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own blankets.
    Trace hesitated for a few minutes until he realized he was doing it. When he admitted to himself that he was a little tentative about going over to sleep beside her, he shook himself. Men the world over would trade him places in a heartbeat. What was he worried about? He was married to her for heaven’s sake.
    All of his life he’d dreamed of someday finding a beautiful, sweet girl to play house with. So they weren’t necessarily playing house, at the very least he could enjoy being by her. So far she’d been really great. He got his bedroll and spread it out beside her, being careful not to wake her. She was as pretty tonight as she’d been this morning, and he lay down next to her with a sigh.
    It was good that he was tired to the bone. As he closed his eyes, he was inordinately pleased that Henry Filson hadn’t shown up again tonight.
    Sometime deep in the night, when Dog growled, he realized he’d had that thought too soon. He reached next to his head and grasped his revolver, the sound of the hammer cocking back loud in the still night. Giselle opened her eyes and looked at him. Silently he mouthed for quiet and went to get up, but Mose’s voice sounded out before he moved.
    It was almost conversational. “Trace, you know that galoot you threatened to shoot on sight a couple nights ago? I’ve got him here by the throat. You want me to just throttle him or you want to come out here and shoot him as promised?”
    Trace smiled at Giselle to calm the fear he saw in her eyes and sat up to put his boots on. He answered in the same conversational tone. “Save him for me to shoot. There are those who would come after you for wringing a white’s neck. I’ll be right there. Take him out to the edge of the flat. I don’t want to get blood on any of our gear.”
    He got up and shrugged into his shirt and strapped on his gun belt and walked toward the sound of Mose’s voice. What to do with this fool? He ought to shoot him, but the physician side of him would rail at that unless he had no choice. So then, what? What would make this slob yearn for a different clime?
    Approaching Mose, one of the others arrived as well, leading a saddled horse. Mose truly did have the guy by the throat and he was all but blue when Trace encouraged him to let go. Trace nonchalantly began to unsaddle the horse and said over his shoulder to Filson, “Start shucking those clothes, you piece of coyote bait. I’m going to make you wish I’d shot you long before I actually do it.”
    Still gasping for breath, Filson whined, “What do you mean?”
    Turning from the horse, Trace grasped the front of the heavy Missourian’s shirt and literally jerked it off of him. “I said exactly what I mean. Take ’em off. All of ’em. Right down to your dirty, fat hide. Now!”
    Filson’s eyes looked more frightened than ever and Trace said, “All I’m going to do is make you ride this razorback of yours the thirty something miles back to St. Joe without the comfort of any padding. I’m going to give you a running start before I start shooting. It might be thirty yards, it might be a hundred. You never know.
    “You’ll just know that you’re gonna be riding for your life and hope you make it out of range before I hit your big, gleaming, white backside. But this is the last time I’m gonna give you a break. Next time, I truly will be aiming for your heart, and I’m a good shot.”
    By this time, there were nine men standing together in the dark and one of them asked, “Trace, you gonna hog all that shootin’ to yourself? Or can any of us take a crack at his glowing hiney?”
    Trace turned. “Y’all boys want in?” Several of them answered in various styles to the affirmative and Trace smiled. “There’s not going to be any prize for whoever gets the best shot. Other than knowing that you’ve done all of Missouri a favor. You’re sure?” More interesting yeses followed and Trace said, “All right, but let him get out