The Night Her Ranch Burned (Preview)

Prologue

Polly examined herself one last time. The spotty mirror didn’t tell her much, just that her powder was on right and her hair was presentable. She wished for a bigger mirror, something that would show her dress and shoes. She spent a lot of time on her shoes. The leather gleamed. Not like the other saloon gals who wore button-up boots marred from too many rainstorms.

One last touch of the whalebone comb in her hair, one last sigh. She arranged the bodice a final time and headed for the door that led to the saloon proper. She had done her best. That was all she could do. She pasted on her working smile and waded into the smoke and noise.

The room was half-full.

Cowboys lined the bar, telling Polly that a cattle drive was close by. Cowboys made for good income. They spent freely and didn’t push too hard. The last thing they wanted was to cause a fuss and end up in jail. If the herd left them behind, they were out of a job.

Every seat at the poker table was taken, proving the cowboys and their money would soon be parted. Two gals were already working the table. They didn’t need Polly.

The piano was silent. The stage was empty. There would be a folly later. Some singing and dancing that would wind up the crowd. Polly would join the dancers if they were missing a regular. Polly didn’t particularly like hiking up her skirt to display her bloomers, but the whistles and catcalls were okay. She sorta liked that.

Weaving through the tables, she nodded at the regulars, touching a shoulder here, an arm there. It paid a gal to touch customers. Contact made everything better.

“Polly, come over here and sit on my lap.”

She turned to the familiar voice. “Daniel, you know the rules. No sittin’ unless you buy me a drink.”

“Aw, don’t make me do something stupid. We both know there ain’t no rye in them drinks. They charge double for nothin’.”

“Rules, Daniel, rules.”

Daniel wasn’t a cowboy. He didn’t ride herd or work a ranch. Polly wasn’t quite sure what he did. He came and went without a word. Sometimes, he had coin. Mostly, he begged and borrowed. She had heard rumors about how he was an outlaw. If he was, he wasn’t a successful one. Still, he wasn’t awful to look at. He could make a gal laugh.

“A favor, Polly, a favor. Do me a favor.”

“You ain’t paid for the last favor.”

“I ain’t? I could swear I made good on that.”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

“You sit on my lap and I’ll tell you a secret.”

Polly laughed. “You ain’t got no secrets. Every gal in here knows that.”

The smile disappeared from his face. He stood and grabbed her arm. “I think it’s time I take you upstairs and teach you some manners.”

“You’re hurtin’ me!”

“Let her go.”

Polly didn’t recognize the voice. It belonged to an older man, at least forty or so. Long blond hair matched a blond mustache. He wore brown leather britches and a black leather vest. His hat was Western, but it wasn’t one of the big ones from Texas.

Daniel stared, but he didn’t let go.

“It’s between me and the gal, Luke.”

Luke’s hand was quicker than a snake. It slapped Daniel’s cheek with a loud smack. Half the room stopped talking.

“Let her go.”

Daniel’s cheek turned red, and his hand gripped tighter. Polly wanted to get away, as being in the middle of a fight meant danger.

“You got no—”

Daniel didn’t finish before Luke’s other hand cuffed Daniel’s other cheek. Polly had never seen any man so quick.

“If I have to draw, the preacher will be readin’ over you tomorrow.”

Daniel’s brown eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth.

He let her go.

“Git.”

Polly didn’t have to be told twice. She scurried a few feet before she turned to watch. This scene had all the makings of a gunfight. Polly had seen but one of those. It had been loud and bloody and… exciting. She couldn’t deny that. Very exciting.

Luke pointed toward the door. “It’s time.”

Daniel didn’t move.

“You stay behind, and that’s the end of it. Comprende? You’re done.”

Daniel’s hand moved to the revolver on his hip, and he spat on the floor.

“Suit yourself.”

Luke turned and started for the door.

Polly had no idea how Luke knew to whirl and draw. There was no way he could have seen Daniel start to pull out his pistol. Maybe someone had signaled Luke. She hadn’t seen it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

The room was utterly quiet.

All eyes were on Luke, his revolver squarely pointed at Daniel, whose barrel hadn’t cleared its holster. By the laws of the West, Luke could shoot and claim self-defense. Everyone in the room would testify to that.

Polly’s hand went to her throat. She waited for the gunshot.

Daniel wavered. If he didn’t continue, he would be labeled a coward. If he did draw, he would die. Luke couldn’t miss at the range between them.

Daniel’s lips quivered.

He swallowed hard.

The suspense was almost too much for Polly to take.

Daniel pulled.

Luke fired.

Polly screamed.

Daniel’s gun flew from his hand. He grabbed his wrist, even as blood seeped through his fingers. He stared at the smoking barrel of Luke’s pistol.

Everyone, including Polly, waited for the next bullet that would end Daniel’s life.

Holding his pistol steady, Luke walked to Daniel and pressed the barrel to his chest. Luke pulled a coin from his pocket and placed it in Daniel’s shirt pocket.

“Buy her a drink and maybe she’ll sit on your lap while she fixes up your hand. Come after me, and you’re a dead man. Understand?”

Daniel nodded.

Luke holstered his pistol and walked out, leaving everyone staring.

What had just happened?

Polly scooted over to Daniel and grabbed the coin from his shirt pocket. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back to wrap your hand.”

Her heart pounding, Polly practically ran to the bar. This time, she was going to make sure there was whiskey in her drink. She needed it.

Chapter One

Annie sat on the bed and let down her long brown hair. Even as she did, she heard her husband’s voice.

You got to take care of your spine. Only takes a minute.

When he was alive, Joshua had said the same thing every night before bedtime. One minute. That was all it took.

The spine is like a tree trunk. It supports every other part of your body.

“Yes, dear,” she said out loud. She couldn’t argue with him about her spine. One minute per night had sustained her posture and her strength for the thirty-two years she had been alive. She supposed it would have to last for another thirty or so.

One minute per night.

Annie slipped off the bed and opened the closet door. Candlelight slipped past her and exposed the wooden bar that hung from a rafter.

Joshua had installed the bar when they built the house. It was precisely barely out of her reach. If she stood on tiptoes, her fingers could brush the wood.

A person’s reach shouldn’t exceed her grasp.

Joshua didn’t say that every night, but he said it most nights. It explained most of the projects he dreamed up. If a person could just touch something, something good, then they could invent what was needed to grasp that good. People didn’t strive for something far beyond their reach. They opted for the low-hanging fruit.

She stood under the bar and reached.

Nope.

On tiptoe, she reached again.

Her fingertips found the wood.

“Joshua, if you was here, I’d have you give me a boost. But you ain’t here. Figures.”

She crouched and jumped. Her hands folded over the rod, and she dangled like some sort of squirrel.

“One minute.”

In the beginning, Joshua had timed her hanging time. Since his death, she relied on tracking the pain. When her shoulders and arms and hands hurt enough, she reckoned she had been dangling long enough. If she could persuade her mind to consider something besides the pain, she could ignore the gathering agony.

What to think about?

That was easy. She had to think about the ranch.

Annie and Joshua had purchased the Silver Creek Ranch from the family that had homesteaded the land right after the war between the states. The first 160 acres had been combined with another 160 and another 160, until the ranch approached 1,000 acres with Silver Creek meandering through.

That seemed like a lot when she and Joshua bid on the rundown place. They acquired it because the original owners had come upon hard times when their horses sickened and died. Joshua had surmised that some tainted hay was the culprit. Once the hay was removed, the horses thrived.

Joshua went on a buying spree.

Another 500 acres was added, with dreams of adding still more.

Those were the fat days before Joshua died. Horses were sometimes fickle. His mistake had been crossing behind without being careful. The hoof stove in his skull. He hadn’t suffered. Annie had always been thankful for that.

She ran the ranch, and she was damn proud of what she had accomplished. She had plans for still more profits and expansion. All she had to do was hang on and keep the ranch out of the hands of that son of a bitch.

She closed her eyes and asked for God’s forgiveness. She wasn’t given to cursing or berating anyone. But Henry Langston deserved the moniker. He was evil incarnate. He would do anything to acquire her ranch.

Why?

Because of his damn railroad.

The railroad boiled her blood. It already flanked one side of her ranch. Another line approached from a perpendicular direction. Silver Creek stood right in the middle, the perfect spot for a junction. Sinking rails around the ranch would be difficult and expensive. Hence Langston’s offer to buy the ranch.

Like hell.

She wasn’t about to sell for the money he was willing to pay. And she wasn’t going to be spooked into selling. She didn’t care how much it cost to go around. What was hers was hers. It was that simple.

She wished with all her heart that Joshua was still alive. Langston wouldn’t be so aggressive if he had to face Joshua. She was going to prove that she was no pushover. She wouldn’t initiate violence, but she wasn’t about to run from it.

Her shoulders began to ache.

Ten seconds more.

She counted slowly, hearing his voice. It had always been ten seconds more.

Annie lowered herself to the floor, which her toes could now brush. It worked every time. She grew some fraction of an inch by hanging onto the rod. Of course, when she next approached the rod, she would have lost that extra height. Keeping the spine strong was the right thing to do.

The knock on the bedroom door was expected.

“Come in, Jacob.”

Annie made no move to add a robe, as her nightdress was more than chaste enough. Besides, Jacob had come to the ranch before her husband died. Somewhere between sixty and seventy, Jacob walked with a pronounced limp and a sometimes shaking hand. Although he no longer besotted himself with alcohol, he occasionally still shivered.

“Got all the horses in the barn and the pigs in their sty.”

“Good work. And the sorrel?”

“She’s fine but needs a good ride. Tomorrow?”

“I can do that. It ain’t gonna rain, is it?”

“Leg don’t feel it, so I suppose you can ride all day if you please.”

“Good to know.”

“Got some bad news. Spotted deer in the north plot. That means the wire’s down again.”

“No doubt cut by the railroaders. Got anyone to help you with that?”

“I’ll find someone. Always roustabouts ready to work.”

“If you run into any railroaders, shoot ’em.”

Jacob chuckled. “Don’t I wish I could. Goodnight, Mrs. Banks.”

“Good night, Jacob. Sleep good. Oh, one more thing. Make sure all the shutters are closed. I got a notion there’s gonna be a blow tonight.”

“I checked ’em once, but I’ll do it again. Open shutter will fill the house with dust.”

“Exactly.”

She watched as he disappeared, closing the door after him.

She wasn’t ready for sleep. She set the lantern on the bedside table and grabbed the book she was reading. She was halfway through A Tale of Two Cities, and she admired Mr. Dickens immensely. While she wished she had more time, she relished each and every page. There were nights when she read far beyond her normal sleep time. The story was that good.

Sitting against the pillows, she opened the book on her lap. She always started a reading session by rereading the opening paragraph.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… 

Annie had no good reason for starting with that long sentence. She simply loved its flow. Mr. Dickens was a superb writer. That first sentence was his hallmark.

After the opening, she went to her bookmark. Dr. Manette was making shoes, a skill he had learned in prison. How had Dickens arranged such a character? Annie understood behaviors that always rose to the surface, even after a person had drowned them with logic.

Her deceased husband had always saved odd pieces of rope, tying them together with sailor knots. The pieces were good for nothing. The knots, while sturdy, were not strong enough to do much good. Still, he always added the stray rope he found.

Like Dr. Manette.

She had read half a dozen pages before the wind arrived. One moment, there was nothing. The next, wind whistled through the cracks and pummeled the shutters with dust. From living in the territory for a while, she knew tumbleweeds were bouncing along, driven by the wind.

They weren’t common in Montana territory. She enjoyed seeing them roll across the pasture, stopped only by barbed wire. She supposed that, in time, they would become a nuisance.

Everything became a nuisance if there was too much of it.

Even money.

What might it be to have too much money? She would like to experience that problem. Given the tale of Midas, she supposed that too much money led to problems that couldn’t be solved. That was the lesson, as she had never believed in a touch that turned everything into gold.

Greed.

She had seen what greed could do. She remembered Miss Stoppard.

Annie was a girl then, another eight-year-old who went to the one-room schoolhouse in the center of town. Liberty was on the White River, at the bottom of a Wyoming mountain. She walked to school every morning and was greeted by Miss Stoppard, a skinny, sharp-faced, unmarried woman.

Miss Stoppard lived in the schoolhouse, although it wasn’t built for that. Annie had heard her mother say more than once that Miss Stoppard still had the first penny she had ever earned. The woman was tight as a tick on a dog.

Annie knew how tight that was, and she didn’t really understand how it applied to Miss Stoppard.

Not that it mattered.

People in town wondered where the schoolmarm hid her money. The schoolhouse didn’t provide a lot of hiding places. Miss Stoppard had been fond of daily walks along the riverbank. There were lots of places to hide stuff among the rocks.

Annie hadn’t much cared.

Then came the flash flood.

The people who had lived the longest knew that a hard rain on the town wouldn’t do harm. What they paid attention to was a storm on the mountain top. That water had to run someplace, and that someplace was the river.

Miss Stoppard hadn’t lived in town long enough to understand.

Annie and her family had left the town and hiked up the mountain. They had settled in to wait. Miss Stoppard had joined the townsfolk, as if it was some sort of picnic. When the water had begun to flow, Miss Stoppard suddenly understood.

Miss Stoppard had bolted for the town, despite the warnings shouted at her.

By the time she had reached the bank, the water was over her shoes.

By the time she had uncovered her box of money, the water was over her knees.

Seconds later, a log had slammed into her.

The box and its contents had been hurled into the muddy water. Miss Stoppard went after it.

She had been washed downstream.

Her body had been recovered a week later.

Greed.

Annie had surmised that greed had killed Miss Stoppard, not the flash flood. The lesson wasn’t as famous as King Midas, but it was just as true. Greed had ruined more than Stoppard and Midas, and Annie hoped it would ruin Henry Langston too—before he managed to wrest Silver Creek Ranch from Annie’s grasp.

She pushed Langston, Midas, and Miss Stoppard from her mind. Dickens was much more interesting than greed. Shaking her head to clear it, she stared at the page.

And heard the voices.

Voices?

Why were people trading boisterous talk with Jacob?

Putting down the book, Annie walked to the wall and opened the window. She managed to push aside a shutter. Below, a group of men with lanterns, men she didn’t recognize, surrounded Jacob. While she couldn’t parse out the words, she could tell by the volume and tone that they were arguing.

That made no sense. There was nothing to be done in the dark of night. If they needed shelter, they could use the barn. She wanted to yell at them, but she guessed her voice wouldn’t penetrate their heated dialogue. There was only one thing to do. She needed to put on her robe and boots and join the discussion.

Shaking her head, her anger growing, she turned from the window. Why did problems always arrive at the most inconvenient times?

She was reaching for her robe when she heard the gunshot.

Chapter Two

Annie dropped her robe. The gunshot changed everything. Men didn’t fire their firearms heedlessly. Ammunition was too dear. Something bad had happened, and she wasn’t about to join the fray without a loaded pistol.

She hurried to the night table, pulling out its drawer and the Colt revolver she kept there. She broke open the cylinders to make sure they were loaded. Her husband’s voice rolled through her head.

What use is an unloaded gun? What’re you gonna do, throw it at someone?

The cylinders were loaded. She shoved them into place and headed out. Jacob needed help.

Annie hadn’t made it to the stairs before she heard the clomp of boots on the floor below. She stopped. If the strangers were inside, then Jacob was beyond help. She was next on the list. They had come for her.

Damn them.

She needed a place to hide, but there wasn’t one. A closet or under the bed wouldn’t do. They would find her and do whatever they needed to do.

Damn them.

She ran back into the bedroom and barred the door. That wouldn’t stop them either. She stood still, pistol ready. With any luck, she would kill one or two of them before they killed her. Why hadn’t she kept a Winchester rifle in the bedroom?

Because she’d had a husband to protect her.

Damn them.

Her heart pounded. Her breathing was far too fast. She shook all over.

Deep breaths, Annie. Being quick don’t matter. Being true does.

She nodded at her husband’s advice.

A fist hammered the door.

“Jacob! That be you!?”

She yelled as loudly as she could, making sure that whoever was on the other side of the door could hear her. She waited for some sort of answer.

It came in the form of a hammering fist.

That was all the answer she needed. She pulled back the hammer and squeezed the trigger. The report was loud in her ears. The smell of gunpowder filled her nose as the bullet pierced and splintered the door. Annie hoped the first bullet had found a body.

She didn’t stop.

With all the speed she could muster, she pulled back the hammer and fired and fired and fired—until the hammer clicked on a spent shell. The splintered and punctured door spoke to her anger, not her aim. Panting, she breathed in the smoke. She felt better but not good.

She felt worse when she heard the laughter on the other side of the door. Laughter was a bad sign. Some, if not all, were still alive.

Damn them.

The laughter stopped.

The first bullet whizzed past her head.

That was enough for Annie. She dropped to the wooden floor even as a barrage of bullets zipped overhead. The noise hurt her ears. Shards of wood dropped on her. She didn’t know how many men were shooting, but it was far more than she could handle with a six-shooter. There was no fighting them. She had to hide or flee.

The wind screeched past the window, promising an escape.

Annie crawled to the window as fast as she could. Another round of bullets ripped through the door and into the far wall. That showed the true intent of the gang. They had come to kill. It was that simple and that fatal.

The windowsill was slick with dust. She hung onto it as she tried to find a way to safely navigate the steepness. Montana snows dictated steep roofs. Annie was well aware of the damage accumulated snow could bring. She let go of the sill and began to slide over wood shakes coated with dirt and dust.

Clawing at the shakes, Annie managed to slow her descent—for a few seconds. Then, the gale grabbed her and tore away her grip. She shot down the roof, holding back a scream that would give herself away. Rolling in an effort to dampen her speed, she tumbled off the roof.

She landed on her back in the flower bed, her breath forced from her lungs.

The wind whipped over her, obscuring the night sky. Darkness reigned supreme. Trying to move was impossible until her breath returned. She counted it lucky that the flotsam and jetsam brought by the wind hid her from the men who had no doubt breeched the door to her bedroom. Still, she had to move as quickly as she could.

Damn them.

Which way?

The town lay in one direction. The mountains owned the other direction. She guessed that the marauders would think she had set out for town. There was help in town… a sheriff, honest men, a posse if she could convince people to come to her aid. It made perfect sense to make a break for the town.

That perfect sense was available to the marauders also.

The mountains made little sense. No food, little water, she could expect no help from that direction. Mountain lions, grizzly bears, snakes—there were all manner of dangers. A single woman in her nightgown couldn’t expect to live long in such an environment. It was akin to suicide to head for the mountains.

Which was why she would run in that direction.

But not at first.

If the outlaws were watching, she wanted them to think she was racing for town. When she was out of sight, she would change course, not before. Let them pursue the woman they thought they knew. She took a deep breath.

Success.

She crouched in the bed, checking her body for any broken bones. No, her spine had survived the fall. Her arms and legs hadn’t tried to brake her momentum.

In the distance, she heard the thunder over the wind.

Awful luck. Hadn’t Jacob said his leg wasn’t predicting rain?

Where was Jacob?

She wanted to know, but she didn’t have time to search for him… or his body. She didn’t have time for anything but fleeing. She wiggled her toes in the soft dirt. How she wished she had managed to pull on a pair for boots.

Souls in hellfire want water. Run!

Annie nodded, stood, and ran. She hadn’t gone twenty yards when she heard a man shout.

“There she is! Headed for town!”

The gunshot didn’t stop or bother her. Pistols were nearly useless from where the outlaws were. Still, they fired into the dark, hoping for a lucky hit.

Annie sprinted until her lungs burned. Satisfied she was far enough away, she turned for the mountains and slowed. Aesop’s fable of the tortoise and hare came to mind. She couldn’t be the hare, as she would run out of energy long before she reached the safety of the rocks. She couldn’t be a tortoise either. But she did need to pace herself. She didn’t need anything more than thunder to hurry her along.

She ran into the wind and thunder coming down the mountain. She guessed she had gone half the distance before her feet begged for a stop. There could be no stopping. She couldn’t avoid slowing, but a complete stop was out of the question. Not here, not in the flat. When she reached the rocks, it would be soon enough.

Annie tried to think of the good aspects of her flight.

The grizzlies would be hunkered down in some cave or such. They didn’t like lightning and thunder any more than she did.

Same for the mountain lions. No hunting when the small animals had taken shelter.

Snakes were never discovered during a storm.

Those were good things. She could keep going without fear of intervention by anything that wasn’t human. It was all too true that the outlaws could ride her down.

Not in a storm.

Her body ached. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the pain. When had she felt this way? If she could remember…

She was fourteen. She had ridden her horse miles from the house in the middle of a hot afternoon. She couldn’t remember why she had ridden so far in that direction. There was nothing and no one to visit or ask for water. Oh, she was angry. Her mother had told her she was too old to play tag with the boys.

Why was fourteen too old?

It wasn’t her age. It was development. That was that her mother said. And not just her development. The boys were developed also. Annie didn’t exactly understand, and that irked her. She had become so angry, she jumped on her horse and started riding. No doubt, her mother would say the horse was too developed also.

To Annie, it was all too stupid for words.

If she wanted to play tag, she should be able to play tag. After all, she was the best player and hardly ever got tagged. Why couldn’t she do what she wanted?

Before she could answer her own question, her horse had stepped in a hole and injured its leg. Annie had been pitched forward, landing hard and sending shock through her entire body. No broken bones, but a terrific pain.

The horse had gong lame. Annie had been sure the horse needed to be put down. Lame horses didn’t heal in most situations. Annie and her horse had limped back toward town. They had absolutely no chance of getting back before dark. For Annie, it had been a head-down, painful plod.

Yes, that had been the time when she felt as she did now, running from her own house.

A blast of cold air and large raindrops hit Annie. The sudden onslaught chased away the memory of her lame horse. Her feet were cut and bleeding. Her wet nightgown clung to her skin, making her feel even colder.

How much farther?

She shook her head. She didn’t want to know. If she knew, she would either despair and quit running, or she would run faster, using up her energy. It was better not to know. It was better to simply keep going.

Where?

Red Rock Canyon was in front of her. She had never visited the canyon, as it wasn’t on a main trail. Wasn’t there a story concerning Red Rock Canyon? Wasn’t there a legend? Didn’t people mostly avoid the canyon?

What was it?

Another gust of wind and rain.

Annie shivered, but she didn’t stop. Curling up in the open was tantamount to suicide. She didn’t need zero degrees in order to die of exposure. If she couldn’t stay warm…

She didn’t finish the thought.

What was it about Red Rock Canyon? Why did people avoid it?

Hadn’t her late husband told her something?

She raised her eyes and peered into the rain. She saw nothing. What did she expect? It was night in a hard rain. What could she possibly see? She lowered her gaze and told her feet to keep moving.

Right, left, right, left.

She wanted to stop. By any measure, she had already run too far. She needed to stop, to rest. If she stopped for just five minutes, she would have recovered enough to keep going. Yes, that was the smart thing to do. Find a rock to sit on and gain a bit of strength.

Right, left, right, left.

Hermit.

The word popped into her head. Why had it suddenly appeared? There was something about hermit.

The hermit of Red Rock Canyon.

She smiled despite her pain. That was it. A hermit lived in the canyon. That was the local lore. And like most hermits, he was dangerous and unforgiving. Some mothers told their children that the hermit ate the babies and young children he found in the canyon. He was huge and ugly. Strong, he stank worse than a skunk. He would sneak up on people and club them, stealing their money and cooking their children. Yes, that was it.

Stay away from the… hermit.

Two large rocks jumped out of the rain and greeted her. She smiled. She had reached the mountain.

Red Rock Canyon?

No, she didn’t think that. In fact, she was rather glad she wasn’t in the canyon.

She moved slowly, weaving through the boulders and shale. In a few more steps, she found what she was looking for. She slipped under the outcropping, where the ground was still dry. Knowing there was little she could do in the dark, she curled up, her back to the rock and tried to sleep.

A bolt of lightning lit up the overhang.

Curled up a few feet away was the…

Snake.

Chapter Three

Luke leaned out of his saddle and shined his lantern on the road. He was looking for signs of the woman, and he wasn’t finding any.

“Anything?” he yelled out.

Juan, on his left, had his own lantern, and he answered first. “Nada.”

On Luke’s right rode Cricket. He, too, waved a lantern over the ground. “Nothin’.”

Luke sat straight and looked around. “She ain’t headed for town.”

“I saw her.” Billy spoke from behind. “She was runnin’ for the town.”

“Not anymore. She doubled back on us. She’s probably back in the ranch house by now.”

“Then let’s fetch her before the storm breaks. I got no desire to get soaked.”

“Hold on. We got to think this through.”

“What’s to think?” Billy asked. “We ride in and take her.”

“She’s back there, and I’m guessing that by now, she’s got a rifle or two loaded and ready. A woman living on a ranch is probably a damn good shot. We present ourselves and she’ll pick us off like ducks on a pond.”

“Not in the dark.”

“We got lanterns and horses. Don’t take a sharpshooter to hit a horse.”

“So what do we do?” Billy asked.

“We come in slow and dark. No lanterns. And we come from all directions. She can shoot in only one way.”

“Makes sense,” Juan said. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to get hit by lightning.”

“You ain’t gonna get hit. I’ll tell you when it’s time to turn off the lanterns. If anyone manages to spot footprints as we ride back, sing out. We’ll follow ’em.”

The lack of chatter told Luke it was time.

“Ride.”

He turned his horse and lit out for house they had left.

Luke held little hope of finding the woman out in the open. With the storm barreling along, she would be stupid to challenge it. She had to be at the house. She had a tactical advantage. She would hear them coming and react accordingly.

Would he shoot her?

He would indeed.

Langston had paid good money to put Annie Banks in the ground. Only, she wasn’t going in the ground. Luke had agreed to place the body in the house and burn the house to the ground. No one was going to find her ashes.

Pity.

Luke didn’t like killing women, as they didn’t pose a challenge. Luke considered himself a shootist, a professional gun. He avoided shootouts with women and youngsters who were looking for a chance to gain a reputation.

Boys that hadn’t started shaving appeared on a regular basis. They assumed that shooting bottles off a table mean they could shoot a fast-draw man. It didn’t work that way. And Luke wasn’t so evil that he would feast on “boys.”

Billy was a lot like Luke, but where Luke was a fast-draw artist, Billy was a rifleman. He proved uncanny in hitting targets hundreds of yards away. Adept at picking off men on horses, Billy was a good person to have around. He could do more damage with a Winchester than half a dozen men with pistols.

Billy didn’t shoot women or “boys” either.

Would he pick off the ranch woman if she started a fight? Billy might not like shooting a female, but he wasn’t going to die because of that.

The storm roiled as it descended upon Luke. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to fight in the rain. A quick attack from all sides would leave the woman unprotected. She might score a hit on one or two, but that was all. He and Billy would charge head on. They would share the largest risk. The others would come from the back and sides. They would be safe.

A flash lit up the ranch house in the distance.

Luke reined in his horse and waited for the others to gather around. Thunder rolled over them. They were facing a gully-washer.

“Juan, you attack from the left. Denver, you have the right. Billy and I will hit the front. Everyone else ride behind. Don’t nobody shoot unless she shoots first. Got that? Keep your pistols ready and try to be a mite quiet when you go inside. The lanterns are still burnin’. I don’t mind if you put her down. Just don’t shoot one another.”

“Barn?” Cricket asked.

“Right, right. Since you asked, Cricket, you get to make sure there ain’t no one hiding there. Don’t go in without a lantern.”

“Won’t that give someone a good shot at me?”

“Maybe, but if you go in dark, you’ll never see what hits you. A shot from across the barn is more unsure than a barrel to your head.”

“Got ya.”

“Don’t no one take no chances. Someone fires on you, you fire back. Comprende?”

Thunder crashed around them, making the horses nervous. It was time to charge.

“Billy and me is gonna wait two minutes. You got time to get to your positions. I’ll fire once. That’s your signal to move. No gunshots unless you need to. The less gunfire, the better. Head out.”

Luke watched his men ride off into the darkness. He couldn’t see his watch, but he had a good idea when two minutes had passed.

“You really think she’s there?”

“I give her a fifty-fifty chance, Billy. If it was me, I would’ve tried for town. I figure I could hide from us in the dark. Of course, come morning, I would have a tough row to hoe.”

“She went the other way, toward Red Rock. We could pick up her tracks.”

“Until the rain comes. Then, we would be out there in the mud, cold and drenched.”

Luke heard Billy sigh. “Yeah, and I’m guessing she ain’t dressed for a storm. Cold rain, she’s apt to die overnight.”

“Lots of little caves and outcroppings to use. She’ll make it till dawn.”

“That’s when we go lookin’?”

“We need a good tracker.”

“Elias?”

“He’s one of the best hunters in the territory. If anyone can find her, it’s him.”

“He won’t shoot her. You know he ain’t a killer.”

“We got plenty of killers. We have to let him ride off before we do it.”

“You reckon he’ll stick up for her?”

“I reckon you and me are too old to take the chance.”

Billy chuckled. “I ain’t gonna argue that.”

“It’s time. You ready?”

Billy pulled his rifle from its sleeve. “My turn?”

“Just one.”

Luke pulled out his pistol. Billy fired into the air and levered a fresh cartridge into the Winchester.

Without another word, Luke spurred his horse, even as a bolt of lightning lit up the house.

Luke knew no fear as he rode. Darkness hid him from any shooter inside the house. Danger would arrive when he dismounted and approached the door. He was vulnerable as soon as he opened it.

He didn’t like the situation, but he was the boss. He had to prove he was willing to perform the most dangerous assaults.

He tied the reins to a hitching post before he started for the door. He didn’t bother to check on Billy. The sharpshooter was right behind.

Luke stood to one side as he grabbed the door handle and threw the door open.

No gunfire.

That was a good sign, although he hadn’t yet presented a target. Remembering his training, he crouched as he jumped through the opening and rolled to one side.

No gunfire.

“No one here, Billy!”

Luke stood as Billy entered.

“Upstairs?” Billy asked.

“I got a feeling she ain’t here, but we’re not gonna take chances. I’ll lead.”

Luke looked left and right as he climbed the stairs. His boots clacked on the hard wood, announcing his approach. He didn’t care. The noise would make any person afraid, and that helped Luke. Shaking hands made for poor shooting.

At the top, he turned for the woman’s bedroom. He had been in it already. He stood in the dark hall and took a deep breath.

“I’m comin’ in!” Luke cocked his pistol. “I got a gun, and I know how to use it. So, if you’re thinking about shooting, take good aim. You got but one chance!”

He crouched and dove through the doorway.

No gunfire.

He stood and looked around. The room was empty.

“She didn’t come back.”

“No, Billy, she fooled us.” Luke holstered his pistol. “Check out the closet, but I’m certain she’s not there. She wouldn’t hamstring herself.”

Luke sat on the bed.

The room was generous, as was the bed. All the furniture was quality with complementary colors. He could be happy in such a room, in such a house. He had always hungered for a ranch, a safe place where he could spend the days he had remaining. The problem was that whenever he came close to such a life, he ran into a “boy” or someone who needed someone shot.

Like Langston.

Luke hadn’t wanted work that included killing a woman, but Langston had offered more than enough money. Luke couldn’t turn it down. It would have been easy if she hadn’t skedaddled. In a gunfight, no one knew for sure whose bullet did the deed. Now, he had to hunt her down and finish her. He had to do her himself.

He was the boss.

“Where you reckon?” Billy sat on the bed.

“Red Rock Canyon, like you said. It’s got all manner of places to hide. We could spend a month and not find her.”

“What about the hermit?”

“Ain’t no hermit. That’s a tale moms made up to keep their children from getting lost out there.”

“You sure? I’ve heard some stories that ring right true.” Billy leaned his rifle against the bed.

“Maybe there was a hermit once upon a time, but no one is gonna live out there year after year. When it snows, there’s no food or wood or nothing.”

“Elias will know. He hunts out there sometimes.”

Luke rubbed his eyes. “He knows, but I’m not sure he’ll tell. He can hold his cards close to his vest.”

“You got a way to make him talk, Luke?”

“He’s a Cheyenne. Can’t make Cheyennes talk. We’ll have to convince him that it’s the right thing to do.”

“Money?”

“Money and whiskey. Ain’t met a Cheyenne yet that can hold his liquor.”

Billy rubbed his hands together. “You ever think about quitting?”

“Only once a week. I give myself ten minutes before I remember how I growed up. That reminds me I’m not cut out for a sitting life. You think about it?”

“More and more often. I got the swelling in my fingers. And my eyesight ain’t what it once was. Don’t get me wrong. With strong sun, I can still take out a deer at a hundred yards. It’s just not as easy as it used to be. God forbid I shoot at dawn, before I drink my coffee and work my hands. Pretty soon, I’ll have to tell folks no shootin’ before lunch.”

Luke laughed. “I got the same aches and pains. Some days, I practice in my bedroom until I can draw like I used to.”

“And the challengers keep coming, don’t they?

“I’m thinking of changing my name. When someone asks if I’m Luke Carson, I’m gonna point to some other dude and say, that’s the shootist you’re lookin’ for.”

“We’re a couple of old men, ain’t we?”

“Don’t say that. We start to think we’re old and we’re gonna decide it’s time to die. You decide to die, and you don’t shoot as good as you know how.”

Billy stroked his Winchester, as if it was some sort of pet. “If I die, will you see to taking care of my Winchester?”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Bury it with me.”

“I’ll see to that, if I’m still above ground.”

“Thank you.”

Luke sniffed the air. “What is that?”

Billy tilted his head to one side. “Smoke.”

Chapter Four

Annie froze. She had a good idea where the snake was, but she couldn’t see it. Feeling around for it was the height of stupidity. She could wait for another flash of lightning. What good would that do? Very little. She couldn’t be sure, but she had the notion that if she fell asleep, the snake would sense her body heat and snuggle up to her.

She shivered at the thought.

Nothing to do but to abandon her overhang and move on. Snakes could never be trusted.

Tears came to her eyes. She had worked so hard to find this shelter, and now she had to give it up. It wasn’t fair. She looked into the cold rain. Leaving was the only sensible response. She told herself she would soon find another shelter. Outcroppings were plentiful, weren’t they?

Mindful of where the snake should be, she eased out from under the shelf. She hunched over in the frigid rain and moved ahead. Where was the next shelf?

The darkness caused all manner of problems, as Annie moved carefully across the rocky ground. The cold had turned her toes mostly numb, which she considered a boon. The pain of a stubbed toe was reduced. The cold did nothing for her shivering. She hugged herself and shuffled. How long before she keeled over and died?

Annie understood the danger of getting too cold. If she couldn’t stay warm, she would die quickly. Montana was known for such deaths. The cold was forever at war with the residents.

Lightning lit up the canyon.

In the distance, she saw something.

Her glimpse suggested it was some kind of structure, an abandoned shack most likely. Some miner had built the shack in order to spend more time searching for gold and silver. While the precious metals were sometimes found, lodes were small and petered out quickly. An unlucky miner would move on.

Aiming for the shack, she moved ahead. Thunder rolled over her. Her teeth clattered. Her energy reserves were giving out.

Another bolt of lightning.

The shack was nearer.

A blast of thunder.

And the hail arrived.

The hail wasn’t pea-sized. It was walnut-sized and hard. It pummeled her, causing incredible pain. She placed her arms over her head and hurried. The hail didn’t stop. It hammered her arms, vicious.

She didn’t bother looking for the shack. In the freezing dark, it was invisible. But it was ahead; she was sure of that.

A flash.

The shack was scant yards ahead, to her right.

Her first shove of the shack door did nothing. She hoped it was just stuck and not barred in some fashion. Summoning all her might, she crashed into the door.

It sprang open, and she stumbled into the single room.

Exhausted, she didn’t look for a fireplace. The hail hammered the roof as if trying to get to her. The darkness was complete. She prayed she hadn’t entered some bear den. No, the door wouldn’t be stuck if that were the case.

She closed the door and shuffled toward the far corner. Perhaps she would happen upon an old blanket or some kind of bed.

No such luck.

Finding the walls with her hands, she slid down into the corner. Shivering, teeth chattering, she curled into a ball and fought the incessant pain.

She needed sleep.

Closing her eyes, she drifted. She didn’t know if she would wake up.