toward two men camped out near a stream in the bottom of a shallow canyon. Both men were waiting, watching the riders approach. If they’d looked beyond the riders, they might have seen McCord in the long shadows, following.
He waited as the day aged and the outlaws slowly wound their way around rocks and streams toward the camp.
In the campfire light McCord swore one of the men had to be the gambler. He even noticed the flicker of gold from the watch chain on the gambler’s vest. The other man in camp was tall and dressed in black. If this was an outlaw camp there would be one, maybe two men in the shadows on guard, but the Ranger had no time to worry about them now. Anna’s and Clark’s lives might be measured in minutes.
McCord knew his part. He could go no closer without the men in camp seeing him, and when they did he needed to be ready. He drew both his Colts, not bothering with the rifle, circled the reins around his saddle horn, and kicked the tired horse into a full run. With Anna and Clark halfway between him and the camp, Wynn knew he’d reach her long before the outlaws could make it to the others watching from the shadows.
The minute the outlaws, with their captives in tow, spotted him, McCord opened fire. He hit the man leading the two prisoners with his first shot. The other outlaw grabbed at the rope on Anna’s horse. Clark shouted something as he tumbled off his horse, hands still tied behind his back. A second later, Anna also tumbled and rolled from a horse gone wild from the noise.
The outlaw with Anna was so busy fighting to control the horses he didn’t notice that he’d lost his captives. Both men at the camp grabbed their weapons and shouted orders.
Suddenly, shots exploded from every direction. The men standing at the camp jerked in a fatal dance with bullets. The outlaw on horseback tried to ride away.
A dozen more shots rattled across the sky and then the night fell silent. Both men at the campsite lay dead. The mounted outlaw screamed as his horse bolted, and tumbled. One of his feet remained in the stirrup dragging him behind his horse. One shot from somewhere left of McCord silenced the screams, but the outlaw’s body still bounced over rocks as the horse ran.
The screams and the last shot echoed into the canyon until they were only whispers on the wind. McCord took a deep breath. He’d felt the peace after a battle many times. One more time he’d survived, but tonight his thoughts were for another.
McCord holstered his guns and headed toward Anna. He found her sitting beside Clark, wrapping what was left of her apron around the kid’s arm. Both of them smiled as he neared.
“She said you’d come,” Clark groaned. “Drove the two fellows crazy with her threats of what you’d do to them when you came.”
McCord didn’t look at her; he couldn’t, not yet, not till he knew it was over. “You all right, kid?”
“I’m fine. They shot me in the right arm this morning because I told them I was a crack shot. But Anna made them let her bandage it. She says I’m lucky the bullet went right through.”
McCord saw Cunningham and his men moving into the campsite, making sure the others were dead.
Clark’s voice shook a little. “They told us they were going to hang us tonight, then gut us like we was fresh game. They knew you’d be coming and they figured when you found our bodies, you’d be foolish enough to do something stupid.”
Anna stood. “Which you did.” Fists on her hips, she faced him. “You rode straight in here like a madman. It’s a wonder you don’t have four bullets in your chest.” Her voice was fired with anger. “When I saw you barreling straight toward us, Wynn McCord, I almost had a heart attack.”
McCord finally looked at her. “Startled men don’t take the time to aim. I knew I could kill one, maybe two before they’d get a shot close to me. I was giving the sergeant and his men time to step out and open fire from other directions.” He hesitated, fighting down a smile over her finally using his first name. Damn, if she wasn’t adorable all covered in dirt and twigs. “Glad to see you, Anna.”
When she straightened up as if planning to give him a lecture on being careful, he raised his hands in surrender and closed the distance between them. He couldn’t very well grab her and kiss her in front of the other men, but he could at least get close.
The click of a rifle cocking sounded from somewhere in the night. It had to be the lookout the outlaws posted. The outlaw McCord had forgotten might be hidden in the night.
He dove at Anna, knocking her down a second before the bullet meant for her blasted into his back. He felt her beneath him, then pain exploded all other thought. The last thing he heard was another round being fired. He waited for the second bullet to hit, but before he realized it hadn’t been meant for him, blackness washed over him, carrying him under like a huge wave.
In the silence of dying, he drifted back to the battlefield years ago when he’d fallen. The arms of the nurse who’d stopped to help him circled him and whispered, “You’re going to be all right, soldier. You’re not going to die.”
Only this time McCord knew she was wrong. He’d finally drawn the short card.
Chapter 9
Anna frantically bandaged the Ranger, trying to slow the bleeding as the others built a travois to pull him home.
“Don’t you die on me, Wynn. Don’t you dare die on me.”
He didn’t respond.
Angry, she continued. “I don’t care if my voice irritates you. You’re not going to die. Do you hear me? You’re not going to die.”
Blood soaked the strips of cotton that had once been her underskirt. She pulled the bandage tighter, hoping to keep the blood from flowing out the hole in his back. When the men came to lift him onto the travois, she followed a step behind, giving unneeded orders for them to be careful.
Once they were moving, Sergeant Cunningham ordered one of his men to ride ahead with her and Clark. With luck they could be back in camp by dawn.
She didn’t want to leave her Ranger, but Anna saw the logic. She hadn’t sat a horse since her days as an army nurse, but she hadn’t forgotten how to ride hard, and Clark, despite his wound, rode as easy as he walked. McCord’s wound was too deep to risk traveling fast, and Clark’s arm still needed proper care or the infection could kill him. The practical side of her she’d always depended on overruled her heart.
Clark signaled that he was ready and they were off. They rode fast across flat land, with only the moon for light, and reached the camp at first light. Anna swore half the garrison turned out to help.
While she cleaned up, three men washed a few layers of dirt off Clark. Another lit a fire in the examining room and spread out a buffalo hide on the table for the Ranger.
Anna doctored and bandaged Clark’s arm with the roomful of men watching. They groaned with the kid, like midwives at their first birthing. Anna grinned at Clark, guessing he was complaining more than necessary just to hear the echo.
As she wrapped the wound, one of the men who’d ridden with Cunningham asked Clark, “How’d you shoot that one hiding in the shadows without your firing arm?”
Clark thought for a moment, then started slowly into a story he knew he’d tell more than once. “When I heard the shot coming out of the night, I grabbed a rifle lying in the dust. The bandit, who’d been riding behind us all day yelling obscenities, must have dropped it when he was knocked out of the saddle. I raised it toward where I’d seen the flash of fire. It was so black I couldn’t see anything but his eyes. I just shot between them.”
“With your left hand?”
“My father always said, ‘You got two, might as well learn to shoot with them both.’” Clark smiled. “I didn’t want to mention that to the outlaws earlier. Thought they might decide to blast away at my left arm as well.”
Anna smiled, doubting any of the men would call Clark a boy again.