ho's that?" McLain asked suspiciously, looking at the new gunhand.

"Says his name's Tanner."

"Where's he from?"

"He didn't say, and I didn't ask." Garnet moved a step away from McLain; the man stank of sour whiskey.

McLain's eyes were even redder than usual, the pupils contracted to tiny points. "Get rid of him. I don't want any strangers around here. He might be one of Sarratt's spies."

"Don't be so goddamn stupid," Garnet snapped, abruptly out of patience. "We killed the little bastards, remember? I put lead in both of them."

Once McLain would have turned on him like a rabid wolf for talking back, but now he only wagged his head. "We never found their bodies. We looked, but we didn't find them."

"They're dead, I'm telling you! Shot up the way they were, no food or water, no way of getting to a doctor, there's no way they could have lived. You're worrying about damn ghosts and it's spooking the men."

McLain peered at him with owlish concern. "If they died, why didn't we ever see any buzzards? The buzzards would've found 'em even if we couldn't."

"They're dead, "Garnet hissed. "It was twenty years ago. You think they wouldn't have been back long before this if they'd been alive?"

There was no logic that could penetrate McLain's feverish certainty. "They waited until I got married. Don't you see? They want to kill my wife, the way I killed theirs."

"You didn't kill their wives, you killed their mama." Garnet thought he would explode with frustration. The idiot couldn't even think straight!

"But they can't kill my mama, so they're going after my wife!" McLain shook his head at Garnet's lack of understanding. "They're doing it because she's mine, see? But they won't get me; I'm keeping a lookout for them, every night, waiting. The bastards are gonna try sneaking up on me, but they'll be the ones surprised because I'm waiting for them."

"Jesus." Garnet looked at the man and shook his head, seeing the futility of arguing. He'd worked for McLain all these years because the Major had been even dirtier and sneakier and more brutal than he was himself, but now all he saw was a loony, stinking old man. McLain's deterioration had happened quick, but Garnet felt neither sympathy nor loyalty for him. While McLain had been strong, Garnet had run with him. Now that he was weak, Garnet planned to destroy him with no more compunction than he would squash an insect.

"Why don't you go back in the house and let me worry about the men," he told McLain. "I'm the foreman, ain't I?"

McLain gave a hollow chuckle. "Yeah, but I'm the boss and don't you forget it." He peered at Garnet with rheumy eyes. "You think I'm crazy, but you should be watching for them, too. They're after you just the same as they are me. You're the one shot their daddy."

Nodding at the indisputable truth of what he'd just said, McLain shambled back toward the house. He was tired, so tired from all the nights of keeping watch, but every time he slept he saw that damn little bastard coming at him with that knife. He didn't dare even lie down in his bed anymore, but sat up in a straight chair so that if he nodded off he'd fall and wake himself up. He didn't get much sleep that way, but neither did he dream.

Disgusted, Garnet turned his back on McLain's retreating figure. "Hey, Tanner!"

Ben walked up. "Yeah?"

"The old man's got a bee in his bonnet about you. Stay out of his sight."

"Sure." Ben started to walk off.

"Wait a minute."

Ben stopped and again said, "Yeah?"

"You done any work with that gun?"

"What kind of work?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know what kind of work. You ever killed anybody for pay?"

Ben took a drag off his cigarette. "I reckon I've faced a few for my own reasons, but not for nobody else."

"You willing to hire out?"

"Depends."

"On what? How much money?"

"Nope. On who'll be on the other end of my barrel. There's some men it just don't pay to rile."

"You yeller?" Garnet sneered, hoping to goad him.

"Nope. Just careful. Are you just making conversation or have you got somebody in mind?"

Rather than answer directly, Garnet said, "What do you think of Roper?"

Ben bared his teeth around the cigarette. "Like I said, some men it don't pay to rile."

"You don't think you could take him?"

"Let's just say I'm not sure enough of it to risk my life on a fight that ain't mine." Ben walked off, careful to keep his cold rage from showing on his face. The son of a bitch wanted him to kill his own brother! But why? He didn't dare let himself be seen talking to Jake, to maybe find out a reason. All he could do was worry and feel his anger grow. If Garnet kept asking, sooner or later he'd find somebody willing to go up against Jake. Likely as not, it would be a back-shooter, and that worried Ben.

Twenty years they'd waited, and now the waiting crawled on his skin like ants. For the first time in twenty years he was home, standing on Sarratt ground, looking at the house where he'd been born and where his parents had been murdered. By God, nothing was going to stop them now, not Garnet or anybody else on this ranch, not even the woman inside that house who ultimately held the ownership of the kingdom in her hands. She would marry Jake because they wouldn't allow her any other course of action.

Ben wondered what she was like. He hadn't even asked Jake her name. He didn't think much of her, though, marrying a man like McLain. He'd watched the house as much as he could without being obvious, but he hadn't seen any woman who could possibly have been her. Three Mexican women, two middle-aged and one young, had come and gone from the house; they were obviously servants. Another young Mexican woman who apparently slept out back of the bunkhouse had hung around all morning eyeing him like a buzzard waiting for a steer to die. He'd heard her name was Angelina and she was lustily beautiful, but Ben was too edgy to be interested in the sex she was clearly offering him.

In fact, there was no point in hanging around. He'd made contact with Jake, satisfied himself that his brother was all right, and they'd planned where and when to meet. He might as well saddle up and ride out, give himself a little extra time to intercept Lonny and make certain their men didn't blunder too close to the ranch and alert McLain. Just as soon as he managed to get word to Jake that Garnet was looking to hire someone to gun him down, he'd leave.

He walked around after supper, just wandering and smoking like he had the night before. Jake was nowhere in sight, but he hadn't expected him to be. He just waited, put out his cigarette, and wandered some more. When he paused under a big cottonwood tree, Jake murmured, "Here I am."

The shadows under the tree hid them from view, especially since Jake was squatting with his back to the trunk. It was another moonless night and some clouds had drifted in to blot out the stars, making the night dark enough. Ben leaned back against the trunk, too, lifting one leg to plant his boot against the wood. "Garnet tried to hire me to kill you," he said, making certain his voice was too low to carry.

Jake grunted. "I've been watching my back since the day I got here."

"Why is he after you?"

"He's got a bad itch for the little sister and I won't let him scratch it."

Ben grunted. He couldn't see getting that worked up over one particular woman, but he had seen it happen to too many men for him to be surprised.

"I guess I'll take myself on out of here tomorrow, then. We'll wait for you."

"I'll be there."

"Keep watching your back."

"Yeah."

Ben rode out early next morning, without saying anything to anybody. He hadn't done any work to speak of, so he didn't ask for any pay. He just saddled up and left.

Jake didn't watch his brother ride out or say anything when Ben's departure was commented on later.

In two days he planned to follow him. Before he left, however, he had to see Victoria and tell her to stay in the house and make certain Emma and Celia did, too. But how the hell was he going to talk to her when she hadn't poked her nose outside in days?

He saw Emma the next day, late in the afternoon when she had stepped into the courtyard for a moment. He beckoned to her and she walked to the gate.

"How's Victoria?" he asked abruptly.

"Tired." Emma's face showed signs of strain, too.

"Why haven't any of you been outside?"

"It's safer inside." She gave him a wry smile, one that quickly faded. "You haven't found whoever shot at Victoria?"

"No. There's no sign. Is that why she's staying inside?"

"That, and to watch Celia."

"Why does Celia need watching? Any more than usual, that is."

Emma's eyes were black as she looked up at him. "The Major tried to get her alone in the barn." Once she would have been mortified at having to say such a thing to a man, but they had all changed in the short while they had been in the territory.

Jake cursed under his breath and didn't apologize. "I'm leaving in the morning," he said. "All of you stay in the house, away from Garnet—"

"Hey, Roper!"

Jake looked around to see Garnet walking toward them, looking suspicious. He nodded to Emma and walked away, leaving her biting her lip.

When Jake joined him Garnet jerked his head toward Emma, who was returning to the house. "Don't tell me you're gettin' sweet on her! But I guess she'd be the most grateful of the bunch, wouldn't she?"

Jake kept his face expressionless and didn't answer.

When there was no response, Garnet scowled. "What're you doing up here at the house?"

"Why're you asking?"

Dull red colored Garnet's face. "Because I'm the goddamn foreman, that's why, and everything on this ranch is my business!"

"Do tell." Jake walked away, his senses attuned to the man behind him, his skin crawling as he waited for the slightest sign that Garnet was reaching for leather. He was tense, ready to throw himself to the side and come up with his own hand filled with iron, but Garnet didn't move.

Emma kept her torment to herself all night. He was leaving. How on earth was she supposed to tell Victoria? It would break her heart, but she'd have to be told so she would know that they no longer had Jake's protection.

She was so angry on Victoria's behalf that she couldn't sleep and lay awake for hours. How could he leave after the things he'd said to Victoria, and the way he'd kissed her? Emma had instinctively trusted him and now she felt doubly betrayed, but knew that Victoria would feel even worse because she loved him.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from hoping that she had misunderstood him somehow, that his words had meant something else. That had to be it. She consoled herself with that thought and was finally exhausted enough to sleep.

Emma woke early and dressed without paying attention to what she was putting on. She would go down to the bunkhouse and ask Jake exactly what he'd meant. She hurried out of the house, not letting herself think how improper it was for her to go alone to the bunkhouse. But the hands always began work with the dawn and she didn't think anyone would still be abed.

The early morning air was cold, but warming rapidly as the sun came over the horizon. Emma hugged her arms to herself and increased her pace. When she reached the bunkhouse she knocked on the closed door, but couldn't hear any noise from inside. She knocked again just to be safe, then eased the door open. The big, dreary, low-ceilinged room was empty, though the floor and every surface was covered with the paraphernalia of the working cowhand. She turned, uncertain of what to do next, and walked swiftly to the stable in the hope that someone would still be about.

She was lucky. She found a lone Mexican, whose name she didn't know, idly pitching hay into an empty stall. She prayed that he spoke English.

"Do you know where Roper is?" she asked.

The man looked up, his round brown face blank.

"Roper?" she asked again. "Have you seen him?"

"Si," the man said.

"Do you know where he is?"

"He left, señorita. Early."

"Did he say where he was going? When he'd be back?"

The Mexican shook his head. "He quit, seflorita. He left and took his gear with him."

Emma swallowed, feeling sick. It was true, then. "Thank you," she said, and walked back to the house.

Victoria, too, was an early riser. Knowing there was nothing to be gained by putting it off, Emma went directly to her cousin's room and knocked. Victoria opened the door with an anxious look as she shoved her last hairpin into place.

"What's wrong?" She knew something had to be wrong, or Emma would have waited for her to appear downstairs. "Has something happened to Celia?"

"No." Emma stepped inside the room and put her hands over Victoria's, holding them and forcing her to stand still. "Jake has left."

The words were simple enough, but they didn't make sense. Victoria frowned, wondering what Emma was trying to tell her. "Has he found out who shot at us the other day?"

"No." Emma closed her eyes briefly. "Victoria, he's gone. He packed his gear and left. One of the Mexicans said he quit and rode out this morning."

It was like an invisible punch to the chest. Victoria stared at Emma and listened to her own heart laboring to beat. Her face was white. "He… left?"

"Yes."

Odd, how the very air felt dead, how it sounded dead, muffling the words.

Emma put an arm around her to brace her and somehow she found herself sitting down.

"I know we haven't left the house much lately, but now we'll have to be doubly careful," Emma said, trying to turn her mind to the most pressing matters. "None of us should dare set foot outside."

"No, of course not," Victoria murmured. "Not with Garnet…"

Not with Garnet uncontrolled, now. Only Jake had kept him in line. But Jake was gone.

Gone!

The light had gone out of the sunny morning. Victoria sat there for a long time, helpless to do anything more than absorb the combined battering of grief and betrayal, the emptiness of knowing herself not only unloved but unimportant to the point that he hadn't even told her he was leaving. He had meant everything to her, and she had been nothing to him.

He had said, "Trust me," and she had. She had remained and had endangered both Celia and Emma with her foolishness. They would have to pay the price and live like caged animals, just to survive.

It was all the more painful because he was the only man she had ever loved. The war had interrupted what would have been her courting years in Augusta, so she had never even had a chance to fall in love before. But she also knew that her reserve was so strong that it was likely those young men would never have gotten past that inner wall to the passion inside, as Jake had. She had risked everything for him, both socially and emotionally, and he had ridden away as easily as if she had been a whore like Angelina.

Emma had left her alone to deal with her agony in private, for which Victoria was pathetically grateful. What was pride? It couldn't put food on the table or clothes on her back; it couldn't protect the people she loved. Yet she clung to it as her last defense. No matter what it cost her, when she went downstairs she would show no hint of her agony on her face.

Perhaps sometime in the future she would take out her pain and examine it, but perhaps not. For now she had to deal with their survival because Jake's departure had endangered them all. They could remain within the protection of the house, but their safety even then was dubious. For the first time she regretted the Major's precipitous decline, for at least he might have made Garnet wary of breaching the sanctuary of the house.

She had seen the hate in Garnet's eyes when he looked at her, and the lust when he'd looked at Celia. There was nothing now to stop him from taking her sister, he would shoot Victoria down without compunction, should she try to stop him. She knew she would have to try, as would Emma. They would both fight like tigers for those they loved.

They would have to protect themselves until they could leave. And that would have to be soon. She quailed inside at the thought of venturing into the territory alone, but the alternative was unbearable. They would have to start planning immediately.

At last she stood and took a deep breath. Sitting in her room wouldn't bring him back. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw a slim young woman with a somber face, but she satisfied herself that she didn't look as if she were going into a decline. With her back straight and her chin up, she went downstairs.

It was almost lunchtime. She hadn't realized how long she had been sitting dazed in her room. When Lola served the meal, Victoria forced herself to eat. Personal loss didn't break the heart so much as affect the stomach, she realized, but heartache sounded much more romantic than stomachache.

There were only the three of them at the table, the Major having failed to return to the house. He had become so erratic that no one was surprised, or concerned. When they had finished eating, Victoria folded her napkin and looked at Emma. "We'll have to leave."

Emma nodded. "As soon as possible."

"Where will we go?" Celia's face was pinched. It said a lot that she didn't ask why or when, but only where.

"We'll have to go to Santa Fe so we can make arrangements to travel home. And there are soldiers there, so we'll have protection from them in case… in case we're followed."

Practical Emma began listing the things they would need. "We'll have to have horses and food, blankets, extra clothing."

"Guns and ammunition," Victoria said, grimly determined not to be caught helpless. She had learned a hard lesson in depending entirely on someone else for protection.

"How will we get the horses?"

"We'll have to leave at night, as quietly as we can."

"Tonight?"

"We'll try."

They spent the rest of the day secretly packing those few sturdy items of clothing they would take with them. Celia discarded her pretty new gowns without a qualm, taking her cue from Victoria and Emma. There was too much to do to fret about dresses.

Emma placed herself in charge of rounding up the cooking utensils and food they would take along. They would need only one coffeepot and one skillet, which she managed to filch from the kitchen. She made quick periodic raids, each time taking some small item such as coffee, sugar, flour, onions, tortillas, potatoes, beans, a sharp knife, three spoons.

Victoria slipped into the library intending to get the Major's guns, but stopped abruptly when she saw him sitting at the desk. He looked up, his eyes so bloodshot they reminded her of the pictures she had seen in church of Satan's eyes. He had made an attempt at shaving that morning, at least, but had missed several patches. Still, he got to his feet and said heartily, "Did you want a book, my dear?" in a ghastly echo of his former pompous manner.

"Yes, I thought I'd read for a while this afternoon," she said. She controlled her disappointment.

"Take what you like." He waved his hand. "Didn't think there was much here that would interest a lady, though."

She pretended an interest in the few books that lined the shelves, but she didn't even see the titles.

Behind her, McLain began to chuckle. Victoria darted a look at him and found him staring at her with gleeful malice. "Yep, you're a real lady. I got what I paid for. You're so starched and proper I'll bet even your drawers are stiff."

Victoria whirled and started for the door, but McLain kept laughing. "But them stiff drawers won't do you no good when Sarratt gets his hands on you. You thought you were too good for me, didn't you, you little bitch?" His breathing quickened as mirth faded and his malicious resentment came to the fore. "You didn't want me humpin' you, but what you want won't make a damn to Sarratt, he'll just shove it in no matter how hard you fight. But it ain't ladylike to fight, is it? No, you'd just poker up and lie there as stiff as a dead person… just like a woman who'd been shot in the head…"

She bolted, closing the door on the vile stream of words that continued even without an audience to hear them. Her heart pounding, she ran up the stairs to her room. He was mad! But even knowing that didn't prevent the chill of fear that he was right. They had never found the bodies. Someone had shot at her. It was possible that one of the Sarratt boys had survived and returned twenty years later.

It took her a minute before she calmed enough to realize that it didn't matter. She would be leaving soon, with Emma and Celia, so it didn't matter if McLain was right. He would be the only one here.

She needed those guns, but she didn't get them that night. McLain sat in the room all night talking to himself and occasionally laughing, the bright lamps keeping the knife-wielding shadows away.

The next day Garnet came to the house and smiled like a wolf when he saw her. "How's that pretty sister of yours?" he asked, smirking because he knew he held the upper hand now.

Victoria looked through him and walked away without answering, but she was terrified.

She didn't have an opportunity to get the guns that day, either.

Before they went to bed, Emma hissed, "Maybe we should just forget about the guns and leave."

"We can't. You know what it's like out there."

The two young women stared at each other, at the stark mask of desperation and fear each wore. The task of getting to Santa Fe by themselves seemed almost impossible, yet they were driven to try it. Without any means of self-protection, it would almost certainly be suicide.

She couldn't get the guns on the third day, either.

On the fourth day a hot wind began blowing from the southwest, off the desert, eating at everyone. The men quarreled and three fights broke out, Lola and Carmita snapped at each other, Celia hid all day long, and the red stallion, Rubio, killed the Mexican Emma had spoken to the day Jake left.

The unfortunate man had become careless while putting the stallion back in his stall after laying down fresh hay. He turned his back just for a moment and the big animal attacked with his lethal iron-shod hooves, turning on the man with burning hate shining in his eyes. He reared again and again, the sharp metal cutting into the soft, twitching body, a thousand pounds of hate unleashed in destruction. The Mexican was unrecognizable when the stallion finally calmed enough for the other men to get a couple of ropes on him and lead him from the stall so they could get to the victim.

McLain snorted when he was told. "Damn stupid fool, he shoulda been more careful," he grunted.

But on the fourth day Victoria got the guns. Because she didn't know if they'd be able to leave that night, she didn't want the absence of their guns to be noticed. She took only one rifle, because McLain kept them lined up in the racks right behind him; one might not be noticed but three definitely would. To match the ammunition, she took one of the bullets out of the rifle and measured it against others until she found the right ones. She then hurriedly shoved the sack of ammunition into her pocket.

To her dismay she could find only one pistol. It didn't seem as large as the one Jake had given her the day someone had shot at her. As soon as the thought of Jake entered her mind she pushed it out, because she had found that was the only way she could survive. She repeated her search for matching ammunition and hurriedly left the room with the two weapons clutched in her arms, almost panicked lest someone should come in and catch her.

But they couldn't leave that night. Perhaps because of the wind, that hot, irritating wind, or perhaps because they were unsettled by Rubio's attack on the Mexican, several of the men roamed about restlessly all night. Victoria and Emma sat up in their darkened rooms until dawn, but always there seemed to be a small amount of activity around the barn and stable. There was no way they could leave without someone seeing them.

Late in the afternoon on the fifth day a cowhand rode in hard and fast, pulling his horse up so sharply that dirt and rocks were thrown in a cloud behind him. "Riders," he gasped, sliding from the saddle. "A damn big bunch of 'em, coming this way from Parson's Pass."

McLain went white. "Sarratt," he said in a hoarse voice, and ran for the house.

Garnet swore sharply. "You goddamn stupid fool!" he yelled at the fleeing man, but he didn't waste any more time on the Major. He turned back to the rider. "How many?"

"I don' know, boss. Twenty or thirty, at least." The rider didn't tell Garnet that he could neither read nor count, but merely used numbers he'd heard other cowhands use when referring to a large group. There were, in fact, sixty-three men heading toward the ranch.

Garnet thought about it. He doubted that the encroaching men were after the cattle; rustlers worked in smaller groups. But a force of twenty or thirty men crossing someone else's range wasn't exactly an act of friendship. On the other hand, he had enough men to handle a group that size. He didn't think for a minute that they might just be passing through.

But he didn't want to gather his men and ride out to meet them. For one thing, they might see him before he saw them. For another, the ranch buildings offered protection. Let them come to him. After all, they didn't know they'd been spotted. He had the advantage right where he was.

McLain burst into the library and jerked the rifles down from the rack, and made certain all of them were loaded. He didn't notice that one of them was missing. Muttering to himself, he carried them all up to his room.

He met Victoria on the stairs and laughed when he saw her. "He's coming, Sarratt's coming," he chortled. "A rider spotted him. Now you'll find out what it's like, you high-nosed bitch, and he'll make you wish you hadn't looked down on me like I was dirt." He brushed on past her and slammed into his bedroom.

Victoria hurried to the front door. Surely he was simply raving again. But outside she saw men hurrying about and her stomach clenched. "What's happening?" she called out to one man.

"Riders comin', ma'am." He pointed toward the south, toward Santa Fe. "From that way."

She withdrew and tried to reassure herself that just because riders were coming didn't mean any of those riders was a Sarratt. But against her will McLain had infected her with his terror.

She ran up the stairs and found Emma in her room. "We have to leave," she said. "Now, right now. Riders are coming. This might be our last chance."

Emma jumped up and got the pilfered foodstuffs from their hiding place under her bed. Victoria went along to Celia's room, hoping wildly that the girl was there instead of in some hiding place as she had been the day before. Her prayers were answered when she found her sister at her window, where she'd been standing watching the activity outside. "Why is everyone in such a hurry?" she asked.

"Riders are coming," Victoria said in a low voice. "We're leaving. Right now. Are you ready?"

Celia nodded, put an old hat on her head, tied a shawl around her shoulders, and fetched her own small bundle of things from beneath the bed.

Just in the short time that had passed since the rider had come in, dusk had fallen. The women made their way to the barn where their horses were stabled. Victoria carried the rifle, its barrel pointing down-ward and hidden within the folds of her skirt. The pistol was in Emma's pocket. Men were still moving around, but none of them seemed to notice the three women who walked purposefully across the grounds.

If anyone tried to stop them now, Victoria decided, she would shoot.

They saddled their horses. Sophie nickered eagerly at the weight of the saddle; she hadn't been out in days. Emma's gelding was similarly eager and even Celia's calm Gypsy danced a bit in anticipation.

They mounted while still in the barn, then spurred their horses forward, ducking their heads to clear the door. As soon as they were outside, Victoria wheeled Sophie to the left and plunged into the darkness, closely followed by the other two.

"Who's that?" someone shouted.

Quinzy, who had sharp eyesight, said in disbelief, "It's the women."

Garnet cursed, then said, "Let 'em go. Hell, they'll just get lost. We can find them later, when we've taken care of these bastards."

Victoria reined in to a walk as soon as they were away from the immediate vicinity of the ranch buildings, both because she couldn't see well in the dark and because she needed to think. If the riders were coming from the south, she didn't dare go in that direction or she'd ride straight into them. But Santa Fe, their ultimate destination, lay to the south. To the east and north, she knew, were the Comanche. To the west lay hard, unforgiving land. But they would have to go west, at least far enough for it to be safe to turn south later.

The Mexican scout, Luis, said in a soft voice, "They have seen us."

Jake swore softly and Ben spit. "Then we ride," Jake said. "Now. But we take it slow. Everybody wrap their bits and spurs, I don't want any jingling to give us away. When we get closer, we'll tie rags over the horses' hooves."

He looked up at the stars, then swung into his saddle. A savage anticipation welled in him. Tonight. It would be over tonight. McLain would be dead, and Victoria would be his.