Both his eyes were swollen, but he could see out of the left one. The three men who’d attacked him were huddled around a tiny fire drinking coffee. The boxer who’d delivered more blows than Trapper could count was beefy and bear-shaped. The other two looked more like gunfighters, with their gun belts worn low and strapped to their legs.

Trapper didn’t have to ask what they wanted; he knew. He’d been watching for them to arrive, waiting for them since he left Jefferson.

Last night he’d talked to Emery and the oldest three girls. They’d agreed that Trapper would step out early and scout around until he was sure they were safe to travel. Then he’d come back and they’d head out. From this time on they’d be traveling off the trail. Only now it was too late. The bad guys had found them.

The plan was still sound. The wagon was hidden. If Emery could keep the girls in the wagon, they’d be safe for a while. Only, Four might slip out looking for rocks or Two might decide to test her skills in tracking him. One of them could refuse to use the chamber pot and want to make their circle in the open. Number One might decide it was time for her to take over the world.

Trapper knew one fact: With Colonel Chapman’s daughters, he needed to expect the unexpected.

His head was starting to hurt more from worrying than he did from his black eyes or split lip, or bruises and cuts.

A short little man who looked like the reincarnation of Napoleon appeared and strutted over to Trapper. The newcomer rocked back on his heels as if he was teasing. “You must be Trapper Hawkins. I must say, you are far more trouble to track than that fat teamster. We lost your trail the third day out. Since then we’ve been riding back and forth, trying to guess where you were. It was pure luck we found your horses last night.”

Trapper didn’t speak or move. It wasn’t hard for him to look half dead; he pretty much was.

The little man turned and yelled at his men, “I told you to capture him, not beat him senseless. If he dies, one or two of you will be buried in the same grave.”

The beefy guy grumbled and finally said, “I don’t see that it makes any difference. You told us we was gonna kill him anyway.”

“And that little widow with him,” another added. “But I’d like to spend some time with her first.”

All three started arguing over Emery.

Trapper sat calmly on the ground with his hands tied behind him and blood dripping from several cuts on his face. His one thought was which one of these outlaws he’d kill first.

The little Napoleon pushed them aside and stood in front of Trapper.