Читать книгу Lady Outlaw - Stacy Henrie - Страница 9

Chapter One

Utah Territory—September 1869

“Regrettably, the answer is no, Miss Jones.”

The bank president’s apologetic tone might have fooled her, but Jennie caught a glint of satisfaction in Albert Dixon’s gray eyes that contradicted his sympathetic words.

“I’m sure things have been more difficult on the ranch since your father’s death, but you haven’t made a payment on your mortgage in over a year.” He cleared his throat. “That’s eighteen hundred dollars you already owe us. We’ll need to see five hundred of that before the end of the month, if you wish to keep your property. The full debt will be due next August—no exceptions.”

Jennie gripped the handle of her purse so hard her fingers hurt. No matter the sum, she wouldn’t give up the ranch. “And if I don’t have the money...”

Mr. Dixon dropped a glance at the sheet of paper before him, then slid the document across the desk. Jennie read the words written in bold, black ink at the top—Notice of Foreclosure.

“If you can’t produce the minimum amount, we’ll have to terminate the loan.” He shook his head and rose from his chair. “I wish there was more I could do. I’m deeply sorry.”

“I’m sure you are.” Jennie grabbed her small suitcase off the floor and came to her feet, eyeing him coldly. “But let me make something quite clear, Mr. Dixon. The only part of my father’s cattle ranch you’ll ever own is a steak dinner—and I hope it gives you a bad case of indigestion. Good day.”

The bank president’s round face and balding head turned a satisfying shade of red before Jennie headed for the door. She could hear him sputtering for a reply as she left the bank. She marched in the direction of the stage office, the heels of her boots stomping out a hard beat.

“I’d like to take a branding iron to that man,” she muttered under her breath as she wound her way along Fillmore’s storefronts.

She contemplated a number of other ways she might lower the bank president’s arrogance before her fury changed to despair. As her anger ebbed so did her determined pace and finally Jennie came to a stop at the corner of the general mercantile.

Where would she find five hundred dollars to keep her ranch? She’d barely scraped together enough cash to finance her trip to Fillmore. She had no relatives to borrow money from and couldn’t afford to sell any of their cattle, either. Since rustlers had cleaned them out of calves and half the herd in the spring, they had to keep every last cow in order to increase the number of cattle next year. Besides, what good is a cattle ranch with no cows?

A hat display in the window beside her caught Jennie’s eye. Latest Styles from the East, a handwritten sign below the hats read. She loved hats—her father had always bought her a new one on his trips to Fillmore. The one she wore today, with a rounded brim and green braiding that accentuated her red hair, was the last one he’d purchased for her. That had been a little over a year ago, just before her twentieth birthday. On that occasion, he’d bought her a brooch, as well.

Jennie’s fingers went to her throat, sliding over the simple but pretty cameo her father had said reminded him of her. She could just picture him in the store, happily chatting with the clerk as he picked out gifts to bring home. She fought back the tears that sprang to her eyes at the image.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped toward the mercantile. She couldn’t replace her father in so many ways, but at least she could look around for some small gift to bring home. The southbound stage wasn’t likely to leave for another thirty minutes or so, and she needed a diversion from her depressing thoughts. Despite her limited funds, she hoped to spare one or two coins to buy Grandma Jones and Will some candy or a penny trinket instead of bringing back only bad news.

* * *

Caleb looked up at the tinkling sound of the sleigh bells hanging from the mercantile’s doorknob and watched the young lady walk in. His time as a bounty hunter had honed his skills at taking the measure of a man—or woman—in a matter of moments, and it only took a glance for him to guess at the girl’s story.

The clothes, neat and clean but worn, made it clear that money was tight at home. But she held her head high, coffee-brown eyes sharp and keen, a nice contrast to her red hair. He read pride and determination in her posture and expression. Times might be tough, but clearly this lady wasn’t one to give up.

He’d had that kind of determination, once. After the death of his fiancée, he’d been filled with determination to find the bandits involved, and see them all brought to justice. But in the aftermath of the deadly confrontation a year ago, his determination had fled. All he wanted now was to earn enough money to start a small business of his own—something far different from the farm life he’d planned to share with Liza...and worlds away from the bounty hunting business he’d left behind too late.

He watched as the woman nodded to the store clerk, then headed toward the glass jars of brightly colored candies that sat on the long counter. He felt a moment’s idle curiosity wondering what she’d choose before his attention was snagged by the two men talking at the end of the counter.

“Somebody wired the sheriff and told him the bandits were headed south,” one of the men said. “He sent out nearly twenty men looking for ’em, but I think they must’ve slipped past.”

At the word bandits, Caleb found himself straightening up automatically, then he forced himself to relax. He was done with bounty hunting—those bandits were someone else’s responsibility now.

“When did they rob the stage?” the other asked.

“Yesterday afternoon. They met up with the coach about fifteen miles south of Nephi.”

“How much money did they steal?”

“Two thousand dollars.”

Two thousand dollars? Caleb was shocked...not just by the amount, but by the loud crash that followed the announcement. He glanced over to see that the young lady had accidentally struck one of the candy jars with her suitcase. The container had toppled off the counter and smashed on the floor, spraying glass and peppermint sticks around everyone’s feet. Caleb only caught a glimpse of her hotly embarrassed blush before she dropped to her knees and began picking up the candy with trembling hands.

Shaking hands and broken glass made for a dangerous combination so Caleb crouched down beside her to help. Reaching for one of the larger pieces of glass, his fingers almost brushed against hers. When she lifted her head to look at him, he was struck by just how pretty she was, with that fiery hair and warm brown eyes. Nothing like Liza, of course, Caleb thought to himself, heart twisting as it always did at the memory of Liza’s dark hair and sweet smile, but very pretty all the same. Especially when she blushed like that.

“You don’t have to help,” she murmured.

“I’d like to.” He slipped the glass from underneath her fingers and placed it to the side.

“No, that’s all right. I can clean up the mess myself.” Apparently he’d been right about the pride and determination. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He continued to gather up the broken shards, acting as if he hadn’t heard her. When the store clerk appeared with a broom, Caleb took hold of it and swept the glass into a pile while the young lady finished collecting the candy.

“I’m so sorry,” she said to the clerk as she stood. She set the peppermint sticks on the counter. “I don’t have enough to pay for the damage and purchase my ticket home, but...” She reached up to her collar, her hand covering the brooch pinned there. “Maybe I could trade—” Her fingers tightened over the piece of jewelry and Caleb could see that it hurt her to even think of giving it up. Maybe that was what prompted his next words.

“I’ll pay for the candy.” The hope of starting up a freighting business of his own had had Caleb saving every penny for the past year. As a result, he had plenty of cash on hand. The broken jar and candy shouldn’t put him back by more than a dollar or two. He could spare that well enough. Digging around in his pocket, he extracted some cash, along with the letter he’d come into town to mail—yet another attempt to mend fences with his disapproving family. “I’d like to mail this letter, too,” he said to the clerk. “So how much do I owe you?”

The girl shook her head. “I can’t let you do that. I’d want to repay you, and I can’t.”

“I think two dollars oughta cover it,” the store clerk said, seemingly in agreement with Caleb to ignore her protests.

Caleb handed over two bills along with his letter, then scooped up the candy. The clerk took the mail and money and returned to his post beside the cash register.

“You shouldn’t have done that—paid for the candy, I mean.” The lady frowned at Caleb as she collected her purse and suitcase. “I could have given him my brooch to make up the difference.”

Certain any mention of how obviously she’d wanted to keep the brooch would just upset her, Caleb tried a different tactic. “Probably so, but I can think of a way to repay me,” he said as he went to pick up another handful of peppermint sticks they’d missed near the door. When everything was gathered together, he turned to face her again.

“I can’t eat all of these by myself. How about taking a few off my hands?” He offered her a fistful of candy.

The absurdity of the whole situation made her smile, just as he’d hoped. “All right,” she said. “I’ll take some.”

She shifted her things to one arm and took the candy from him.

“I hope you enjoy them,” he said, smiling back. “Always a pleasure to help a pretty girl.”

For some reason, his compliment left her looking close to tears. Her reaction made him want to take her hand, ask her what was wrong. But if he tried, he was certain she’d tell him it was none of his concern. And she’d be right. Besides, now that he’d mailed his letter, it was time for him to be moving on. Tipping his hat, he gave her one more smile.

“Good day, miss,” he said, then headed for the door.

* * *

Not until the stranger had disappeared did Jennie think to ask him his name. The unexpected kindness of this man almost made her forget Mr. Dixon and the debt, and she suddenly realized that she’d never even thanked him. Hurrying to the door, she tried to spot him, but he was already out of sight.

Oh, well, Jennie thought as she left the store. There wasn’t really time to talk to him anyway. If she didn’t hurry she might miss the stage that would take her home to Beaver and she certainly didn’t have money to stay a second night in the boardinghouse.

She tucked the candy into her purse with her money and the four-shot, pepperbox pistol she always carried while still toting her suitcase, then she hurried to the booking office. The stagecoach stood out front, its six horses already hitched up. The man inside informed her that the driver would be along any minute.

Jennie purchased her ticket and sat outside on a nearby bench to wait. With nothing to read or do, except think over her mostly horrible morning, her mind soon filled with recollections of home. She pretended she was already riding her horse Dandy down the familiar wagon-rutted trail toward the ranch, past the corral fences and empty bunkhouse. Past the faded red barn where fourteen-year-old Will would be shoveling hay to the other pair of horses. Up to the two-story frame house with its front porch where Grandma Jones would be sitting in her rocker, mending clothes—the smell of her freshly baked bread mingling with the scent of meadow grass.

The possibility of losing everything she’d worked for and held so dear made her chest tighten. “What am I going to do?” She stared at her hands as if the gnawed fingernails and cracked knuckles held some kind of answer.

The sound of footsteps approaching brought up Jennie’s chin. She watched as the stage driver made a thorough inspection of the coach before coming over to greet her.

“Afternoon, miss.” He nodded, and Jennie forced a smile as she stood. He placed her suitcase on the top rack of the stage. “I hear it’s just you and me today.”

“Not a bad thing,” she said, thinking of the crowded stagecoach she’d ridden in for two days before reaching Fillmore.

“Up you go then.” He held her elbow in a gentle grip and helped her inside.

Being the only passenger, Jennie had her pick of one of the three benches. She chose the one facing forward. She settled onto the lumpy, cracked leather next to the window and set her purse in her lap.

As the driver moved to close the small door, two gentlemen sprinted up to the stagecoach, each holding a piece of luggage. Jennie gathered they might be brothers with their matching dark hair, bushy eyebrows and brown suits.

“We got seats on this stage,” the older-looking one said. He held up two stubs of paper.

From the window Jennie watched the driver inspect their tickets before nodding.

“I can place your bags on top, gentlemen.”

The one with the tickets shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll keep ’em with us.”

The driver shot him a puzzled look, but he didn’t insist they use the top rack. The men climbed into the stage and sat on the rear-facing seat. They squeezed their two bags in the narrow space beside their feet. Jennie noticed each man wore impeccable clothes, without a trace of dirt or signs of heavy wearing, and each carried a revolver in a holster beneath his jacket.

The younger and stockier brother eyed Jennie and grinned. “You traveling by yourself, little lady?”

Jennie responded with a simple nod as she slipped her hand into her purse and fingered the handle of the pistol. The young man likely didn’t mean anything by his flirtatious manner, but she wanted to be prepared if things turned sour.

“Don’t worry, miss,” he continued. “Should we run across any Injuns or bandits...” He held open his jacket and tapped the butt of his revolver with a fat thumb. “We’ll protect you.”

“Shut up, Horace.” The older brother drove an elbow into Horace’s side. “You’ll have to pardon my brother’s rambling. Learned it from our ma.”

With a scowl, Horace twisted in his seat to face his brother. “What you talking about, Clyde? We ain’t seen Ma for eight years, so how do know what she did and didn’t do? I told you, we oughta gone back home this winter, hole up before our next—”

“There he goes again.” Clyde clapped a hand over Horace’s mouth and smiled. “Can’t help himself.”

Jennie lifted her brows in amusement. The brothers’ rough manners and speech didn’t match their fancy clothes. What type of work did they do? Before she could ask, the stagecoach lurched forward. Jennie gripped the window ledge to keep from bouncing off her seat.

“Should’ve ridden those good horses we had, instead of takin’ the stage.” Horace righted himself and straightened his skewed hat.

“Here, have a drink,” Clyde said. He pulled a silver flask from his jacket and wiggled it in the air. Horace seized the container and guzzled before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

This ought to be interesting. Jennie began chewing on her thumbnail. They’ll either drink themselves into a stupor or get fresh. Given how her day had gone so far, she couldn’t trust that they’d choose the option she’d prefer. She didn’t feel like talking much—not after her long morning—but a little conversation might divert their attention from the alcohol.

“What exactly is your line of work, gentlemen?”

Horace chuckled again and glanced at Clyde. “I’d say we’re in—”

“The money-making business,” Clyde finished, a deadpan expression on his face.

Jennie waited for them to elaborate, but neither one did. Horace returned to his drinking, and Clyde stared out the window.

“Are you from around here?” she tried next.

Turning from the view, Clyde sized up Jennie as if trying to determine the reason for her questions. “Nope,” he said after a long moment. “We’re a ways from home.”

“What sort of money-making business brought you to Fillmore then?”

Horace smiled. “She’s a real talker, ain’t she, Clyde? Not shy or silent like a lot of other girls.”

“Give me that.” Clyde snatched the flask from Horace. “That’s enough talkin’.” He gave Horace a stern look and took a long swig. Lowering the silver container from his mouth, he frowned at Jennie. “If it’s all the same to you, miss, we’d prefer to do our drinking in peace and quiet.”

“Suit yourself,” Jennie muttered as she faced the window. Silence enveloped the inside of the stagecoach, except for the sound of the brothers passing the flask between them and gulping the liquor.

Jennie watched the sagebrush and distant hills moving past for a long time before she grew tired of the monotonous scenery. Leaning her head back against the seat, she shut her eyes. As rough as the ride could be, she preferred resting over watching two men become inebriated in front of her.

A headache began building at her temples and she tried to relax to keep it at bay. Thoughts of the bank president and her debt filled her head, but she chased them away with plans for what the ranch needed in preparation for colder weather.

A short time later, she heard loud whispering between Horace and Clyde. Curious, she pretended to still be sleeping and focused on their words.

“I told you wearing these fancy duds and takin’ the stage would work,” Clyde said in a slightly slurred voice.

“We sure showed ’em,” Horace said, his speech thicker with intoxication than his brother’s. “Slipped right past the sheriff. Bet he didn’t think we’d be walkin’ into town, all respectable.” He snorted in obvious delight.

“Two thousand dollars, Horace! Now we can buy us some horses and land—whatever we want.”

Horace murmured in agreement. “I’d like to go back to Wyoming soon and live by Ma, but I don’t think she’d like knowin’ we’re bandits.” He sighed heavily, then added in a brighter tone, “Maybe we could buy her somethin’ real nice, so she ain’t too mad. Whatdaya think she’d like?”

Jennie missed Clyde’s response as her mind raced. They’re the bandits I heard about in the store—the ones who stole the two thousand dollars.

Her first impulse was to jump out the door. She might not live through such a fall, but staying put could also mean death if the men realized what she’d overheard. That left her two choices: sit tight and pretend she hadn’t heard a thing or try to disarm the men herself and hand them over to the stage driver.

At the pricking of her conscience, Jennie chose to act. But not just yet. Better to hold off until they were at their weakest. Perhaps all the alcohol they’d been drinking would work out in her favor in the end. She waited until their whispering turned to snores and opened her eyes. Both bandits were passed out on their respective sides of the stagecoach, mouths hanging open, their relaxed jaws bouncing with the stage’s movement.

Jennie shifted her gaze from them to the luggage beside their feet. Which of the two bags held the money?

If only I had that cash...

She shook her head, though she couldn’t rid the wish completely from her thoughts. Slowly, the innocent desire for money became an idea—a bold, dangerous idea.

If she took the money, would it really be stealing? She’d only take what she needed to pay the bank at the end of the month and buy herself time to raise more funds. The ranch would be temporarily saved, and she and her family wouldn’t lose everything. The brothers had already spent some of the money—their new clothes showed that. No one would expect the full two thousand to be recovered. It’s just my informal reward for turning in these men.

Before she changed her mind, Jennie scooted to the edge of her seat. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and her hands grew clammy. Sliding onto the middle seat, her back to the door, she leaned over to grab hold of the suitcase next to Clyde. She hefted it onto the bench and quietly cracked it open. Desperation surged through her at finding nothing but a faded bundle of sweat-and-campfire-scented clothes inside.

Jennie placed the bag back on the floor. She had to hurry before either man woke up. She scooted down the bench to reach Horace’s bag and saw that one boot rested against it. With a sigh, Jennie pivoted on the bench to face Horace straight on. She bent down and gripped the boot with both hands. She gently slid his foot toward her. The drunken Horace didn’t stir.

Exhaling with relief, she lifted the bag into her lap and unfastened the clasp. Peering inside, she sucked in a quick breath. She’d never seen so much cash in one place. She could pay the ranch’s debt in full with that much money.

No, she told herself firmly. Only what we need to buy more time. Grabbing two bundles and hoping it was enough, she shoved the money into her purse.

“What are you doing there?” Clyde demanded.

Startled, Jennie pushed the money bag behind her. Thankfully the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the wheels muffled the sound of the bag hitting the floor.

“I...uh...needed some air,” she said, motioning to the window above the coach door.

“You sick?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She fanned her flushed face with her purse. “Just a tad warm.”

“It can be dangerous sittin’ in the middle there,” Clyde said in a drowsy voice as he blinked heavily.

You have no idea. Jennie willed herself to smile as she took several calming breaths. She set aside her purse and busied herself arranging her skirts and examining her fingernails until Clyde fell back asleep. When she was certain he was unconscious, she retrieved the money bag, closed it up and put it back beside Horace’s boots. Now she needed to get those guns and hand over these men to the stage driver.

Bending forward again, Jennie peeled back part of Horace’s jacket to reach his revolver. As she inched her fingers toward the barrel, she heard a snort. She jerked her head up and found Horace watching her, a puzzled expression on his face.

“You had a bee on your knee,” Jennie said, thinking fast. “I moved up to swat it away.” She blushed as she straightened.

Horace cocked his head to one side and lifted his eyebrows. “Oh...um...thanks.”

She hoped he’d join his brother in drunken slumber, but Horace stretched and sat up instead.

“How much farther we got to the next town?” he asked.

Jennie peered out the window at the afternoon sun. “We still have several hours until we stop for the night at Cove Fort. It’s a way station for travelers.” Plenty of time to get those guns, but how?

“You ever been to Wyoming?” Horace scratched at his hairy jaw.

“No,” Jennie said curtly. She needed to formulate a plan, not waste more time chatting with Horace.

“That’s where me and Clyde come from. I want to get back up there someday. Our ma’s still there.” Horace glanced out the window and exhaled a long sigh. “Sure do miss her cookin’. And my horse, Jasper.”

Jennie tried to ignore his reminiscing, but he kept on.

“Clyde made me leave Jasper behind. Probably ’cause I ride better than he does. Can shoot better, too. Pa taught me to shoot anything with a trigger.”

His words prompted similar memories in Jennie’s mind—times when her father had shown her how to draw a gun and shoot straight.

That’s it.

Jennie heaved a dramatic sigh and batted her eyelashes like she remembered her girlhood friends at church doing. “I don’t know the first thing about guns. Why, I wouldn’t know how to go about defending myself. I wish somebody would teach me.”

“I’ll show you.” He hurried to sit beside her on the middle bench and pulled his gun from its holster. “This here’s a .44 Remington revolver.”

“Is that right? Well, imagine that,” she said.

“Once it’s loaded, you wanna pull the hammer back.” Horace lifted his thumb and pantomimed the action, then aimed the gun out his window. “You point at your target, squeeze the trigger and shoot.” He shrugged and passed the revolver to Jennie. “Nothin’ to it.”

Jennie pointed the gun out her window, hoping he didn’t see her hands shaking with nervous energy. “Seems easy enough.” Setting the gun on her right side, where Horace couldn’t easily reach it, she smiled coyly. “What about your brother’s gun?”

“Works the same.” Horace leaned across her to pull out Clyde’s revolver from beneath his jacket. Clyde twitched, peering at them through half-opened eyes. “I’m borrowin’ your gun for a minute,” Horace explained. His brother grunted, and to Jennie’s relief, his eyelids shut again.

“Clyde’s gun’s a Colt revolver.” Horace lifted it up for her to see. “His isn’t as fast-loading as mine since he can’t just slip a full cylinder in.”

“How do you load it? Can you teach me that?”

Horace nodded. He pushed the revolver’s cylinder to the left side and pointed to the six chambers. “The bullets go in there, but you see how you wanna leave one hole empty so the gun don’t fire if it’s dropped?”

“May I try?” Jennie asked, swallowing back the panic rising in her throat. If Horace gave his brother back the gun, her plan wouldn’t work.

He looked from her to the gun and over to Clyde. “I s’pose.” He dumped out the bullets and extended the gun toward her. “Here you go.”

She took the revolver and stuck out her hand for the bullets. Horace rolled them into her palm, but as she drew her hand back, she purposely let the bullets slip from her grip to the floor. “Oh, dear. How clumsy of me.”

“I’ll get them.” Horace knelt in the tight space and tried to capture a bullet that rolled and jumped with the stage’s movement.

Clyde sat up, rubbing his jaw. “What in tarnation are you doing, Horace?”

“Pickin’ these up.” He finally got a hold of a bullet and held it up for Clyde to see. “We dropped ’em.”

Cursing softly, Clyde leaned down to help gather the ammunition.

Now’s my chance. Keeping an eye on the two men, Jennie tossed both revolvers out her window. Her heart crashed against her rib cage as she reached inside her purse and cocked her pistol. She slowly removed the gun. Forcing herself to breathe evenly, she aimed the pistol at Horace and Clyde.

“What were ya doing with the bullets out of the gun anyway?” Clyde barked as he shoved bullets into his pocket. Neither of them paid any attention to Jennie, which gave her enough time to steady her hands and plaster a no-nonsense expression on her face. “Where’s my gun? If you ruined it, so help me, Horace...” Clyde gave a vehement shake of his head.

The back of Horace’s ears reddened with anger. “I ain’t done nothin’ with your gun. I was just showin’ the lady here how to use one.” He turned to Jennie, and his eyes went wide as saucers at the sight of the pistol in her hand. “Where’d you get that?”

“Go sit by your brother,” Jennie ordered in an even tone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clyde’s face blanch, then turn scarlet.

“You idiot.” Clyde whopped Horace on the side of the head as he scrambled onto their seat. “Looks to me like she already knows how to use a gun. What’d you tell her while I was asleep?”

Horace blinked in obvious confusion. “I...uh...told her about home. I didn’t say nothin’ about us robbing the stage, honest, Clyde.”

Clyde lifted his hand to strike his brother again, but Jennie pointed the gun in his direction. “Leave him alone. He didn’t say anything. I learned all I needed to know from your drunken whispers earlier.”

“Whatya goin’ do with us now?” Horace asked, frowning.

Instead of answering, Jennie pointed the pistol at the floor and fired a bullet between the men’s boots. Both of them yelped and jumped aside. “That’s a warning,” she explained. “I shoot even better at long-range, so I wouldn’t suggest making a dash for it. You’d likely break every bone in your body if you tried to jump anyway.”

The stagecoach came to an abrupt stop, as Jennie had hoped, and the driver soon appeared beside the door. He had a shotgun in his hand and a look of pure annoyance on his weathered face.

Throwing open the door, he glared at Horace and Clyde. “What do you mean firing a gun while we’re moving? You’ll scare the horses, or the lady here.” He glanced over at Jennie, and seeing her pistol, his eyes widened.

“Forgive me. That shot was meant to alert you.” Jennie smiled apologetically. “I overheard these men talking. I believe they’re the bandits who robbed that stage yesterday.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The driver scratched at his head beneath his hat, his gaze flitting from Jennie to the brothers and back again. “And the money?”

Swallowing the twinge of guilt that rose inside her, Jennie pointed her gun at the bag by Horace. “I believe it’s in there.”

The driver leaned into the stage and proceeded to grab the black bag, but Clyde snatched the other side of the handle and refused to let go. “You can’t have it,” he argued. “We worked and planned for months to get this cash.”

“Let go, young man, or you’ll be eatin’ bullets.” The stage driver trained the shotgun on Clyde. The two locked gazes before Clyde finally released his grip on the bag. The driver passed his shotgun to Jennie. “Hold this on ’em for a minute, miss, while I grab me some rope.”

Jennie nodded and took the shotgun in hand. Shifting the pistol in Clyde’s direction, she pointed the driver’s gun at the sullen-looking Horace.

As soon as the driver disappeared from view, Clyde glowered at her. “You won’t get away with this, missy,” he hissed. “If you think I’m going to rot in jail and lose two thousand dollars ’cause some female has a hankering to be brave, you don’t know me.”

“Perhaps you ought to have considered that possibility before you robbed the stage,” Jennie said, edging her pistol closer to him.

The stage driver returned and tied the men’s hands and feet together. With Jennie holding both guns on them, neither one made an attempt to struggle.

“You might want to ride up with me, miss,” the driver said when he’d finished.

“I believe I will.” She handed him back his gun, but kept hers in her grip. The driver climbed out, and after gathering her purse, Jennie hurried to follow.

“We’re goin’ to find you,” Clyde shouted as she descended the steps. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done this. Horace and I will—”

The stage driver slammed the door against Clyde’s protests and led Jennie by the elbow to the front of the stage. “Don’t pay him no mind, miss. You’ve done a brave thing. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He helped her up onto the seat. “Afraid we’ll have to turn back though, so we can turn those two rascals over to the law in Fillmore.”

Jennie nodded in agreement as she tucked her pistol into her bag alongside the cash.

The stage driver joined her on the seat and gathered the reins. He turned the stagecoach around, heading north again. Jennie did her best to ignore Clyde’s occasional shouts from below. She concentrated instead on the thrill she felt as she imagined marching into the bank tomorrow and slapping the five hundred dollars on Mr. Dixon’s desk. Let him wonder how she came up with it so fast. At least the ranch would be safe from his greedy hands, for now.