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it. But why? And what about Grey? Was he trying to sound like a good peacemaker for the sake of the townspeople? Had he been the one who had hit him?
    "You saw George stabbed?" Grey asked solemnly.
    Stabbed? Every muscle in Ryland's body wrenched. Patterson had been stabbed? But why, when he was already dead?
    "I seen it all, Mr. Grey," said Red, and shuddered.
    "God help us," Grey murmured, shaking his head miserably. "And the murderer—you're sure..."
    "It was him!" Red raised two fingers abruptly toward Travis. "But I couldn't catch up to him right off. So I followed him. Only I lost him in the dark. Then all of a sudden like, there he was—right in front of me. I didn't want to shoot him. It all happened so quick—wasn't sure who he was. So I just swung with my rifle."
    "And you're sure? You're sure it's the same man?"
    Red nodded grimly. "He's the one. He killed George."
    There was an angry swelling of sound, like incensed bees, and then the men poured into the room, undeterred by one frail voice that still questioned the whereabouts of the money.
    There was nothing Travis could do. His head swam as he was jerked to his feet. The walls dipped and blackness threatened. His feet faltered, but there was no need for him to walk, for he was being carried along by his still bound arms.
    The mob swarmed outside with him, bubbling about in seething rage.
    The fat yellow moon leered down on him, granting just enough light for Travis to see the rope.
    From the dark, hidden copse, Katherine grasped a branch in each hand and peered through the unfolding leaves. What was happening? Had the world gone mad?
    Ryland stood in the center of a rumbling crowd. She could just make out his head above the others', but it was the rope that drew the gasp from her.
    This couldn't be happening! He was innocent! And she knew it!
    The noose swayed from the branch of a nearby scrub oak, stiff and waiting. The mob pressed toward it. Katherine watched the madness unfold as if each part was played with no more consequence than if they were but actors on a stage.
    "Hang him!"
    "No." She found she'd only whispered the word.
    The noose was pulled downward. Ryland was pressed nearer, and suddenly the horrid reality of the situation broke through to her senses. She was beside the huge horse in a second, her hands on the long gun behind his saddle. She pulled it free with some difficulty, and then she was running through the undergrowth toward the mob.
    "No!" she screamed. "Don't!"
    The crowd took no notice. There were angry shouts all around. She felt small and helpless. Her hands tightened around the rifle.
    Never in her life had she fired a gun, but she'd seen it done, and desperation made her act. Cocking the thing with shaking hands, she tilted the muzzle toward the inky sky, and fired.
    Her buttocks hit the ground with numbing force. The rifle fell from her stinging fingers, but she scrambled to her feet, only noticing the quiet that had settled in like a wet blanket, chill and uncomfortable.
    "He didn't do it!" Her voice sounded weak to her own ears. Every face was turned toward her.
    There was a moment of silence, then, "How do you know?" A man in a robe stepped away from the mob.
    "I was..." Katherine stumbled on her own words. She needed to save Ryland, but to condemn herself was more than she could do without blanching.
    "Who are you?" The robed man stepped closer.
    Katherine pressed her palms to her nightshift, suddenly remembering her shameful state of undress. Before she could explain, there were shouts of outrage and shock. Bodies near the center of the crowd toppled like toy soldiers and then a man careened away from the mob.
    "Run!" Travis shouted, but Katherine was stuck to the ground like a great tree root as she gaped at Ryland's galloping form. His arms were unbound, and he yelled again, something indiscernible, as he sprinted toward the trees. She watched him go as shots rang out mingled with shouts. Bullets whizzed their high-pitched