around through the breaks, debating a direction. Winter slowed his horse and let Cheyenne pull up beside him as he watched a dust devil dance along the ridge just south of where his land ended.
‘‘She’s still with us,’’ Cheyenne mumbled.
Winter laughed. The man had spent half his day trying to lose Jamie and the other half worrying about her being able to keep up. To the woman’s credit, she could ride as well as any of his cowhands, and better than most. Cheyenne had pointed out all her shortcomings as a horsewoman, and she’d repeatedly told him where he could ride to and back with his advice.
‘‘We’ll have to cross onto McLain’s land if we go any farther. You think we should turn around and call it a day?’’ Winter twisted to watch Jamie approaching.
He was surprised at the expression on Cheyenne’s face, then he realized he’d probably never asked for advice or turned toward home early. But for a reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted to get back.
‘‘It would probably be best for your sister-in-law,’’ Cheyenne answered. ‘‘This wind will turn cold at dusk.’’
Both men nodded. For her sake was reason enough.
As Winter signaled with a wave for her to turn around, a bullet flew past his hand so closely he could feel the air tumble. A moment later the sound caught up with the lead, rattling the silence with a pop. For a second both men were stone, listening, judging direction, thinking before reacting. Then the second shattered with another pop, and their reaction was lightning fast.
They glanced at each other, then at Jamie. ‘‘Ride!’’ Winter shouted as they flanked the woman and kicked their horses into action. Though she opened her mouth, nothing came out as her horse jerked into a full gallop.
The thunder of the hooves almost drowned out the sounds of more gunfire. They leaned into their saddles, moving as one with the animals. There was no time to guess who or why, only survival. The land flattened out before them, making speed their only ally.
A hundred thoughts darted into Winter’s mind. Who was firing? He’d expected trouble, but not a sudden ambush. What if Jamie were killed? How could he explain it to Kora? What if a bullet hit one of the horses and it fell? At this speed the rider would die. He had to do something fast to protect Jamie. He’d chosen this life, but she was just a bystander.
‘‘Cheyenne! Take her toward home. I’ll slow them down!’’
The Indian didn’t hesitate. He rode beside a frightened Jamie as Winter turned left to circle back. With the reins in one hand, Winter jerked his rifle from its sheath and swung it through the air to cock the weapon. The Winchester made a mighty clicking sound in a formal call to arms. He wrapped the reins around the saddlehorn and raised the weapon to his shoulder.
Far into the distance three men cleared a rock rise in pursuit. They were seasoned riders able to handle rifles at full gallop. From a distance all were in black with horses bearing no outstanding markings. As the smoke cleared their rifles, Win lowered his aim. Their volley sailed past him. A heartbeat later his shot knocked the center man back, almost unseating him. Win heard Jamie’s scream as he cocked his rifle once more and took aim again.
The two remaining men tried to hold the center one on his saddle as they fought to control their own horses. Win squeezed off a second bullet.
The man on the left grabbed his upper arm, but didn’t lose his balance as he turned his own horse and pulled the reins of the middle rider’s mount back over the hill.
Win fought the urge to follow. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been taught as a boy never to leave a wounded animal, but to make sure he was dead, or if it was a need to see who was trying to kill him.
Only Jamie’s cries for help kept him from kicking his mount in chase.
Instead, he swung back toward Cheyenne and Jamie and rode to where they had stopped, well out of what he thought would have been harm’s way.
As he came near, he could hear Jamie crying in huge gulps of terror. Ten feet away he saw the blood on her hands. Five feet from her he could smell the warm sickening smell of flesh ripped open by gunpowder.
‘‘Jamie!’’
She looked up at him with wide frightened eyes. For all her hard language and rough ways, she looked very fragile now.
‘‘Jamie, where were you hit?’’ The only positive thing he saw was that she was still in the saddle, her horse close to Cheyenne’s.
‘‘I’m not!’’ she cried. ‘‘It’s Cheyenne. He’s bleeding bad.’’
Winter looked at his friend for the first time. Cheyenne sat his horse as if nothing were amiss. Only his face was ashen and the lines around his mouth carved of granite.
After jumping off his mount, Winter moved between their horses to Cheyenne. The man’s leg was soaked in blood.
‘‘Just below my hip,’’ Cheyenne said softly. ‘‘The bullet’s still in. I can feel the fire of it against my bone.’’
Winter pulled his bandanna from his neck and tied it around the leg where blood was pulsing out. His hands and shirt where splattered with crimson by the time he finished. ‘‘Can you ride?’’
‘‘I can.’’
For a moment Winter debated. If they took the time to make a travois to hold Cheyenne, the man would bleed to death. If they rode too fast, he might pound more blood out. The bandanna was already soaked. If they stopped on this open plain to try and remove the bullet, Cheyenne might die or they might all be picked off by the men hiding in the rocks.
‘‘Set the pace,’’ he said to Cheyenne. ‘‘For as long as you can, ride as hard as possible.’’
Jamie stayed on one side and Winter on the other as they moved toward home. Halfway, Cheyenne slumped forward and Winter stopped the horses. He ran his hand over Cheyenne’s pant leg and wiped the blood across his own saddle, then turning, unbridled his horse and slapped it toward home. He knew his horse would make it in long before they could, and the blood on the saddle would send an army coming.
Winter pulled Cheyenne’s feet from the stirrups and climbed up behind him. He wasn’t easy to hold in the saddle, but Winter managed.
‘‘Jamie!’’ He needed help and she had to stop crying long enough to do what had to be done. ‘‘Cut a strip of leather from your saddle strings and tie Cheyenne’s legs to mine.’’
She pulled her knife and cut the thin piece of leather from the back of the saddle. ‘‘Why?’’ she whispered.
‘‘I’m not sure I can hold him and travel as fast as we need to. This way we both ride or fall.’’
She did as she’d been told, first on the right, then on the left side. The leather cut into the back of Win’s leg, but he needed it tight. ‘‘Now, take my rope and wrap it around us both.’’
Cheyenne was dead weight now, fighting with gravity to slide from the saddle.
As soon as Jamie was finished, Win pushed his heels into the horse’s side, knowing Cheyenne’s animal was finely trained and needed no spur to follow even slight commands. They rode as fast as he could and still keep his balance.
Winter’s horse arrived back at the barn, sweaty and wild. Logan caught him. The moment he saw the blood on the saddle, he yelled for Kora, then stood back in surprise as she began issuing orders as though Winter had taught her.
It was almost dark when several of Winter’s men found them half a mile from the ranch. They surrounded Jamie and Win and acted as guard for the rest of the journey. No man offered to take Winter’s load, and he wouldn’t have passed it on. Whether Cheyenne was still alive, or not, he’d ride home sitting a saddle and not across it like a season kill of beef.
When they stopped, Logan stepped beside Win and cut the straps binding the two men. Then Winter gently lowered Cheyenne into a dozen waiting hands.
‘‘Send for the doctor,’’ Winter said as he touched ground.
‘‘I already have, boss,’’ Logan answered. ‘‘Miz Kora ordered a man out as soon as we told her about your saddle having blood on it.’’
Winter followed as the others carried Cheyenne into the house. Kora held the door open while Jamie rattled on about what had happened. He couldn’t help but take a long breath as he stepped through the threshold. He was finally home.
Kora led them up the stairs to the first room. Winter followed, allowing exhaustion to seep into his body for the first time.
Dan sat silently in a cane chair by the door as if nothing were happening. When Win was halfway up the stairs,
