Sunset Trail by Wayne D. Overholser Page B

but he had heard of three.
    Smith knew Ross Hart better than he did Sammy, their association going back for ten years. Hart had a number of killings to
     his credit-at least five, not counting the Indians and Mexicans. His principal asset was his sharpshooting ability with a
     rifle, and it was that asset that had given Smith his reason for calling on Hart to take part in the operation. With Sammy,
     it had been a simple proposition of needing one more man who could be depended upon to carry out orders. This, he knew, was
     something Sammy Bean would do.
    What about Dolly? She had turned to stand with her back to the stove, her hands folded in front of her, a forced smile on
     her full lips. She was not particularly pretty, but she wasn’t ugly, either. She was big. Not fat or out of proportion, but
     she was taller than Sammy, and big-boned. Her pink blouse was pulled tightly across her breasts.
    More than once Sammy had told Smith that Dolly was the best bed pardner he’d ever had and he aimed to hold onto her. From
     her point of view she probably had reason to want to hang onto Sammy. He had done very well the last year or so and Dolly loved
     money.
    “By God,” Sammy burst out, glaring at Hart, “you’d better get that idea out of your head. Dolly belongs to me and not to nobody
     else.”
    Hart looked at Smith. “What the hell’s the matter with him? I haven’t said anything.”
    “You don’t need to,” Sammy said. “I can read you every time you look at a woman.”
    Hart pretended that his feelings were hurt. He was a big man, six feet three inches and better than 200 pounds with long muscles
     and long bones and the easy grace of a man who has spent most of his life in the saddle. He had been in Arizona for the last
     three years except for short visits to Denver. The desert sun had burned his face a deep bronze so that anyone who didn’t
     know him would have taken him for part Indian.
    “I apologize if I looked at you wrong, Miss Aims,” Hart said, his tone indicating he didn’t mean a word of it.
    “That’s enough,” Smith said. “You’re so jealous you’re a little crazy, Sammy. Now, how about it?
    Dolly’s going to have the Dugan boy out here for twelve hours. Can you trust her?”
    “I can trust her, all right,” Sammy said. “I’m all the man she needs. It’s this damned stud horse I don’t trust.”
    “He won’t see her again,” Smith said. “Now, forget it.” His gaze returned to the woman. “Dolly, this is a very delicate operation.
     It’s been planned as exactly as it can be. Alo t depends on you. I never saw you before, but I have heard about you.”
    “I’m flattered, Mister Smith,” she said, making no attempt now to smile. “If you have heard that much of me, you know I’ll
     do exactly what I say I will.”
    “Yes,” Smith agreed. “That is one of two reasons I let Sammy bring you into this deal. The other reason is that I thought
     you were in love with Sammy. If anything goes wrong, I guess you know he’ll get strung up with me and Ross.”
    “Both of your reasons are good ones,” she said gravely. “I can promise you that nothing will go wrong out here.”
    “Good.” Smith put his empty cup on the table and turned to Sammy. “What time did you get here?”
    “After dark,” Sammy said. “You gave us good directions. We rode along the ridge north of here and spotted the soddy before
     sundown. As soon as it was dark, we moved in.”
    Smith fished a cigar out of his coat pocket. He had been here before, so he knew where he and Hart were headed, but Sammy
     had never seen the place and Smith had been concerned that someone would notice Sammy and the woman ride in. He bit off the
     end of the cigar, struck a match, and lighted it, then he said: “All right, Dolly, what are you going to do?”
    “Stay inside this stinking dirt house till noon tomorrow,” she said. “We brought enough sandwiches and water so I won’t have
     to go outside for