take off that gun belt, Marshal.” The husky, oddly sensual voice was raw with strain. “I’ve got your back in my sights, and at this range I never miss!”
Matt decided to gamble. “Don’t be a fool, Jessie,” he said. “If you want to save your brother, let me take him in. I’ll do everything I can to make sure he gets a fair—”
The report of the six-shooter exploded in Matt’s ears, blasting the Stetson off his head. He sat stunned, his ears ringing. The hellcat wasn’t bluffing. She could shoot.
“Mind what I say, or the next bullet will be lower.” She was speaking in a flat, cold tone now, making no effort to disguise her voice. “Toss the gun belt up here. Then climb down off your horse.”
Again Matt chose to stall. “You’ve already broken the law, Jessie—aiding a fugitive, assaulting a federal officer and Lord knows what else. You can’t help your brother if you’re in jail. Back off now, before anybody gets hurt, and I’m willing to forget what you’ve—”
“Just do it.” He heard the click as she thumbed back the hammer. “I don’t want to shoot you, Marshal, but I’d rather spill your blood than see my brother hang for a murder he didn’t commit.”
“If he runs, nobody will ever believe he’s innocent.”
“They don’t believe it now. Half the town is out to lynch him—and I’ll bet money the judge in Sheridan won’t believe him, either. This is the only way. Now, toss me the gun belt before you make us both sorry.”
Frank cleared his throat. “Better do as she says, Marshal. Jessie’s got a mean temper, and she’s a helluva good shot.”
Matt’s curses purpled the air as he unbuckled the gun belt. He didn’t like being bested by anyone, let alone a female. This incident would go on his record and make him the butt of some merciless ribbing. But he didn’t want to shoot either of these young people. And he sure as blazes didn’t want to get shot himself.
The belt and holster fell free. Turning toward the high, brushy bank, he swung it back and tossed it upward. The throw was short, as Matt had intended it to be. It bounced off the high slope of the bank and dropped into the sludge that the storm had washed along the road’s lower edge. The last thing he wanted was to make it easy for her.
The rabbit brush moved as she rose to her feet, giving him his first good look at her. If it hadn’t been for the sight of the cocked Peacemaker pointing straight at his chest, he might have smiled, or even chuckled. By now he knew better.
She was a little thing, not a shade over five foot one. Aside from that, he could see almost nothing of Jessie Hammond. A battered old felt hat hid her hair and forehead, and the lower part of her face was masked by a crimson bandanna. Whatever figure she might possess was lost beneath a faded flannel shirt and a baggy, mud-streaked pair of bib overalls. Something about her reminded him of a little girl playing dress-up in her grandfather’s old work clothes. But there was nothing make-believe about the cocked pistol in her hand.
“That wasn’t funny.” She jerked her head toward Matt’s gun belt, which was already settling into the ooze. “I ought to shoot you right now.”
“I can get it for you.” Matt squinted up at her, wondering whether the black powder bullets in his pistol would be too wet to fire by the time he got his hands on the gun. He’d hoped she might make the mistake of climbing down to the road, but she stayed above him, keeping the advantage.
“Never mind. Get off your horse.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matt eased out of the saddle and dropped to the ground.
“Now get your key and unlock my brother’s handcuffs.”
“Sorry. The key’s hooked to the gun belt.” It wasn’t true, but it gave him an excuse to stall while he plotted his next move. Strangely enough, he’d begun to enjoy this little sparring match.
“He’s lying, sis,” Frank said. “I saw the tricky bastard put the key in his pocket.”
Her eyes flashed above the red bandanna. Even at a distance, Matt could see that they were the color of violets, almost purple, and framed with luxuriant ebony lashes. “Don’t play games with me, Marshal!” she snapped. “I’m running out of patience, and my trigger finger’s getting itchier by the minute!”
“Whatever you say, lady.” Matt fumbled in his pocket, thinking that he’d give a new saddle and his Sunday hat to know what was underneath that silly costume of hers. If the rest of Jessie Hammond matched those eyes…Lord Almighty!
His fingers found the small key and the ring that held it. Still he hesitated, stalling as he searched for some way to salvage this debacle.
He glanced up at Jessie, then back at her brother. “You know, Frank, if you ride out of here, you’ll have a whole troop of vigilantes on your trail. And if they find you before the law does, you’ll be swinging on a rope before you can say your prayers.”
“I’ll be swinging anyway,” Frank muttered. “At least, if I run, I’ll have a fighting chance. Do what she says, Marshal.”
Matt sighed as he pulled the keys out of his pocket. “I just wish you’d—”
The rest of the sentence died in his throat as he sensed a slight tremor in the mud beneath his boots and heard, from beyond the bend in the road, the rumble of galloping horses—many horses—coming from the direction of the town. Matt’s instincts slammed into high alert. Only one thing would bring a large band of riders onto the road this morning.
“Vigilantes!” Frank’s face had gone chalky. Still handcuffed, he leaned forward in the saddle and, gripping with his knees, jabbed his boots into the side of the horse he was riding. The startled bay shot off the road and up the hill, with Frank clinging Indian-style to its back.
Roped to the other horse’s saddle, Copper, Matt’s chestnut gelding was yanked into motion. Copper snorted, jumped, and broke into a gallop, keeping even with the bay. Matt swore as his prisoner and both horses vanished over the top of the wooded ridge. He could hear the riders approaching the bend in the road. Seconds from now they would be in sight.
Jessie stood on the high bank, her pistol arm hanging slack as she stared after her brother.
“Get out of here, damn it!” Matt snapped, lunging for his gun. “You’re the last person I want those hotheaded fools to find!”
He found the gun belt in the muddy roadside ditch and jerked his pistol out of the holster. When he looked up again, Jessie Hammond had disappeared behind the top of the bank. He hoped she’d have the good sense to run. If the vigilantes failed to find Frank, they could turn their fury on his sister. Whatever happened after that was bound to be ugly.
He took a split second to examine the gun. The leather had kept the weapon relatively clean of mud, but it hadn’t kept out the moisture. There was no way of knowing whether the bullets would fire except to pull the trigger, and there was no time for that. Any second now, the riders would be thundering around the bend—and right now he had a fast decision to make.
The high-minded course of action would be to face them down and use his authority as a federal marshal to turn them back. But when the vigilantes saw him on foot, without his prisoner, they’d likely guess what had happened. If they picked up Frank Hammond’s trail, they’d be off like a
