But Rachel was unknown, and people would wonder about her. They’d ask the telegraph operator, who would know too much and share it all.

There was still a good stretch to ride, but sunlight helped keep her head from nodding. Cheyenne was in the middle. Once she’d found the right trail, she’d let Falcon lead. Looking back, she smiled at Rachel. A hardy woman, who seemed tireless. Rachel smiled back, her blue eyes flashing in the rising sun.

Looking on past her, Cheyenne enjoyed the sight of her beloved mountains rising up in the distance. They were on a narrow path that wound around a steep, uphill grade. Trees rose up on the right side, a solid wall of rock on the left.

Cheyenne turned to face forward to see Falcon dive off his horse toward the wooded side. Cheyenne didn’t even think. She just moved, taking her rifle with her. The gunfire split the air as she hit the ground rolling to a crouch.

Falcon was running for her. He saw her down and alive, then they both spun to warn Rachel, only to see her slam backward off her horse, who crow-hopped, spooked by the shot.

They reached her as she landed on her back in a puff of dust, a bright crimson star blooming on her chest.

Her horse startled the others, and they reared. Enough ahead that Cheyenne didn’t have to dodge hooves.

One hard look at Rachel made her turn to Falcon. He saw the same thing she did. Rachel was hit dead center in the heart. No one survived a shot like this.

The rifle took up firing and rained bullets down as fast as someone could cock it and pull the trigger. A branch inches over Cheyenne’s head was shredded by bullets.

“We’re out of his sight down low.” Falcon crouched and dragged Rachel around the curve of the trail. Farther out of range.

The shooting stopped. Falcon got all three of them up against the rock wall. He pressed his back to it, gun drawn. Cheyenne left him to guard and turned to Rachel. She was shocked to see Rachel open her eyes. Not dead yet, but she couldn’t last long.

“T-take this.” Rachel dragged a letter out of her coat pocket and shoved it into Cheyenne’s hand, then a piece of paper. “Th-the code. Contact Pinkertons. D-don’t put my name in the telegram. They’ll know I’m dead or in terrible trouble. Someone will come.”

Her eyes fell shut. Her grip on the letter and paper trembled, then her hand went slack, and she released both.