Deadly Road to Yuma. William W. Johnstone

hand Tom had hired. He and Felipe took care of things around the spread by themselves, helped a little by Tom’s boys, who were eleven and eight and turning into pretty fair hands themselves.

      Felipe would see what had the dogs so stirred up, Tom told himself. He turned to go back to bed.

      Before he could get there, he heard one of the dogs give a yelp of pain.

      Frowning, Tom swung toward the door instead of the bed. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t ignore the fact that something was going on. He took down the Henry rifle from the pegs beside the door and levered a round into the chamber. Then he pulled the latch string and pushed the door open.

      As the door swung back, Tom heard Felipe’s voice start to rise in a startled shout. It was cut off a second later, and the abruptness of it made Tom’s heart thud heavily with fear. He rushed outside, holding the gun ready.

      Something cracked across his ankles. He cried out in pain and dismay as he felt himself toppling forward. The impact as he hit the ground jolted the Henry out of his hands. He reached for it, only to have a boot come down hard on his fingers. He yelled in pain.

      “Tom?” Frannie’s sleep-fuzzed voice came from inside the house. “Tom, what’s going on out there?”

      He wanted to call out and warn her, but someone grabbed him by the hair, jerked his head up, and pressed the keen blade of a knife against his throat.

      “Not a sound, Señor,” a voice hissed in his ear.

      A second later, Frannie cried out, and only the knife at his throat kept Tom from moving. He felt a warm trickle of blood down his neck, and knew that the least bit more pressure would send the blade slicing deeply into his flesh.

      “Get him up,” a rough voice ordered.

      A hand tugged on Tom’s long underwear, urging him upright. The knife remained at his throat as he climbed to his feet. To his horror, he saw his wife in the moonlight with a man standing behind her, one arm around her throat and the other hand holding a gun to her head.

      “Do what we tell you, hombre,” the man said, “and nobody’ll get hurt. But if you give us any trouble, we’ll just kill everybody on this spread and move on.”

      “But not before we have some fun with this pretty little wife of yours,” another man said as he came forward, and as Tom’s eyes gazed around wildly, he saw several other shapes emerge from the darkness. He was surrounded. Helpless, not only because he was outnumbered, but because these strangers were threatening Frannie.

      “You savvy what we’re sayin’?” demanded the man with the gun pressed to her head.

      Tom’s mouth had gone bone-dry, but he nodded, and after a second had worked up enough spit so that he was able to say, “I savvy. Just tell me what you want, mister. I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt my family.”

      The gunman chuckled. “You’re a smart hombre. Now listen close…”