He realized that he should have told her about his past, that White Thunder was his real name, that Colt for a first name was Jessie's idea. The trouble was, he had known Jenny wouldn't believe him, would think he was only teasing her. Jessie had done too good a job on him; most of the time he even thought like a white.

But to Jenny, he was no longer white. He had seen her fury before she closed it off and matched her father's hard visage as the torture began. There were no tears, no thoughts now of his hands and mouth on her body, of begging him to make love to her each time they found themselves alone. Now he was just another Indian getting what he deserved for presuming to aspire to the affections of a white woman.

His legs were getting weak. So was his vision. The fire had worked its way up to explode inside his brain. He didn't know how he was still standing, how he was keeping his facial muscles from twitching spasmodically. He had thought he had experienced the ultimate in pain during the Sun Dance ceremony, but that was child's play next to this. And Jenny hadn't closed her eyes or looked away yet. But men she couldn't see his back from up on the porch. Not that it would matter. And it no longer mattered that he keep eye contact with her. It wasn't working to block out the pain.

Walter Callan signaled Ramsay to stop a moment when Colt's eyes closed and his head dropped back on his shoulders. "You still alive, boy?"

Colt made no response. The screams were there, in his head, in his throat, just waiting to escape if he opened his mouth. He'd bite his tongue off before he let them out. And it wasn't the fierce pride of the Indian that had decided he would make no sound. The Indian respected the white man who could face death with courage. He didn't expect any such respect from these men for his courage. His silence was for his own sake, his own self-respect.

But the silence around him had been broken by Callan's question. There were exclamations of amazement that he was still on his feet, a debate on whether it was possible to faint without keeling over, a sug-gestion that a bucket of water be fetched to dump over him, just in case he really had fainted. At that point he opened his eyes, still cognizant enough to know that water touching any part of his mangled back would send him over the edge of control. It was harder to lift his head, but he managed that too.


"Wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seein' it with my own eyes," someone said next to him.

The whir and slap of the whip resumed, but no one was paying much attention to it now except the recip-ient and the wielder.

"I still don't believe it," a voice grumbled behind Colt. "It ain't possible he's still on his feet."

"What'd you expect? He's only half human, you know. It's the other half that's still standing."

Ramsay tuned out their voices, concentrating on lashmg only the raw wounds now. He was furious that he hadn't broken the Injun yet, and his anger was affecting his aim. The bastard couldn't do this to him.

He couldn't die without making a sound.

Ramsay was so angry he didn't hear the riders who came tearing around the side of the house, but the others did. They turned to see Chase and Jessica Summers and about twenty of their cowhands de-scending on them.

If Ramsay heard them, he must have assumed they were some of Callan's men coming in off the range, for he still didn't pause. He was in the process of drawing back his arm for another slash when Jessie Summers palmed her gun and fired.

The bullet that was aimed to shatter Ramsay's skull flew over his head instead, Summers having hit his wife's arm up into the air at the last second when he saw her intent. But that shot was like a signal, every Rocky Valley man drawing a rifle or revolver upon hearing it. The Callan hands didn't move a muscle, didn't even breathe.

Walter Callan began to realize he might have made a serious mistake. Not that he didn't want the breed dead, but maybe he shouldn't have gone about it so publicly.

Ramsay Pratt stared in horror at the barrage of weaponry aimed mostly in his direction. A whip wasn't worth a damn against so many, even his bull-whip. He carefully lowered his arm until the blood-soaked leather was like a red snake curled about his feet.

"You bastard!" Jessie Summers was shouting, but she was shouting at her husband. "Why'd you stop me? Why?!"

Before he could answer, she had slid from her horse and run forward, pushing men out of her way who still didn't dare move on their own, and none too gently. She was in a towering rage. In all her twenty-five years she had never been killing mad like this. Not her father, her mother, or her husband, all of whom she had been at odds with at one time or another, had ever made her lose control like this. If Chase hadn't stopped her, she would have emptied her gun into Callan's men, and saved the last bullet for him.

But when she reached Thunder and saw close up the actual damage that whip had done, the fury drained right out of her. She doubled over with a keening moan that ended abruptly as she emptied her stomach in the blood-splattered yard.

Chase was there before she finished, putting his arms around her. But he was staring at Thunder and feeling kind of queasy himself. He had come to think of the man as a friend, though Colt was closer to Jessie. She loved him like a brother. They had shared a special relationship for more than half their lives.

Colt had always been there for her when she needed a friend, and Jessie was going to blame herself for not getting here in time. And Chase had a strong feeling they were too late. If the shock didn't kill Colt, the loss of blood would.

"Nooo!" Jessie was crying now as she raised up and looked at Thunder again. "Oh, God, oh, God! Do something, Chase!"

"I've already sent a man for the doctor."

"That'll take too long. Do something now. You have to do something now. Stop the bleeding — oh, God, why isn't he cut loose yet?"

It wasn't really a question. Jessie wasn't aware of what she was saying just then. Almost in a trance, she walked around the post. That was better. He looked all right from the front — except for the pale-ness of his skin, the deathly stillness of him, his shal-low breathing. She was afraid to touch him. She wanted to take him in her arms, but didn't dare. Any touch was going to hurt him. Any movement was going to be excruciating.

"Oh, God, White Thunder, what have they done to you?"

It was said in a tearful whisper. Colt heard her. He knew she was there in front of him, but he didn't open his eyes. If he saw the pain etched on her face, he would lose the slim thread of control he had left.

As it was, he was terrified she was going to touch him, and yet he needed her tenderness, needed it desper-ately.

"Don't… cry…"

"No, no, I won't," she assured him as the tears continued to pour down her cheeks. "But don't try to talk, okay? I'll take care of everything. I'll even kill Callan for you."

Was she trying to make him laugh? He'd made the same offer to her once, only the man he would have killed for her was now the husband she loved with all her heart.

"Don't… kill… anyone."

"Shhh, all right, all right, anything you say, but don't talk anymore." And then, "Dammit, Chase, hurry up with those ropes! We've got to stop the bleeding."

Colt didn't move his arms when they were freed. Chase stood in front of him now. His voice was gentle as he explained, "Jessie, honey, that whip was trailed through the dirt time and again. His back is going to have to be cleaned first if infection isn't to kill him."

There was a heavy silence. Colt would have tensed if he wasn't already holding himself so rigid.

"Do it, Chase," Jessie said quietly.

"Christ, Jessie—"

"You have to," she insisted.

The three knew each other well enough that both men understood she wasn't talking about cleaning wounds or even moving him yet. Colt's body almost sighed with relief. It was about time she had thought of something sensible.

"We'll need a mattress first, and a couple men to hold him so he doesn't fall."

Jessie was in her element, issuing orders, but when she sent two men into the house for a mattress, Walter Callan recollected whose property they were on and stepped in front of the door to block their way.

"You ain't wastin' one of my mattresses on that dirty. "

He didn't finish. Jessie had whirled around at the sound of his objection, and he now had her full attention, and every bit of the fury she had felt earlier. She mounted the porch steps, and before anyone re-alized her intent, she had hefted the gun from one of the men Callan was blocking. Chase wasn't there to take it away this time. No one else would dare try.

"You ever been shot before, Callan?" she said conversationally as she motioned the two men into the house and casually caressed the barrel of the old Colt.44 Dragoon. "There are parts on the body that can be shot off that won't bleed too seriously, but will sure hurt like hell. A toe, for instance, or a finger… or what makes a man a man. How many bullets do you think it would take to shoot off an inch at a time?

Three, maybe? Not even that many? Would that equal your own savagery, do you think?"

"You're crazy," Walter said in a horrified whisper.

His hand had gone to his gun in a protective ges-ture. Jessie did nothing to stop him, just stared at his hand, hoping he would draw the gun. He saw that hope in her eyes and slowly took his hand away.

"Coward," she hissed, done playing with him. "Pack your gear and be gone by sundown, Callan, you and your men. Ignore my warning and I'll make your life a living hell. There won't be anywhere in the territory you can hide from my vengeance."

He wasn't expecting that. "You got no call—"

"The hell I don't!"

He looked beseechingly to her husband. "Sum-mers, can't you control your wife?"

"I already did you one favor, you son of a bitch," Chase shouted up at him. "I kept her from blowing your head off. Whatever else she has a mind to do is the least of what you deserve, so don't press it. It's lucky for you one of your men who overheard what you were planning is a drinking buddy of my fore-man. And it's damn lucky for you he didn't have to ride all the way to the Rocky Valley, but found us out on the range. But that's where your luck runs out. What you did i.ere is the lowest kind of savagery, fit only for animals."

"I had every right," Walter protested. "He defiled my daughter."


"That cold bitch you got for a daughter encour-aged him," Jessie spat, moving to the side as the mattress was pushed out the door. A wagon had already been confiscated from the barn. "All I got left to say to you is, if he dies, you die, Callan. You better do some powerful praying on your way out of the territory."

"The sheriff will hear about this."

"Oh, I hope you're that stupid, I really do. If I didn't suspect you'd get no more than a slap on the wrist, I'd turn you in myself. Go against me and I'll take the law into my own hands, I swear to God I will. I ought to anyway," Jessie ended with a measure of self-disgust as she turned away.

"Shit," Walter grumbled behind her. "He's only a damn half-breed."

Jessie swung around, her turquoise eyes blazing. "You bastard! You lowlife, worthless bastard! That's my brother you nearly killed! Say one more word to me and I'll put a bullet between your eyes!"

She gave him two seconds to see if he would call her on this last warning, then turned away to return to Colt. His eyes were open. They stared at each other a long moment.

"You. knew?"

"Not always. Did you know?"

"When I. left."

She put a finger to his lips very gently. "I'm sur-prised she told you at all. I had always wondered about the affinity I felt for you, but not for your sister or brothers. I finally asked your mother right out. She wouldn't answer. It couldn't have been something she would have wanted to admit, that her oldest daughter wasn't the only one to bear my father a child. But that she wouldn't deny it was answer enough for me, es-pecially since I so wanted it to be true."

"Jessie, don't you think this conversation ought to wait for a better time?" Chase said.

She nodded and let her finger trail away in a loving caress across Colt's cheek. It was the signal for the two men standing behind him to step forward and grasp his arms. Colt closed his eyes again when Chase moved directly in front of him.