If he had half the sense Eustace Montrose credited him with having, he would bide his time and permanently remove the two sons from their lookout posts. It never paid to have an armed enemy at your back. But Slocum couldn’t take the time. He heard a soft female moan from inside the tent where Eustace had gone. The objection grew louder, then was cut off when the man obviously used a big, loud kiss to silence any further protests.

  Thrashing sounded inside the tent and galvanized Slocum. He threw caution to the winds and raced to the tent. A quick look around showed that Montrose’s sons had not heard the brief clatter of boots against rock. They might have been too drunk to notice anything less than falling over a cliff.

  Slocum drew back the tent flap and poked his six-shooter inside.

  “Get off her, Montrose,” he said coldly. “Get off her or I’ll ventilate your worthless, flea-bitten hide.”

  In the dim light all Slocum could see was a white leg drawn up and Eustace Montrose with his pants down around his ankles. Opening his fly was what passed for foreplay with him, but what else did he need for rape?

  The huge man looked over his shoulder at Slocum, startled. Then he laughed.

  “I’ll be switched. He’s here to save your honor, little miss.”

  “Get off her so I can blow your worthless balls off and serve ’em to you like Rocky Mountain oysters,” Slocum said. “If you—”

  Montrose moved and Slocum saw the woman in the bed for the first time. Molly kicked out and knocked the six-gun from his grip. Then he found himself mixing it up with a half-naked Eustace Montrose. The man was as immensely strong as he had suspected and faster. Much faster. Slocum’s only advantage lay in Montrose having his pants down around his hairy ankles.

  Slocum clapped both of his palms against the sides of Montrose’s head, crushing his ears. Montrose growled like a beast and tried to grapple. Slocum kicked out and caught a knee, knocking the man down, but this was almost his undoing. The tent was small and restricted Slocum’s movement. He felt a meaty paw of a hand clamp down like a vise on his leg.

  A quick yank brought him crashing to the ground.

  “Never corner anyone meaner than you, John,” Molly said, gloating. “Don’t kill him, Eustace. We need the map.”

  “If he’s got it on him, I’ll take it. If he don’t, I’ll strip his hide off inch by inch till he tells me where it is.”

  Slocum twisted hard and kicked Eustace Montrose in the face. For a moment, he didn’t think he had done any damage. Then, as if it took the monster of a man a couple seconds to realize he was injured, Montrose let out a bellow of pure pain and rage. Slocum had smashed the man’s nose amid a shower of blood.

  Scrambling to get his feet under him, Slocum heard a sound that was all too familiar. A gun had cocked. He looked at the bedding and saw a naked Molly sitting cross-legged, his own gun pointed at him. She held it steady in a two-handed grip, but there was no doubt that she could hit him at this range.

  “The map, John. Give me the map.”

  “It won’t do you any good.”

  “It’ll be a damn sight better than letting you keep it.”

  “You’ve already got the other half?”

  “No more talk. The map or I see how many times I can hit you before you die.”

  Eustace Montrose still moaned and pressed his hand into his fountaining broken nose. Slocum slumped as if in resignation, then jumped sideways. He crashed into the pole supporting the tent and brought it down just as Molly shot. The slug ripped past his shoulder and drilled a neat hole in the thick canvas.

  Then Slocum was twisting, turning, dodging and making his way toward the tent at the south end of camp. Molly was cursing but nowhere near as loudly as Eustace Montrose. The canvas flapped like some giant flightless bird trying to soar aloft, but it held them as surely as ropes might have.

  Slocum dragged his other Colt from his belt and was swinging it when the flap on the southernmost tent opened. His barrel caught the bearded man squarely on the chin. Slocum saw the older man’s eyes roll up in his head before he folded like a bad poker hand.

  Stumbling over the man’s prone body, Slocum burst into the tent. Erin Finnigan lay all trussed up on a bedroll. When she saw him, she tried to cry out in joy but a gag had been savagely crammed into her mouth. She began choking, until Slocum ripped it out.

  “Oh, John. Thank you. We’ve got to get out of here. There’re eight of them. And . . . and that Molly woman. She’s in cahoots with them.

  She—”

  “Never mind,” Slocum said. “I know most of it already.” He slid the knife from the top of his boot and slashed at the rough hemp rope binding her. She sagged as he cut her hands free, then rubbed circulation back. He made quick work of the ropes on her ankles.

  “No time for that. Come on.” Slocum went to the back of the tent and drove the point of his knife into the canvas. He sliced downward with a deft stroke and grabbed Erin by the hand. He pulled her behind him through the cut, and they headed into the dwindling darkness to the south of the Montrose gang’s camp.

  “Where are we going?” panted Erin. She stumbled repeatedly and Slocum was tiring of dragging her along behind him.

  “We have to get around to where I left my horse. There’s no way we can outrun them on foot. We’re running out of time fast.” Dawn turned the far horizon pink with the promise of a new day. Or was it the curse of a day filled with his and Erin’s deaths?

  “Pa, over here! I hear them over in this direction!” The words rang clarion clear. A bullet followed them that forced Slocum to duck in spite of himself. He hadn’t thought either of Eustace’s sons would be that good a shot in the dark. It was even worse if it had been a lucky shot. Sometimes luck is better than skill. He couldn’t count on them turning unlucky or his own luck improving.

  “This way,” Slocum whispered. He bent low and worked his way toward some brambles. Erin let out an involuntary yelp when one raked her skin and left behind a bloody trail.

  He shoved her flat on the ground, cocked his six-shooter and waited. Slocum didn’t have to bide his time long. One outlaw came blundering through the woods, his nose working like his old man’s had back in camp. Slocum wondered if they were crossbred with dogs. Then he got a clean shot and took it.

  The man stiffened, tried to raise his rifle and finally toppled backward to lie kicking on the ground.

  “You got him!” cried Erin. Slocum clamped a hand over her mouth, but she struggled. “Stop that.”

  He should have warned her more sternly about making noise. He saw two more of the Montrose clan closing in on them.

  “I’ll decoy them after me. You wait until they’re on my tail, then you head to the north of the camp. Get my horse and fetch Sheriff George.”

  “But you—”

  “No arguing,” he said harshly. He hated telling the woman to get the lawman, but he had no choice. He might have to give up hope for finding the million dollars in bullion, but regretting it the rest of his life was better than getting murdered by these kidnapping no-account sidewinders right now.

  Or letting them catch Erin again.

  “John, please.”

  “Stay low until I’m out of sight, then run like hell.” He didn’t wait to hear any more argument from her. Slocum aimed carefully and fired. He hit another of the Montroses but did not kill him outright. If anything, winging him made the man madder than a wet hen—and far more dangerous.

  Slocum crashed through the undergrowth, making as much noise as he could before turning stealthy like a stalking Apache. He flopped on his belly and slid through the tall grass like a snake, trying not to stir the vegetation too much. When he got to a stand of trees not far off, he chose a sturdy-looking maple and clambered up it to lie flat along the lowest limb. This put him just above head level for most men and gave him a good view of his backtrail.

  His heart almost exploded when he saw the man he had wounded come into sight. The man hesitated before entering the wooded area, though. Slocum fingered his gun and wondered if he dared to shoot again. He decided against it. Better to jump down like a pouncing cougar and finish off the son of a bitch with his knife. He didn’t want to attract too much attention, though he might have to if he wanted to give Erin a decent start toward reaching his horse and safety.

  “Uncle Paul, that you in there?” The man swung his rifle around in a short, nervous arc that told Slocum he was still searching for a target. “Uncle Paul?”

  Slocum worried that Uncle Paul would show up, but instead the man retreated and went back toward camp. Slocum wasn’t sure if he was lucky or not. He wanted to eliminate as many of the Montroses as he could and keep them off Erin’s trail.

  Swinging down, Slocum dropped lightly to the ground with every intention of shooting his tracker in the back if he had to. He froze when he heard a ruckus from the direction of the camp. Shots sounded, then loud cries went up.

  Through the still of the night he heard Molly’s shrill voice.

  “We got her, Slocum. We caught the poxy whore. And we got your horse, too. It was staked out north of camp. You got ten seconds to show your face or we start with her.”

  “I get her first,” came Eustace Montrose’s words, muffled and almost unrecognizable since Slocum had mashed his nose. “And after my boys and brothers and their sons have had their way with her, I’ll finish her off. You won’t recognize her, Slocum. She’ll look like a side of carved-up beef. I’m real good with a knife. Like a Sioux, they tell me.”

  “Unless you show yourself and give us the map,” finished Molly.

  Slocum knew when he was beaten. He couldn’t run and leave Erin to such a fate. But if he tried dealing with the Montrose gang, he was likely to end up dead himself.

  He had no choice. Slocum called out, “I’m on my way down. Don’t touch her!”

  Then he started for the outlaws’ camp like he was walking up the steps to the gallows for his own hanging.

  16

  “We kin kill her slow or we kin kill her fast, Slocum,” called Eustace Montrose. “But we don’t want to do any of that. Not if you give us the map.”

  “You’ve got it, John. I know you do,” said Molly. “You could have avoided all kinds of tussle with us if you’d let me steal it.”

  Slocum noticed how Molly referred to herself as one of the Montrose clan. It made sense in a peculiar way. She and Eustace were sweethearts, and she had probably gotten involved with him because she had been unable to get the map on her own. A cut of a million dollars was better than nothing, even if it meant bedding down with the likes of Eustace Montrose. Slocum still couldn’t figure if she really was a Preston or if she was someone who had happened along and decided to deal herself into the biggest game ever played in Nevada Territory. No matter what Molly was, her status did nothing to get him out of the pickle he found himself in now. Eustace Montrose had Erin and would undoubtedly do everything he had promised to her if Slocum didn’t deliver the map.

  “All right,” Slocum shouted. “I’ll let you have the map, but not if you’ve harmed one hair on Erin’s head.”

  “We could scalp her ’fore we kill her, Pa,” piped up one of the younger Montroses. “That’d be a whale of a lot o’ fun.”

  “You see how it is with my boys, Slocum? They’re quite a handful. Don’t rightly know how much longer I kin keep ’em from doin’ all this nasty stuff to your purty l’il friend.”

  Erin shrieked in pain. Slocum didn’t have to see her to know one of the Montrose gang had probably stuck her with a knife or done something even worse to squeeze such a cry from her.

  “I said I’m coming,” Slocum called. “You go harming her and you’ll wish you hadn’t.” He silently added, No matter what you do, you’ll wish you’d never crossed me.

  He skidded and slid down the steep slope and finally came out a dozen paces away from the campfire. Eustace and his boys were looking in the wrong direction, expecting him to come from a different angle. Only Molly stared directly at him. Guessing who the brains of this gang was proved easier by the second. Slocum had to deal with Molly, not Eustace. She probably had him wrapped around her little finger.

  “Here it is,” Slocum said, holding up the map so they could see it.

  “How do we know that’s it?” asked Eustace Montrose. “Get yer ass on over here with it so we kin give it a good lookin’ over.”

  “John, don’t. Don’t give it to them. They’ll kill us both when you do.” Erin was knocked to the ground by a back-handed slap delivered by Molly.

  “Don’t know what you see in her, John,” Molly said. “She’s skinny and she talks too damn much. Can’t possibly be as good between the blankets as I am.”

  Slocum advanced slowly, map catching the faint nighttime wind. He had one chance only and had to take it.

  “Gimme,” Eustace said.

  Slocum held out the map, then ducked under the giant’s outstretched hand and dived for the fire. As he rolled past the fire pit, he grabbed a smoldering twig. Slocum came to his feet and whirled about. He held the smoking stick close to the map.

  “I can set fire to it before you can drop me. Get your boys—the ones with the rifles—back into camp, Montrose.” His words were directed to Eustace but his eyes were fixed on Molly.

  “Do as he says, dearie,” Molly said. “He’s an honest man. Or as honest as any you’re likely to find in this god-forsaken place. If he says he’ll let her die and himself, too, but burn up that there map, he means it.”

  Slocum moved the twig about in the air, fanning the slumbering coals along its length. A tiny fire leapt from the tip, as if some demon from hell had sent the flame. Slocum moved the branchlet closer to the map. From the set of his jaw, Molly and Eustace saw he was not joking about setting fire to the map.

  “We get to ride out of here. You get the map, and we keep our lives,” he said.

  “John, honey, you oughta know I don’t mean you no harm.” Molly’s words carried more than a touch of irony. “You jilted me for her, you done ’bout ever’thing you can think of to keep me from what’s rightfully mine, you even shot up one or two of Eustace’s boys, but I don’t hold none of it against you. Really, I don’t.”

  “Horses,” Slocum said. “Mine and another for Erin.”

  “Now, John, we ain’t gonna give you a horse. You two ride out together on what brung you here.”

  “Is a minor point like that worth watching a million dollars in gold go up in smoke?” Slocum moved the burning twig under the map. Brown splotches appeared as it scorched.

  “Give him the damn horse, Molly,” Eustace cried. But Slocum saw that the woman remained adamant. It was going to be her way or know the reason why.

  “Your life worth that sheet of paper? Your life and hers, too?” Molly jerked her thumb in the direction where two of the gang held Erin between them. She sagged but her eyes were open and her expression showed nothing but utter hatred for the outlaws. Slocum found something else to agree with Erin over.

  “Bring my horse,” he said. “Then pile your guns in that tent.” He pointed to the one where Erin had been held captive. “I’ll drop the map as we ride off.”

  “Now, why should we trust you?” Molly enjoyed the battle of wits too much for Slocum to feel easy. He was overlooking something but didn’t know what it might be.

  “If you want the map, that’s the way you’ll get it. You said honesty was a failing of mine. I promise to drop the map when you let us ride out.”

  “Not in the fire?” Molly continued to probe the limits of his truthfulness.

  “Not in the fire,” he agreed with some reluctance. That had been his plan. Mount, ride past the fire and drop the map. The added scramble to pull it from the flames would have given him and Erin another few seconds’ head start. Slocum wasn’t fooling himself into thinking Montrose would just let them ride off scot-free. Once he had the map, he would take revenge for the sons Slocum had plugged.

  “Fetch his horse,” Molly ordered.

  “Erin,” Slocum called. “How many were in the camp?”

  “They’re all here,” she said. “The ones that are still alive.”

  Slocum wished she hadn’t tried to hit back at Montrose with that verbal jab. It only added fuel to the man’s hatred. Then Slocum decided it hardly mattered. Montrose could hate him a little or a lot. The result would be the same either way.

  “Let her go.” Slocum wanted this over fast. The twig was turning to ash, and soon enough he wouldn’t have an easy way of ransoming the woman. “Let her get mounted.”

  “Boys, be gentlemen fer a change,” Molly said. “Help her onto Slocum’s horse. Back of the saddle so he kin ride all natural-like.”

  Slocum saw the two holding Erin drag her to the horse and then boost her so she straddled the horse’s rump. He didn’t like the way they grabbed Erin’s rump as they helped her up, but he said nothing. His first chore was to get the hell out of camp.

  He walked to the horse, checked to be sure they had piled their rifles and six-shooters in the tent as he had demanded, then he flew into action. Two quick steps and a swift kick knocked the pole down on the tent, covering the weapons and forcing the gang to dive beneath the canvas for them. Then he dropped the firebrand, crumpled the map and tossed it as hard as he could out of camp into the night. The balled-up map didn’t go far, but it held their attention long enough for him to get his foot in the stirrup and pull himself up into the saddle. Before he got a good seat, his heels were raking the horse’s flanks to get it moving into the night.

  Then Slocum let out a yelp of surprise as the saddle shifted under him suddenly. He tried to hold on to the horse’s mane but was already too far unbalanced to one side. He crashed to the ground with Erin right behind him.

  “They cut the saddle strap,” he said, scrambling to get his feet under him. He grabbed Erin’s arm and pulled her erect—and looked down the barrel of Eustace Montrose’s rifle.

  “That Molly o’ mine, she’s sure a smart one, ain’t she?” Montrose motioned for Slocum and Erin to precede him back into the camp, where the entire gang huddled around Molly, who had smoothed out the crumpled map and was piecing it together with one she already had.