him out to stud, and then later selling his colts from our mares.”
“I take it things didn’t work out that way.”
“No.” Jessie suppressed a sigh. She’d tried to talk Frank out of buying the stallion, but her brother had set his heart on having the beautiful horse, and in the end she’d gone along.
“It was almost as if the horse was cursed,” she said. “We had one delay after another. First the papers were lost in the mail. Then Frank came down with scarlet fever and was too sick to go to Kentucky and fetch the horse, and I couldn’t leave him. By the time we got Midnight home, it was late November. The racing season was long over, and the mortgage was due on the ranch. We tried to sell off some of our other horses, but nobody wanted to buy them and feed them over the winter, when they wouldn’t be able to use them until spring.
“Allister Gates was in Laramie on business when Frank unloaded Midnight from the train. Allister made an offer to buy the stallion on the spot, but Frank refused to sell him for any price. So Allister found another way.”
“I see.” Matt Langtry’s response was noncommittal, serving as little more than punctuation for the story. Jessie could not see his face, but she was certain his expression would reveal no more than his words. The last thing he’d want would be to feel sympathy for Frank Hammond, she reminded herself. He was only waiting for her to supply him with Frank’s alleged motive for killing Allister. Well, fine. He could wait till hell froze over. The coldhearted bully would get no more help from her!
He was taking the mare on a fast climb now, paying scant attention to the trail the horses had left. Above them, the slope ended in a long, rocky ridge that would give them a view of the surrounding hills. With luck, they might be able to see where Frank had gone.
“Let me guess the rest of the story,” he said. “Your ranch fell into foreclosure. Allister pulled a few strings, redeemed it from the bank for a song, and claimed the stallion as part of the property.”
“But he went too far!” Jessie insisted hotly. “We mortgaged the land and the buildings on it. Allister had no right to the horses, especially the stallion! At the time we signed the loan papers, we didn’t even own Midnight!”
Matt exhaled thoughtfully. “I’d have to agree with you there. A good lawyer could have saved you and your brother a lot of grief.”
“Lawyers cost money. We didn’t have any money. But Frank had every right to take the stallion away. That’s what he told Allister. Unfortunately, the man wouldn’t listen.”
They were approaching the top of the ridge. Maybe she should take care of the marshal now, Jessie thought—get the gun, or grab a rock somehow and knock him out. Then she could take the key and her pistol and be gone before he came to. Frank had to be somewhere close. If she could find him and unlock the handcuffs, he’d be free to ride for the safety of the mountains.
To accomplish that, however, she would have to act fast and decisively. Matt Langtry was a powerful man. Her only hope would be to take him by surprise.
Rimrock, higher than a man’s head, jutted like a row of monstrous teeth along the ridgetop. Matt guided the mare through an opening between the stone spires. Jessie was glancing around for a loose rock she could reach and use as a weapon when she felt him stiffen against her.
“Down there,” he said softly.
Thoughts of an attack fled from Jessie’s mind as she peered past his shoulder, following the line of his gaze far down the slope.
Two brown horses, Matt’s tall chestnut and the bay he’d brought along for Frank, stood side by side on the rim of a deep gully.
Both their saddles were empty.
Please God, no! Jessie leaned forward against him, her hands digging into his sides, as the mare rocketed down the slope. Please let Frank be all right, she prayed silently. If he’s hurt, please don’t let it be too badly.
She leaped to the ground as Matt pulled the mare to a halt. Stumbling forward, she passed the horses and reached the lip of the gully ahead of him.
Scoured out of the earth by centuries of spring runoff, the gully was a stone’s throw across and more than fifteen feet deep. Its crumbling sides were dangerously steep, its dry bottom scattered with gravel bars, round boulders and clumps of sage. The bleached bones of an animal, most likely a calf or sheep, lay partly buried in mud and sand.
Unable to trust her quivering legs, Jessie dropped to her knees and leaned over the edge. Her eyes searched frantically in both directions, as far up and down the gully as she could see. Maybe Frank wasn’t down there. Maybe he’d fallen earlier, and the horses had run on without him, finally stopping here, where they couldn’t cross. Maybe he’d crawled out of sight and was hiding somewhere, scratched and bruised but alive.
He had to be alive, had to be safe. Sweet, gentle Frank had never hurt anyone in his life. Surely God wouldn’t allow him to come to harm.
She felt a light touch on her shoulder and realized that Matt Langtry had crouched beside her. Silently he pointed to a spot directly below them, half-hidden by the branches of a scraggly juniper. Only then did she see the faded blue of a trouser leg and the dark shape of a boot.
“No!” She flung herself over the edge and onto the slope, sliding and tumbling downward to reach her brother. Scrambling to stay upright, Matt followed her. His boots set off showers of dirt and rocks where they dug into the crumbling bank.
“Stay back, Jessie!” he barked. “Let me get to him!” But she paid him no heed. Her only thought was for Frank, who lay sprawled below her on his back, his manacled arms pinned awkwardly beneath his body. With his hands free, Frank might have been able to break his fall. As it was, he had tumbled helplessly down the steep slope, battering his head and body on every obstacle he passed.
As she clawed her way closer, she could see his face. His eyes were open, staring vacantly into the blinding glare of the sun. A thin trickle of blood had formed and dried at the corner of his mouth.
Even before she touched him, Jessie knew that her brother was dead.
Seconds later, Matt reached the bottom of the slope. He found Jessie cradling Frank in her arms, rocking him like a child. Her black curls had tumbled over her face, hiding her expression, but the keening sobs that rose from her throat told Matt all he needed to know.
He swore silently as he took in Frank’s glazed eyes and the unnatural set of his head on his broken neck. This was the last thing he’d wanted to see happen. He had been responsible for the safety of his prisoner, and he had failed in his duty.
Not only that, but after Jessie’s account, he’d almost begun to believe that Frank could be innocent. Now the question of his guilt would be nothing but empty debate. Frank was dead—as dead as he would have been at the end of a hangman’s rope.
Reaching down, he touched Jessie’s shoulder. Through the thin fabric of her shirt, her flesh was taut and quivering. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll help you get him up to the horses.”
“Don’t you touch my brother!” She turned on him, spitting out the words. “He’s not your prisoner anymore. This is over, no thanks to you, Marshal! Go away and leave us alone!”
Her tear-reddened eyes blazed wounded fury. Matt knew she blamed him for this tragedy. But if she
