The Temptress (Montgomery/Taggert 8)

As they passed the jail, Chris saw the dark shadowy outline of Tynan standing in his cell watching them. She kept her head up high and didn’t return his stare. By the time he got out of prison, she’d be far away.

Neither she nor Asher had much to say as they rode, not really running, but not giving themselves time to enjoy the scenery either. At noon they stopped to rest the horses and eat the stale biscuits they’d brought.

As the sound of thundering hooves came down the narrow little road, Chris’s heart nearly stopped beating. But it wasn’t Tynan or anyone else interested in them. Three big men on scraggy horses went tearing past them, their heads down, their faces hidden under their hat brims.

“I’m glad they aren’t looking for us,” Asher said when they’d passed.

Asher didn’t talk to Chris much and she remembered how she’d sometimes been rude to him. As he helped her onto her horse, she took every opportunity to smile at him. Now that Tynan was gone, and Chris was no longer blinded by that man’s light, she could look at Asher with new eyes. This was a man her father wanted her to marry. This man wasn’t likely to pull a gun and kill for the smallest offense.

It was nearly sundown before they saw the overturned wagon, and even then they wouldn’t have seen it except for Chris having noticed the way the ground had been torn up. There were deep, fresh gouges in the earth, leading off into the underbrush.

“Let’s stop here for a moment,” she called, dismounting and running down into the bushes. She hadn’t gone but a few feet when she saw the big old wagon on its side, and what looked to be a woman’s hand protruding from under it.

She ran back up the bank, shouting for Asher to come and help her. “Under there,” she pointed. “We have to get the wagon up and get her out.”

He only hesitated for a second, then ran forward.

When they got to the far side of the wagon, they could see only part of the woman’s arm. Her head and the rest of her body were buried under the wagon.

“Can you lift that?” Chris asked, pointing to a broken part of the wagon. “I’ll try to pull the woman out.”

Asher used most of the strength he had as he propped himself against the side of the wagon then squatted until his legs could work to lift the weight.

“Now!” he shouted and the wagon moved.

Chris lost not a second pulling the woman out to safety.

Asher, kneeling, lit a match because the evening was growing very dim, and studied the woman. Sh

e seemed to be covered in blood. “She’s been shot at least three times,” he said quietly.

“But she’s still breathing.” Chris took the woman’s bloodied head into her lap. “We’ll get you to a doctor,” she whispered to the woman as she began to thrash about.

“My husband,” she gasped. “Where is my husband?”

Chris looked up at Asher but he was already searching the surrounding area. Chris could see where he stopped. Turning, he shook his head.

“Your husband is fine. He’s sleeping now.”

“Can you tell us who did this to you?” Asher asked when he came back.

The woman was having great difficulty talking, and blood was seeping steadily from her wounds. “Three men,” she whispered at last. “They wanted us dead because we know about Lionel. We were going to save Lionel.”

Suddenly the woman looked at Chris with eyes as red as the blood that was washing from her body. “Help him. Help Lionel. Promise me that.”

“Yes, of course I will. As soon as you’re better we’ll both—” She stopped because the woman’s head had fallen to one side and she was dead.

Asher sat back on his heels. “We have to get the sheriff out here. We’ll leave the bodies here for now while I bring the sheriff back.”

“Chris,” he said sharply because she’d begun to look through the packages that had fallen from the wagon. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Looking for something that will tell who Lionel is.”

He caught her shoulders and turned her toward him. “I don’t think we should look for the trouble that got that woman killed. We’re going home and we’re stopping for no one or nothing. This Lionel will have to take care of himself. Now, we’re going to a town.”

“We can’t leave them here like this,” Chris said.

He seemed to want to protest, but he stopped, then went to the man’s body, and carried it up the bank.