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  “Sounds like a good idea,” Will said. “I’d be glad to have the company.”

  * * *

  Close to one hundred miles away, a man and woman sat on their horses, watching a log building beside the Blue River. They had been there for some time watching the place, trying to determine if it was deserted. They had been told by Albert Clinton that the cabin, barn, and outbuildings were once a trading post belonging to an evil old man named Lem Stark, who was now deceased. So far, they had seen no sign of anyone about, nor any sign that anyone had been there recently. “I reckon Uncle Albert was right,” Hannah Cheney said to her brother. “There ain’t been nobody livin’ in this place for a long time. We might as well ride on in and see what the inside looks like.”

  “Looks all right to me,” Rubin said. “It’ll be dark pretty quick now. Let’s get in there and get a fire goin’, so we can fix somethin’ to eat. I’m ’bout to starve to death.”

  “I’ll take a look inside,” Hannah said. “You put the horses in that little corral and see if there’s anything left in the barn. Then bring the packhorse up and we’ll unload it into the house. I just hope to hell that when they left here they didn’t tear the place up. Looks like a stack of firewood on the porch. That’ll be right handy as long as they didn’t mess up the fireplace.”

  Accustomed to taking orders from his sister, Rubin dutifully started out toward the barn, leading the horses while Hannah walked up on the porch of the cabin. She paused only a moment to draw the .44 out of her holster before pushing the door open. The handgun had belonged to her father. Hannah had lost hers in a confrontation with the deputy marshal in Texas. The memory of that face-off was still fresh enough to cause her to scowl. Will Tanner, she silently pronounced the name. We ain’t done yet, you and me, she thought, not by a long shot.

  She pushed the door halfway open and peered inside. The room was empty, so she went on in. The main room still had the look of a store, with a long counter running almost the length of one side of it. There were some shelves behind the counter, now empty, and one table with a broken leg and a couple of chairs. It was obvious that there had been more, but the rest had been removed. There was a fireplace on the wall opposite the counter and a scorched square in the middle of the floor where a stove had once stood. Looking up, she could see the hole where the stovepipe had gone through the roof. She stood there a moment and looked all around her. “This’ll do,” she announced to herself, even before checking to see what the door in the back led to. She was joined a moment later by Rubin.

  “How’s it look?” Rubin asked, standing as she had, looking around him at the empty room.

  “It’ll do us just fine,” Hannah answered. “Go ahead and start unloadin’ the packhorse. I’ll help you in a minute. I just wanna see where that door leads.”

  The door led to a short hallway with two rooms off it, one a bedroom, the other the kitchen. Like the storefront, the kitchen had been gutted, stove and all. Too bad, she thought, but she had figured she’d be cooking in the fireplace, anyway, what little bit of cooking she planned to do. If her brother was hungry, he could cook for himself. She had never been one to play the part of the suffering pioneer woman like her mother did, and she sure as hell didn’t intend to start now. Only she and Rubin were left of the Cheney gang, but she intended to carry on in the same fashion as before her father and three brothers were killed. And that was by living off the toils of honest folk.

  As her father had requested, she had taken her mother several miles up the river above this abandoned trading post to her uncle Albert’s farm. She and Rubin had buried her father at their first camp near the forks of Clear Boggy and Muddy Boggy creeks, after leaving Kettle Creek. They bade their mother good-bye and left the uncle’s farm, much to the relief of Albert and Mae Clinton. Finding this trading post still abandoned was a stroke of good luck as far as Hannah was concerned. It saved her and Rubin from setting up in a makeshift tent or shack, what with winter already on its way. She found it odd, however, that no one had claimed it before now. Had she known the reason, she would have laughed. The closest people to the store were in a Choctaw village at Switchback Creek, and they were convinced that Lem Stark’s evil spirit still inhabited the trading post. It would have made little difference to Hannah Cheney, because she feared no one, evil spirit or human. She went outside then to help Rubin.

  “Let’s get a fire goin’,” Hannah said after their packs were brought inside. “I’ll slice off some bacon and make some pan biscuits, but don’t go thinkin’ I’m gonna be takin’ Ma’s place. Damned if I’m gonna be doin’ all the cookin’ around here, so you might as well get used to doin’ for yourself. You can start by primin’ that pump in the kitchen to see if it works. If it don’t, go fill the coffeepot at the river.”

  “Why, yessum,” Rubin replied sarcastically, “I’ll jump right to it. I didn’t expect you’d try to take Ma’s place, and I sure as hell didn’t figure you’d try to take Pa’s. Maybe I was wrong.” He picked up the coffeepot and left to do her bidding, anyway.

  Dumb as a stump, she thought, but I need him right now. In spite of the near annihilation of Ike Cheney’s gang, she had no thoughts of retiring from the family business of robbery and rustling. It was in her blood and she had never known any other way to survive. So she was confident that she and Rubin would be back in business as soon as she had the opportunity to see what potential the territory offered. There was one piece of business that she was determined to settle and that was Deputy Marshal Will Tanner. She made a vow to make sure he paid for the death of her father and her brothers. And to make sure she never let herself forget that vow, she reached in her pocket, as she often did, and felt the smooth round pebble she had found near her father’s grave. The opportunity would come, she would see to it. She was smart enough to know it was foolish to make an attempt on him when he was riding with a posse. But he wasn’t always going to have a posse to protect him. In the meantime, she and Rubin had to make a living.

  * * *

  After two nights and a day at their new hideout, Hannah and Rubin had settled in to make it a more permanent base. They had a small amount of money left from the stolen cattle they had sold at the Fort Worth market, enough to see them through the winter. With the coming of spring, however, they were going to have to decide where their best potential to find more might be. At this point, they sorely missed their father. Old Ike Cheney would know where best to target their next payday. At least Hannah knew it wasn’t smart to strike targets close around Tishomingo. Her pa had always said it wasn’t smart to do your business in the same place you had to sleep at night. When she thought about it, she wondered if he had broken that rule when they had moved into the cabin at Kettle Creek, and it contributed to the deaths of her father, Luke, Levi, and Buck. They were sure as hell rustling cattle right there where they camped. She and Rubin were discussing the problem of working too close to home late that afternoon when visitors rode in.

  Rubin spotted them when they left the river trail and rode down the path to the cabin. “We got company!” he blurted as he was standing at the window. “Damn! Damn!” he cursed in alarm. “There’s four of ’em, and they’re comin’ right toward the door.”

  “Where?” Hannah demanded, and came running with her rifle in hand.

  “There!” Rubin said, and pointed. “Looks like a posse. How’d they know where we were?”

  “Maybe a posse, maybe not,” Hannah said, thinking it unlikely that the law knew they were there. Unless, she thought, Uncle Albert told them. She quickly discarded the thought. Albert clearly didn’t care for his sister-in-law’s family, but he wouldn’t turn them in. She peered at the four riders for another few moments before deciding they didn’t look like a posse. For one thing, they didn’t seem to take any precautions, as they would have if they thought they might be riding into an ambush. “Let’s just let them make the first play,” she said. “Maybe they’ll just ride out again when they find out this ain’t a tradin’ pos
t no more. Get over behind the counter.” Rubin followed her over to stand behind the counter to await their visitors, their rifles resting on the counter before them and aimed at the door.

  “There’s some horses in the corral,” they heard one of the men yell outside. A short time after, the front door was slowly eased ajar, but no one came in.

  After a moment, Hannah called out, “You comin’ in or not?”

  “Depends,” the answer came back.

  “On what?” Rubin asked.

  “On whether or not I’m gonna walk into a shootin’ gallery.”

  “Might be you should state your business here,” Hannah said. “Are you a lawman? Who are you lookin’ for?”

  “If that’s what you’re worried about,” the voice said, “then you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. We sure as hell ain’t lawmen. We was just lookin’ for a place to set up camp, and we was told this place was empty. I was here three years ago when a feller by the name of Lem Stark had a store here. Bought some supplies from him.”

  “Lem Stark is dead,” Hannah said. “This place belongs to us now and it ain’t a store no more. We ain’t sellin’ nothin’.”

  “That a fact? Well, we ain’t lookin’ to buy nothin’.” They could hear a discussion taking place on the porch among the four riders, but it was not loud enough to understand what was being said. In a few moments, the one doing all the talking came back. “Hey,” he asked politely, “mind if we come inside? It’s gettin’ a mite chilly out here, and we’ve been in the saddle a long spell. We ain’t lookin’ to cause you no trouble, and we’ve got food and coffee to spare—be glad to share it with you folks.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Rubin whispered. “We don’t want them in here.”

  “I know it,” Hannah whispered back. “But there’s four of ’em. If they’re thinkin’ about doin’ us some harm, they could burn us outta here and we couldn’t stop ’em. Might be better to let ’em come in where we can keep our rifles trained on ’em.”

  “Whaddaya say?” the voice asked when there had been no response to his request after a long pause. “Can we come in and sit by the fire for a spell?”

  “Come on in,” Hannah answered. “But make it slow, and one at a time. There’s a lotta bad people driftin’ around this part of the territory. A body can’t be too careful, and that’s why I’m tellin’ you there’s a couple of Winchester rifles pointed at that door. But if you ain’t got no mischief on your mind, come on in.”

  “Fair enough,” the voice said. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about from us. I’m comin’ in.” Very slowly, the door opened wider and the man stepped inside. He stopped abruptly when he saw the two rifles leveled at him and raised his hands almost shoulder high to indicate he had no intention of drawing his weapon. “Easy does it, folks,” he said. “We ain’t here to do you no harm.” He called back over his shoulder, “Come on in, Rafe, one at a time, like the lady said.” He turned back to look at the man and woman standing behind the counter while one by one his three companions came inside. He felt as if he had seen the man behind the counter somewhere before, but he couldn’t place him. “Rafe, here, has got a wound in his shoulder that don’t seem to wanna heal up. All right with you folks if he sits down over there by the fire?” When Hannah nodded, Rafe went to the fireplace and sat down on the floor next to the fireplace. He was obviously in some discomfort. “These other two fine-lookin’ gentlemen are Mace Weaver and Tater Smith.”

  “What’s your name?” Hannah asked.

  “Jack Lynch,” the rangy man answered.

  A smile spread slowly across Hannah’s face, and she exchanged a quick glance with Rubin. “Scorpion Jack, ain’t that what they call you?”

  Jack looked genuinely surprised. “Some do, I reckon,” he confessed. “My name is Jack Lynch. What’s yourn?”

  “I’m Hannah Cheney,” she answered. “This is my brother, Rubin. My daddy was Ike Cheney. Maybe you remember him.”

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Jack started, clearly astonished. “The last time I saw Ike was two years ago, down in Texas. I swear, I thought there was somethin’ familiar-lookin’ about your brother. He was with your pa, if I recollect. Don’t believe I ever saw you before, though.” He shook his head and chuckled, then turned to the two men standing beside him. “You’ve heard me talk about Ike Cheney. Hell, we was in on a train holdup together. That’s before I ran into that trouble in Arkansas.” He turned back to Hannah then. “You said your daddy was Ike Cheney. Is Ike dead?”

  “We buried him last Tuesday,” Hannah said.

  “Well, I’m right sorry to hear that. What put him under—lawman?”

  “I reckon you could say that,” she replied. “We were runnin’ from a posse when Daddy’s heart just gave out on him.”

  “There were other boys, what about them? They still down in Texas?”

  “Yes, they are,” Hannah said, “under the ground, shot dead by a deputy marshal ridin’ outta Fort Smith.”

  “Well, now, that is sorry news,” Jack said. “And I reckon you and Rubin are on the run. Is that right?” Hannah nodded, so Jack said, “Maybe we could join up. I lost a couple of good men in Colorado. This place looks like there’s room for all of us if there ain’t but the two of you. I believe we could help each other out.” He favored her with a wide grin. “I’d admire havin’ a woman around. Whaddaya say?”

  The idea appealed to Hannah, but she wanted to get one thing straight before she agreed to anything. “That might work out pretty good, but don’t go gettin’ any notions about havin’ a woman around to do the cookin’, and waitin’ on a bunch of lazy men, and I damn sure ain’t interested in providin’ any entertainment for the four of you. If you’ve got that straight, then we’ve got a deal.”

  “You’re a feisty little woman, ain’tcha?” Mace Weaver spoke up then. “I’ll bet you ain’t even been saddle-broke yet.”

  “You wanna be the first one to try it?” Hannah responded as she pulled the long skinning knife from her belt. “’Cause it’d be the last time you could sit in a saddle without cryin’ like a baby.”

  Her threat brought a laugh from the three men with Mace. “You’d best mind your manners,” Tater said. “That woman will whip your ass.”

  “He musta thought she was standin’ on a box behind that counter,” Rafe joined in the japing.

  Soon they were all laughing at Mace’s expense, even Rubin. “Mister, you’d do well to listen to your friends,” he said. “She ain’t standin’ on no box back of this counter. I can tell you that. And most of the time she can back up what she says, but if she can’t, then I lend a hand.”

  “Ain’t no need to get your back up,” Jack said to Rubin. “Mace’s always japin’ somebody. He don’t mean nothin’ by it. Ain’t that right, Mace?” He cast a quick menacing glance in his direction.

  “Why, sure,” Mace replied at once, “I was just japin’ you a little. You don’t have to worry ’bout any trouble like that from me.”

  “As long as everybody understands that, then I reckon we can work together,” Hannah said. “That all right with you, Rubin?” He responded with a shrug of his shoulders. The question was asked merely as a courtesy to her brother. She was confident that he wouldn’t protest any decision she made on their behalf. Back to Jack and his friends, she continued. “I’ll do some cookin’ when it suits me, ’cause I know most men would starve to death if they had to depend on themselves. But I can handle a gun as good as any man, and I expect to carry my end of the load on any jobs we take on. Is that clear?”

  Jack couldn’t help being amused by the woman’s brashness. “I reckon it’s clear enough, all right, ain’t it, boys?” Amused as well, they all grinned and nodded. “Like I said,” he went on, “all we’re lookin’ for right now is a place to hole up till spring. Then I expect we’ll be headin’ back Colorado way. I figure we were awful lucky to find a place like this to winter in. Course we was told there weren’t nobody in it, like I told you.
But I’m tickled to find it’s kin of Ike Cheney, an old friend of mine. We oughta get along just fine.”

  Hannah glanced at Rubin and grinned. “Brother, we’re back in business.” She was satisfied that it was a stroke of good luck that Jack had showed up at this point. There was strength in numbers and the possibility of planning bigger jobs. She had been fretting over the thought of no one but her and Rubin and, consequently, the necessity to work on a smaller scale. Looking back at Jack, she said, “Well, I reckon we’ve got us a deal. You fellers can put your horses in the barn and move yourselves in here. You can spread your bedrolls right here near the fireplace with Rubin. I sleep in the bedroom.”

  “You sure you don’t want somebody to sleep in that room with you?” Mace Weaver asked, grinning mischievously. “In case there’s some ghosts movin’ around this place at night.”

  Hannah cocked a warning eye in his direction. “Mister, you’re a slow learner, ain’t you? Didn’t your mama ever tell you you was a little slow in the head?” Her reply brought a few chuckles from Mace’s companions.

  “I expect you’ve found out what you need to know,” Jack said to Mace. His tone was deadly serious. “So that’ll be the end of it.”

  “Aw, I was just funnin’ with her,” Mace said.

  With that settled, Jack turned back to Hannah. “There’ll be one more of us showin’ up here any day now. My son, Mike, was released from prison. I sent word to him to meet us here. When I sent the letter, I didn’t know Lem Stark was dead and the place was empty. It’s been a long time, but I knew Mike would remember where it is.” He paused to reflect. “Ten years since I’ve seen my boy, and I can hardly wait till he gets here. I blame myself for him bein’ in that stinkin’ prison. I shoulda sat down hard on him when he wanted to go off with a couple of two-bit outlaws to steal cattle.” He paused again, obviously thinking about his son. “Anyway,” he concluded, “like I said, he’ll be showin’ up any day now.”