The sheriff joined the fight after it was over and shackled Kingston’s arms behind his back.

Satisfied her outlaw was dealt with, Cheyenne turned to Falcon. “Are you all right?”

He grinned, and she smiled back.

Then her smile shrank. “And how are Rachel and poor Win?” Her eyes scanned around to see who was left standing.

Win jerked her knife out of Kingston’s shoulder, wiped it on his shirt, then tucked it back in her boot.

“If Kevin dies”—she more growled than spoke—“I’m going to hang you myself.”

Falcon decided maybe not so poor Win after all.

Wyatt had let Cheyenne get too far ahead. He heard shouting inside the cabin.

Hawkins charged out, empty-handed. He’d left Rachel behind. John, at a sprint, came out next and slammed shoulders with Cheyenne as she rushed past him to go in. John leapt on the horse standing there—the only one left—and went tearing after Hawkins.

He yelled over his shoulder at Wyatt. “My horse is tied up with Falcon’s and the sheriff’s right there!” He jabbed his finger at the woods. Wyatt hoped that pointing finger was enough.

Cheyenne yelled, “We’re all right. We got Kingston.”

“We’ve got to help John.” Wyatt had Molly’s hand, and they raced toward the woods as John rode out of sight hard on Hawkins’s heels.

The horses were right handy. They mounted up and were close enough to John to hear hoofbeats. Wyatt should have left Molly behind, but when he’d dropped her hand, she’d just kept on coming. There was no time to argue with her now.

They were gaining. Molly leaned as far over her horse’s shoulders as Wyatt.

A gunshot split the air ahead, then another.

Molly kicked her horse to get more speed out of it. It was the horse John had ridden in on and a fine animal. Wyatt had Falcon’s mount, a long-legged sorrel, as game as any on the ranch.

They rounded a bend in the narrow trail to find John off his horse and running for the woods, his shoulder bleeding.

“Get off the trail,” John yelled as he dodged behind a boulder on the side of the trail away from Hawkins. Bits of rock exploded as he ducked low.

Wyatt grabbed Molly’s reins, but she was pulling up already. The aim of the gun shifted so bullets came at them. They threw themselves off their horses, and Wyatt, Molly in hand, charged into the brush. He didn’t want to be on the same side of the trail as John. He wanted Hawkins’s attention split.

Hawkins quit shooting. The horses were in the way, and John, Molly, and Wyatt were out of sight. All four of the horses milled in the trail, rearing and screaming in panic. One of them kicked out wildly. At last, they gathered themselves and ran back the way they’d come.