Carol Finch Read Free Page A

stream.
    Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to wash away the torturous memory of that tragic night.
    Several of Tony’s comments continued to baffle her. She welcomed a formal investigation that would give her the opportunity to make her statement and find the man who shot Tony. Whatever had been going on that fateful night, Lori owed her life to Tony, who’d taken the fatal bullet for her.
    Her regretful thoughts trailed off and she came to attention after the lawman had captured the outlaw. Now was the time to pick her way down the rugged hillside to introduce herself to the lawman. Mentally rehearsing what she intended to say, Lori led Drifter around the trees and boulders, then tethered him. She could only hope the Deputy U.S. Marshal would offer protection and agree to accompany her back to Russell Trading Post to clear her name and reassure her father that she was alive.
     
    Gideon pushed Clem ahead of him, just in case there was another booby trap strategically situated between Clem and his stolen horse. When Clem halted, trying to lure Gideon into taking the lead and dragging him forward to spring the trap, Gideon stayed put.
    “We can still do this the easy way,” Gideon breathed down Clem’s neck. “I can shove you into the trip wire and you can shoot yourself. You’ll be as dead as a man can get. Not me. I’ll be around to collect your bounty and the reward.”
    “You’re all heart, Fox,” Clem said and scowled.
    “I hear that a lot… Now move. ”
    Muttering, Clem stepped over the booby trap.
    “Where’d you learn to set traps?” Gideon asked conversationally as he quick-marched Clem to his stolen horse—the evidence needed to stick him in Judge Parker’s jail, awaiting a prison sentence.
    “I rode with Confederate raiders in Kansas during the war.” Clem glanced back at Gideon and smirked disrespectfully. “Where’d you learn to avoid ’em? In Injun warrior training school?”
    “Sure. I graduated at the head of my class,” Gideon replied without missing a beat. “I get even better at it while dealing with former guerilla fighters like you. I have a lot of practical experience with sneaky, lying, cheating, thieving white men.”
    Swearing foully, Pecos Clem tugged on the rope Gideon had used to tie him to the tree. Although Clem called Gideon several rude, disrespectful names, he ignored them and saddled the gray stallion. According to the reports delivered to the marshals’ mobile headquarters, Pecos Clem and his two cohorts had raided an Osage ranch and stolen several horses. The gray was the last one recovered.
    “How’d you find me?” Clem sniped as Gideon hoisted him onto the horse then tied his feet to the stirrups. “Did my backstabbing friends squeal on me? Damn those rascals!”
    “Nope, I smelled you two miles away,” Gideon replied.
    “ I ’m not the stinking Injun around here. You are,” he muttered hatefully. “We ran off your redskin cousins in Texas and herded them into this territory. If it was up to me, you and your kind would be dead and gone.”
    Gideon’s response was a snort. Clem could spout insults until he ran out of breath. Gideon was ridding Indianreservations in the territory of white criminals and he was protecting his people from harm. That’s what mattered.
    “You hear what I said, Injun?” Clem ridiculed. “I—”
    His voice trailed off at the same moment that Gideon noticed movement in the shifting fog. The sun broke free briefly, leaving a pocket of light shimmering on the hillside. A shapely female in her early twenties emerged from the hazy shadows of trees and underbrush. Her long curly hair caught in the sparkling sunlight and danced like red-and-gold flames.
    She was tall—maybe five foot six inches, he guessed. Plus, she was all too alluring in brown, trim-fitting breeches that accentuated the shapely curve of her hips and the white shirt that molded itself provocatively to her full breasts.
    He blinked twice, wondering if he