"We'll be home by noon tomorrow.” Sneezy's words echoed off the canyon walls. "I'm going to ask Hanover if I can kill you if you turn out to be worthless. I've never killed a woman before.” He laughed, excited at the possibility. "I've heard it's more fun to do it with a knife."

Sage frowned at him. She had one bullet and so many she wanted to kill. Right now, he was moving to the top of the list. "Why would you think that?" she asked, just to pester him.

“Cause women whine and beg, but they don't fight. All they try to do is get away.” He studied her. "I'll have to make the first cut deep enough to slow you down but not so deep that you die before I have time to make you feel several more cuts." For some odd reason, he thought she was interested in his plan. “I think I'll have to tie you up real good, at least for the first few, or maybe I'll cut your leg so you can't walk. That way I wouldn't have to mess with bloody ropes, and I could watch you try to get away."

"Is that how you killed your mother?" She swore she saw a spark of anger in his eyes as if she'd guessed at the truth. Charlie yelled for someone to shut the woman up.

Sneezy grinned, raised his rifle, and hit her on the side of the head with the butt.

She crumpled but didn't pass out, though she knew enough to stay down.

He hooked his hands beneath her arms and dragged her over near the saddle. Then, as if practicing, he tied her up so she could barely move. Pulling his knife, he slit her skirt open to bare her calf and felt around for the muscle.

Sage remained perfectly still, guessing that he'd get more pleasure out of his examination if she fought. By the time he moved away, he'd made the top of her list.

There was no fire tonight, and no one offered her a blanket. The only thing that kept her warm was her hatred of these men.

When she woke the next morning, she almost wished for death. Her entire body hurt from being crumpled in the dirt all night. The ropes had cut into her wrists until they bled. She couldn't remember the last time any of the men had thought to give her a swallow of water.

Charlie cut her ropes and pulled her up. "Can you stand?" he said.

She nodded, wiping the blood away from her wrist with the last scrap of her handkerchief and dropping it as Charlie grabbed her chin and jerked her face to the light.

He swore at the wiry little man for hurting her. Not that he cared about her; he just wanted his gift to Hanover to look better. He tugged on the leash and led her to her horse. Before putting her up, he tilted her head back and made her drink, then he splashed water over her bruised and bloody forehead where she'd been hit.

When he strapped her into the saddle, he put her medical bag at her side. It was the first time she'd seen the bag since Shelley's office.

He tugged the noose off her neck. "There is nowhere to run and no reason to scream, girl. You behave yourself, and you just might be alive come sundown."

They rode away from the camp. The cliffs grew lower as they rode, and by the time the sun was high, she could make out the glint of rifles above them. The canyon walls lowered still more and finally opened out into a valley big enough to be a small ranch. She saw a pond and rows of what looked like a late summer garden. There were corrals for horses and a pasture with a few cattle grazing. Built along the far canyon wall were a cluster of buildings that looked like the beginning of a town. Three two-story buildings dominated the area, with a dozen more circling them. One looked like a boardinghouse with a second-story balcony. From the second floor a few men could easily defend the entire valley. Another big building looked like a saloon. As they rode by, she noticed several women watching them pass. They had the dull eyes of opium users.

The last big building was set back from the others, at the end of the small town. It could have easily passed for a Virginia plantation house with a wide porch and high columns. Trees, a story high, had been transplanted from somewhere and now stood dead at the corners of the house.

"That's the count's place," Charlie said. "Henry Harrison Hanover, a real member of the royalty, owns everything in this town. Every man and woman who lives here works for him. In exchange we get food and board along with enough pay to frequent the saloon and whorehouse. If we don't follow the rules he sets, he pays for our burial”

Sage knew Charlie well enough to know he wasn't just talking to her. He'd probably been given orders to give the same speech to anyone riding in. No wonder Mr. Nobody didn't want to come with the rest of the gang.

Charlie pulled her off her horse and almost dragged her up the steps to the house. A guard at the door looked her over as she moved past him but didn't say a word.

Once inside, she waited in the foyer with the wiry man while Charlie made his report. The English accent she heard had to be the count. He seemed pleased with the haul from Shelley's place and asked twice if they left the gambler alive. It was obvious that the gang planned to bleed him again. Sage almost felt sorry for Shelley. Almost.

"One more thing” Charlie said as he backed though the door and grabbed her arm. "We brought you a doctor."

One second later she stood before a man dressed in an elaborate red bathrobe with a family crest embroidered on the pocket. He had flowing white hair that seemed to slide off the back of his head, and he wore a ring on every finger of his left hand.

She met his eyes and saw easily that he was ill, far more ill than he was allowing the others to see.

The strange man stared at her. "You're a doctor?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," she answered. "I am. I've just arrived from Boston." He touched her cheek with a soft hand. "Who damaged you?"

"No one” Charlie said. "She fell a few times."

The count stared at her. "Never lie to me, Doctor. I hate it. How did you get this cut?" He touched her bruised forehead. Sage glanced at Sneezy to make sure he wasn't about to hit her again. "My head fell against the butt of a rifle."

Hanover looked like he was trying to decide whether to be angry, then suddenly, he smiled. "I'm in need of a doctor. We deal with my problem first.”

Sage thought she saw a flicker of insanity in his gaze. "If you'll allow me to clean up, I'll try to help you." She flavored her words with the Boston accent she'd practiced.

He smiled and waved at a squatty little man standing behind him. "Take her somewhere she can wash, Myron. Don't let her out of your sight, but don't harm her"

The man, who looked like a proper butler, nodded and motioned for Sage to follow him.

She turned to Charlie. "I'll have my hands free first.” She glared at the man who'd treated her like an animal for a week.

He pulled out his knife and slit the last of her ropes.

As soon as she was alone with the butler, she whispered, "I was brought here against my will. Kidnapped.”

He didn't look interested. "Half of the people here are in the same boat. Including me. I'm a third-generation butler. Do you think I picked this residence for employment? I've got the seat next to you in misery, dearie."

"Isn't there a way out of here?"

"Only if you're bound for heaven or hell. No one leaves this place alive unless you're one of the count's trusted men." He made a face. "And never, never, trust one of those men” He held up his hand to show her that his little finger was missing.

She didn't ask more.

They went into a kitchen at the back of the house, and he handed her a towel and soap. She washed as she asked, "What's wrong with the count?"

"He's got a bullet stuck in his shoulder blade. It's poisoning his blood, but he's accused everyone who's tried to get it out of trying to kill him. Most of us have been waiting around praying he'd die, but Charlie, the snake, seems to have a fondness for the man. No one else suggested bringing in a doctor." Myron held her bag.

Sage took the time to doctor the cuts on her hands and the small cut on her forehead, not because she was worried they might get infected or leave scars, but so she could have time to form a plan.

Myron stayed in the room with her but didn't hover. He made her tea with honey. She drank the tea slowly as she thought.

"Are you ready, Doctor?" Myron finally said.

"Yes, but I may need boiling water to treat Hanover. Would you put kettles on?"

"Of course.”

"Is he really royalty?"

Myron shrugged. "Who knows. He says he's twenty-third in line, but his father fell out of favor with the court of Queen Victoria. Something about bodies of servant girls turning up in the pond, he said. I try not to ask too many questions. If he wants to be a count, what do I care?"

"Twenty-three seems pretty far away from the throne.” "So does Texas, but I hear him mumbling that he'll be moving up soon.” He led her back to the downstairs room that looked like it had been an office and now served as a sickroom.

Hanover lay on his stomach on top of a bed by the window. Sage guessed he wasn't asleep. She walked to the edge of the bed.

"What do I call you?" she asked.

"Everyone calls me Count Hanover.” he answered without opening his eyes. "If you're a doctor, then get to it. My pain is in my back.”

Sage lifted the robe back almost to his waist. The pus-filled wound almost made her gag. Dark veins grew from a core of scabs and open wounds as if something had taken root in the center of his back.

"I was shot," he said. "Several have tried to get the bullet out”

Sage didn't miss the signs that he'd been bled as well in an effort to get the poison out. "They've done more harm than good."

He looked at her then. "I agree. The question is, will you be yet another waste of time?"

Sage looked steadily back at him. "I can help you, Count Hanover, but you'll have to do what I say. It will not be painless, and I cannot make the healing fast.”

He nodded. "I've endured much already." He motioned for the guard at the door. "Move closer, Luther. If she does anything to shorten my life, kill her.”

The guard didn't look at her; he just nodded and pulled his knife. Apparently, he didn't plan to waste a bullet.

She turned to Myron, who was still standing near the door. "I'll need boiling water and lots of towels. I'll also need the fireplace lit and kept burning. As soon as it's a fire, I'd like you to move him close to it:"

Myron looked at the count, then hurried to do as she said. Within the hour, she'd begun. The temperature in the room had to be eighty. The guard Hanover had called Luther was sweating, but he never moved from watching her hands.

She'd stripped the count to his waist and placed a cold cloth over his head as she began to clean the wounds with water so hot it almost burned the pus away. The crude attempts to remove the bullet had left infections, and each had to be almost as painful as the embedded lead.

She made a tea out of the last of the willow tree bark her brothers mailed her from her Apache grandfather each year, and added a touch of opium from her bag. The tea helped him sweat, the willow bark eased fever, and the opium dulled the pain. Nothing stopped his complaining. He called her every name she thought women had been called since time began, but he never told her to stop.

Finally, sometime long after dark, he slept. Sage laced clean bandages over the wounds she'd packed with a poultice of powdered paper and tobacco to draw out the infections. She stood and told Myron to let the fire die down. She knew the count would sleep the night, and tomorrow they'd operate to remove the bullet.

Myron brought her what looked like a tablecloth and draped it around her like a shawl. "No one, not even me, sleeps in the count's house, but I've told the guard to take you somewhere safe.” He patted her shoulder. "I'd never hurt you, dearie, and Luther won't either, unless he has to. He's not cruel for no reason like some of them are”

She nodded and followed the guard down the dark street to the building that looked like a boardinghouse. They went in a side door. He lit a lantern and motioned her forward. Sometime during the day he'd stopped bullying her and started treating her with a small degree of respect. After Charlie and his gang, even a small allowance was appreciated.

"Thank you," she said when he opened the third door they passed.

There, on the first floor was a line of rooms that looked like cells, boarded in on the sides, but barred at the door and window. Inside her cell was a bed with blankets, a tray of food, and a small bathtub surrounded with all she'd need.