into a trap." Daniel didn't seem very upset by the possibility. A


gleam had come into his eyes, and he rubbed his hands together in


anticipation.




"What are you thinking? " she asked. "Aren't you worried about Cole


and Jessica? " "No, they have to come through here to get to Red


Arrow, " he explained.




"And they're at least a day behind us. Maybe two. ^ "Then you won't


go into Red Arrow at all. You'll take a cut through to Blackwater? "


She was nodding over her own conclusion when he contradicted her. "Oh,


no, we're going into Red Arrow all right."




"But they'll be waiting.




. . . " "God, I hope so." Cooper had been listening to the


conversation with his eyes closed. He didn't bother to open them when


he asked, "You do have a plan in mind, don't you? " "Yes, " Daniel


answered. "But it involves you, Cooper."




"Daniel, he's been seriously wounded, and his fever only just broke."




"He won't have to do much, " he promised.




"So what do you want me to do? " Cooper asked.




Daniel smiled. "I want you to die. "Jg And in green underwood and


cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.




or two long days and nights, four members of the Blackwater gang


impatiently waited to ambush the women when they got off the train in


Red Arrow. Three of them kept vigil at the depot, while the fourth


kept to the shadows as a backup in the event his friends didn't


succeed.




Two trains arrived daily, one at ten in the morning and the other at


six at night. The men were thorough in their search. After the


passengers departed, a clean sweep was made of every car just to make


certain the women weren't hiding.




The hours in between the trains' arrivals were spent in the town


saloon. The four of them drank hard whiskey together, but none of them


got drunk. Mr. Robertson did get a little careless, though, and the


others had to help him cover up his spot of trouble. Robertson blamed


his lack of control on boredom, for surely that was why he had taken


the homely little whore named Flo out to one of the caverns and cut


her. He hadn't meant to kill her, just scare her a little, at least


that's what he believed when he started out with her perched on his


saddle, but once he took his knife out and started carving, he got such


a kick out of hearing her scream he didn't want to stop.




His friends helped him bury the body, and aside from having to listen


to Robertson boast about how she had squealed like a pig, they all put


the inconvenience behind them. Flo was just a whore, after all, and no


one was going to miss her.




Because they still hadn't heard from Johnson, they assumed he'd failed


to kill the women himself. Robertson told the others he wished their


boss were there because he was much smarter than they were and would


surely be able to figure out where the women were hiding. He wasn't


there though, for he and his mistress had gone south to get Bell out of


jail.




On the third morning of their watch, they heard through the grapevine


that a U. S. marshal named Cooper had been killed. Someone had shot


him and thrown him off a train. A wire had been sent to the sheriff in


Red Arrow telling him to be on the lookout for any suspicious


characters. He relayed the information to the owner of the saloon, who


told it to everyone who came into his bar for a drink.




The four men felt they had cause for celebration. They sat together in


the corner and shared a bottle of Rabbit Rye among them.




Robertson, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, wasn't in a festive mood.




"What's taking those women so long to get here? According to the


boss's calculations, they should have gotten off the train yesterday or


the day before." He had only just made the remarks when an old coot,


with long straggly hair and a smell about him as rank as a skunk's


spray, came walking into the saloon.




He strutted up to the bar and draped himself across the counter. "Give


me a drink, Harley. I just seen something real special, and I'll tell


you about it after I wet my whistle." The bartender, a big man with


beefy arms and missing front teeth no one ever noticed because he never


smiled, sauntered over to his customer and squinted at him.




"You got money today, Gus? " In answer, the misshapen, scrawny man


slammed a coin down on the countertop. "I sure do, " he boasted. "I


got a lot of money today, almost three whole dollars."




"Where'd you get it? " Harley asked as he poured Gus a watered-down


drink of whiskey.




"Never you mind, " Gus answered. "Do you want to hear what I seen or


not? " "I'm listening."




"I think maybe we're getting us some new whores, and the two I saw were


real perty and fresh looking. I seen them both, and I can't make up my


mind which one I want to diddle with first. Maybe I'll do them


both."




"Are you drunk? " Harley asked.




"No, I ain't drunk yet, but I plan to get that way as soon as you'll


pour me another drink. I seen what I seen, " he insisted. "Two men


were with them, " he added before taking a long gulp. In his greed to


quench his insatiable thirst, he spilled liquor down the sides of his


face and quickly tried to catch the drops with the back of his hands


and then licked them dry.




"They hid them all right, but I seen where. I went looking for Flo.




Didn't find her, " he said. "But I seen the women all right."




"What are you talking about, you old goat? There aren't any fresh


whores coming here. I would have known about it. Don't I run this


town? " "Yes, Harley, you surely do."




"That's right, " he growled. "And I'm telling you, I didn't hire any


new women."




"I'm telling you what I seen. Two men hid those perty girls in the


cavern just south of town.




Maybe these men are gonna give you some competition and start up a


whoring business of their own." Harley slammed his hand on the bar.




"We'll just see about that, " he hissed. "Now that Flo took off, I


could use a couple more good women.




Did you say there were only two men with them? Just two? " "That's


what I said, " Gus agreed. "Not too smart neither. Those two fellers


left those women on their own, tucked inside the cavern, but one of


them must have gotten curious, because she poked her head out the


entrance to have herself a look around. Then the other one had to look


too, and I seen them both. They're mighty fine looking, " he added


with a snicker. "Nice and young, and sure to be feisty." Harley was


fuming. He was considering riding out to the cavern to steal the women


when Robertson strolled over to the bar.




Gus's stench ensured that Robertson wouldn't get too close. "Tell me


what you saw, old man, " he demanded, his hand caressing the handle on


his knife. "I want to hear all about those women." It had been a long


while since Gus had been the center of attention, and he gloated while


he repeated the story, but before he got the chance to describe the two


ladies in detail, Robertson had motioned to his friends and left the


saloon. The three others followed him out the door.




They were gone a long time, almost three hours, and when they returned


to the saloon, Gus was nowhere in sight. Robertson wanted to go


looking for him, but the others talked him out of it. They reclaimed


their table in the corner to discuss the situation.




Cole strode through the swinging barroom doors a moment later. Harley


took one look at the badge on his vest and reached for the shotgun he


kept tucked under the counter.




"Put your hands on the counter, where I can see them, " Cole ordered.




He was being inordinately polite. Inwardly, he wanted to wait until


the bartender had gone for his weapon and then shoot the insolent look


off his face, but now that he was a marshal, he knew he couldn't give


in to all of his urges.




"The sheriff told me all about you, Harley, " Cole said. "He said you


think you run this one-block town."




"It's true, " Harley boasted. "I do run it."




"He also told me you shot a man in the back."




"The sheriff couldn't prove it was me, " the bartender said, his face


turning red with anger. "I don't want any trouble." The four men at


the table were watching Cole closely. Cole's attention was riveted on


them, but he still noticed that Harley's hands were down at his


sides.




"I told you to put your hands up where I can see them. Do it now. "


The force of his voice, added to the dangerous look in his eyes, should


have convinced Harley to do as he ordered. The bartender was obviously


weighing the possible consequences as his glance darted back and forth


between the men in the corner and the lawman.




He tested Cole sorely when he put one hand on the counter and waited.




"I wasn't thinking about shooting you, " Harley lied. "You being a


lawman and all. I just don't want any trouble. I got me a brand-new


mirror, and I . . . " Before Harley could blink, Cole drew his gun and


shot the mirror. Glass shattered down on Harley's shoulders. The


bartender roared an obscenity and put both hands on the counter.




Besides the four men at the back table, there were only three other


customers inside the saloon, and those three went running for safety.




Cole made certain none of them were armed as they filed past him, as