When Lightning Strikes

"I'm in," he said softly, slapping a couple of gold pieces down on the table. "Call."

Arizona Ted coughed and reached for the whiskey bottle, taking a long, dribbling swallow. With a loud burp, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth. "I fold."

Hambone flicked his coins onto the pile. "Pair o' Jakes, ten high."

Killian tossed his cards on the table, barely noticing that he'd won until Hambone started sputtering and Arizona chuckled.

"You shore got somethin' on your mind today, Kill. I ain't seen you so distracted at cards since that time you was shot."

"He wasn't distracted then, Zona. He was just plain pissed. I was scared shitless every time I beat him."

Arizona laughed, reaching for the bottle again. "You mean scared shitless that one hand you won."

"Was it only one?" Hambone grabbed his own bottle and took a gulping drink. "Felt like more." He grinned. "Course, like I said, I was scared shitless."

Both men seemed to think that was hilarious. They burst out laughing; their booming voices filled the small, dank cabin and let loose the sharp stench of whiskey.

Drunks, Killian thought with a sigh. They thought anything was funny. He was just about to rake in his winnings when the door behind him smacked open.

"Well, if it ain't our supreme leader and his lap-dogs," came Putty's drawling, Texas-fed voice from the darkness.

Hambone's face spurted color. He surged to his feet. "Who you callin' a lapdog, you rotten-toothed son of a bitch?"

Purty grinned and strode into the small cabin, spurs

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jangling on the hardwood floor. "Down, boy. We got the split money."

Every trace of animosity vanished from Hambone's face, replaced by a sudden feral greed. Slowly he sank back into his chair. "How much?"

"I ain't counted it all, but we reckon about eleven thousand altogether."

Arizona let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Hell, that's a lot o' money. We ain't split that kinda pot since the pay-load robbery. That was .. . what? Ten thousand . . ." He frowned, thinking.

"Yes, Zona, this is more," Purty drawled.

Mose pushed through the door behind Purty, blocking the pale light of twilight. "Skeeter back yet?"

Killian nodded absently and retrieved his winnings, stuffing the coins and bills in his duster pocket. Then, slowly, he rose.

"Where is she, boss?" Mose said from the darkness behind him.

Killian turned around. Even in the darkness, he could see the hard edge in Mose's gaze, see the angry tilt to his chin. Killian knew immediately what had happened. Mose had wanted to kill Lainie from the beginning, and he'd had three days to twist that instinct into an obsession.

"Who's that, Mose?" he said casually.

Mose frowned. "You know who I'm talkin' about, boss."

After that, no one said anything. Thick, strained silence filled the room. Purty and Mose exchanged frowning looks.

"You talkin' about that spitfire of a woman he brung into camp?" Arizona said, eager to know something that Purty didn't, for once.

Purty nodded, spat. "That'd be the one, Zona." He turned to Killian. "You find out who she is?"

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Killian shrugged. The story she'd given him wouldn't wash with Mose. Not by a long shot. "Not really."