Wyoming Wildfire. Elizabeth Lane

stallion. Then I waited for him, maybe twenty minutes, before I heard him coming back.”

      “Did you hear anything else?” Matt Langtry’s voice was flat and tough, the voice of a lawman questioning a suspect.

      “Not voices. I was too far away for that. But I would have heard a gunshot. I was listening the whole time, and I didn’t hear one. Allister wasn’t shot until some time after my brother left him. I’d swear to that on a stack of Bibles!”

      “Go on,” he said, his tone betraying nothing.

      “We rode hard and didn’t get a chance to talk until we were in the hills. That was when Frank told me that Allister had come out to the corral and caught him leading Midnight from the barn. Allister had a pistol, and he ordered Frank to throw down the rifle. Frank did, but before Allister could pick the rifle up, Midnight reared and struck him in the head. Allister went down. Frank said he was groaning and moving, so he couldn’t have been too badly hurt.”

      “So Frank just jumped on the stallion and galloped away?”

      “That’s right. He didn’t realize he’d forgotten the rifle until I asked him what had happened to it.”

      “Why did he take the rifle in the first place?” Matt’s question was sharp, almost contemptuous.

      “For protection, of course! Frank would never set out to harm anyone!” Jessie battled the urge to shout at the man and pummel his back with her fists. Why did he seem so determined to believe in Frank’s guilt? Was it because that belief made his job simpler and eased his own conscience?

      “Don’t you understand?” she exploded. “I waited and listened the whole time Frank was gone! There was no gunshot!”

      “Would you be willing to swear to that in court?” His question chilled her.

      “Certainly. It’s the truth.”

      “Is it, Jessie? Do you think the jury will believe a sister who’d do anything, even perjure herself, to save her brother’s life?”

      Jessie swallowed the bitter taste of her own fear. “Right now, the important thing is, do you believe me.”

      He didn’t reply.

      Jessie sank into an uneasy silence as they wound their way up the slope. The sun shone high and bright in a cloudless sky, and the aspens wore baby leaves, small and pale and new. A scrub jay scolded from the top of an ancient pine tree. It would have been a beautiful day, Jessie thought, except for the worry that blackened her spirits, casting its pall over everything she saw.

      What if Matt Langtry insisted on taking Frank in? How could she stop him?

      Each idea that came to mind seemed more ludicrous than the last. But one thing was certain—whatever it took, she had to stop the marshal from taking her brother in to Sheridan. If she failed, Frank would never make it home alive.

      “Tell me about the stallion,” Matt Langtry said, breaking the silence. “Why were your brother and Allister Gates fighting in the first place?”

      “Midnight is a full-blooded Arabian,” Jessie said, thinking how their purchase of the fiery, pitch-black animal had set loose a deluge of bad luck. “We found him almost a year ago through a newspaper advertisement. The owner had lost all his money and had to sell out his stables. Frank mortgaged the ranch for the cash to buy the stallion and ship him by rail from Kentucky. We were hoping to make good money racing him in Sheridan, putting him out to stud, and then later selling his colts from our mares.”

      “I take it things didn’t work out that way.”

      “No.” Jessie suppressed a sigh. She’d tried to talk Frank out of buying the stallion, but her brother had set his heart on having the beautiful horse, and in the end she’d gone along.

      “It was almost as if the horse was cursed,” she said. “We had one delay after another. First the papers were lost in the mail. Then Frank came down with scarlet fever and was too sick to go to Kentucky and fetch the horse, and I couldn’t leave him. By the time we got Midnight home, it was late November. The racing season was long over, and the mortgage was due on the ranch. We tried to sell off some of our other horses, but nobody wanted to buy them and feed them over the winter, when they wouldn’t be able to use them until spring.

      “Allister Gates was in Laramie on business when Frank unloaded Midnight from the train. Allister made an offer to buy the stallion on the spot, but Frank refused to sell him for any price. So Allister found another way.”

      “I see.” Matt Langtry’s response was noncommittal, serving as little more than punctuation for the story. Jessie could not see his face, but she was certain his expression would reveal no more than his words. The last thing he’d want would be to feel sympathy for Frank Hammond, she reminded herself. He was only waiting for her to supply him with Frank’s alleged motive for killing Allister. Well, fine. He could wait till hell froze over. The coldhearted bully would get no more help from her!

      He was taking the mare on a fast climb now, paying scant attention to the trail the horses had left. Above them, the slope ended in a long, rocky ridge that would give them a view of the surrounding hills. With luck, they might be able to see where Frank had gone.

      “Let me guess the rest of the story,” he said. “Your ranch fell into foreclosure. Allister pulled a few strings, redeemed it from the bank for a song, and claimed the stallion as part of the property.”

      “But he went too far!” Jessie insisted hotly. “We mortgaged the land and the buildings on it. Allister had no right to the horses, especially the stallion! At the time we signed the loan papers, we didn’t even own Midnight!”

      Matt exhaled thoughtfully. “I’d have to agree with you there. A good lawyer could have saved you and your brother a lot of grief.”

      “Lawyers cost money. We didn’t have any money. But Frank had every right to take the stallion away. That’s what he told Allister. Unfortunately, the man wouldn’t listen.”

      They were approaching the top of the ridge. Maybe she should take care of the marshal now, Jessie thought—get the gun, or grab a rock somehow and knock him out. Then she could take the key and her pistol and be gone before he came to. Frank had to be somewhere close. If she could find him and unlock the handcuffs, he’d be free to ride for the safety of the mountains.

      To accomplish that, however, she would have to act fast and decisively. Matt Langtry was a powerful man. Her only hope would be to take him by surprise.

      Rimrock, higher than a man’s head, jutted like a row of monstrous teeth along the ridgetop. Matt guided the mare through an opening between the stone spires. Jessie was glancing around for a loose rock she could reach and use as a weapon when she felt him stiffen against her.

      “Down there,” he said softly.

      Thoughts of an attack fled from Jessie’s mind as she peered past his shoulder, following the line of his gaze far down the slope.

      Two brown horses, Matt’s tall chestnut and the bay he’d brought along for Frank, stood side by side on the rim of a deep gully.

      Both their saddles were empty.

      Please God, no! Jessie leaned forward against him, her hands digging into his sides, as the mare rocketed down the slope. Please let Frank be all right, she prayed silently. If he’s hurt, please don’t let it be too badly.

      She leaped to the ground as Matt pulled the mare to a halt. Stumbling forward, she passed the horses and reached the lip of the gully ahead of him.

      Scoured out of the earth by centuries of spring runoff, the gully was a stone’s throw across and more than fifteen feet deep. Its crumbling sides were dangerously steep, its dry bottom scattered with gravel bars, round boulders and clumps of sage. The bleached bones of an animal, most likely a calf or sheep, lay partly buried in mud and sand.

      Unable to trust her quivering legs, Jessie dropped to her knees and leaned over the edge.