Cheyenne hunkered down beside Kingston and tugged gently on one of his eyelids. And stared into brown eyes shot through with gold. “His eyes are the same color as Clovis’s.” Cheyenne looked up. “The same color as yours.”

“Brothers?” Falcon looked at his wife.

Cheyenne shrugged. “Some kind of kin, I reckon.”

They both crouched there across from Kingston for a long time, not talking, Falcon sorting it out in his head, and he could tell Cheyenne was doing the same.

“We can’t figure it out here and now. We’ve got to get Rachel to the doctor,” he finally said. “Let’s bind up his wounds so he doesn’t bleed out before we get him to the sheriff. I’m going to toss him over his saddle, but I think we need to build a travois for Rachel. Is there a sheriff in White Rock?”

“I don’t think so, but we’re not that far from Casper. Some of our questions might get answered there.”

“It’s his town, will the sheriff take his word over ours?”

Cheyenne rose. “My family is a respected one in the territory. They’ll take what I say seriously.”

Falcon nodded at a horse standing back in the woods a distance. “You watch over him. I’ll use his horse to round up ours and get Rachel. And while we’re in Casper, we can mail that letter and send our wire to the Pinkertons. No more worrying about a talkative telegraph operator. I’ve got a feeling the one person in Casper we wouldn’t want to hear about the wire is this man.”

“Rachel said someone would come. I s’pect when they get here, they’ll be looking for Kingston as well as Hawkins, and they’ll want some answers.”

Sixteen

The raised piece of floorboard wouldn’t fit.

The footsteps came fast.

She pushed, lifted, then pressed down and sideways. It clicked into place.

Mr. Hawkins was almost to the door.

Molly looked at the unmade bed. An excuse to be in here. She had no pockets. She slid the envelopes and knife deep under Mr. Hawkins’s dresser, leapt to her feet, dashed to the bed, and pulled up one side of the covers.

The door slammed open hard enough it hit the wall behind it. Mr. Hawkins stood, breathing hard, something . . . frightening . . . glinting in his eyes.

“Mr. Hawkins, you’re back.” She sounded false and cleared her throat, fought to conceal her pounding heart. “Did you find out what Wyatt needed?”

He studied her. Could he know? What exactly had Wyatt said?