"Is he that fast?" Blade asked Billy.

"Yeah."

"Can he hit what he aims at?"

"That, too."

"Then you ought to be working for us," Blade said. "We can pay you more than the Spring Water."

"I'm not working for the Spring Water," Chet said again. "I'm just traveling through."

"Where're you going?"

Chet was beginning to be irritated by this youngster. "Haven't made up my mind yet."

"Don't let us keep you," Billy said.

"You'll be on LR land for the next ten miles," Blade said. "Make sure you leave it as empty-handed as you came."

Chet felt the anger build inside him in a rapid crescendo. He tried to tell himself Blade was little more than a boy, that he was suffering from unrequited love and was probably already regretting his words. He reminded himself that Melody would probably be the kid's mother before Christmas. Anything Chet did would rebound on her because she'd given him the horse he now rode.

It didn't work. His temper got the upper hand.

"I'll make a trade with you," he said. "I won't rustle your cows if your men stop hara.s.sing the Spring Water cowhands."

"Our men wouldn't bother with the Spring Water hands," Blade said.

Chet couldn't decide whether his contempt was for the smallness of Melody's ranch or the hands' ability with guns.

"Somebody shot the Speers boy," Chet said. "He said it was rustlers. You wouldn't be trying to steal a few cows on the side, would you? No, I guess not. Despite that gun you tote, you still look wet behind the ears."

Blade's eyes blazed with fury, and a little of Chet's anger ebbed. The young c.o.c.kerel didn't like being treated with his own medicine. He apparently thought being his father's son gave him a right to do what he pleased. It was high time he learned different. "I'd better be on my way," Chet said as he touched his hat and started his horse forward. "Nice talking to you."

"Dammit!" Blade cursed as Chet rode past. "I'll show you I'm a man."

"Some other time," Chet said without turning around. "I've got a long way to go."

"Come back here!" Blade ordered.

Chet kept going, dipping down into the depression from which Billy and Blade had sprung so unexpectedly.

"Blade, let it ride," Billy said.

"The h.e.l.l I will! n.o.body's going to call me a child."

"You can'tBlade, don't!"

Chet would have sworn somebody hit him on the side of his head with a hammer, except it felt hotter than a branding iron. Only when he found himself falling out of the saddle did he realize he'd been shot. A futile curse rose to his lips as blackness closed around him.

He'd left it too late. A young fool had finally gotten himself a reputation.

Luke Attmore thrust his spurs into his mount's flanks, driving the horse into an easy gallop. That gunshot could mean nothing, but it could just as easily mean trouble. Billy and Blade were out together. Luke didn't need Lantz Royal to tell him that was a dangerous combination. If Lantz really wanted to protect his son, he'd fire Billy Mason instead of telling Luke to keep an eye on Blade.

Luke didn't usually babysit anybody. He was a professional gunman paid for his skill and his willingness to use it. He'd been hired to find rustlers. Lantz had added keeping an eye on Blade afterwards. When Luke threatened to quit, Lantz doubled his salary. Nevertheless, Luke was sick of Blade's company. The boy was spoiled and vicious. He was smaller and weaker than his father, and he pushed people just to prove himself. His self-image had suffered badly when Melody Jordan refused his offer of marriage, saying he was too young. The relationship between father and son had turned stormy when Blade discovered his father was courting Melody with every sign of success. Now they couldn't be in the same room without shouting at each other.

Luke topped a rise. The nearly flat piece of West Texas plain stretched out miles before him. Some distance off he saw two hors.e.m.e.n riding away. Billy and Blade. He recognized their horses. Maybe one of them had taken a shot at a p.r.o.nghorn antelope, but Luke didn't see any game. He didn't see another rider, so they couldn't be chasing anyone.

Yet they were riding too fast. A horse wouldn't last long at that pace, and only a fool wore down his horse without a reason. Luke slowed his horse to a canter, a trot, and then a walk. Something had happenedhe could feel itbut he didn't know what. He realized there was a dip in the ground ahead when the tips of a horse's ears appeared, followed by the head. Now he knew there was something wrong. The horse wore a saddle. Where was his rider?

Luke spurred his horse forward. Twenty yards later, the bottom of the dip opened before him and he saw the body of a man lying face down on the ground. Even at a distance, Luke could see the blood in his hair. He could also read the brand on the horse's flank. h.e.l.l, Blade had shot some poor Spring Water cowhand. Everybody knew Lantz was putting pressure on the Spring Water to force Melody Jordan to marry him, but up until now he had stayed within the law.

This killing could blow things wide open.

Luke rode forward. He wasn't about to help the sheriff do his job, but he couldn't leave a man to the coyotes. He'd tie the body to the horse and send it home. The Spring Water foreman could take it from there. There wouldn't be any way to tie the killing to Blade or the LR Ranch.

Uneasiness spread through Luke as he drew close to the body. Something about this man looked familiar. The blond hair, the tall body. He couldn't pin it down, but he was certain he'd seen this man before.

Luke dismounted, picked up the hat that had fallen several feet from the body, and caught up the horse's reins. He led the horse over to the body and untied the rope from the saddle. He knelt down and turned the body over.

Shock, cold and sickening, rolled around in his belly. He stared, unbelieving, at the still face. It was his brother.

Luke hadn't seen Chet in three years. Hard words has pa.s.sed between them before they parted. Chet had insisted Luke quit hiring his gun to people outside the law. Luke had told Chet to mind his own business. When Chet said Luke was like their father, Luke had slugged him. It took half-a-dozen men to separate them.

Luke had not forgiven Chet. But now, looking down at his brother's inert form, he felt only tremendous guilt. Chet had given up his job as Jake's foreman to follow Luke, to keep an eye on him. That had always made Luke mad. He didn't need Chet's protection. He was faster than his brother.

But none of that mattered as he stared at Chet's body. A murderous rage toward Blade Royal filled his heart. The boy would die. Chet had been shot from behind.

Luke also felt a great sense of loneliness. He had no one else now. His father was dead. His mother had disappeared shortly after he was born. Luke had turned his back on Jake and his family when he hired his gun that first time. Only Chet had never given up on him, had begged him to give up a life that could have just one ending.

But Chet had been the one to die first.

For a moment Luke couldn't decide what to do. He couldn't bury him here, but where could he take him? Then he knew he had to take him home to Jake. They might be outcasts, but Jake's was the only real home he and Chet had ever had. Luke knelt on the rocky ground. Sharp-edged stones cut into his knees as he slid his arms under Chet and tried to lift him. He didn't succeed. He'd never realized how hard it was to pick up two hundred pounds of dead weight from a kneeling position. He readjusted his hold and tried again.

The groan startled him. He hadn't been aware of making a sound. Then he realized he'd heard two groans. He quickly laid Chet down, unb.u.t.toned his shirt, and slipped his hand inside. His brother was alive. Luke could feel his heart beating.

A feeling of relief came over him, one that was so strong, it robbed him of his strength. He had to drop back down, resting on his heels, until the weakness left him. As soon as he recovered, he checked the wound. The shot had grazed Chet's head, causing a lot of bleeding. It looked as if the bullet had traveled along the line of the skull and exited over the eye. It was a good thing Chet had such a hard head.

Chet opened his eyes. He looked confused at first. "Luke?"

He sounded relieved, as though he knew everything would be all right now that his brother was there. That made Luke feel more guilty than ever.

"What . . . are you . . . doing here?" Chet asked. He spoke haltingly, as though it took a tremendous effort to think of each word.

"Never mind that. Who shot you? Why?"

"Blade. Thought I was . . . working for Spring Water . . . riding . . . their horse."

"Don't try to talk. I've got to get you to a doctor."

"Melody."

"What?" Chet's voice was so weak, Luke couldn't understand what he'd said. "Melody," Chet managed to say. "Take . . . me . . . to . . . Spring Water."

"Why should you want to"

There was no use asking him. He'd pa.s.sed out again. But why would he want Luke to take him to the Spring Water? He couldn't have been working for the Jordans. Chet had been Jake's foreman too long to work under Tom Neland or anybody else.

But how was he going to take care of his brother? It would be impossible to take him back to the LR Ranch. Blade would have to kill him to keep from being hanged himself. Wherever he took him, it had to be somewhere Blade wouldn't find him until Chet got well enough to defend himself. Luke couldn't leave him in a hotel room. Everybody in town would know most of the story within the hour. Besides, Luke wasn't a doctor. He didn't know anything about taking care of a wounded man.

Melody Jordan seemed to be his only choice. Chet seemed to want her. He'd send the horse back to the Spring Water. Maybe somebody there would come looking for him. If not, he'd take him there. If necessary, he'd pay them to take care of him. Luke looped the reins of Chet's horse over the saddle and slapped the horse on the flank to start him on his way. The horse set off at a brisk trot.

Luke knelt back down beside his brother. He'd build a fire and heat some water so he could clean the wound. Then he would wait.

Melody had felt moody and irritable all morning. She had argued with Tom over his intention to confront Lantz rather than bring in the sheriff, had a flaming row with Sydney, then walked out when Belle tried to defend her son's decision to keep practicing with his gun. Melody didn't understand why they couldn't see that their policy of confrontation would only cause more shooting. Not only were they a smaller ranch with fewer hands, but she'd heard Lantz had hired a gunfighter after the rustling started.

Melody had gone to the parlor with the intention of writing some overdue letters, but twenty minutes later she still sat with the blank paper before her. She couldn't decide whom to write. Or what to say. Things were really too unsettled to say anything except that she would be back in Richmond as soon as possible. But that was the one thing she wouldn't say. Without money she'd be a pensioner. Melody would stay in Texas for the rest of her life, herd those dreadful cows herself, before she'd accept charity. Besides, she couldn't leave her family. At least, not until things were settled.

Neill entered through the front door.

"Don't slam the door, and wipe your feet," she called out. It was a litany she repeated several times a day. It had made Sydney so angry that he now entered the house through the kitchen.

Neill stuck his head into the parlor. "That fella's horse came back."

"What fella's horse?" she asked, though she knew instantly whom he had to be talking about.

"That fella who left here this morning."

"I guess he didn't like our horse after all," Melody said, experiencing a spurt of anger at such rudeness. "He probably got another one at the LR."

"Tom said the saddle had blood on it." Neill withdrew his head and started for the kitchen.

Melody was out of her chair, gripping Neill by the shoulders, before he'd gone five steps.

"What do you mean, there was blood on the saddle?"

"I don't know. Tom said it." Neill tried to wriggle away. He wasn't interested in anything except the morning snack Bernice always saved for him.

"Where's Tom?" Melody asked.

"At the corral, I guess."

Melody hurried out of the house. Why had Chet's horse come back? Why was there blood on the saddle? She could think of only one reason.

He'd been shot.

Tom was turning the buckskin out into the corral when she found him.

"Neill said Chet's horse came back with blood on the saddle."

"There's the horse, and here's the saddle," Tom said, pointing to the saddle resting on the corral rails. "See for yourself. There was blood on the horse's withers, too."

"What happened?" Melody asked. There were two spots and a smear on the saddle.

"Ran into some trouble, I guess."

"What kind of trouble? He was just riding through."

"I don't know. Maybe he ran afoul of some of Royal's hands. He had to ride through their range."

"You have to go find him. If he's hurt, somebody has to take care of him."

Tom looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "I've got work to do. I can't be chasing after every cowboy who wanders onto this place. h.e.l.l, he could be so clumsy, he fell out of the saddle and hit his head."

"Then there'd be blood on a rock, not on the saddle."

"I don't know, and I don't care. I just came in because my horse went lame. I'm heading back out as soon as I saddle up."

"Then I'm going after him."

"You'll do no such thing. Decent women don't go gallivanting across the country by themselves."

"Decent women don't leave wounded men to die unattended," Melody retorted. She didn't know when Tom had gotten into the habit of telling women what they could and couldn't do, but he would soon learn he couldn't order her around.

"I doubt he's even hurt bad. The buckskin probably spooked at a snake or something and threw him. Chet will ask Royal for a horse or walk back here before nightfall."

"Hitch up the buggy. I'm going to find him."

"Melody, this man is none of your concern."

"I can't ignore anybody in trouble."

Tom's expression turned stubborn. "That's still no reason for you to get mixed up with him. I won't let you go after him."

"Won't let me!" Melody's voice carried a full load of indignation and not a little of the hauteur she'd inherited from a long line of Southern ancestors. "Let me remind you, Tom Neland, that you're my employee. You can't forbid me to do anything. If you try again, I'll fire you on the spot."

"You can't"

"I can, and I will. If you don't hitch up that buggy right this minute, you'll find out just how quickly, too." "Who'll run this place for you?"

"That won't be any of your concern."

"Belle won't let you."

"I own half this place. Sydney would vote with me. Give him a week, and he'd talk his mama into letting him take your place."

Apparently the reality of Tom's position began to sink in.

"I want to marry you, Melody, to take care of you and of this place."