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“Let’s ride!”
    The girls were gone in a cloud of dust.
    â€œWe’ll just poke along behind,” Matt said. “Their horses can’t take much of that. They’re just showing off for our benefit.”
    The brothers fell in behind the girls, riding at an easy canter, keeping them in sight but staying far back until the girls stopped their showing off and gave their horses a chance to blow. It didn’t take long. The girls reined up at the crest of a long-swelling hill.
    The day was one of those Texas days, the sky so blue it hurt your eyes and the visibility so fine you’d think you could see for a thousand miles.
    â€œIt’s a good two-hour buggy ride from ranch to ranch,” Lia said. “But we’ll cut that in half going cross-country.”
    â€œEver see any hostiles out here?” Sam asked innocently.
    â€œYou mean Indians on the warpath?” Lisa said.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNot in about a year. There are a few renegade Comanches left and some Apaches, but the ’Paches usually stay well south of here. They still have some trouble along the border, but up here we’ve been lucky—so far,” she knew to add. She looked at Sam, questions in her eyes. “You would kill an Indian?”
    â€œHell, yes!” The question startled him. “Would and have. Color has nothing to do with staying alive. My father, Lisa, banished me from the tribe, declaring me forever to be a white man. He knew that for me to get anywhere, as far as having any kind of future, I would have to adopt the white man’s ways. I’m not saying he was right, or that I agreed with it, but I did it out of respect for my father.”
    â€œRiders coming,” Matt said, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. “About a half a dozen of them.”
    â€œIt’s a cinch they aren’t our hands or any of the boys from the Flyin’ V,” Lia said.
    â€œThey’re Broken Lance riders,” Lia said, standing up in the stirrups and squinting her eyes against the sun. “And they’re on Circle S land.”
    â€œBlackie, Val, and Childress,” Sam said. “Those are hired guns with them.”
    â€œThings are about to get real interesting,” Matt said, slipping the hammer thongs from his .44’s.
    Both Lia and Lisa shucked rifles from saddle boots and levered in a round. Lia said, “My sister and me stood beside our parents since we were old enough to handle a rifle and fought Apaches, Comanches, and outlaws when they attacked the ranch. I’ll be damned if we’ll back down from a bunch of scum workin’ for John Lee.”
    Sam smiled. “About to get very interesting, I should say.”

Chapter 4
    Bam Ford was one of the hired guns. Neither Matt nor Sam knew the other gunslicks. All told there were six Broken Lance riders: three punchers and three gunhawks. And none of the six liked those Winchester rifles in the hands of the girls—especially since they were pointed at their bellies, the hammers back.
    â€œWe was just cuttin’ across your range, missy,” Blackie said.
    â€œThis range is posted and has been for years. Can’t you read?” Lia challenged.
    â€œYou need to have your butt jerked outta that saddle and spanked,” a gunslick told her. “You got a smart mouth and a real bad attitude.”
    Lia shot him. She gave no warning, did not change expression, and did not flinch when she pulled the trigger.
    The slug hit the hired gun in the shoulder and knocked him slap out of the saddle.
    Matt and Sam had cleared leather before the gunhawk left the saddle. Bam Ford had a very sorrowful expression on his face as he looked down the muzzles of two rifles and two six-shooters. He and the others had been caught flat-footed and knew it.
    Bam said, “He spoke for hisself, missy. I ain’t never abused no woman in my life, nor talked ugly to one.” Which was probably