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had she gone with a man like Heck Gunn when she could have been married to dear Dickie and likely inherited a Texas fortune?
    Puzzling . . .
    â€œYeah, I’m sure they would have passed you around like a lone bottle amongst ’em, once they got to Mexico,” Longarm said, shoving his Winchester into the grullo’s saddle scabbard.
    He turned a faintly cunning smile on her. “But I do believe I’ll help see you safely back to Jawbone, Miss Lacy.”
    Despite that Shafter was watching him closely, a vaguely puzzled expression on his face that appeared to always look slightly puzzled, he let his eyes flick boldly across the girl’s breasts to let her know he knew at least part of what she was up to, and that she wasn’t going to get it.
    â€œYou and I have shared so much . . . er, I mean we’ve come so far away from the gang, I’m sure their trail’s gone cold. Besides, ole Gunn’s robbing the Jawbone bank is a local matter, not federal. Nah, I’ll head on back to Jawbone, send a telegram to my superior in Denver, and see what his orders are. If I were to go after the Gunn and Cruz Bunch all legal-like, I might have to get sworn in by Town Marshal Beamer or the county sheriff.”
    Lacy tightened her arms across her breasts and glared at him, lips making a straight line across her mouth. Her pretty nostrils flared.
    Longarm saw no reason in inviting possible conflict by informing Captain Shafter of his intention to incarcerate the man’s wife-to-be until they got to Jawbone. If Lacy wasn’t going to, why should he?
    He looked at Shafter regarding him with that perpetually puzzled expression, red-blond brows furrowed over large, cobalt-blue eyes. “Why don’t you and your men water your horses, Captain,” the federal lawman suggested. “Then let’s start the trek back to Jawbone.”
    Shafter nodded, then turned to the men still sitting their mounts behind him. “Court, we’d better water our horses. We’ll start back to Jawbone in a minute.”
    When Shafter and the others had led their mounts over to the creek, Lacy turned to Longarm. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied.”
    Longarm just stared at her with the faintly incredulous expression he’d realized was his customary expression whenever she was around.
    â€œHe’ll kill me,” she said, staring toward where Shafter and the men led their horses through the cottonwoods flashing gold. “Slower than Gunn, for sure, but he’ll kill me just the same.”
    â€œHow in the hell do you figure that?” Longarm said with a disbelieving chuff. “He looks as taken with you as every other man you show your tits to and wag your pretty little ass at.”
    Ignoring the question, she turned back to Longarm with a threatening look. “I could tell him of your intentions, you know. I could even tell him you took me by force last night. You saw how good with that pistol he is. His men are almost as fast and accurate as he is.”
    â€œGo ahead.” Longarm gave a challenging grin. He knew she wouldn’t tell the earnest, beplumed Dickie about last night. Hell, Shafter would more likely shoot her than Longarm.
    She gave a groan of frustration and raked her hands through her hair angrily until that golden mass looked like freshly spun honey.
    A half hour later, Longarm, Lacy, Captain Shafter, and the captain’s four moodily silent trail partners were on the trail back toward Jawbone, a little town tucked between the Sawatch Range and South Park, along the Arkansas River.
    The San Juan Mountains were directly behind them now to the south, and the Sangre de Cristo loomed high and mighty, like a long, giant backbone, to their right. The terrain they rode through was low rolling hills spotted with buckbrush and sage, with cottonwoods sheathing hidden creeks and piñons crawling up the slopes of buttes and shelving mesas.
    The