Cross Draw by J. R. Roberts

time Dillon finds him, he’ll be able to use his right hand again.”
    â€œI doubt it,” Jacobs said. “Even if he does get the use of his hand back, it’ll be months before he can draw a gun effectively.”
    â€œThen all Dillon has to do is catch up to him,” Evans said. “Maybe he’s a lousy tracker.”
    â€œAdams told me he expected to die from a bullet,” Jacobs said. “That just might be a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
    Sheriff Evans wasn’t sure what that was, but it didn’t sound good.
    Â 
    Dillon found Raymond sitting with Quentin in the saloon that served warm beer. They were working on a bottle of whiskey.
    â€œWant some breakfast?” Quentin asked.
    â€œI ate,” Dillon said. “Come on, it’s time to get goin’.”
    â€œWe know where Adams went?” Raymond asked.
    â€œNo, but we’ll track him,” Dillon said.
    â€œYou found out somethin’ that makes you happy. Didn’t you?” Quentin asked.
    Dillon grinned and said, “Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.”

TWENTY-SIX
    In the morning, Clint watched as the ladies broke camp. They moved well, each knowing what her job was. Even Abigail performed her assigned tasks, even if it was grudgingly.
    He did what he could to help, like kicking the fire to death. He tried to help hitch the team up, but Rosemary and Jenny wouldn’t hear of it and shooed him away.
    When he tried to help replenish one of the water barrels from a nearby stream, Delilah and Morgan stopped him.
    Finally, in the end, they all piled into the wagon, with Rosemary once again holding the reins, and Abigail next to her. It was clear Abigail did not want to be in the confines of the rear of the wagon with him, and that suited him as well.
    Morgan handed him the pillow once again before they started, and he accepted it with a smile and a muttered “Thank you.”

TWENTY-SEVEN
    Clint was about ready to ask if he could move outside to sit beside Rosemary when the wagon stopped.
    â€œWhy are we stopping,” Jenny said, and then raised her voice to ask again, “Why are we stopping?”
    â€œShh,” Clint said.
    He moved to the front of the wagon to peer out. He was able to see from between Rosemary and Abigail.
    There were three riders, all men, blocking their way.
    â€œ Hola, señora,” one of the riders said.
    He seemed to be the only one who was Mexican. The other two looked like gringos.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Jenny asked in a low voice.
    â€œLooks like three men stopped us,” Clint said.
    â€œWhat do they want?” Morgan asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Clint said. “Just keep quiet and hand me that rifle.”
    Clint accepted the rifle, then went back to peering out the front.

    Rosemary reined in the horses even while Abigail was saying into her ear, “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
    â€œI don’t have a choice,” Rosemary hissed back. “I can’t go around them.”
    The three riders were spread out across the road. The man in the center wore a wide sombrero and a bandolier across his chest. The other two men were Americans.
    â€œ Hola, señora,” the man in the center said again.
    â€œHello,” Rosemary called back. “You—uh, you’re blocking the road.”
    â€œSí, señora,” the man said, “unfortunately, I am.”
    â€œCan you let us by, please?”
    â€œOf course, of course,” the man said. “But first . . . what are you carrying in the wagon?”
    â€œJust . . . personal things,” she said.
    â€œAh, but personal things . . . of value?” the man asked.
    â€œNothing of value to you, certainly,” she said.
    â€œAh, señora,” he said, “I am afraid we will have to look for ourselves, eh?”
    â€œTell him no,” Clint said to Rosemary from right behind her. “Tell him there’s