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  Harry shook his head. “Can’t say as I do. They surely didn’t get a fair shake. But knowing that don’t make ’em any easier to deal with.”

  “You have a lot of experience in that regard?”

  “A little.” He nodded at her bow and quiver. “Looks like you had some dealings with the tribes too.”

  “They’re gifts from a friend.”

  “An Indian friend.”

  Claire nodded. “Thomas.” Memories crowded her mind, and she fought back a sudden sense of nostalgia.

  “Thomas, eh? Did he ever tell you his Indian name?”

  “No. Said he was part of the white man’s world now and had to shed his old self. Like a snake sheds its skin.”

  “Sounds like your Thomas is as sensible as they come. I reckon he’ll do fine.”

  “I reckon.”

  They rode a while in silence. Claire dismounted at regular intervals to check the tracks, making sure they didn’t lose the trail. The canyon opened up to a wider valley with a slow-moving creek. Sheer rock walls stood sentry on each side but were farther apart than before. Claire and Harry stopped to let the horses drink and graze while they ate their midday meal. Birds flitted between tree branches and sang to each other. A pleasant interlude.

  They’d started to pack up when Claire felt a prickle at the back of her neck. Without a word she slid the Winchester free and walked around Rose to where Harry stood next to his horse. She gave him a look. Harry’s gaze dropped to the Winchester and he raised his chin. He slid his own rifle free of the scabbard and scanned the horizon. Claire turned in a circle, searching the tops of the cliffs.

  There.

  She caught sight of one, then two, then three men on horseback silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky. Hoof-beats pounded through the canyon, echoing against the rocks.

  The Apache had arrived.

  Chapter 16

  Let me do the talkin’,” Harry warned. “Put your rifle away but keep it handy.”

  Claire nodded and checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber before she slid the Winchester back into its scabbard. Harry eyed the modified rifle before he turned to face the oncoming horsemen.

  Claire’s breath caught at the fierceness of the five warriors. All wore their dark hair long and flowing. All sported breechclouts and boots and carried spears adorned with feathers; two wore headbands, while one went bareheaded. The remaining two wore brimmed hats. All had single-shot rifles slung over their backs. The bareheaded one had a pair of field glasses around his neck and a revolver in his gun belt. Two of the others wore revolvers in addition to the rifles.

  A raiding party.

  Harry waited for them to stop before nodding at the one with the field glasses. He said something in a language Claire didn’t understand. The warrior lifted his chin in response. He flicked his gaze over Claire, taking in her and Rose, the rifle, and the Peacemaker, then returned his attention to Harry. He replied in the same language.

  “What did he say?” Claire asked, keeping her voice low. She didn’t want to set them off—her instincts told her to treat them like she would a stick of dynamite.

  Very carefully.

  “I told him we’re tracking a group of outlaws and asked if he’d seen them. He said that depended on who was asking.”

  “Well? What are you going to tell him?” Field Glasses studied Claire with interest. Unnerved she forced herself to stare back at him, unwilling to show fear. He cocked his head and then seemingly dismissed her.

  Harry cleared his throat and said something to Field Glasses. Field Glasses shook his head and nodded toward the horse Peters had been riding. Harry replied, then reached into his saddlebag for a colorful wool blanket, which he presented to the Apache. Field Glasses smirked and said something to the man on his left. He turned back to Claire and Harry and raised his rifle. Claire tensed and shifted her stance in a bid to brandish the Winchester and start shooting if need be.

  Harry set the blanket on the ground and took a step back.

  “What’s happening, Harry?” Claire whispered.

  “Seems they want the horse in exchange for safe passage. Says he can show us where the outlaws went.”

  “So give him the horse and let’s be on our way.”

  “Ain’t that easy.” Harry brought up his hands to show he meant the raiding party no harm. “If I fold and give ’em the horse without dealin’ they’ll think we’re easy pickin’s and take everything we got.”

  “We can’t let that happen, Harry.” Fear of losing Rose spiked through her. Not now. Not after all she and the mare had been through together.

  “I need something else I can trade—something I can offer to show our respect and sweeten the pot instead of giving in to his original demands an’ makin’ him think I’m just another scared white man.”

  “I have an idea.” She moved with care to Rose’s opposite side and untied the bow and quiver of arrows from her saddle. She went back and laid them next to Harry’s blanket. Field Glasses motioned for her to bring the items to him.

  Claire glanced at Harry, who nodded. Heart thudding, she picked up the gifts from Thomas and brought them to him. The Apache’s eyes lit up as he studied the fine beadwork on the bow and quiver. He passed the bow to the man closest to him, then removed one of the arrows from the quiver and inspected it from tip to end. After all five of the men had inspected the gift he said something to Harry. Harry replied, then turned to Claire.

  “He wants to know how you came across such fine workmanship. I told him they’re gifts from a friend.”

  Field Glasses said something else. This time his voice was sharp. Claire looked at Harry for translation.

  “He says how does he know you didn’t take this from its original owner by force?”

  Claire widened her eyes. “Tell him I would never do such a thing. Never. Tell him Thomas was a great and dear friend—a member of the Ute tribe, with whom we were at peace.”

  Harry relayed what she said. Field Glasses stared at her long and hard. Claire became increasingly uncomfortable but stood her ground.

  “Tell him these gifts mean the world to me,” she continued, “but I am prepared to give them as a gift to show my good faith.”

  Harry did as she asked. After a tense moment, Field Glasses nodded and said something. Harry flexed his hands and said, “He accepts.”

  “Really?” Giddy with relief, Claire let out the breath she’d been holding. She wouldn’t have to give up Rose. The mare, evidently sensing her change in mood, snorted and pawed at the ground.

  Harry picked up the blanket and handed it to Field Glasses. Then he walked over to Peters’ horse, untied the lead, and brought it to the band of warriors. He and the leader exchanged words, and the five of them rode off the way they’d come. Claire glanced at the ridge above them. The others had disappeared.

  “Sorry about your bow and arrow,” Harry said as he walked back to join Claire.

  “I’m sure Thomas would appreciate their new owner.” She turned to mount Rose and realized her knees were weak. She took a deep breath to steady herself before climbing onto Rose’s back. “Did he tell you where to find Peters?”

  Harry nodded as he climbed back into his saddle. “Over that ridge a piece. Shouldn’t take more than a day to catch up with them.”

  “Did he say how many were left?”

  “Says there’s four in all.”

  “That means there were at least eight to begin with since you and I killed three and the Apache got one.”

  “Yep. Pretty good odds, don’t you think?” He grinned at her, transforming his face into something almost pleasing.

  Claire returned the smile. “I surely do.”

  Chapter 17

  Claire and Harry rode through the day, covering several miles with single-minded purpose. The outlaws kept to the creek, leaving an easy trail to follow. The only thing Claire could figure was that the outlaws believed they’d lost their pursuers so didn’t bother covering their tra
cks.

  The sun sank low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert terrain and painting the sky deep orange and purple. Claire got down off her horse to study the tracks. They were fresher than before and their gaits had changed, telling Claire the outlaws had slowed their pace.

  A large grove of cottonwoods could be seen in the distance, taking advantage of the creek.

  She nodded at the trees. “If I was looking for a place to make camp for the evening I’d probably choose near that stand of cottonwoods.”

  “Have to agree with you there.” Harry dismounted and bent to fill his canteen from the creek. He took a long drink and studied the area. “I reckon if we wait til nightfall we’ll have the upper hand. What do you think?”

  That was a new development. Claire glanced at Harry, surprised. “Did you just ask for my opinion?”

  Harry gave her an exasperated look. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She gauged the distance between them and the grove. “I’ll go on foot to see what we’re dealing with. Shouldn’t take long. Once I’m back we can make a plan.”

  Harry tended to the horses as Claire moved along the creek toward the cottonwoods. The bullfrogs had started to croak, bringing the evening alive and covering up any sound she made. The more she narrowed the gap the slower she went, until she was creeping along the muddy riverbank.

  The smell of cooking meat hit her, reminding her how hungry she was. She parted a clump of feather grass and peered through.

  Four men sat around a small campfire, eating from metal plates. She caught sight of Peters and her heart raced. One of the men said something to him and he laughed. Their horses were tethered to a rope strung between two trees. All the men wore pistols, and there were three rifles visible. There was a slight rise covered in tall grass to the east of them.

  The perfect place to hide.

  Claire backed away from the scene and quietly moved to the rise to make sure of its tactical advantage. She was right—the spot revealed a clear view of the camp. She made her way back to where Harry waited and relayed what she saw. Harry again asked her opinion on what she thought they should do.

  She thought for a moment before answering. “They’re not going to give up Peters without a fight. There’s four of them and two of us. I say we wait until they’re asleep. I’ll sneak into camp and take out the sentry, then release their horses. Next, I’ll go for the others. That’s where you come in. There’s a rise to the east with a clear line to their camp. If you position yourself right you should be able to give me cover in case things go to hell and Peters makes a run for it.”

  “By the looks of that modified rifle of yours it should be you on the rise, covering me.”

  “Sure you can be quiet enough? Spook the horses too early and we lose our advantage.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I can be real stealth-like when the need arises.”

  Claire nodded. “Fine. That works as well as my idea. I’ll need your field glasses.”

  Harry studied her for a moment. “You talk about killing like it’s nothing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Can’t say I ever met a woman like you before.”

  “You must keep company with the wrong type of woman.”

  Harry chuckled. “I must.”

  They shared a cold meal of the remaining Johnnycakes and salt pork, opting not to build a fire and possibly give away their location. Darkness fell with the swiftness peculiar to the desert, and the stars emerged like ice shards on a velvet blanket. Crickets and bullfrogs sang and an owl hooted, keeping company with the yips and howls of a distant pack of coyotes. Neither Claire nor Harry were about to sleep.

  “What’s your story, Harry? What drew you to bounty hunting?” Claire kept her voice low in case it carried.

  Harry sighed and clasped his hands behind his head. “I tried ranchin’ after the war but stayin’ in one place didn’t suit me. I prefer a more variable lifestyle, something with a challenge where the grass don’t grow under my feet. I’m good with a gun and have a kind of sense about outlaws—I can usually figure out where they’re goin’ and why.”

  “All good qualities for a bounty hunter.”

  “And the money’s good, long as you can fight off the human carrion.”

  “Sounds like a lonely life,” Claire mused.

  “There’s a difference between lonely and alone. I tend to appreciate the alone parts.”

  Claire thought about what he said and decided she agreed.

  “What made you want to become a lady gunslinger?” he asked. “Did something happen to make you this way?”

  “You could say that.” Claire wondered if she should tell him about her past. Something had shifted in their relationship—a kind of grudging respect, she supposed. He was still one of the most stubborn, bullheaded men she’d ever met, but he’d proved himself by treating her with the same respect as anyone else.

  “You gonna tell me what that was or do I have to guess?”

  “It’s hard to talk about.” She took a deep breath and told him everything, from when the white men murdered Josiah and her children and burned her home, to Blankenship and how he’d wanted their claim and killed to get it. About how she wanted revenge in the worst way and how Mart Duggan and Thomas had funneled her rage into learning how to shoot and ride and strategize.

  She was vague about the part where she killed Blankenship in cold blood, but he got the idea. Then she went on to tell him about the train robbery and working as a security guard for the actress, Isabella King. About killing the assassin sent to murder her, about her friendship with Doc and riding shotgun for the stage. She ended with witnessing the gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Wyatt’s refusal to let her ride with the posse.

  “After that I figured it was time to move on, to find something and somewhere else.”

  “How’s that goin’?”

  She shrugged in the dark. “Haven’t made up my mind yet. It feels like I have unfinished business back in Leadville, although I don’t know what that might be. I tend to sleep better in the mountains.”

  “I know what you mean. Years back I spent some time in Western Montana. There’s a peace to the mountains I ain’t never found anywhere else. Probably cause of the air.”

  Claire smiled. “Probably.”

  They fell silent, each with their own thoughts. At moonrise they gathered their weapons and moved stealthily toward the outlaws’ camp.

  The bullfrogs were still active, covering the sound of their advance, but the crickets grew quiet. Harry split off and headed for the horses on the other side of the camp. The fire still burned, casting an orange glow onto three bedrolls but only two sleeping figures. Claire moved quietly toward the rise and took her position with her rifle, using the field glasses to search for the sentry and the missing outlaw. So far she hadn’t seen either.

  Patience, Claire. One of them was probably relieving himself. If that was the case, Harry might be able to subdue both the outlaw and the sentry. Thomas’s voice echoed through her mind. Wait until the time is right.

  She took a deep breath and let it go. Then, suddenly, one of the gunmen emerged from the shadows to the left of the campfire. He stirred the fire with a branch and tossed it aside, then walked to the empty bedroll. Claire brought up the rifle, sighted him in, and curled her finger around the trigger. At the same moment she heard a click and felt something hard dig into her spine. She froze.

  “I’d be real careful if I was you.” The sentry kept his voice low. “Put it down.”

  Claire set the rifle on the ground.

  “Hands in the air.”

  She raised her hands.

  “Who else is with you?”

  “It’s just me.”

  “Where’s your partner—the bounty hunter?” He prodded her with the barrel.

  “Headed to Mexico. Said he figured that’s where you all went.”

  “Why ain’t you with him?”

  “Because I
didn’t agree.”

  “Looks like you were the smart one. Then again, maybe not.” He chuckled. “Get up and walk.”

  Claire climbed to her feet. He picked up her rifle and slung it over his shoulder, then relieved her of the Peacemaker, which he slid into his gun belt.

  “You gonna kill me?” she asked in a trembling voice. He might underestimate her if he thought she was afraid.

  “Not until we get to Mexico. You’re what I like to call insurance in case that bounty hunter catches up.”

  “He doesn’t like me much so I don’t see how I’d be any good to you.”

  “You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

  He pushed her forward and she stumbled. She slowed her pace, and he thrust the barrel into her spine. She balked.

  “Move,” he growled, and shoved her harder.

  Claire pretended to fall. When she hit the ground she reached inside her boot and grasped the hilt of her knife, pulling it free. She swiveled to face her captor and sprang to her feet. At the same time she shoved the outlaw’s gun barrel away and buried the blade just beneath his ribs. His gun went off, but the bullet went wide.

  Ears ringing, Claire yanked the knife free and stabbed him again. His eyes bulged with shock and he fell to his knees. A rifle blast rang out near the camp followed by yelling, sounding the alarm.

  Claire retrieved her knife and wiped the blood and tissue on the man’s shoulder. She grabbed the Winchester and pistols and turned toward camp. Keeping to the shadows, she ran.

  Chapter 18

  A heavy exchange of rifle fire echoed through the night, the acrid smell of gunpowder mingling with the smoke of the campfire. The bandits shouted to each other as they scrambled for cover. All pretense of stealth gone, Claire slid her knife into her gun belt, sighted the Winchester, and fired.

  Taking fire from two directions, the outlaws scattered. Claire hit one of them as he ran for cover and cartwheeled to the ground. Then she sighted on Peters, tracking him to a downed cottonwood near the creek. Careful to keep the trees between herself and the fugitive, Claire got as close as she could without exposing her position.