CHAPTER 17

There was a part of Jared that would have liked to take matters into his own hands when it came to the man who’d tried to hurt Silver. But when he got up the next morning, he dressed and went straight to the sheriff’s office. After introducing himself and naming a couple of the better-known officers of the law he knew, he described the events of the previous evening.

“Gotta be Bill Winters or his brother, Mike,” Sheriff Hinkley said after hearing the assailant’s physical description. “More than likely Bill. He’s the bigger of the two. More bear than man. Mean cusses, the pair of them.”

As if in answer, the wound in Jared’s side gave a sharp twinge.

“Is the little lady all right?”

“She wasn’t hurt. Just scared.”

The sheriff pointed in the general direction of Jared’s wound. “Did you see the doc for that?”

“I’m fine. Just needed a few stitches.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are you going to arrest him?”

“If I bring Bill Winters in and you can identify him, then I’ll arrest him for sure.” He stood.

“I’m going with you,” Jared said.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Newman. That ride might open up those stitches you got holding you together.”

“I’ve ridden in worse condition than this.”

The sheriff stood. “Then I reckon we best get going.”

Less than an hour later, Jared and Sheriff Hinkley brought their horses to a halt at the top of a rise. Up ahead Jared saw the small house that belonged to the Winters brothers, according to his companion. The surrounding terrain was rolling and treeless, and the small patch of plowed earth seemed good for growing little more than weeds. About twenty or so yards from the house was a lean-to that served as a barn. A large gray horse stood in a nearby corral, head low, tail swatting flies. A saddle hung over the top rail of the enclosure.

Calling this place a farm would stretch the truth beyond belief.

His gaze returned to the ramshackle house. One horse and one saddle might mean only one of the brothers was at home.

There was a pen at the far corner of the house, close to the corral, and it looked to him like it held several sleeping hounds. The instant they caught wind of the two men and their horses, they would send up an alarm. As if hearing Jared’s thoughts, one of the dogs sat up and began to howl. In almost perfect unison, Jared and the sheriff yanked their weapons from the scabbards on their saddles and dismounted, taking cover in a nearby gully. A moment later, Jared saw the barrel of a rifle appear through the now-open door.

“You’re on private land,” a man called.

“Bill Winters, it’s Sheriff Hinkley. I need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“About last night.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I’m referring to the young woman you threatened with a knife near the livery stables.”

Silence, then the report of a rifle sounded an instant before a bullet struck the ground a few feet in front of Jared’s position.

Sheriff Hinkley looked over the rim of the gully. “Bill, you don’t want to do this. Be reasonable. Put down your weapon and come on out.”

Another shot was fired, and this time it caught the sheriff in the right shoulder. The man gasped in disbelief as he dropped to the ground with a hard thud. “I should’ve known he’d do that,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Stay put,” Jared said. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Keep an eye out for the brother.”

With a nod, Jared began to snake his way north along the gully, rocks and thorns poking him as he went. He feared he’d torn loose a few of Silver’s carefully made stitches. She wouldn’t be happy about that.

Silver was descending the stairs when she heard a man say, “Jared Newman’s room, please.” She stopped to study the stranger at the front desk.

“He ain’t in,” the clerk replied. “Rode out early this mornin’.”

“You’re sure?”

The same question echoed in Silver’s head. She’d knocked on Jared’s door a short while before. No answer. She’d assumed he was asleep. But it seemed he was gone. Ridden off somewhere without her. Again. Leaving her behind. Again.

“I’m sure,” the hotel clerk said. “I saw him and the sheriff ride out of town together.”

The stranger frowned. “Was there a lady with him?”

“No, sir. Just the two men.” The clerk’s gaze moved toward the stairs. “Is she who you mean?” He motioned with his head.

The stranger turned. After a moment, he removed his hat. “Miss Matlock, I presume.”

Silver didn’t like that he knew her name when she didn’t know his. It put her at a disadvantage.

“I’m a . . . an acquaintance of Mr. Newman’s. May we talk privately?” He motioned toward the restaurant across the street. “Perhaps over breakfast.”

She wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t given his name, hadn’t said how he knew Jared or knew her name. After last night she was feeling a bit skittish about strangers.

He moved toward the staircase, stopping at the bottom step. In a low voice meant only for her ears, he said, “My name is Doug Gordon. I work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

He didn’t look dangerous or threatening. He wore a black suit over a white shirt. His dark hair was clean, his face pleasant. He had the look of a banker or a lawyer, not a criminal.

“I expected to meet up with Jared this morning. We made the arrangements last night. That’s when he told me you were riding with him.”

Deciding she could trust him at least enough to sit with him in a public restaurant, Silver descended the last of the steps. They left the hotel side by side and crossed the street. Neither of them spoke until they’d been seated at the same table where Silver had eaten her dinner alone the night before.

It was Mr. Gordon who broke the silence. “Did something happen last night? Was there trouble of some sort?”

She shook her head.

Doug raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I think you’d better tell me the truth, Miss Matlock. There must be a reason Jared rode out of town with the sheriff.”

How much should she tell him? He might be Jared’s friend, but he was still a stranger to her.

He sat back in his chair. “Let’s see if I can reassure you. My name, again, is Doug Gordon. I’m a Pinkerton detective, and I’ve had occasion to work with Jared in the past. Mr. Newman is assisting you in finding someone. That’s what he does. Finds people who need to be found. He hails from Kentucky but has not lived there in many years. Not since his family was murdered.”

Murdered? She’d known they were dead. But murdered? Jared had left that detail out.

“You and he are on your way to Virginia City, Nevada, but your available funds do not allow you to travel by train. Which is where I come in. Jared was to meet me to help with a job that could have earned him your train fare. Only he didn’t show up at the appointed time. That isn’t like him.” Doug motioned with his head toward the hotel. “Now it seems he rode out on a different mission without letting either of us know, so something changed between last night and this morning. Care to tell me what it was?”

The last of her reticence dissolved, and she quickly related the events of the previous night.

“How badly was Jared hurt?” Doug asked when she came to the end.

“He should have seen a doctor, but he refused to let me send for one. He asked me to . . . I stitched his wound instead.”

Doug pushed back from the table. “I’d say they were going after a suspect. Only reason Jared would have gone along. And since he’s not in the best fighting shape, I think I’d better see if I can lend a hand. Hopefully the deputy can tell me where they went.”

Silver opened her mouth to say she would accompany him, then closed it without a word. Better to keep her thoughts to herself—after Doug Gordon was gone, she could do as she pleased.

Holding the rifle in front of him, Jared edged up the embankment. He could see the side and back of the house now, but there was a long stretch of barren ground between him and it. Too far for him to sprint across. His instincts told him Bill Winters knew where he was, even though the door was no longer in view. There was enough space between boards in the side of the place for someone to look out, even where there wasn’t a door or window.

He rolled onto his side and glanced down at his shirt. A red stain was spreading across the fabric, the blood warm and sticky against his skin. As suspected, he’d managed to rip open his wound. He lifted the shirt to check it out. Didn’t look too serious.

He returned to his stomach and inched up again, his gaze sweeping the area. There had to be a way for him to force Winters out. If he could just—

The horse in the corral lifted its head, its ears darting forward, its eyes set somewhere behind Jared. His body on full alert, Jared rolled onto his back and whipped the rifle into position. A split second later, a bullet whizzed by his ear. He returned fire.

The man who’d shot at Jared and missed—tall, beefy, undoubtedly the brother—stood no more than fifty feet away from him, a surprised expression on his face. His gun arm lowered, and the Colt dangled from his index finger before dropping to the ground. Then he staggered a step or two to the left before falling face forward into the dirt.

Jared flipped onto his stomach once again. “Give yourself up, Winters. You can either come willingly or go with me feet first.”

A glimpse of Bill Winters’s face appeared at the corner of the shack. “Mike?” he shouted.

“Your brother can’t help you now.”

A string of foul curses punctured the air.

Jared felt a moment of hope. Maybe Winters would recognize the futility and give himself up. But the hope died a second later when the dogs—five snarling hounds—shot around the corner of the shack with teeth bared, driven forward by a command from their master. Jared felled three of them in quick succession. Then the last two were upon him. He swung his rifle at the closest, knocking it away with the barrel. Even as he tightened his finger on the trigger, he felt teeth sink into his left forearm. In a reflex motion, he struck the animal on the head with the rifle stock. The dog fell away, stunned.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bill Winters step into full view, but there was nothing he could do about him now as the last surviving dog lunged for him. Dropping the rifle—useless to him—he grabbed the canine and held him away from his neck. The pair of them, man and dog, rolled to the bottom of the gully.

He was out of luck. If the attack dog didn’t rip his throat open first, Winters would shoot him soon enough. There it was. Gunfire. He waited for the impact of the bullet as it entered his body . . . but it didn’t happen. He rolled with the dog in the opposite direction, feeling the strength draining out of him.

A second shot. Then a third.

A high-pitched yelp.

The dog dropped onto him, a deadweight on his chest.

Heart in her throat, Silver lowered the revolver to her side and ran toward Jared. She was vaguely aware of Doug Gordon kneeling beside the man who’d assaulted her the previous night, but all she cared to know was if Jared was all right.

“Jared?” she called as she drew closer. “Jared?”

There was a grunt, and the large dog’s carcass rolled off of Jared.

She dropped to her knees beside him.

He scowled at her while he gripped his arm, blood seeping through his fingers. “I guess you weren’t lying when you said you could shoot.”

“Of course I wasn’t lying.”

“Did you shoot Winters too?”

She shook her head. “No. Mr. Gordon shot him. He’s dead, I think.” She motioned toward Jared’s arm. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Not bad. But we need to get the sheriff back to town. He took a bullet in the shoulder. I left him up the gully a ways.”

Doug Gordon’s shadow fell across the two of them, and they both looked up.

“You shouldn’t have let her come with you,” Jared said.

“I didn’t let her. She followed me.”

Jared released a tight chuckle. “I should’ve known. Telling her to stay put is a waste of time.”

When he looked at her again, Silver recognized the pain in his hazel eyes, but she saw something else too.

He was glad she was there.

Her heart skittered in response.