men a couple of days ago. Beside her a young girl stood with her mouth gaping wide. An older girl stood directly above him, her face flushed and damp, her narrowed eyes fixed on him with a speculative stare. She and the other females were covered up with black dresses despite the heat, and they wore skimpy little white hats on their heads with dangling laces. The man beside them looked even stranger, with a clean-shaven lip and a bushy beard covering his chin. He wore suspenders over a white shirt and had a wide-brimmed straw hat.
White teeth showed between the man’s smiling lips. “Thank the Lord. Help has landed at our feet.”
Luke frowned. “What?” The fall had knocked the breath right out of him, and he was preoccupied trying to force gulps of air into his lungs.
“The Lord has saved us,” the man repeated. “Thanks be to thee.”
Worried creases appeared between the older girl’s eyes. “We may need to help him first, Papa. He isn’t breathing properly.”
“Don’t…need…help…” Luke panted as he rolled to his side and then struggled up to his knees. His lungs finally relaxed, and he drew in a couple of deep breaths. He’d get Jesse for this if he had to hog-tie him in his sleep first.
The oddly dressed people watched as he climbed to his feet. The moment he was vertical, the man stepped in front of him. “Will you help us, sir?”
Luke shook his head to clear the last of the fuzz away. He didn’t have time for beggars. He had two thousand head of Texas longhorns to drive to market and little time to do it.
“Sorry. Can’t help,” he mumbled. Dusting off his hat, he jammed it on his head and turned to walk away.
The man lifted his forefinger. “Sir!” Luke ignored the call and left them standing in the street while he headed for the saloon. When he stepped inside, he paused for a moment while his sun-dazzled eyes adjusted, and then he located Jesse, who had moved to a corner table and had a woman on his lap.
When he spotted Luke, a wide grin split his youthful features. “You back for more? Leave me alone. Better yet, how about a pay advance so I can have another drink?”
Apparently he’d drunk enough whiskey to pickle his brain. The fight seemed to have left him, but Luke was going to have his satisfaction with the numskull. He was tired of dragging him out of every dance hall and saloon they passed. Disgusted, Luke shook his head. “You don’t need another drink.”
Jesse spoke in a whiskey-slurred voice to the frill-covered woman in his lap. “My friend here doesn’t drink, which means he doesn’t approve of me drinkin’ either.” He appeared to find that funny. He threw his head back and guffawed.
Luke heaved a sigh and held out a hand to the saloon girl. “If you’ll excuse us, ma’am, I need to get him back to camp while he’s in good health.”
“Has he been ill?”
“He’s about to be.”
She slid off Jesse’s lap and then bent to lift his hat and plant a kiss on his forehead. “Stop by next time you’re through these parts, sugar—and collect your pay first.” She winked and turned with a flounce of her bustle and crossed the room to a table full of poker-playing cowboys.
Jesse grinned up at him. “Didja hear that, Luke? She called me sugar.”
Luke shook his head. “Come on, numskull. It’s time to go.”
“Where’re we going?”
“I’m going to beat the living daylights out of you, and then we’re going back to camp.”
“That’ll be nice.” He grinned lopsidedly. “Let’s drink to that.”
Luke helped Jesse to his feet and held on to the back of his vest when he wobbled on unsteady legs. “Is he paid up?” he asked the barkeep.
“Nope. Owes thirty-five cents for that last bottle.”
Luke dug the coins out of his pocket and tossed them on the polished mahogany bar, and then he hauled Jesse through the doors and out into the sunlight.
The four black-and-white-clad people had not moved.
Now that he was no longer dazed from his fall, he recognized their clothing. He’d passed through settlements of similarly dressed folks a few times. They belonged to some religious group. He stopped short.
Stirring, Jesse slurred, “Luke, do you see what I see? We’re being overrun by nuns.”
He gave Jesse a shake that would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t had a good grip on his shirt. “Watch your mouth. They’re God-fearing folk.”
The man approached,