another horse emerging from the pines to the north. It galloped toward the campsite, unnoticed by Deuce and Luther. The boy riding it wore the same shapeless clothing, red bandanna and oversize hat as the other two barreling in from the east.
Clay gritted his teeth. He was a sitting duck. If he didn’t get hit by one of the flying bullets, and his horse didn’t run out from under him, this outlaw would surely blow him to kingdom come with one easy shot. He held his breath, cursing himself, Deuce and Luther, and now these Schoolyard Boys.
The rider bore down on him. The horse beneath Clay stepped sideways, stretching the rope tighter around his neck.
“Whoa, fella, whoa.”
The boy pulled alongside, his horse tossing its head in protest. In a swift motion, he pulled a bowie knife from his trousers and swung it at Clay, cutting through the rope and sending tree bark flying.
Clay’s horse lunged sideways. He squeezed his knees tighter to keep his seat His head spun. Were the Schoolyard Boys trying to kill him, or rescue him?
Clay turned in the saddle for a glance at the boy who had cut him free, half expecting him to be gone, half expecting a bullet to explode in his face. The boy was beside him, knife in hand. Their gazes met for a split second. Amid the chaos of flying bullets and thundering hooves, that second lasted an eternity.
The boy nudged his horse closer, brandishing the knife. Clay felt the blade slide past his wrists and the ropes give way. Without giving Clay another look, he wheeled his horse around and crouched low as he raced back toward the pines.
“Gol-darn it!”
Luther let out a yelp and grabbed his shoulder as he dropped to his knees. “I’ve been hit! I’ve been hit by one of them dang fool boys!”
Deuce shrank back against the tree, watching blood spew from Luther’s shoulder. “Oh, God…” He turned away and threw up.
Clay pulled the noose from around his neck and swung down from his horse. He picked up Luther’s gun and disarmed Deuce, shoving the weapon into the waistband of his trousers.
The Schoolyard Boys stopped firing and turned north, toward the pines. The last rider’s horse went down. The boy flew through the air and landed hard on his belly. The other rider, not seeing what had happened, disappeared into the trees.
“Good! Serves you right!” Luther called to the fallen rider.
Clay took a length of rope and tied Luther’s wrists. Deuce sat up, his arms folded across his stomach, his face colorless. Clay thought he might cry.
He pointed his finger at him. “You stay put.” Deuce nodded quickly and shrank back against the tree trunk.
Clay mounted and rode out to the fallen boy. The horse was up and walking, seemingly uninjured by the fall. The rider hadn’t moved.
Clay slid from the saddle and knelt beside him as he lay facedown in the grass. The hat still covered his head, but the red bandanna had fallen below his chin exposing a gently curving jaw and the soft lines of a face that had never seen a razor. And never would.
Light footsteps brushed the grass behind him. Clay tensed and reached for his gun, then froze as cold metal pressed against his cheek.
“Eat dirt, lawman.”
The raspy, croaking voice sent a chill down Clay’s spine. He glanced up to find the barrel of a Winchester inches from his face. His gaze traveled upward and met with the large eyes of the rider who had cut him free, barely visible between the brim of the battered hat and the red bandanna. He’d looked bigger than life, charging into camp, wielding the bowie knife. Now Clay saw that he wasn’t much more than five feet tall; he could only guess at the slender build hidden beneath the clothing. But at the moment the Winchester added significantly to the boy’s stature.
Clay raised his hands. The third member of the Schoolyard Boys rode up, leading the horse that had gone down. The Winchester waved a silent instruction, and Clay turned his back and stretched out on the ground, facedown.
No one spoke, but he heard groans and whispers and finally horses galloping away. He turned in time to see the Schoolyard Boys disappear into the trees.
He mounted again and rode back to the campsite. Deuce was still sitting where he’d left him, while Luther moaned and cursed everything in sight.
“Gol-darn it, I can’t believe I got shot by one of them scrawny Schoolyard Boys. They’re not even dry behind the ears yet. I won’t be able to show my face in these parts again.”
“Don’t lose any sleep over it” Clay climbed down from his horse. “You won’t be showing your face anywhere but in a jail cell for a long time.”
“Dang it” Luther moaned as he sat back against the tree trunk. “I hate them boys.”
“I wonder where they’re from.” Deuce gazed off at the pines.
Luther kicked him. “Shut up, will you? They’re just kids. That’s how come they got the name Schoolyard Boys. Everybody’s asking that same question. Don’t nobody know nothing about them boys except how they’ve been making a nuisance of themselves robbing the stage.”
Clay turned toward the pines. There was no sign of the riders or their horses. But he’d learned something about the Schoolyard Boys that apparently no one else knew.
One of the Schoolyard Boys was a girl.
Kelsey Rodgers pulled back on the reins, and the horse pranced nervously in the soft earth. Her gaze swept the tall trees and the shallow stream running through the narrow valley. “This looks like a good spot. We’ll rest here for a while.”
“We should have let him swing.”
Kelsey slid from the saddle and gave her friend a scathing look. “I told you, Mallory, we had no choice. He was a lawman, for pity’s sake. Do you know what happens when one of them gets killed?”
Mallory dismounted and dropped her reins, allowing her horse to drink from the stream. “Yeah, I know.”
“Then you should know, too, that he could cause problems for us.”
Mallory tossed her head indifferently and sat down on the grassy bank.
Kelsey pulled off her hat. The long braid of her light brown hair uncoiled and fell down her back. “The last thing we need is a bunch of federal marshals swarming the countryside, which is what would have happened when word got out that a lawman had been hanged. Besides, with what we’ve got planned today, we’d most likely be the ones blamed for it.”
Mallory shrugged indifferently. “I still say we should have kept out of it and let the bastard hang.”
A chill swept up Kelsey’s spine. At times, Mallory’s recklessness alarmed her.
“Make her stop talking that way, Kelsey.”
Kelsey put her arm around Holly as she climbed down from her horse. “Are you feeling better? You took a hard fall.”
“I’m all right.” Holly patted the big bay mare and bit down on her bottom lip. “But what about her? What if she’s hurt bad? What if somebody finds out we took her—”
“Nobody is going to find out.” Kelsey glanced at the horse’s front leg. “Looks like she’ll need another shoe. I’ll take care of it when we get back to town.”
“You don’t think the marshal recognized me, do you?” Holly twisted her fingers together. “My bandanna came down. What if he knows who I am? What if he finds out? If I go to jail, I’ll never get to see—”
“He only got a glimpse of your face, not enough to accuse you of anything.” Kelsey patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
Holly nodded. “All right. If you say so.”
Kelsey sat down beside Mallory on the bank