Talking softly, Whip went to one of the mules. The animal eyed him warily but made no attempt to flee; obviously the Culpeppers had trained their mounts not to be upset by a little gunfire and blood. With a few quick motions, Whip untied the blanket roll behind a saddle.
«I’ve never seen a man fight like you did,» Shannon said, watching Whip and remembering his flashing, always unexpected movements. «Did you learn that in West Virginia?»
«China.»
With one hand Whip removed Darcy’s weapons. With the other, he shook out a blanket and covered the dead man. Then Whip turned to the other Culpeppers.
«The Chinese have tricks that make what I did look like child’s play,» Whip added.
Shannon made a disbelieving sound.
«It’s true,» Whip said. «The man who taught me didn’t come up to my breastbone and weighed less than you. But he could lay me out like a fish for filleting in about five seconds flat. Damnedest wrestling tricks you ever saw.»
While Whip spoke, he stripped away guns and knives from the fallen men, retrieved his own bullwhip, and put it on his shoulder. Then he bound Clim’s wrists and knees together with rawhide thongs. He did the same for Floyd, ignoring the groans.
«Where did they jump you?» Whip asked Shannon as he stood up.
«Halfway between here and the big stump on the far side of the meadow.»
Whip went to Shannon, tilted her chin up with his hand, kissed her lips lightly, and released her.
«You keep an eye on things here,» he said. «I’ll bring Prettyface back to you.»
For a moment Shannon looked at Whip with haunted blue eyes. Then she nodded and turned back to watching Culpeppers.
Whip swung up onto a mule and headed out into the meadow. When he neared the place Shannon had described, he began quartering the tall grass and wildflowers. It didn’t take him long to find the big hound.
Cursing under his breath, Whip looked down at Prettyface. Bloody cloth was still gripped in his jaws. A shallow scarlet groove went across his skull, just above the glazed, half-open eyes. Another wound left a bright strip of blood across his brindle chest. A third bullet had clipped his haunch.
Blood welled slowly from the wounds.
Whip made a startled sound and dismounted in a single rushing movement. An instant later he was kneeling by Prettyface’s side. The hound’s flank rose and fell slightly, steadily, as much a proof of life as the fact that his wounds still bled.
«You’re a tough son, aren’t you?» Whip said in a low voice.
Gently, thoroughly, he went over the big brindle body. Prettyface flinched once and made a high sound.
«Easy there,» Whip said soothingly. «Looks like you got kicked pretty good, and you’re bleeding in three or four places, and knocked sillier than a squirrel from that crease on your skull, but you’re young and strong. You’ll live to play with your mistress in the flowers again.»
Before Prettyface could regain his senses completely. Whip eased the big hound into his arms, stood up, and grabbed the mule’s rein. The dog whined, but made no other protest as he was carreid across the meadow to the cabin with the mule Following along behind.
The first thing Whip saw as he approached the cabin was a big stranger standing off to one side of the yard, watching him with eyes the color of gunmetal.
Damnation, Whip thought grimly. I sure to God hope that man’s name isn’t Culpepper.
«Shannon?» Whip called.
«If you mean the girl with the shotgun, she’s inside the cabin, fixing to ventilate my spine if I do something foolish.»
Whip looked past the man to the window. Sure enough, the barrel of the shotgun was poked through the window, plainly tracking the stranger’s every breath.
Prudently, Whip stepped to the side.
The dark-haired stranger nodded slightly, understanding Whip’s move. If the shotgun went off, Whip wouldn’t be in the way of any stray buckshot.
«Take care of your hound,» the man said, looking at Prettyface with sympathy. «I’ll keep.»
Then the man’s eyes changed, becoming as hard as flint when he glanced at the three Culpeppers on the ground.
Whip knelt and lowered Prettyface gently to the grass. As whip stood again, the long lash dropped from his shoulder. The butt of the bullwhip came into his left hand as though summoned. Leather coils seethed and rippled restlessly at his feet.
«Come on out, Shannon,» Whip said clearly. «Prettyface is cut up some, but he’ll live.»
The shotgun barrel vanished from the window. The cabin door opened and banged shut as Shannon ran out, hope and fear clear in her face.
«Prettyface?» she asked huskily.
«Right behind me. Watch that shotgun, now.»
Shannon didn’t bother to answer Whip. She had already uncocked the shotgun and was kneeling by her dog, making soft, happy noises.
Whip never took his eyes off the tall, long-boned stranger whose riding cape, trousers, and boots had once been part of a Confederate uniform.
«You know these boys?» Whip asked.
«Culpeppers, from the look of their mules.»
«Friends of yours?»
«I’ve been hunting them ever since Appomattox. All eleven of them.»
«Any particular reason?» Whip asked mildly.
«They’re wanted, dead or alive, in Texas. During the War Between the States, they murdered three young Texas women and sold their children to the Comancheros. By the time the fathers came home from the war, found out what had happened, and went to rescue their children, it was too late. Every last child was dead.»
Whip didn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t need to. The man was obviously a former Confederate officer. Whip suspected that the man’s wife had been one of the three young women murdered by Culpeppers.
As for the rest, Whip had only to look at the man’s bleak eyes to know that his children had been among the missing.
«Hunting Culpeppers, huh?» Whip asked softly. «Well, this is your lucky day, my friend. Those three are Clim, Darcy, and Floyd.»
«Dead?»
«Darcy is. Clim and Floyd are alive for the time being. Wouldn’t bet a Confederate dollar on their chances, though. Clim’s back is broken and Floyd’s wrist smells like it’s gone bad.»
«Gangrene?»
Whip nodded.
«From the fight in Holler Creek?» the stranger asked.
«Wasn’t much of a fight. I took them by surprise and just kept at it until the job was done.»
If one corner of a mouth lifting slightly could be called a smile, the stranger smiled.
«Thought it might be you,» the man said, looking at the long, restless lash. «Whip, isn’t it?»
«That’s what they call me.»
«I’m called Hunter since the war.»
«Hunter,» Whip said neutrally, nodding.
«Heard Beau was with them,» Hunter said, gesturing to the Culpeppers.
«He was.»
«Then he got away again,» Hunter said savagely. «Damn his slippery hide! Excuse me, ma’am.»
«Don’t apologize,» Shannon said without looking up from Prettyface. «I’m no gentle Southern lady. I just killed a man.»
Hunter’s black eyebrows rose. «A Culpepper?»
Shannon nodded curtly.
