'Haven't heard of him dead. 'Course, him being Jack's uncle, Leon ain't got too many friends in these hills. It ain't like he has neighbors in for Sunday dinner.'
'I wanted to take a look at the house and see if Jack was layin' low there, but-'
'But you didn't want to drag Miss Tamsin into a beehive?'
'What are you talking about?' she demanded. 'Drag me where?'
'Nothing,' Ash said. 'Go to sleep.' Actually, he'd been planning to take her to Leon's cabin and use her as bait. Now he'd changed his mind. If she was lying about Jack, he didn't want to know it. 'Will you be here for a few days, Jacob?'
'Want to leave the little lady in my care while you have a look-see?'
'No one's leaving me anywhere!'
Ash dipped stew into a clean bowl and handed it to Jacob. 'She will be trouble, I promise you. She's as tricky as a Mississippi gambler. Turn your back on her and she'd hit you over the head with a chunk of wood.'
'You lying weasel!' Tamsin cried. 'If you leave me here, I won't be here when you get back.'
'I'll tend her for you, boy, but if she murders me, you owe me a Christian burial.' Jacob took another puff on the pipe and grinned. 'And digging a grave in these rocks ain't a chore to be sneezed at.'
Thirty miles of hard riding brought Ash to a ridge overlooking a two-story log house and a ramshackle barn. Years before the war, Texas Jack's uncle, Leon Cannon, had built this place.
The word was that Jack, Vernon, and Boone had been raised near San Antonio by an aunt and uncle after Comanches wiped out the rest of the family. Leon came to Colorado after he'd stolen so many of his neighbors' cattle that they banded together and set a price on his head.
The place didn't look lived in to Ash. Maybe Leon was dead or had moved on. The cabin roof had patches on it and the barn leaned heavily to one side, but the corral looked in good shape. If Jack Cannon had a home this side of hell, Leon's old place was it to Ash's way of thinking.
Ash had hoped that Jack and his boys might be hiding out here after all the excitement they'd caused in Nebraska. But it seemed Ash had had a long ride for nothing. No smoke came from the chimney, and the weeds around the back door were waist high.
He'd been careful not to leave fresh signs of his own. He'd crept near enough to water Shiloh and fill a canteen from the spring a few hundred yards behind the house. Then he'd climbed up on the roof and covered the chimney hole with sticks and boards. Finally, he'd backtracked, hidden his horse in a gully, and climbed up here to this overlook to consider whether he'd guessed wrong again.
If Jack Cannon wasn't here, he could be anywhere from Kansas City to Mexico. He'd hoped for a little luck. Finding the outlaw, capturing or killing him, would have made explaining to Tamsin why he'd left her at Jacob's cabin a lot easier.
He was sure that she'd be safe with Jacob until he could get back to her. Whether she'd understand why he had to ride off on a hunch was something else. He'd chased Cannon so long that he wondered sometimes what his life would consist of once he caught him.
And he would find Jack. It was just a matter of time. Which of them killed the other one would be the toss of a coin. The outlaw was a crack shot, and he was smart. Ash only hoped he was smarter.
Ash stretched his legs and rubbed at the healing bullet wound. Dusk had fallen. Far off to the west a coyote howled at the moon. Other than crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl, it was as quiet as a Quaker funeral.
His belly rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since noon. There was bread and dried meat in one of his saddlebags, but going down to where Shiloh was tied would mean leaving his lookout, and he wasn't ready to chance that yet.
He took a sip of warm water from his canteen. It tasted tinny, but it was wet. Most folks thought that a bounty hunter's life was exciting, one chase after another. Truth was, a lot of what he'd done these past years was to sit and wait. It developed a man's patience.
Tonight that quality would be put to the test.
'Patience, Boone,' Jack Cannon advised his older brother. 'You'll never get ahead if you don't learn that. We don't want to be the first ones in. The vault may not be open yet.' He tipped his hat to an elderly woman walking by. 'Morning, ma'am.'
'I don't like standin' around, is all,' Boone replied, tugging at his starched shirt collar. 'And I don't like wearin' these fancy duds.'
'Clothes make the gentleman. You walk in the Goldsborough Trust in dirty work clothes and scuffed boots and already they're suspicious. What's an owlhoot like that doin' in our bank? Maybe he's up to no good.'
'No need to talk to me like an idjit. That crap gets old. If we wasn't blood kin, I'd of put you in the ground a long time ago.'
Jack smiled and ignored Boone's insult. He had no doubts about whether or not his brother could be trusted. There were just the two of them left, and Boone felt the same way about family as he did. They were a team. Boone might be woolly around the edges, but Boone would walk through hellfire and pull the devil's tail if Jack said so.
Two horsemen rode slowly into town and reined in across the street from the bank. Billy dismounted and pretended to check his pony's left foreleg while Tom looked on.
Jack could just see the brim of Carlos's hat above the false front of the blacksmith's shop. The big Texan was too slow on the ground, but put him on a high spot with a clear shooting range, and Carlos was worth any three men with a rifle.
Jack hoped Goldsborough's bank wouldn't be a disappointment. He'd read an article in the Wheaton newspaper about the growth of the new Colorado town, but the dirt streets were nigh on to deserted this morning. The door to the saloon was still shuttered, and only a half dozen customers had gone in and out of the general store. He'd seen an old prospector with a mule, two cowboys, and the blacksmith.
Billy glanced at him anxiously. It was time. If he held off much longer, the boys would begin to get edgy. Jack nudged Boone and walked across the street and into the bank.
He paused just inside the door, letting his eyes get accustomed to the shadowy light after the bright sun outside. The main room was small. One corner of the building had been partitioned off to make an office for the manager. The metal safe was built in to the back wall, and it stood open.
'Good morning, sir,' a mustached teller called. 'Can I help you?'
'Yes, indeed,' Jack said. 'I'd like to speak to the manager about opening an account here.'
The clerk hurried forward. 'I can help you with that.'
'No, I have a large sum to deposit.'
'Mr. Dresser! A customer to see you, sir!'
A portly, balding man appeared in the office doorway. 'I'm Mr. Dresser, the bank manager. Can I help you?'
'You can,' Jack said. Boone whipped a sawed-off shotgun from under his coat and pointed it at the bald man. Smiling, Jack opened his leather satchel. 'We've changed our minds, gentlemen. We want to make a withdrawal.'
Billy rushed in from the street with his forty-five drawn and ready. 'Street's clear,' he said.
'Grab a handful of clouds!' Boone ordered.
The clerk blubbered and reached for the sky. Dresser's face turned red, and he glanced back toward his open office door.
'Now.' Jack didn't raise his voice. Shouting made Boone nervous, and bad things happened when Boone got spooked.
'Robbery!' Dresser yelled. 'Get out, Mrs. Rivers! Run!'
Jack threw Boone a warning glance, but it was too late. Boone's shotgun roared, deafening them and cutting down the manager in the expensive suit.
A woman screamed.
'Damn it all. Didn't I tell you not to go and do that,' Jack said. He pushed past the trembling clerk and began to scoop money off the vault shelf as Billy plunged into the dead man's office and dragged out a heavily rouged woman
