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bear is Marshall Carter
Monroe. We’re U.S. Marshals, so you’re in safe hands.”
    Damn! Damn! Double
damn! Of all the rotten luck! U.S.
Marshals? Well, she might as well ask. “Am I under
arrest?”
    “Is there any reason you
should be?” Carter asked.
    Mary almost blurted
out, There is a murder that I’m trying to
sort out, but she caught herself. “I—I
don’t think so.”
    “You don’t sound too sure.
We’ll talk later,” Carter said in a deep voice that she found she
liked, even if he did seem to be very disagreeable. “Do you
remember your name?”
    “Mary,” she said, but
quickly added, “I don’t remember my last name.”
    “Well, Mary, you just hang
on, and if we’re lucky, we’ll be in Windy Bend by
nightfall.”
    “I don’t know where that
is.”
    “I should hope not,”
Carter said, “especially since you can’t remember
anything.”
    Mary swallowed hard. She
was going to have to think before she spoke if she was to pull off
her deception. And that wasn’t something she usually did. However,
it would have been nice if she really couldn’t remember. She wanted
to wipe the sight of the murder out of her mind. Swallowing
quickly, she held her breath to prevent the tears that were
threatening to pool in her eyes.
    U.S. Marshals were not
dumb. They were savvy hunters. They were also the best lawmen
around, and she had the feeling that the man in front of her was
one of the best, but right now she just couldn’t think anymore. It
made her head hurt too bad. So she closed her eyes and rested her
head against Carter’s strong back and let out a small
sigh.
    Funny, here she sat in the
middle of a very dagerous situation with men who could arrest her
and put her in jail, yet at the moment she felt very
safe.
    Trouble ... she was in a
world of trouble.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    Gregory Gulch was coated
with pristine white snow. The scent of green pines and evergreen
filled the air.
    At first glance no one
would have imagined the grisly scene Marshal Forester had found
yesterday. He had only been in Gregory Gulch six months, having
replaced Marshal Stanley, so this disruption to the peace was new
to him. So far the camp had been quite peaceful during that
time—until yesterday.
    Forester still wasn’t sure
he could believe the way Big Jim had been cut. How could the boy
have done something like that, but who else could have killed Big
Jim? Everybody in town liked him. But with the boy missing, he sure
looked guilty, Forester thought as he watched the miners lower the
pine box into the ground.
    The miners had to use their
picks on the frozen ground. The clicks of the mining tools echoed
around them. Usually when someone died and it was this cold they
would store the body until it was warmer. But not this time. The
miners were determined that Big Jim would have a proper
burial.
    The ugly rust-colored dirt
provided a harsh contrast to the pristine white snow. It was also a
reminder that though this pretty country looked clean, it was also
full of danger.
    One of the men said a quick
prayer, his breath rising into the cold air like steam escaping a
locomotive. When he’d finished everyone said amen, then quickly
picked up their shovels and began covering the pine box with stiff
dirt that sounded more like rocks hitting the wood than
snow.
    That was, all but one
man.
    He was a stranger. Forester
recognized him as the snake oil salesman who’d arrived yesterday
morning. He wouldn’t have to wonder long who the man was because
the stranger was walking his way.
    “Marshal.” The man greeted
him with a curt nod. “My name is John McCoy. I am Jim’s half
brother.”
    “I heard you’d arrived
yesterday. Didn’t have any idea that you were related to Big
Jim.”
    “I didn’t tell
anybody.”
    Forester cleared his
throat. “So you got to see your brother before ... ?”
    McCoy nodded. “Yep. I
parked my wagon near his house and Jim invited me to
supper.”
    “Walk on back to the
office