“Why, sure,” the old cowboy said. “I’ll be glad to. I’ll grant these folks the same mercy you showed Wade.” A round of filthy laughter echoed throughout the station house.

“Read about your upcoming nuptials in the newspaper,” Boone went on. He walked over to Caroline. “Actually,” he said, “I had somebody read the paper to me. Can’t read, myself. Never saw no point to it. Fine-looking woman, your fiancée.”

He grabbed her cheeks in one calloused hand, and ran the barrel of his revolver over her breasts. “Nice figure, too. You’re a lucky man, Ranger.”

Caroline spit into his face. Boone smiled, wiped his face on his forearm, and turned back to Pritchard.

“Newspaper said your wedding was gonna be the ‘social event of the season,’ down in Austin. Even said the governor might attend, on account of the bride’s pa is a wealthy doctor and the groom is a bona fide Texas hero.”

“Let them go,” Pritchard repeated. “Do as you will with me, but these people don’t deserve to suffer harm on my account. Let them be on their way.”

“Don’t you worry none, Ranger,” Boone said. “I’m going to send them on their way, all right.”

“All the way to hell,” Wesley said. More hard laughter ensued.

“But before they depart,” Winston Boone continued, “I thought we might have a little wedding celebration right here in this station. At least a honeymoon, anyways. And you’re gonna watch, Ranger. Put her on the table, boys,” he ordered, “and line up. Who’s first?”

Cowhands carried Caroline, thrashing and fighting, to the big table in the center of the room, still covered with dishes and utensils. The cowboys began to whoop and holler. Pritchard started forward, enraged. Several revolvers, with their hammers back, jabbed into his gut, halting him.

“Leave her be!” Benjamin Woodruff shouted, breaking free of the man restraining him and lurching toward Caroline. He’d almost reached her when a single gunshot rang out. Wesley Boone shot the attorney in the back. He slumped to the floor.

The farmer’s wife began to cry. Everyone paused for an instant, to stare at Woodruff’s lifeless body.

Caroline seized that moment to grab a steak knife from the table. She thrust it, hilt deep, into the neck of the cowboy who’d been holding her. He screamed, and when he let go of her to clutch his throat, she dashed across the room to Pritchard.

Several of the cowboys, distracted and still gawking at the attorney lying dead at their feet, were startled by Caroline’s actions and instinctively fired. A hail of bullets tore into her and Pritchard, just as they embraced.

Both went to the dirt floor. Pritchard felt the searing agony of multiple bullets entering his body, but could think of nothing but catching Caroline. He landed on his back, with her limp form draping over his.