be a lot less likely to start throwing lead around if Nancy was front and center where she’d be liable to get in the way of some of it.
As the two groups of gunmen came to a halt facing each other, Grimshaw said, “We’re here to see your boss. But I reckon you already know that.”
“Let Miss Chamberlain go,” one of the men said. “Then we’ll talk about what you want.”
Grimshaw smiled thinly and shook his head. “It don’t work that way, and you know it. We got our orders, the same as you boys do. Move aside now, and let us ride on to the house.”
“And if we don’t?” the leader of Chamberlain’s men challenged.
“Then I’ll have to shoot you, Cobb,” one of the others said, and Grimshaw felt a surge of surprise when he saw that the man had slipped out his gun and fallen back a little, so that he could cover his companions from behind.
“What the hell!” the man called Cobb exclaimed as he twisted around in his saddle. “Rockwell, you double- crosser! You’re workin’ for Bosworth?”
Cobb didn’t wait for an answer. He clawed at the revolver on his hip. Rockwell fired, his gun spouting smoke and flame, and Cobb rocked to the side in his saddle as the bullet thudded into his barrel chest. Cursing, he pawed at his chest for a second before he toppled off the horse and crashed to the ground to lie motionless.
The rest of Chamberlain’s men hadn’t moved except to stare in surprise at the one called Rockwell. Grimshaw drew his gun, and so did the rest of his men. “Drop ’em, boys,” Grimshaw ordered. “It’s over.”
Chamberlain’s men knew they were in a bind. Carefully, they took their guns out and tossed them on the ground.
“Now, we’re goin’ in,” Grimshaw said.
With half a dozen prisoners now instead of just one, the hired killers moved on toward the mansion, reining in when they reached it. Grimshaw dismounted and said, “The rest of you boys stay out here and keep an eye on Chamberlain’s men. Miss Chamberlain, you come with me. You’re about to see your father again, I reckon.”
Grimshaw wrapped his left hand around Nancy’s right arm and led her up the steps to the porch. A pale-faced butler must have been watching from inside. He opened the door before they reached it and said in a shaky voice, “Miss Nancy, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Dennis,” she said, although she didn’t sound fine. She sounded scared to death, and with good reason, although she couldn’t know that yet.
“Your father and…and Mr. Bosworth are waiting in the library,” said the butler.
“Take us there,” Grimshaw snapped.
The butler escorted them along the hall to the double doors that opened into the library. When they went inside, they stepped into an atmosphere of tension and hatred. Rutherford Chamberlain and Emmett Bosworth stood there, staring at each other, evidently at a standoff.
Chamberlain turned sharply toward the newcomers. “Nancy!” he exclaimed. He started to rush toward her, but Bosworth stepped over so that he blocked the older man’s path.
“Not yet, Chamberlain,” Bosworth said. “You can see for yourself that your daughter’s all right, but you know the deal. You don’t get her back until you sign that timber lease over to me.”
Chamberlain glared at his rival. “You really think such a document will stand up in court, with a signature coerced on it that way?”
“You let me worry about that.” Bosworth pointed to the desk, where a document was laid out. “You just sign that contract I brought with me.”
“You’ll never get away with this!” Chamberlain looked at Nancy. “What were you doing out there wandering around alone in the woods anyway?”
“I was looking for Ben,” she shot back with a flare of anger of her own. “You never would believe me, and I didn’t know if Mr. Morgan would ever find him, so I…I thought I’d take another look around, before you put out another of those damned bounties.”
Chamberlain stared at her in disbelief. “Are you still clinging to that insane notion about the Terror being your brother—”
“Actually, he is,” Grimshaw said. He wasn’t quite sure what prompted him to speak up, unless he was just too damned sick and tired of carrying around what he knew. “The Terror is your son, Chamberlain.”
“How do you know?” Chamberlain demanded. “You’re nothing but one of Bosworth’s cheap gunmen!”
“Not so cheap,” Grimshaw muttered. He went on. “I rode up to that cabin one day, not long after I’d come to these parts to work for Mr. Bosworth. I had another fella with me, named Macklin.”
Bosworth said, “There’s no need to go into all this.”
Grimshaw tightened his grip on Nancy’s arm. “I reckon there is,” he said. “I know you pay my wages, Mr. Bosworth, but I think these two deserve to know the truth after all this time.”
And it wouldn’t matter anyway, Grimshaw thought, because in just a little while, Chamberlain and Nancy would both be dead.
Nancy turned toward him and pleaded, “Tell me. I…I was afraid the Terror was Ben, but I could never be sure…”
“He’s your brother, all right, miss. Macklin and I found him there at that cabin where he’d been stayin’. We were out scoutin’ around, lookin’ for some way to cause trouble for your pa. When we met your brother and realized who he was, Macklin got the idea we ought to scare him a little. He thought that might convince your pa to sell out to our boss here.” Grimshaw shook his head. “But it didn’t work out that way. Things got out of hand. Macklin used to do a little rustling, so he had a runnin’ iron in his saddlebags. He heated it up and used it to singe some of your brother’s beard off and burn his face.”
