| THE WINNING HAND EXCERPT
Biscuit flung his hat on the ground and did a war dance around it as Micah reined the stud over next to him. Sutton grinned, appreciating the display. �Ain�t never happened before,� Biscuit said, sheepishly picking up the hat and dusting it on his leg before clamping it atop his balding pate. �I never lost a horse from this outfit and I been working here ever since I left Felgenhauer.� Micah figured the wrangler was embarrassed at being caught in the middle of a temper tantrum. �Get the sheriff,� he advised. �Oh, I will. You can bet on that.� From atop the bay, Micah studied the mess of tracks around the gate. A few drops of rain had fallen during the night, carried in on the wind. The damp ground showed the imprint of small boots, tramped over by a freshly shod horse. They stood out sharp, giving a few hints as to the culprit. �What�s this missing horse look like?� he asked, �in case I was to see one wandering around loose?� �A brown mare,� Biscuit said. �Sweet tempered, walks right out, but ask anything else from her and she�s slower than the second coming. Oh, yeah. There�s a scar, an old wire cut, low on her left shoulder. Can�t hardly see it no more unless the sun is just right.� �I�ll keep my eyes peeled for her,� Micah said, the �her� in question not exactly meaning the horse. He kept the idea roiling in his head to himself and snubbed his gray in closer. �Gill give you any guff over this, you come on out to my place and winter over. I�ll be needing help come spring.� Biscuit looked gratified by the invitation. �I�ll do it, by George�if Gill gives me any guff.� Micah left Biscuit stewing over the stolen horse and wondering what he ought to tell Gill. �The truth,� Micah had said. Tell him one of the horses had either been stolen or had wandered away during the storm, and given the corral gate was closed and the brown mare was the only animal missing, the first seemed the more likely of the two choices. Let Gill and the sheriff look into the rest of it. With his belly full of Biscuit�s ham and milk gravy, Sutton headed for home. The first euphoria of winning the stud was wearing off�had worn off, truth to tell, last night. Some part of guilt was taking its place. Not enough guilt to make him step down and leave the stud in Biscuit�s care until the former owner should come for him, however. Not likely. Micah considered his enjoyment of King�s smooth gait and potential breeding abilities too great for such philanthropy. Losing a wager was a debt that had to be paid. It wasn�t his fault the girl drew the losing hand. But as he rode, sunshine warm on his shoulders and the back of his neck, he tracked the brown all the way out of town. Why not? It was on his way home. He hadn�t been on the road an hour when the tracks took a sharp angle toward the copse of trees surrounding Doon�s spring. Doon had been an old time mountain man who wintered in the area once, along about twenty years ago. Folks said he liked his ease, and that his cabin had been built around one of the trickles feeding from the spring. Fresh running water all the winter long, by God. And a fishing stream right outside his door. The cabin was gone, but a pipe imbedded in rock still led from the spring. Overflow ran into the creek. A pretty place, and a favorite camping spot. Micah reined the stud toward it. He was some distance away, weaving his horses between trees when he caught sight of the Pruett girl. No mistaking her for a boy this time, seeing she had removed the all-enveloping coat and the floppy hat. He saw the fall of her buckskin-colored hair curling almost to her waist, and the trim�maybe skinny, though still obviously feminine�lines of her figure. She had a bitty fire going beneath the pines, and she was eating what had to be a cutthroat trout. The brown mare was tied to a bush whose leaves were turning red with the coming of autumn. The place smelled of mushrooms and pine resin. Sutton rode around a deadfall, and when he next spied the camp, the girl had disappeared. But she hadn�t had time to grab her belongings or the horse and run. She�d taken the fish and dodged for cover. From off to his side and behind him, he heard a rustle of dry leaves and then she spoke: �I see you brought my horse to me. Thanks, mister. You�ve saved me from coming after him.� He didn�t think she was disguising her voice now, so the husky tone he heard must be its natural timbre. He discovered he liked it, not that he�d let it influence him. Micah�s smile was sardonic. �Not your horse, lady. Not any more. He�s mine. What I came to do is try and save you from a hanging. I�ll be taking Gill�s horse back to town.� �Why sure. Soon as you step off my bay so we can trade gear, you�ll be welcome. The mare isn�t much of a horse, anyway.� Her agreeableness didn�t ring true to him. �I expect you think you�ve found a better one to steal.� �It�s not stealing to take back your own,� she said. �And the horse you�re riding is mine.� Micah moved his hands, meaning only to lift his hat and release some of the warmth built up under it from his head, but as he did, he heard the ominous roll and click of a revolver cylinder turning over. He froze, thinking on second thought, the shade under the trees cooled the temperature considerably. He didn�t need to remove the hat. �Sorry, sis. He�s mine,� he said again, knowing himself for a stubborn man. �I won him fair and square.� �And I�m taking him from you, fair and square.� She stepped from behind the deadfall and sidled closer, a motion he caught at the edge of his vision. �Get down, cowboy, and remove your saddle from my horse.� He didn�t budge. �The law is already on the lookout for the mare. You trying to make things worse for yourself?� �Mister,� she said, like her throat had a fishbone stuck in it, �my life is already about as bad as it can get.� �Hanging bad? What could be worse than that?� She didn�t answer. Though he didn�t want involved in her trouble, or even to feel curiosity as to what the trouble might be, Micah said, �Turn the mare loose. She�ll find her way home. There won�t anyone be the wiser but what she escaped from the livery corral and wandered off. I�ll give you a ride into town. You can telegraph one of your rich friends for money.� The girl snorted, sounding more like an angry mama cow than a lady who�d had a fancy eastern education. Her gratitude for his offer lacked a little something, too. �Now let me see.� She pretended to think, the inherent sarcasm enveloping Micah in a sour pall. �My horse or my friends. What a difficult choice. Do you see any friends?� She came up on his right side and waved the pistol at him. An old pistol, he noticed, in need of cleaning. He caught a glimpse of rust, but the hammer was pulled full cock and her hand trembled until she grabbed her wrist, bracing it with the other. He looked straight at her, into her up-tilted eyes. �Sis, you�re digging yourself a mighty deep hole. Best think again.� �Step down, Sutton,� she said, gesturing with the pistol. In light of her determination, Micah shook his feet out of the stirrups. �Sure we can�t settle this a different way? Peaceable like?� �I am p...peaceful�peaceable.� Her dark eyes bored into him, wide and scared. �Please, just d...do as I say.� He figured the stutter might not be an encouraging sign. He shifted as she started around in front of the stud where she could keep an eye on him, and as soon as she moved so did he. Only he came off the horse on the right, not left like she�d been expecting. And he didn�t step, he flew, diving at her with the intent of catching her gun hand. His last impression was of an explosion of red, then black. Thunder echoed in the distance. |