I woke with the haunted feeling of something gone wrong. As I lay stiffly in bed, sensing odd apprehension and denial, I recalled Toby’s departure. A desolate loneliness swept in like a summer storm across the plains.
Yet once the realization of his leave-taking faded to a dull ache, I found I was still aware of a sensation of impending trouble. I hadn’t dreamed, but something had me spooked.
As I dressed I wondered if some sort of second sight were telling me Toby was hurt, maybe dead. I flung open the front door and stared across the dirt yard to the road. I couldn’t put a finger on my prickles.
Tracker wasn’t by the door greeting me as he did nearly every morning, but I couldn’t use that as my excuse. He slept outside, and often chased often after an intriguing scent. As I turned back to the kitchen I heard his deep, ringing bay, and went out to see what he wanted.
He loped in from the cornfield, whining, then dashed off to the lean-to. I followed, worried. Princess and the calf were gone. I found the broken piece of tie-rope and realized it had broken easily with pressure from the cow. It was frayed badly, and I had not thought to replace it.
I turned to Tracker and saw his eager look, ears pricked, tail waving. I nodded at him. “Go find her. Seek, Tracker.”
He bounded off and I hurried after him. I doubted the cow was in trouble, but the calf was so young it wouldn’t take much to trip her up.
I found them at the far end of the cornfield, safe and eating well. Of course. Princess was a glutton and much preferred tender young leaves and corn over the feed I gave her. The calf was with her, nosing the stalks curiously, too young to appreciate such food. I checked her over for hurts, but she was fine.
Princess was not particularly enamored of returning to the lean-to. No amount of tugging on the rope budged her. I threatened all sorts of dire consequences if she continued her rebellion, but she only gazed at me with the stupid, placid look cows have. I gave up.
“Listen, lady, we’re going back,” I told her firmly. “There’s perfectly good feed for you waiting back there, and I need this crop for myself. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. Or, for that matter, move a balky cow.”
I picked up the calf and staggered down the hill. I laughed as I heard the cow’s worried bawl, and a moment later she came with great alacrity. I nearly broke my back, but I got Princess and the calf safely to the lean-to.
As I milked the cow, muttering threats of retribution, I realized my feeling of wrongness had abated. I relaxed, grateful for the relief. My appetite came in with a rush and I recalled I had yet to eat breakfast.
Cooking for one was downright depressing. I began to regret sending Toby off. I’d done nothing but pine like a lovesick girl the evening before, curled in the rocker, and now I missed his bright talk and laughter at breakfast.
Tracker sounded off without warning outside the house, loud and threatening. I could not mistake his tone. My belly turned over sickeningly as I identified his trouble bark. What now?
I ran to the pegs and grabbed the rifle down. Then I moved out the doorway and brought the gun to my shoulder, planting my feet solidly in the dust.
Goosebumps rose on my legs and arms as I stared out at my visitors, and I realized all my fine talk of courage and defiance was about to be tested. And I had no idea if I could live up to my own expectations.
They lined up before me, strung out from one end of the small yard to the other. No one spoke, and I thought fleetingly I must make an odd sight: a lone girl with a rifle to her shoulder.
I stood my ground, acknowledging the dawning conviction within myself. I was prepared to shoot. I had at last come up against the question and I knew my words to Toby were not just bluff.
I wondered if I would kill a man that day.
Jordy Macklin looked astonished, but his expression faded into a wide, dimpled grin. He was amused by the whole matter, staring at me with laughter in his glinting eyes.
Wes Lacklander did not look amused. He did not look stunned. He looked instantly and sharply interested. I felt his pale blue eyes fastened on me in that sickening stare, and the revulsion I felt for him trickled in again.
He smiled faintly and a flush came up in his fine face. I swallowed heavily in an attempt to wash down the bitter taste in my throat. I knew him, knew him well. The man was death on horseback, and he filled my yard with raw and naked violence.
I wrenched my eyes from his face, hoping to stave off the panic edging at my mind. I could not afford to scare myself.
Rooster Gibbs sat his buckskin horse calmly, uninterested in much at all, I thought. I could barely see the flat green eyes beneath the curled brim of his plug hat, but I was very aware of his silence.
Matt Barstow sat astride a big sorrel stallion, a fidgety stud-horse that stomped in the dust. Like Lacklander, Barstow wore a black frock coat. The tails were blown back from the ride and his holstered gun shone plainly in the sun. Rainmaker, I thought sickeningly. Poor old Rainmaker. Was I next? He had a dark and sullen face, brooding, and carried glittering intensity in small, deep-set black eyes. His mouth was mostly hidden by a heavy mustache and his nose was flattened as if broken once or twice. He frowned down at me and I knew at once he demanded absolute obedience.
He was not surprised at the reception I gave them, or else he didn’t care. More likely the latter, I thought. I wondered absently if he ever expressed any emotions other than hatred and the willingness kill.
“You have met him at last, my girl,” I whispered within my mind, “and you have seen him. He is a man you cannot fool. He is more than you ever considered.”
I shivered and felt all of my high pride and arrogance trickle away like sand through an hourglass. But I dredged up something. I realized false courage still might serve. It was all I had left.
He glanced to his right and I saw an ugly scar curving from behind his left ear to his jaw. His eyes lanced into me again as he turned back, edging his horse forward a single step.
“Don’t,” I said softly, settling the rifle on him. Tracker growled and hackled at my left, begging a fight. He smelled death in the air as well as I did, perhaps better.
He looked me over sharply but halted his horse just the same. His hands rested over the saddle horn, holding the reins loosely as a longtime horseman does. His fingers looked thick and strong and I didn’t figure he considered me much of a threat.
You know me, missy?” His tone, low-pitched and gruff, ground into me. I recognized the quality he had used with Rainmaker.
“I know you by the men with you. I know because I saw you shoot down a harmless old man in cold blood.”
A flicker passed through his black eyes. “So you saw that, did you?”
“Along with the rest of the town.”
“Then you know I mean what I say, missy.”
Jordy laughed. “She’s the little lady Wes had the itches over yesterday.” He paused. “Still does, by the look of him.”
I wrenched my eyes to Lacklander and saw the intensity in his face. He spoke in a cool, silken drawl that belied the tension of his body. “It won’t take long, Matt. You can search the farm while I keep her occupied.”
Barstow’s heavy voice was sharp. “Set your horse, Wes, and shut up. There’s no need for that yet.”
The gunfighter seemed unperturbed. “I’ve got a need.”
Jordy chuckled, amused by Lacklander’s desire, but it seemed there was no threat to me after all. Barstow had made his feelings known, and his control of the others was absolute.
Matt Barstow appeared to be reading me, judging me to find out what kind of person I might be and if I meant much in my threatening posture. Suddenly he had made up his mind.
“Missy, I got no quarrel with you. There’s no need for that rifle.”
“I got a need,” I said, purposely mimicking Lacklander.
Jordy laughed. “If you can use it.”
“I can use it, Mr. Macklin. Just try me and see.”
He opened his mouth to say something back, but Barstow lifted a silencing hand. “Jordy, enough.” The youngest outlaw faded back within himself, but the expectant grin still creased his face. Barstow stabbed me with a glare. “Missy, this ain’t your business. I’ll speak with your pa.”
I felt creeping fear in my belly. “He ain’t here.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then your ma.”
“She ain’t here, either. Do your dealing with me.”
Jordy made a soft exclamation. “She’s alone, Matt. She was yesterday in town, and now. I’ll bet she ain’t got a soul here with her. Ever.”
Barstow’s eyes glittered. “’All right, missy, I’ll do my talkin’ with you. You know why we’ve come?”
“I know. The whole town knows.”
“You got any objections if my boys take a look around your place?”
“Lots of them. None of you will search my farm.”
“You hiding somebody out here, missy?” he asked softly, ominously. “A wounded man, running from something?”
“I’m hiding no one.”
His mustache moved. “Then you won’t mind if we take a look around.”
“I mind.”
He tried a new approach. “I’d like to know your reasons, missy.”
“Shall we just say I don’t much like folks nosing around my place?” I tried to smile at him defiantly. “Least of all men like you. Ride on out of here, Matt Barstow. Now.”
His voice dropped to a grinding whisper. “I don’t let anyone talk to me like that, missy, not even a little gal like you.”
“Then I’ll repeat it. Ride out of here.”
Barstow made an abrupt movement to step off his horse. Tracker snarled and leaped for the man, smelling blood. I saw the fury in the outlaw’s eyes as he shifted back into his saddle.
“I’ll shoot him, missy.”
“Do it and you’re a dead man for certain. Tracker, stay!”
I breathed a little easier as the hound returned to my side. I knew my position was precarious, for any of them could kill Tracker, disarm me and get their way, but I refused to give in. Not yet.
“Missy, you ever shot a man before?” Barstow growled.
I swallowed back my fear. “Never had any call to. I might now, though, if you step off that horse.”
“You think you could shoot a man? Shoot to kill?”
Unbidden, the thought came to my mind that the subject had been very popular lately. First Dan Michael Loggins asked me, then Toby, now Barstow. And I’d asked it, too. I stared at the outlaw.
“I think I could, Mr. Barstow.”
His brows drew down. “If you were lucky enough to get a shot off, gal—my men would see to it you were dead the next second.”
Somehow I managed to squeeze out a smile and put a mocking tone in my voice. “Ah—but then you’d be dead too, wouldn’t you? I’m no fool. You kill a snake by cutting its head off. I’ll kill the Barstow snake by shooting you, Matt Barstow.”
Jordy laughed. “She’s got a mouth on her, ain’t she?”
“Shut up!” Barstow snapped, glaring at me. “Missy, you’re in my way.”
“You’ll go down with me. I promise. I’m no hero, but it might be worth dying if I took you with me.”
He smiled grimly. “Think what you like, missy, but you’re far from able. Rooster Gibbs, over there, is real good with that knife of his. He could draw it with you never knowing, and pin you before you got a shot off.”
I sucked in a breath and bluffed with all my heart. “Then tell him to do it. It won’t get you a thing. No one is hiding here.”
“Then let us look around. We’ll leave peaceable—if there’s no one here, like you say.”
“I don’t like my home looked over by a bunch of scavengers.”
He was dark-faced and ugly. “Missy, you’re pushing my patience. You’re only making me think you’re lying about nobody being here.”
He had a point. “All right. Your men can look. You stay on your horse. I’ll keep an eye and my rifle on you while they look around. I don’t exactly trust your kind.”
“Missy—”
“Then shoot me now.”
Jordy silently drew his gun and aimed it at me, playing with the hammer. I stared at him and saw the gleam of laughter in his eyes and the dimples of his smile.
“Little lady, it wouldn’t be hard.”
“You’d never do it,” I told him flatly. “Not you.”
It surprised him. “Why not?”
“You,” I said softly, “think all this is funny. Killing me would ruin your fun.”
After a moment he nodded, still grinning. “So it would. Well, I reckon I won’t. You’ve won my heart, little lady.”
Barstow sighed heavily. “All right, missy, we’ll do it your way.” He glanced at his men. “You three take a look around—a good look. I’ll do what missy, here, says. After all, she is the one with the gun.”
“I think she’s spunky enough to use it.” Jordy laughed and started to swing down from his horse.
Tracker jumped for him. Jordy thought better of it and stayed in the saddle.
“Call off your dog,” Barstow ordered. I did so, realizing I was vulnerable once the men were on the ground. But there was nothing I could do, save shooting Matt Barstow and dying myself. I preferred to leave that until there was no other way.
The men dismounted and spread out, moving rapidly. I watched Barstow watching me. His little, black eyes chilled me to the bone, but I found some strength in my rifle and the hound at my side. I gritted my teeth so hard I feared they’d crumble in my mouth.
Gibbs came out of the lean-to and went toward the river. I knew he’d find the springhouse, but it didn’t worry me. Toby, thank God, was not there.
An angry yowl came from the house and a moment later Patch flew out like his tail was on fire. He streaked away, yelling at the top of his lungs. It made me furious Lacklander and Jordy would treat my cat that way, but I could do nothing. My hands were tied.
Jordy stepped into the doorway. “Matt, there’s no one here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Wes couldn’t find nothin’ either. If she’d hidin’ anyone, she’s got him stashed away in a spot we can’t find.”
Barstow’s stare shifted to me. “You got anyone hid away somewhere, missy?”
“You had your look around, Barstow. You and your men can ride out of here.”
“You act like you know something more, missy.”
“All I know is if you don’t get off my land pretty quick someone might end up dead. I’m getting tired of aiming. I’d rather shoot and be done with it.”
Suddenly Lacklander was behind me. I sensed more than heard him, but realized if I moved away I’d lose the advantage I had. I sighted in on Matt Barstow and drew back on the trigger.
“Wes!” Barstow shouted.
Tracker spun and went for the outlaw, forcing Lacklander to stumble back. The man cursed violently, trying to shake loose of the hound. Tracker had latched onto his right wrist, and he could not draw his gun.
“Wes! Back off—now!” Barstow shouted, then pointed a finger at me. “Missy, call the dog off!”
As I did I heard Lacklander cursing up one side and down the other. Tracker still growled, longing to finish the job.
Lacklander moved to his horse, wrapping his bleeding wrist in a bandanna. I hoped Tracker had broken it.
Gibbs was back, joining the confrontation silently. He watched it all with expressionless eyes, mounting his buckskin horse fluidly.
Jordy crossed the yard behind me, giving me a wide berth. I heard him chuckle as he went. Tracker fell back in at my side, his low growl rising as Jordy walked by.
“Good dog,” he said.
He swung up on his horse, laughing openly at Lacklander as the gunfighter mounted his own carefully, guarding his wrist. “Well, Wes, looks like you finally come up against a lady bent on avoidin’ your considerable charms. That dog lit into you quicker than a rattler!”
“Jordy, hold your tongue before I cut it out!” Lacklander lashed back.
“Enough!” Barstow snapped, still staring at me.
Jordy frowned, puzzled. “Wait a minute.” He looked from me to the lean-to and back, beginning to smile. He rode over to the lean-to purposefully.
Lacklander’s angry tone was gone now as he called to his partner. “Jordy, you’re holding us up.”
Barstow grunted. “Let him have his look, Wes. He might find something.” A moment later the youngest outlaw was back, slouched in the saddle, grinning at me lazily.
“Jordy?” asked Barstow.
“Well, Matt, yesterday in town this sweet little lady had a brown mare hitched to her buckboard. There’s only a cow and calf in the shed.”
I felt their eyes on me. Chill washed through me and I know I paled before them, showing guilt. I licked my lips as Barstow spoke more coldly and deadly than before.
“Suppose you tell us where your horse got to.”
I shrugged. “She died on me yesterday. I had a neighbor come out and drag her away so she wouldn’t bring sickness down on me. Go ask in town if you don’t believe me. Abner Barton, the blacksmith.”
Jordy laughed. “Why wouldn’t we believe you, little lady?”
Lacklander’s eyes were the curious pale blue that frightened me. His tone was silken again, soft and menacing. “I’ll get the truth from her. I’ll make her talk. Let me.”
“Missy, you lie to me and you’ll pay the price for it,” Barstow said flatly.
“I don’t doubt it.”
“You’re too young to die, missy, but it won’t stop me.”
“I don’t expect much of anything might stop you from killing. Unless maybe a hanging rope.”
I saw at once my mention of the execution had done more to set the man against me than anything I’d said or done before.
“My brother got himself hung on account of some lying witness who said he saw Ben shoot a buffalo hunter,” he hissed. “I tend to hold such things against those who had a part in it. Nothing is going to stop me finding that man. Not even a slip of a girl like you. I want you to understand that before you stand against me.”
“I’m standing against you now. Your witness ain’t here. Now, leave.”
He studied me a long moment. It stretched even longer by the hard look in his eyes. I knew it might go either way; he might kill me or leave me alone.
“Missy, I give you credit for some spunk and smarts, not to mention a tongue like the devil, but I hear you lied to me and I’ll be back. Understand?”
“I hear you.”
Barstow glanced at the others. “Let’s go.” He wheeled his horse and rode away.
Rooster Gibbs fell in behind Barstow, but Wes Lacklander and Jordy Macklin stood their ground a moment longer. Each looked me over his own way.
Lacklander followed Gibbs and Barstow after staring at me with white-faced, pale-eyed intensity. Jordy hung back and resettled his hat, grinning at me companionably. I kept the rifle pointed at him since he was the only one left, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all.
Jordy spurred his horse, then abruptly reined it to a crow-hopping standstill. He hooted.
“Yes, sir! You are one spunky little lady!”
He wheeled his fretting horse and raced after the others.
I took the rifle down from my shoulder and very carefully laid it in the dust as I sank to the ground. I was incapable of remaining upright a moment longer. I shook horribly and felt cold, sickened.
Tracker came close and nosed at me, licking my face. All I could do was wrap my arms around him and hug him, kneeling in the dirt.