But cattle rustling was a hanging offense, wasn’t it? And they were all guilty of that. And which of them had shot Wyatt? He looked hard in the cell. Trying to judge. If they were smart, and there was no sign they were, as being a thieving rustler was, at its very root, stupid, they’d blame it on one of the dead guys.

“Amelia doesn’t want to be a housekeeper anymore, Hawkins.” Hobart spoke loud and clear. More sensible than any of them, it seemed. Being ruthless was helping her keep her head. “She wants to return to her father and stay with him.”

“But Amelia—”

“Enough, Hawkins,” Sheriff Corly interrupted. “Your housekeepers have both quit. You need to stop intruding when we’ve got prisoners to hang.”

“Hey, I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t even belong to this gang when they were stealing cattle.” Jeff Wells from the RHR was a weakling.

Falcon considered him for a bit. Weaklings were often willing to do plenty of talking when a noose was mentioned. Maybe he knew who’d shot Wyatt.

Cheyenne quit protecting Amelia, which wasn’t a real big job. It was unlikely Hawkins was going to hurt her or drag her out of here with—Falcon counted quick—six witnesses, including the sheriff. He probably shouldn’t count the outlaws locked up, but anyhow, there were plenty of folks who’d step in if Hawkins so much as touched her amiss.

Falcon sure wondered what it was that Hawkins had done to set Amelia so hard against him. He’d noticed Win didn’t like her pa, either. Falcon intended to find out what was going on.

Cheyenne said, “Drag Wells out of there, Sheriff. I want to talk to him away from Bender.”

Corly moved fast. Maybe he thought it was a good idea, or maybe he just knew he had a dangerous woman on his hands.

Sonny Bender, the other survivor of yesterday’s shootout, shouted, “Wells, you’ll keep your mouth shut, or you’ll be sorry.”

“I’ve got two cells. I’ll put you in one of your own.” Sheriff Corly had a firm grip on Wells, who showed no sign of resisting. Everyone but Bender went outside.

They were far enough from Corly’s door not to hear the yelling anymore when a man galloped in with five riders. The leader looked like every other cowboy except his short hair, which only showed around his ears, was midnight black, his eyes black as coal. His skin a shade that didn’t come from any suntan.

He swung down off his horse with a move Falcon swore to himself he’d learn. As graceful and powerful as a big, dangerous wildcat.

“Judd? Judd Black Wolf?” Cheyenne had thought she might see Judd before this was over. She was surprised how nice it was to see the kid—though he definitely wasn’t a kid anymore.