Cross Draw by J. R. Roberts Page B

you can’t just scare them away.”
    â€œI would only kill them if they wouldn’t scare off,” Clint said.
    â€œWhy would they come after us?” Morgan asked.
    â€œThey might think you’re hiding something of value in the wagon,” Clint said. “Plus, we embarrassed them. They’ll want revenge for that.”
    â€œWell,” Rosemary said, “you can’t go after them alone. Not with one arm. So we’ll have to keep going and then camp and wait for them.”
    â€œEveryone will have to do their part,” Clint said.
    â€œThat’s what we always do,” Rosemary said.
    â€œOkay, then,” Clint said, “let’s go.”

TWENTY-EIGHT
    The three men sat their horses and watched the wagon roll away. The Mexican, Jose Mendez—“Joe” to the other two—saw the rifle barrel sticking out the back.
    â€œWe gonna let them get away with that?” Dee Cain asked.
    â€œNo, we are not,” Mendez said. “Get my sombrero, Stretch.”
    Stretch Conroy knew Mendez asked him to get the hat because with his long reach, he’d be able to pick it up off the ground without dismounting. He rode over and plucked the hat from the ground and brought it back to Mendez.
    â€œGracias,” the Mexican said.
    â€œShould we get ahead and take ’em?” Dee asked.
    â€œNo,” Mendez said. “We will allow them to camp and settle in. Then we will go in and take them.”
    â€œI hope there’s more women in the back of that wagon,” Stretch said.
    â€œMe, too,” Dee said, “but that one handlin’ the team would do for me. The other one was too old.”
    â€œDo not worry, amigos,” Mendez said. “We will find out what is in the back of that wagon. I guarantee it.”
    Â 
    Clint rode the rest of the day looking out the back of the wagon. Jenny rode up front with Rosemary, and they were keeping a watch on either side. Jenny had the rifle across her lap, although if there was any shooting to be done, Rosemary would be the one to do it.
    They managed to get through the day without the Mexican and his men coming back. When they stopped to make camp, the girls went through their paces while Clint and Rosemary stood guard.
    â€œYou don’t think we’re safe now?” she asked him.
    â€œNo, Rosemary,” he said, “men like that don’t give up.”
    â€œSo what are they? Highwaymen?”
    â€œThat’s much too fancy a word for what they are,” he replied. “They’re just thieves.”
    â€œAnd killers?”
    â€œWhen they have to be.”
    â€œThey’d kill for money?”
    â€œAnd for a lot less.”
    She looked down at the rifle in her hands.
    â€œI don’t know if I could kill anyone, Clint.”
    â€œYou could,” he said, “if someone was trying to kill you, or one of your friends, or family.”
    â€œOr you?”
    â€œWell,” he said, “maybe not me.”
    â€œYes, Clint,” she said, “you.”
    â€œWell,” he said, “hopefully it won’t come to that. Um, who’s making the coffee?”
    â€œJenny.”
    â€œCan she make coffee?”
    â€œWell . . .”
    â€œI better go and help her,” he said. “Keep an eye out. Also an ear.”
    â€œBut what if I don’t see or hear anything?”
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said, “They’ll wait until we’re encamped before they try anything. But pay attention to Eclipse. He’ll tell you if anyone’s approaching.”
    He went to the fire to help Jenny make the coffee.
    Â 
    â€œThey’re bein’ followed by somebody else,” Quentin said. He was kneeling on the ground, eyeing some tracks.
    â€œWho?” Raymond asked.
    â€œI’m a good tracker, but I ain’t that good,” Quentin said.
    â€œNever mind,” Dillon said. “How many of them are