Sometime during the last few hours, she’d begun to depend upon Morgan. She couldn’t pinpoint when, but time would tell if she paid for it with her life. Could she be so tired that exhaustion had altered her good judgment?
With death nipping at her heels, Casey questioned if God really existed. Morgan certainly seemed to know more about the subject than she did. Her mother had trusted in God, and she died in peace. Many a time, Casey had tended to Jenkins’s men when they lay dying. They became twisted, ugly distortions of men, clinging to life and afraid of the unknown. She didn’t want to end up like that.
Morgan . . . She was afraid to trust him and afraid not to. He waved his rifle, then fired, and Casey returned the signal. Jenkins ascended the rocky path and neared the fork. Morgan hadn’t got him. She tried to catch a glimpse of Tim’s face, but his wide-brimmed hat shielded his face. She didn’t want him dead, but she feared he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her.
Morgan squeezed another shot, and it bounced off rock, causing Jenkins’s horse to startle. The animal screamed in protest, then reared. The outlaw fell and rolled into a crevice. Like a snake. She raised her rifle and fired, but he disappeared in the shadows. The other men scattered as best they could in view of the narrow path. All Casey could do was fire into the lower rock walls. The outlaws rapidly returned their own fire, but she knew they could only speculate where she and Morgan were located.
“Move back.” Tim’s voice echoed to the men.
Casey held her breath. Jenkins must be hurt or better yet dead. She calculated how long before any of them headed up the steep path again on both sides of the fork.
Morgan motioned for her to climb higher. She urged her horse up to the meeting ground. As she guessed, the narrow trail wound around to a small rock clearing. Before she had a moment to consider their next move, a rifle shot pierced the air, then another. Morgan rode into the clearing slumped over his horse and fell. Crimson rivers oozed from his thigh and chest. One of the men had gotten to him before he reached the clearing.
Casey raced to Morgan’s still body and jumped from her gelding. She didn’t know where the few tears she shed came from. She’d seen enough hole-filled men. But the rare display of emotion slipped over her cheeks—blinding, stinging tears full of regret. She laid her ear against his chest and ignored the blood staining her face and hands. A faint heartbeat gave her hope. A weak moan escaped his lips. For certain, he barely held on to life. Her gaze swept around the clearing. No one. Where did the shots come from?
She yanked out an old shirt and a bottle of Tim’s whiskey from her saddlebag. She’d taken it one night when he was mean drunk, never expecting she’d find a purpose for it.
Casey dropped to her knees beside Morgan and carefully opened his shirt. Bits of cloth lay embedded in the open flesh, and she carefully picked them out. The hole in his upper chest lay dangerously close to his heart, and the bullet had sunk deep. Tearing her old shirt into strips, she poured whiskey over the largest piece. She dabbed at the wound with the wet cloth and gasped at the profuse bleeding. All the while, she glanced about, looking for Jenkins and his men to overtake them.
Why couldn’t you have been more careful? Her hands trembled as she worked. You shouldn’t have tangled with the likes of me. No matter what the reason. She glanced at Stoney. This was her chance to get away. Morgan wasn’t worth trying to figure out, and he lay dying.
But she’d decided weeks ago to live a decent life. Leaving him might have been what the old Casey would do.
She steadied herself, then hastily mixed a mud paste of dirt and whiskey and applied it to Morgan’s chest. Ofttimes it stopped the bleeding.
“I couldn’t have been worth this much trouble,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you listen to me in the cave? I was the bait, remember?”
His face grayed—a frightening indication of death. His breathing grew shallow, then faded to nothing. Again she placed her ear near his heart. A faint sound of life.
The echo of hoofbeats startled her. Her gaze darted from Morgan to the