“Forget it,” he answered curtly. “You’re not going out there and risking your life.”
She glared at him. “You think I’ll be a lot better off in the long run if
Frank frowned as he considered what she’d said. He couldn’t deny that, in a way, she was right. Her chances of survival would drop considerably if he was dead, and those chances weren’t all that high to begin with.
But it went deeply against the grain for him to stay behind cover while a woman risked her life. He didn’t know if he could allow that.
“Look,” Meg said. “Most of the bullets are going above us, about waist-high to a man. I can stay lower than that, and if they dip a little, I’ll still have a better chance of avoiding them than you would, Frank.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Instead he said, “You get down as flat on the ground as you can and keep your face in the dirt. Try to crawl straight toward the horse. If I see that you’re veering off to the side, I’ll call out to you and let you know.”
A grin flashed across her face, but it couldn’t completely conceal the fear in her eyes as she took off her hat and said, “Now you’re being sensible.”
Pressing herself to the ground, she slithered out from behind the logs. Frank’s heart slugged with worry for her as he watched her crawl toward the fallen horse.
Meg couldn’t move very fast. She had to inch herself along with fingers and toes. The seconds seemed like minutes, the minutes like hours.
Salty said, “Frank, they ain’t gonna just keep on shootin’ with that devil gun. After a while, they’re gonna come in here to see what damage it did.”
“I know,” Frank said with a nod.
“We’ll have a real fight on our hands then. Why do you reckon they want us dead?”
“Well, neither bunch probably wants any witnesses left alive.” Frank’s mouth twisted grimly. “I reckon the main thing, though, is that those smugglers are demonstrating just how effective a Gatling gun can be.”
“They’d kill us just to make a point?”
“That’s what I’m guessing,” Frank said.
“Well, if that don’t beat all. Them sorry buzzards—”
Salty stopped the tirade he was about to launch when Frank stiffened suddenly and caught his breath.
“What is it?” the old-timer asked anxiously. “Did Meg get hit?”
“No. She made it to the horse.”
Meg had to lift herself up now to reach the rifle, but the horse’s body served as protection for her. She snaked her arm over the animal’s motionless flank and wrapped her fingers around the Winchester’s stock. Slowly, she began to ease the rifle from the saddle boot.
The Gatling fell silent.
“Uh-oh,” Salty said to Frank. “You reckon they’re fixin’ to come chargin’ in here?”
“Could be. Or they might just be letting the gun cool off for a few minutes.”
Meg pulled the Winchester the rest of the way from its sheath.
Then, to Frank’s surprise, she rolled over, surged to her feet, and started running back toward the log barricade.
He knew what was going through her mind. She thought she could get back to the logs before the Gatling gun opened up again.
And maybe she could, but if she didn’t—
In the eerie silence that now hung over the canyon, Frank heard a faint metallic clatter from outside. More ammunition magazines were being racked in the rapid-firer.
Meg was only halfway back to the logs.
Frank sprang up and dashed out to meet her. Her eyes widened in surprise. He left his feet in a long dive that carried him to her. His arms went around her calves and jerked her legs out from under her. She fell with a startled cry.
A split-second later, the devil gun started singing its unholy song again.
The slugs whined through the air above them. Frank rolled Meg onto her belly and pushed her toward the barricade. She had dropped the Winchester when she fell. He picked it up and crawled after her, staying as low as he could.
Luck was with them. They made it back behind the logs to join a grim-faced Salty.
“I thought you two was goners for sure,” the old-timer said.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” Meg said. She was pale, probably from knowing how close she had come to being cut in two by that deadly barrage. “I thought maybe I could get back before they started shooting again.”
He nodded. “It wasn’t a bad gamble. But I heard them reloading and knew you didn’t have time.”
“You saved my life. Not for the first time, either.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he told her. “We’re still in a mighty bad fix.”
The Gatling gun stopped firing again. Frank figured that this time, the men who’d been using it would venture
