“You son of a bitch,” Johnny snarled, pushing the banker away. “She was just out riding, and her mare went lame. I happened to find her a few minutes ago and was going to take her home when you showed up. You don’t deserve a woman like her!”

  “Neither do you,” Hoskins replied. Before Johnny could guess his intention, he reached inside his coat, jerked out a pistol, and fired.

  The impact spun Johnny around, and he fell to one knee. Oddly, he felt no pain at first, only the warm gush of blood from his side.

  Miriam was screaming, and for a moment he thought she might be hit, too, since she’d been standing behind him. But she was fighting with Hoskins, struggling for the gun. Johnny saw him lift his hand and smack her. The sound of the blow and her cry of pain echoed in his head as she slumped to the ground. Johnny lunged to his feet or was trying to when Hoskins’s gun exploded again. Something struck him in the chest, and he was falling, down and down, into a very dark hole.

  “Franklin, you’ve killed him!” Miriam screamed, scrambling up. She was halfway to Johnny when Franklin grabbed her riding jacket and jerked her backward.

  “He’s not the first man I’ve killed for you, Miriam, and I’ll kill every one of them before I’m through, Ben Cantrell and all the rest.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked as her terror hardened into an icy dread.

  “I’m talking about Sam Cantrell,” he said, his eyes glittering dangerously. “Sam Cantrell, your very first love. I hanged him, Miriam.”

  “I know,” she said, the knowledge sending a familiar shaft of pain through her. How many times had he reminded her down through the years?

  “What you don’t know is that I was the one who killed Fletcher, too.”

  Her eyes widened in horror.

  “That’s right, Miriam. I waited and waited, knowing that sooner or later the time would come when I could repay Sam Cantrell for what he had done to me.”

  “He didn’t do anything to you—”

  “You call despoiling my wife nothing? Do you call giving her his bastard child nothing?”

  “Franklin, please, that man is bleeding to death—”

  “Good! I want him to die just like Cantrell died. It’s so easy. It’s always easy. At first I was only going to burn Fletcher’s barn, but he caught me so I had to shoot him. That made everything even easier because then the others wanted to lynch Cantrell as much as I did. They were like sheep, stupid sheep. All I had to do was suggest it, and Elijah Wade did the rest.”

  Miriam uttered an agonized cry, and Hoskins smiled.

  “Then I found out you’d gone after Cantrell’s boy, and he made it easy, too. When he got into a fight with Harry, all I had to do was burn Harry’s barn.”

  “Franklin, let me go!” Miriam sobbed.

  “Never!” He jerked her to her feet and slapped her again when she tried to struggle. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

  “No! What about that man? Look, he’s still breathing. You can’t leave him here to die.”

  “Yes, I can.” He began dragging her over to her horse, using his fist when she kept resisting.

  Her ears rang and stars danced before her eyes, but she dug in her heels and refused to budge. “No! I won’t leave him!”

  “Then I’ll put him out of his misery so you won’t have to worry about him anymore.” Hoskins raised his gun, but Miriam threw herself at him. The pistol exploded as they fell.

  “Franklin, they’ll hang you for murder,” she cried, fighting for the gun.

  “Not for killing my wife’s lover.” He overpowered her, wrestling her to the ground. “Now we’re going home. Will you come quietly, or do I have to put another bullet in him?”

  Miriam stared up into his glittering eyes and knew a fear far worse than any she had ever known. ‘Til go if you don’t shoot him again.”

  Without another word, he got up and yanked her to her feet, shoving her away when he caught her glancing anxiously at Johnny’s unconscious form. With great effort, she resisted the urge to go to Johnny, knowing she would surely cause his death if she did. She covered her mouth with both hands to stifle her sobs and watched helplessly as Franklin pulled loose the picket pin holding the mare.

  He cursed when he saw the mare limping, and she wondered vaguely if he would let the proof convince him Johnny had been telling the truth. But of course he didn’t. Instead, he simply forced her onto his own horse and mounted behind her. They rode away without a backward glance.

  ***

  When Molly had finished up the supper dishes, she wandered outside where Ben was smoking by the corral and staring off into the distance. “Where do you suppose Johnny could be?” she asked.

  “He said he was going to check the water level in the creek. He shouldn’t have been more than a few minutes behind me.”

  “Do you think you ought to go looking for him?”

  Ben sighed. “It’ll be dark soon. I wouldn’t be able to find him even if I did.”

  “He’d probably be insulted if you came looking for him anyway,” she said, hoping to cheer him up a little.

  He forced a grin. “Yeah, I keep reminding myself he’s a big boy and he’s slept out plenty of nights before now. Probably his horse came up lame or something, and he’s taking shank’s mare back.”

  “That’s right,” Molly said, disguising her own worries. “He’ll show up here around midnight, limping, half-starved, and fit to be tied.”

  Ben nodded, but she noticed his smile faded as he continued to stare out at the horizon.

  Miriam lay on her bed in the darkness, huddled into a protective ball and as far from sleep as she had ever been. She was still fully dressed, even to her riding boots, because she wanted to be ready to go the instant Franklin left the house.

  The pattern was always the same when he went into one of his rages. He would yell and rant, calling her filthy names and accusing her of every conceivable kind of degradation, until he was exhausted and she was sobbing in hysteria. Then he would start to drink, slowly, steadily, until he was relaxed enough to appear in public so he could take his drinking to the saloon.

  She’d often wondered what he did there, whether he bragged to the men that he had just totally humiliated his wife. Of course she knew he’d never reveal their filthy little secrets to the citizens of Hoskinsville. He’d never let anyone know what a farce their marriage truly was. No, he much preferred having the world see them as the perfect couple, wealthy and content, the picture of marital bliss.

  Miriam actually laughed out loud at the thought. The sound was harsh and bitter in the darkened room. She quickly covered her mouth, hoping Franklin had not heard. He might come to investigate. But no, she sat upright as she heard the heavy front door closing. He was leaving at last. She waited, heart pounding, until he’d had time to get to the saloon. Then she wasted no time in gathering the things she would need and slipping out to the stables to saddle a horse.

  She prayed all the way out to Ben Cantrell’s ranch, knowing she would need a miracle to find Johnny McGee in the darkness. Someone heard her prayers and answered them. She spotted the firelight several miles away, and the hope she’d denied herself burst full blown within her. If he’d built a fire, he wasn’t dead. Perhaps he wasn’t even as seriously wounded as the bloodstains had indicated. Recklessly, she spurred her horse toward the distant flames.

  Her hope turned to dread when she caught sight of him lying deathly still beside the fading fire. His clothes were soaked with blood, and his face was chalk white. Somehow he had dragged some sticks together and kept the fire going, at least for a while. The howl of coyotes told her why the fire was necessary.

  She jumped out of the saddle even before her horse was completely stopped. “Johnny! Mr. McGee!” Kneeling beside him, she felt his face. His skin was clammy but not cold. She shook him slightly, and he groaned.

  “Thank God,” she murmured. “Johnny, can you hear me?”

  His eyes flickered open. “Water,” he rasped.

  “Yes, of course.” She hurried to her horse and retrieved the sack of supplies she had tied to the horn. In it was a canteen, which she held briefly to his lips. “Only a little until I see how badly you’re hurt.”

  “Not bad,” he said vaguely, then seemed to notice his surroundings. “It’s dark. You’d better get home.”

  “We’ll go in a minute,” she said to reassure him. “I’ll build up the fire a little first.” Luckily there were plenty of dead sticks under the old live-oak tree. She fed the fire with trembling hands until the flames roared high enough to discourage any skulking scavengers. By its light she opened his shirt and examined his wounds.

  There were two. One was low on his left side, just above his hipbone. The bullet had gone straight through, and Johnny had managed to stuff pieces of his bandanna into the gaping holes to stop the bleeding. The other wound was directly over his heart, but miraculously the bullet had deflected on one of his ribs, cutting a furrow halfway around his body but doing no serious damage. “My God,” she whispered, awed by the miracle for which she had prayed.

  “I guess... it knocked the wind... out of me. My chest is... sore as blazes,” Johnny explained, breathing carefully around the pain.

  “You might have a broken rib. I’ll bind you before you try to move.” Her hands ceased trembling as she washed and bound Johnny’s wounds the best she could under the circumstances. He bore up well, although she knew he was suffering tremendously from her ministrations. When she was done, she saw his eyes had cleared. He was staring at her.

  “You came back.”

  “Yes, I couldn’t leave you out here. I’m only sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

  “He’ll come after you.”

  “Not tonight. He won’t realize I’m gone until morning, and by then I’ll have told the sheriff what happened. Do you think you can get on a horse?”

  “You came back,” he repeated as if that were the most important consideration.

  “Yes, but it’s time to go now. I’ll bring the horse over and help you up.” As she had expected, both Johnny’s horse and her own mare were long gone, probably scared away by the coyotes. She brought her horse over as close as possible and somehow got him up into the saddle. Only the beads of sweat on his face told her what the effort had cost him. “You’ll have to hang on and try to stay awake because you’re too heavy for me to hold,” she warned when she had mounted behind him.

  “You came back,” he said again. She smiled in spite of herself.

  The ride to Ben’s ranch was a nightmare. Several times Johnny slipped into unconsciousness again, and Miriam had a time keeping both of them in the saddle. She was almost as happy to see the ranch buildings as she had been to find Johnny still alive.

  “Ben! Molly! Somebody!” she cried as she walked the horse up to the house. She recalled the last time she had ridden here in the dark of night to tell Sam Cantrell she was going to marry Franklin Hoskins. The pain of her memories ripped through her like Franklin’s bullets had ripped through Johnny. The door opened, as it had that night, but this time Ben Cantrell stood there instead.

  “What the hell? Who’s there?”

  “It’s Miriam Hoskins. I have Johnny McGee, and he’s badly hurt.”

  Ben rushed out, wearing only a pair of pants, and Molly followed him, pulling on her robe as she came.

  “Johnny?” Ben said as he approached the horse with its double burden. “What happened?”

  “Franklin shot him,” Miriam explained, helping as Ben assisted Johnny in dismounting. “Be careful. He may have a broken rib.”

  “Shot him?”

  Ben was having a hard time believing this wasn’t a bad dream. How could Johnny have gotten himself shot? And by Franklin Hoskins, of all people? And why was Miriam Hoskins bringing him home in the middle of the night? Several unpleasant possibilities occurred to him, but he rejected them. There would be plenty of time for questions when he had taken care of Johnny. His friend groaned, and Ben didn’t bother asking if he could walk.

  “Bring him in the house,” Molly said, running ahead to light the lamp. “Put him on the bed.” She pointed to the bed in the front room that she and Ben had shared in the early days of their marriage. Now, of course, they slept in the new brass bed in their new bedroom.

  “My God,” Ben said when he had laid Johnny down and gotten a good look at him.

  “I don’t think he’s seriously hurt, although one of the bullets went right through,” Miriam explained, following Ben inside. “He’s lost a lot of blood, though.”

  “What’s going on?” Tom and Billy demanded, hurrying up to the cabin partially dressed.

  “My horse went lame out on the range this afternoon,” Miriam told them all. “Mr. McGee found me and offered to take me home, but before he could, my husband came up. He had been looking for me for several hours and had found my trail. He... he’s a very jealous man, and he thought Mr. McGee and I... well, Franklin shot him.”

  Molly gasped.

  “When did this happen?” Ben asked.

  “Late this afternoon.”

  “Then where have you been all this time?”

  Miriam swallowed with difficulty. “Franklin made me go home with him. He left Mr. McGee out on the range to die.” She flinched at the exclamations of disbelief but went on. “I waited until he went out to the saloon tonight, and then I saddled a horse and went looking for Mr. McGee and brought him here.”

  “She came back for me, Ben,” Johnny said faintly.

  “Ben,” Molly said, “somebody ought to go for the doctor.”

  “I’ll go,” Tom offered, but Ben shook his head.

  “It’s my responsibility. I’ll get the sheriff, too.”

  “Wait, Ben,” Miriam said when he would have gone into the bedroom to finish dressing.

  “Please, don’t get the sheriff yet, not until you’ve heard the whole story.”

  “I want to hear it now, then,” he said.

  “It’s too long, and... well, it’s already kept for six years. It’ll keep a few more hours. Please, hurry for the doctor now. Franklin will still be there when you’re ready for him.”

  Ben frowned, but he nodded his agreement.

  “Anything we can do?” Tom asked.

  “Yes,” Molly said, realizing there was work to be done. “Pump me a couple buckets of water, will you? And Billy, pull Johnny’s boots off.”

  Ben was dressed in a matter of minutes. “I’ll be back as quick as I can,” he promised as he raced out the door.

  Molly tested Johnny’s forehead, relieved to find he had no fever yet. “How do you feel?”

  “Lousy,” he said with a shadow of his normal grin.

  She shook her head in mock despair. “I always said you’d come to no good, Johnny McGee. Now let’s see how bad these holes are.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked in alarm when she started to remove his shirt.

  “I’m undressing you. You don’t think I’ll let you on my clean sheets in these filthy clothes, do you?”

  “Molly!” He was appalled. “Just leave me be. I can wait for the doc.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. He won’t be back for hours, and I’m sure those wounds need to be washed out with hot water, don’t they?” she asked Miriam.

  “They certainly do. We should probably use some whiskey, too, if you have any.”

  Reluctantly, Johnny allowed Molly to relieve him of his shirt, but he yelped when she started on his pants. Molly winked at Miriam. “Johnny’s trying to make us think he’s never taken his clothes off in front of a woman before.”

  “I never did in front of you, and I don’t plan on starting now,” he informed her indignantly.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll let you keep your drawers.”

  He flushed scarlet beneath his tan. “I’m not wearing any,” he said through stiff lips.

  “Johnny!” she cried, pretending to be shocked.

  “It’s hot as Hades. You don’t expect me to wear any clothes I don’t need, do you?”

  Molly supposed not, but she still didn’t want those filthy, bloody pants staining up her bedclothes. With the judicious use of a blanket, she managed to preserve Johnny’s modesty and still accomplish her purpose.

  By the time he had been stripped, Johnny was too tired to protest anymore, so Molly was able to unwrap his wounds while the other men brought in the water she had requested and put it on to heat.

  “Good heavens,” she said in awe when she saw the wound over his heart. “Your guardian angel was busy tonight, Johnny McGee.”

  She heard an agonized gasp behind her and turned just in time to keep Miriam from falling. Molly set her on a chair and forced her to put her white face down between her knees until the faintness passed.

  When Miriam lifted her head, her eyes were full of pain and remorse. “Franklin tried to kill him, and he killed Ben’s father, too.”

  “It’s all right, Miriam. Johnny’s going to be fine,” Molly soothed her. “But I need your help. Can you tear up a sheet for some bandages?”

  Miriam nodded, and although she was still alarmingly pale, Molly put her to work. In a few minutes, Johnny’s wounds were cleansed and wrapped in fresh bandages. Molly allowed him a liberal dose of whiskey internally to ease the pain and help him sleep. When he was resting quietly, she turned her attention to Miriam after sending Tom and Billy back to get a good night’s sleep, or what was left of it.

  Molly put a pot of coffee on to boil, and when it was done she poured some for herself and Miriam. Miriam drank it gratefully.

  “How are you feeling?” Molly asked, noticing that for once Miriam Hoskins didn’t look like the wife of the richest man in town. Her custom-made riding habit was bloodstained and dusty, her beautiful hair was hanging in limp strands, and her lovely face was bruised and dirty.

  “I’m better now, thanks. I’m sorry I almost fainted. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “From what you said, you’ve had a bad time of it today. It’s a wonder you didn’t keel over long before now.”

  Miriam laughed mirthlessly. “You don’t know the half of it. I found out things today...” Her voice trailed off, and she shuddered.

 

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