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path leading down to the wagon was narrow enough to require all of Clint’s attention to keep from falling off. Once the path leveled out, Clint steered around toward the wagon to find himself immediately thrown into the fray.
    There were at least half a dozen men on horse back circling the wagon while tangling with one another. One of those men caught sight of Clint and Abigail, pointed in their direction, and shouted, “They got reinforcements!”
    â€œKill ’em with the rest!” another of the horse men replied.
    Gritting his teeth, Clint drew his Colt and tried to think of any possible way to make things better rather than worse. In the space of a few seconds, he soaked up as much of the scene in front of him as he could. As far as he could tell, the two riders who’d shouted to each other were dressed in similar jackets that were dirty enough to conceal their color and design. Clint was just quick enough to spot a saber hanging from the belt of one rider before the man circled around the wagon.
    The riders that weren’t wearing jackets were Indians. They had fire in their eyes and war paint on their faces, but were making less noise than the men they fought. In fact, those quiet Indians set about their task more methodically than all of the white men combined.
    In the second or two Clint had taken to gather this information, Abigail had charged in with her gun blazing. She fired at the closest Indian she could find and sent a round hissing through the air over her target’s head. The Indian turned in his saddle and aimed a rifle at her that was decorated with feathers and knotted leather. The rifle barked once and spat a round that clipped off a few of the fringes from Abigail’s jacket.
    Clint took a big risk by digging his heels into Eclipse’s sides and charging in front of Abigail. That put him between her and her intended target before she could fire. He prayed that she was thinking clearly enough to keep from pulling her trigger. Rather than keep a closer eye on her, Clint set his sights on the Indian that had fired at her and then pulled his trigger. The Colt bucked against Clint’s palm and delivered a bullet that sparked against the Indian’s rifle.
    The moment the Indian knew his rifle was damaged, he pulled his reins and steered away from Clint and Abigail. There were at least three more Indians to carry on without him.
    â€œHold your fire!” Clint shouted to Abigail.
    She looked at him as if she was about to fire through him rather than around him. “Why?”
    â€œJust follow my lead!”
    She didn’t look happy about it, but it seemed Abigail would do what Clint asked.
    Without staying still long enough to explain himself, Clint rode toward the wagon and fired another round at two Indians who were riding side by side and coming around to approach the wagon from a better angle. Clint fired two rounds in quick succession that didn’t draw any blood, but came close enough to break the Indians apart before they could do much of anything. Clint fired another shot that knocked the hat from one of the other riders’ heads before he could put a bullet into a retreating Indian’s back.
    â€œWho the hell are you, mister?” the closest rider in the jacket asked. “Can’t you see there’s a fight goin’ on?”
    â€œBehind you!” Clint shouted.
    Even though there wasn’t any immediate danger behind the rider, Clint’s warning got the man to duck as Clint fired a round over him. That bullet whipped through the air and sparked against a rock a few feet away from another one of the Indians. The Indian reacted by steering his horse away from the rock and thundering toward the others that were gathering several yards ahead of the wagon.
    The man in the jacket who had been approaching Clint straightened up and took a quick look over his shoulder. “Whoever you are, I appreciate the