around some and risked a look through the crack.

The man had pulled up a three-legged stool and was sitting on it about fifteen feet away with his back leaning against one of the pillars that held up the hayloft. He held a shotgun across his lap and kept his eyes on the door to the tack room.

Luke had a hunch the man wouldn't be able to maintain that vigilance, and sure enough, by the time half an hour had pa.s.sed the guard's head was tipped forward so that his hat brim s.h.i.+elded his face. Snores came from him.

Luke kept sawing, being careful with the knife so that it would last as long as possible before going dull. As it penetrated deeper into the board, he took pains not to let it bind up. He didn't want to risk snapping the blade.

He hadn't seen or heard anything from Silas for a while and wondered if the liveryman had gone home for the night. It seemed likely. Some men who owned stables had living quarters in them, too, especially the single ones. Silas had a wife and, for all Luke knew, children. It was likely he had a house somewhere in Pine City.

Luke hoped Silas wasn't anywhere around when he made his break. If gunplay erupted, at least the liveryman would be out of the line of fire.

Time didn't have much meaning. Despite the hour, Luke wasn't sleepy. He couldn't afford to waste the chance. He continued sawing, seemingly endlessly.

The knife blade struck metal.

Luke had found one of the nails.

He didn't let the satisfaction he felt at that achievement distract him from the job at hand. Carefully, he s.h.i.+fted the knife and started sawing at a different angle.

After a while, he had cut deeply enough. Using a buckle from one of the harnesses hanging on the wall, he pried a rough triangle of wood out of the board. Again, he s.h.i.+fted the knife and began working from a different angle. He could tell the blade was beginning to dull.

The work began to go quicker because he had created some room. He could wiggle the slices of wood back and forth and remove them easier. Even so, hollowing out the area around the nails was a long, tedious task. Luke estimated it was well after midnight before he succeeded in exposing the nails that held the hasp to the wall.

During the time he had been working, he'd had to pause several times when the guard roused from sleep and came over to stand next to the door and listen for any sounds coming from inside the tack room.

During those intervals, Luke had backed away from the door and forced his breathing to be slow, deep, and regular, as if he were sound asleep.

Each time, the guard had gone back to his stool, satisfied that the prisoner wasn't up to any mischief.

Asleep again, the guard's head tilted far forward.

He was liable to wake up with a crick in his neck, Luke thought. But if everything went the way he wanted it to, a crick in the neck would be the least of the guard's worries.

Luke turned the latch carefully so that it didn't make any noise. As he held it tight, he put his other hand flat against the door where the lock was and began to push with a firm, steady pressure.