.45-Caliber Deathtrap (21 page)

Cuno whistled to catch the sawbones's attention, then pointed down at Kong.

“It's just a scratch,” Kong said. “Li Mei can tend…” His voice trailed off as his gaze strayed to something behind Cuno.

Cuno turned a glance over his right shoulder. Glory stood near the Hell Wagon. She wore a green wool traveling skirt, a frilly white blouse, and a broad-brimmed, green felt hat. A pearl-gripped, .36-caliber pistol jutted from the soft leather holster on her right hip.

She regarded him shame-faced, blond hair sifting about her cheeks. Tears glistened in her blue eyes.

Cuno straightened, facing her. “The outlaw girl.”

“It wasn't my fault,” she pouted. “Case offered me four thousand dollars and safe passage to Mexico City.”

“For what?”

She brushed her cheek with her hand. “Findin' out when the Hell Wagon was due.”

“How'd you manage that?”

Glory lifted a shoulder. A tear rolled down her cheek. “The mine manager…”

Cuno nodded and chuckled. “A customer.”

Glory scrunched her eyes with halfhearted defiance. “I didn't do anything any other girl wouldn't have done in the same position. I'm tired of spreadin' my legs for a livin'.”

“You prefer breakin' rock in the federal pen like Cannady?” Cuno grabbed her arm, pulled her along as he moved to one of the dead renegade's horses standing with its reins dangling.

“What're you doin'?” Taking quick, mincing steps along beside him, Glory tried to pry his thick fingers off her arm. “That hurts!”

“Be grateful I don't spank your bare bottom with a saddle quirt. Or throw you to the law.”

He threw her onto the saddle, her skirt flying awry, then flipped the reins at her. “Get outta here!”

“I don't have nowhere to go!”

“Knowing you, you'll find a place.”

“I didn't wanna do it, Cuno. I didn't have a choice.”

He glared up at her. “None of us does anything we don't wanna do, Glory. We all have a choice.” He slapped the horse's rump. The buckskin reared, lunged off its hind hooves, and galloped west. After nearly falling off, the girl slumped forward, clutching the saddle horn, her hair bouncing on her shoulders.

The horse streaked past an oncoming ore wagon, the driver craning his neck to follow the horse and its pretty, sobbing rider with his eyes. The buckskin crested a distant grade and disappeared down the other side.

Cuno cursed and climbed into the Murphy's driver's box.

“Hey, where you goin'?” Serenity called.

Cuno released the brake and whipped the horses around the Hell Wagon, heading east along Main.

“I'm gonna off-load these supplies. Then I'm headin' for a saloon.” Glancing over his left shoulder, Cuno added, “I'll be there awhile!”

Serenity stared after him, squinting into the dust. The old man snorted and bit off a hunk from the tobacco braid in his right hand. “Now you're talkin'!”

Peter Brandvold
was born and raised in North Dakota. He currently resides in Colorado. His website is www.peterbrandvold.com. You can drop him an e-mail at [email protected].