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left unbound most of the time, had worked a dozen of the rougher cow towns in both Texas and New Mexico, and she had acquired a hard veneer along the way.
    Nancy, younger, was new to the profession, and it showed.
    There was a wholesomeness and innocence about her that Cannan liked. She reminded him of his wife, but only in small ways, like the way she frowned and how easily she moved around the room, her skirt rustling.
    Cannan swallowed a spoonful of soup, and Nancy nodded and gave him a bright, that’s-a-good-boy smile.
    He was propped up on the pillows and naked under the sheet as a concession to the hot summer weather. Outside he heard the town come to life, the rumble of farm wagons and the thud of pedestrian heels on the boardwalk.
    For some reason Cannan felt uneasy, not because of his wounds, though God knows they were reason enough, but something else that he couldn’t put a finger on. He felt like a rider lost in the midst of a prairie thunderstorm... a man waiting for something bad to happen.
    He’d been warned when he’d first signed on that to stay aboveground a Ranger must develop the instincts of a lobo wolf.
    â€œYou take ol’ Bardolph now, he’s out there in the woods howlin’ an’ fussin’ because he reckons hard times are comin’ down,” an old-time Ranger once told him. “He’s only a wolf, so he can’t rightly tell what they are, but he sure as hell knows they’re comin’.”
    The old Ranger took time to light his pipe, then said, “If he wants to go on living, a Ranger must mind his instincts just like Bardolph does and know when hard times are sneakin’ up on him.” He nodded. “Yup, them’s true words of wisdom as ever was spoke.”
    Recalling that advice, Cannan minded his instincts now.
    He said, “Roxie, please bring my gun over here.”
    â€œYou planning to shoot your nurses, Ranger?” the woman said.
    Cannan smiled. “No, I don’t want to do that. I’d just like it closer, is all.”
    â€œYou’ll get spooked in the night and shoot your toes off,” Roxie said.
    â€œI’ve been spooked in the night plenty of times before and I’ve still got all ten,” Cannan said.
    â€œIt might make Hank feel better,” Nancy said. “Lawmen like their guns close at hand.”
    â€œWell, don’t blame me if you shoot your fool head off,” Roxie said.
    She picked up Cannan’s holstered Colt from the corner and buckled the cartridge belt before looping it over the bedpost.
    â€œThere,” she said. “Does that make you feel better now?”
    â€œSafer,” Cannan said.
    Roxie smiled. “Now who’s going to harm a man in his sickbed?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Cannan said.
    â€œMe neither,” Roxie said. “But if it makes you more at ease...”
    â€œIt does,” Cannan said. “It surely does.”
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    Mickey Pauleen stood beside his saddled horse in the livery stable, the reins in his hand, and said, “You boys got it? A fast in, kill him, and a fast out. Then light a shuck for the hills and lie low for a couple of days before you head back to town.”
    â€œWe got it, Mickey,” Jess Gable said, grinning. “It’s gonna be easy.”
    â€œMaybe,” Dave Randall said. “The Ranger killed Merritt and nobody figured Black John a bargain.”
    â€œI can get somebody else, Dave,” Pauleen said, his voice iced.
    â€œI was only saying, Mickey,” Randall said.
    â€œHe’s sick. How much can a sick man bring to a gunfight?” Pauleen said.
    â€œI’ll get the job done,” Randall said. “I was only saying.”
    Dave Randall had run with Jesse Evans and that hard crowd in the Lincoln County War, and he’d been at Presidio del Norte in Mexico when Evans was outgunned and captured by Texas Rangers.
    Randall had escaped, turned to bank