Bulldog Jones couldn’t afford to get careless.
He had lived many a year without being caught. He wasn’t about to let it happen now.
Sweat poured from Reginald’s brow, his fingers trembled with fear, even though Bulldog Jones knew him. They had become friends several years ago when they had been traveling the same road and Bulldog Jones had seen a snake coiled up in the path of Reginald’s horse, ready to strike. He had thrown a knife at the snake, cutting its head off in an instant.
Reginald had been speechless when he saw what had happened. Bulldog Jones had come up to Reginald, holding his hand out for a handshake, and that had been the beginning of a strange sort of friendship that even today puzzled Reginald.
In time, Bulldog Jones had learned how rich Reginald was, but he had never attempted to steal from him. Bulldog Jones could brag of having his own riches. In fact, these days he rarely attacked innocent people who happened along in their wagons on the trail.
Reginald went for visits at Bulldog Jones’s established hideout, where the outlaw still kept many men to protect him and his riches.
Reginald wa
sn’t sure whether Bulldog Jones would agree to help him; since the outlaw hardly ever ventured forth from his hideout nowadays. Reginald hoped that the man would be restless and itching to do something exciting, like kill a few savages.
He smiled as he slapped his reins and rode onward, now able to see smoke spiraling lazily from the outlaw’s stone chimney. He also saw many horses in a corral at the back of the log cabin.
Although rich, the outlaw lived simply. He had once said to Reginald that all he needed was a roof over his head, a warm fire to sit by in his rocking chair, and an occasional pretty lady whom his men brought to him for one or two nights’ stay.
Of course, they were blindfolded so they couldn’t lead the authorities back to the hideout. The ladies of the night had also been threatened with their lives if they told anyone that they had been with the famous outlaw.
Yes, Reginald was fortunate to have been rescued that day by this man, not only because Bulldog Jones had probably saved his life, but also because of who he was. He was the very outlaw who killed Jessie’s father, who had been his associate before Jessie’s father hung up his guns and became a family man.
Reginald had recently learned that Bulldog Jones was the very same outlaw who had recently robbed the stagecoach Jessie had been on, not knowing that she was the daughter of Two Guns Pete. He had heard the story in town from some of the outlaw’s men.
“Well, now, won’t Bulldog Jones be pleased to know just where the daughter of his most hated enemy is hiding?” Reginald snickered to himself.
Yes, Reginald knew just what to say to the outlaw to bring him out of retirement and to send him after the daughter of his longtime enemy Two Guns Pete!
Reginald rode up to the house and drew rein as several men appeared out of nowhere, their rifles poised and ready to fire if Reginald made a wrong move.
Reginald swallowed hard as he looked slowly from man to man, praying that Bulldog Jones would step from the cabin soon. Otherwise, he was afraid these men might shoot him down in cold blood. He was so scared, he thought he might wet his pants.
“Guns down, gents,” a gravelly voice said, drawing Reginald’s eyes quickly to the tall, lanky outlaw, whose coppery red hair hung down to his shoulders. “Don’t you recognize Preach, our friend?”
Bulldog Jones came down the steps and took the horse’s reins, wrapping them around a hitching rail. “Come on inside, Preach,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Have a cup of java with your old buddy.”
Relieved, and wheezing, Reginald stepped from the buggy.
His shoulders slightly hunched, he shuffled along, watching the men over his shoulder sheepishly, until he came to the steps and hurried up them.
“You look like you’ve been cornered by a polecat, Preach,” Bulldog Jones said, opening the door for Reginald.
“I feel like I have,” Reginald said, reaching a hand to his brow and swiping beads of sweat from it as he stepped past Bulldog Jones into the cabin.
“They meant you no harm,” Bulldog Jones said, motioning with a hand toward two rockers that sat before a roaring fire in the huge stone fireplace at the far end of the room. “Come and sit with me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Reginald nodded and sat down while Bulldog Jones poured two cups of coffee and brought one to Reginald.
“Want some spirits in yours?” Bulldog Jones said, nodding toward a bottle of whiskey on the table between the rocking chairs. “Do you think that’d calm you down a mite?”
“I’m fine,” Reginald said. Yet his hand was trembling so much, it splashed coffee over the side of the cup and onto his brand new breeches. He knew it would leave a stain, but Jade would be able to get it out. She was good at such things.
Bulldog Jones settled himself into the cushion of the chair next to Reginald and began slowly rocking. “Tell me what brings you here today, Preach,” he said, eyeing Reginald with dark brown eyes. “It’s an uncommon thing . . . you coming here like this.”
“Yes, I know,” Reginald said, nodding. “And I know you’d rather I didn’t unless you’ve requested my company. But I had to come. I’m in trouble; bad trouble.”
“What sort?” Bulldog Jones said, lifting an eyebrow. He took a slow sip of coffee, then placed the cup on the table next to him. “What can I do for you? You did come here to ask for my help, didn’t you?”