The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,50

in the loose gravel, then bolted sideways when more gunshots resounded around the canyon. Her concern for Crow overwhelmed her. She was afraid he had suffered injury and she needed to be there to help him—

She swallowed a yelp when her mount dropped to its knees in an effort to maintain its balance on the narrow ridge. Unprepared, Natalie went flying from the saddle. She groaned in pain when she slammed her shoulder into a slab of rock. She tumbled helter-skelter down the embankment, skinning both knees and her chin before bouncing to a stop.

When her horse bolted to its feet and shook himself, Natalie reached out with her good arm to grab the trailing reins. Every muscle screamed in protest as she came to her knees, only to be dragged downhill when the strawberry roan evidently decided there had to be an easier way to reach the elevated caprock and the road upon it.

“Stop…whoa, damn it,” she hissed. She yanked hard on the reins but the horse dragged her another ten yards before coming to a reluctant halt.

“Maybe you aren’t cut out for the Wild West, after all,” she muttered at herself as she wobbled unsteadily to her feet.

In fact, maybe she should return to New Orleans to confront her treacherous stepfather with her new suspicions. If he deliberately poisoned her mother, she vowed to see him hang for his crime. Or stand him in front of a firing squad.

Fool that she had been, she had accepted his explanation of her mother’s lingering illness and his claims that her doctors had tried to treat her without success.

Natalie vowed she was never going to take anyone’s word for anything without checking facts first. On that determined thought, she tugged on the horse’s reins, forcing him to follow her up the steep incline.

Van couldn’t see who had fired a shot from inside the coach to fight off the masked men, but the bullet plugged one outlaw in the arm. The second highwayman caught sight of Durango scrabbling uphill and twisted in the saddle to fire off a shot, but Van fired first. The bullet struck the man’s gun hand and the weapon flipped end over end then plunked onto the road. When both men tried to turn tail and ride off, Van held them at gunpoint with both six-shooters drawn and aimed directly at their chests.

“Get off your horses. Now!” Van barked ominously.

“Van?”

He glanced at the coach, surprised to see Bart Collier poke his head out the window. Well, that explained whose excellent marksmanship helped to thwart the holdup.

“What the blazes are you doing here?” Van asked as he retrieved two strands of rope from his saddlebag to restrain his prisoners. “Donovan Crow?” one of the masked men croaked. “Well, damn the luck!”

“We heard you got married and retired,” the other outlaw grumbled.

“Married? Yes. Retired? Not hardly. I live to arrest bandits like you.” Van secured the prisoners then quick- marched them to the stagecoach to check for available seating. There was no space for his prisoners.

“I guess you boys will have to ride horseback to town.” Van reversed direction to shovel them back to their horses.

“You shot us,” the first outlaw complained as Van jerked off the concealing mask. “We need medical attention, not a jarring ride to the calaboose.”

“The city marshal will see that you receive all the attention you have coming to you when you’re in jail,” Van said unsympathetically. “Until then you’ll hold.”

As was his custom with his prisoners, Van secured them in the saddle—backward—then tied their feet to the stirrups. He’d found the technique effective in discouraging escape attempts.

“You ain’t gonna last long,” the second brigand muttered at him. “I heard the Harper brothers are gunning for you. They claim they’re gonna dance on your grave, if they decide to go to the effort to dig one.”

The attempt to frighten and intimidate Van was a waste of breath. He’d heard it all before—most of it more degrading and insulting than this. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be on the lookout.” Van led the bandits to the rear of the stagecoach, then secured the reins. “I’m sure you boys prefer to see where you’ve been, because I guarantee you won’t like where you’re going.”

The thieves proceeded to tell Van where he could go and what he could do with himself when he got there, but Van had heard that before, too, so he ignored the bandits.

He halted Durango beside the window. He noted the film of dust