Mart Storm lay back with his head on his saddle and he reckoned if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had the sheriff and his posse on his mind this life would be like the angels enjoyed in paradise. Life was full of surprises. There he was minding his own business, running from a posse, an activity that came as second nature to him and he found himself unaccountably rescuing a beautiful girl from Indians. Not so long after she kissed him. A piece further into the story he and the girl had killed a couple of men between them. Now, here he was in the girl’s camp and being waited on as if he was a belted earl or something.
And there was the girl’s aunt.
Man, that aunt!
He’d pictured her as a dragon. Who could blame him? An aunt who dominated a beautiful young girl’s life, who went around the world exploring and such like a man—what else could she be but a dragon?
She could be a handsome red-headed woman like her niece only about his own age, with a face that could melt a man and a figure that could make his impulses run as hot and wild as a brush fire. She’d welcomed him like a woman who likes men and hasn’t seen one in a long time. If she was a dragon he wasn’t any St George to fight her. She had attended to his wound competently and cool as you like, bandaging him with hands that should have been used for nothing but playing minuets on a piano. When she was through, she smiled a smile that made him feel ridiculously like a boy of sixteen and patted him as if he were a favorite poodle that had hurt itself. He’d never felt less like a dangerous gunhandler in his life.
Her people, as she called them, were a sight to see. It was like coming on some crazy dream in the Colorado hills. Flunkeys and huntsmen, a groom, even a lady’s maid, a little chit of a thing that would have turned his head if the two Misses Hargreaves had not been around. He’d never been more fussed over even in a dream. Real French wine chilled in the creek had been served him, cold fowl offered to him on a metal plate that he could have sworn was solid silver. God, they must have had more pack-horses than the army to carry their gear.
He watched as the elder Miss Hargreaves sat on a canvas chair not far off having her hair dressed by the maid. No silly modesty by these two intrepid explorers. He watched with delight.
A voice said: ‘It’s always the same. I find a delicious man and my aunt takes him away from me.’
He turned his head and saw the girl.
‘Nobody has taken me away from anybody,’ he said. ‘Sides, you saw me first. Finders keepers.’
‘That’s a rule,’ said Vanessa, ‘and she never plays by the rules.’
The maid was through dressing the golden hair. Horatia rose with a splendor of controlled movement that it was a privilege to see. She came toward them, stopped and smiled.
‘And how is our wounded hero feeling now?’ she asked in that deep voice that shook him to his sox.
Mart grinned.
‘You ain’t goin’ to a catch me admittin’ I’m well,’ he said. ‘This might stop.’
‘He’s quaint,’ she said. ‘Vanessa, my love, you were very clever to find him.’
‘I found her,’ Mart reminded her.
She laughed.
‘Men will convince themselves of that kind of thing till the end of the world, poor darlings.’
‘You mean she hired them Indians?’
She changed the subject.
‘My dear man, we must now be serious. That picturesque rascal whom we mistakenly employed as a guide has brought in the news that there is a party of armed men approaching us.’
Mart sighed.
‘All good things have to come to an end,’ he said.
‘Alas, yes. That’s true and I’m glad you realize it.’
He sat up. His shoulder hurt him like hell.
‘So I must depart a little hurriedly, ladies,’ he said. ‘My thanks for your help and my regrets I have to leave.’
‘You’re not leaving just yet,’ Horatia said. ‘My niece and I have discussed your predicament and have decided that if you are as innocent as you say you are, you have nothing to fear from the law.’
Mart laughed.
‘You don’t know this law, ma’am.’
He reached out left-handed for his gun. Nothing. He turned and looked at the spot where he had laid his holstered gun. It was gone.
‘I have it,’ Vanessa said. He turned and saw her produce it from the folds of her riding habit.
He turned to reach for his carbine. He saw it in the hands of some huntsman or groom or what have you. He groaned. These two lovelies had just gently, but firmly put a rope around his neck.
Or had they?
He got to his feet and said: ‘Wa-al, if I can’t ride outa here armed, I’d best go unarmed.’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Horatia said, ‘but I’m afraid not.’
‘Why not? You can’t stop me.’
‘I would hate to do it,’ Vanessa said, ‘but if you try to escape I shall be forced to shoot you in the leg.’
He looked into her eyes and knew the crazy creature would. He sat down.
Horatia said: ‘We have planned most carefully, Mr. Storm. Rest assured that we have your interest at heart.’
‘Ma’am,’ he said, ‘you’re handin’ me over to men who want me dead. All they have to do is ride outa sight and string me up.’
‘Oh,’ said Vanessa, ‘but they won’t ride out of sight. We’ve thought of that. We’re coming with you.’
Mart gazed at them in awe.
His eyes still had a somewhat glazed look when Burt Ransome and his posse rode slowly into camp. A lot of cocked guns were prominent in the hands of the posse men when they saw the terrible Mark Storm sitting there. Ransome, ever the gentleman, doffed his hat courteously to the two ladies and introduced himself. Horatia and Vanessa said that they were delighted to meet him and how beautiful his country was. They were repaying the wonderful American hospitality they had received by offering a badly wanted criminal to the authorities. Ransome smirked and said: ‘That sure is handsome of you ladies. Every law-abidin’ citizen of this neck of the woods will sure be grateful to you.’ He went on to say that he and his men, if the ladies would permit them, would ‘light a while and then get off home with their prisoner.
Horatia smiled in the grand manner, being charming to this charming peasant and said that she wouldn’t think of them departing without their having enjoyed their hospitality. She ordered food and drink to be brought for the poor dear men and their poor dear horses. They looked absolutely exhausted. The sheriff could not deny that food and drink would compensate them a little for the hardship of travel in the mountains and dismounted.
It was during the resplendent meal that followed that she begged the sheriff’s protection back to civilization. They had been a little bothered by Indians and would feel so safe in the company of the brave sheriff and his intrepid men. Ransome became quite coy and declared that it was an honor and a pleasure that he and his men would not forego for all the gold in the hills.
So it was settled. Within a couple of hours the camp was packed onto the backs of horses and mules, the cavalcade mounted, Mart was helped into the saddle by two huntsmen, grooms or what have you and they all set off into the east.
The last thing Mart heard as Horatia rode forward with the sheriff out of earshot was her saying: ‘Do you know Mr. Edward Brack, Sheriff Ransome? You do? Excellent, then perhaps you can direct us to his ranch. We have a standing invitation to visit him.’