Hawk sensed that they were about to make their move, but he maintained his casual front, even while his finger slowly eased onto the trigger. “No, no mistake,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I can tell my woman from all the others. Maybe you boys have been lookin’ in the wrong direction.” To Winter Flower, he whispered, “Remember what I told you.” She nodded, clutching the pistol with both hands.

Bud was convinced that their bluff wasn’t working, and he saw the Winchester lying conveniently looking in their direction. He decided it best to respect the other man’s bluff and ride on out of the camp. There was no doubt the woman huddled between the man and the tree was the Indian girl they had stolen. Their best bet was to ride on out, then return that night and shoot him, take the girl and everything the man had. He was about to say as much to Luke, but he had waited too long. Exhausted of the tiny amount of patience he normally had and frustrated by the game of casual the stranger was playing, he reached for his six-gun. The peace of the riverside was shattered by the crack of the Winchester as Luke rolled backward off his horse. Bud had no choice but to go for his gun and managed to get off a shot, but the sudden crack of the rifle caused both horses to jump, spoiling his aim. Before he had time to cock the .44 again, he joined Luke on the ground, both men dead from shots in their chests.

“Are you all right?” Hawk asked, and turned to look at her. She had remembered what he had told her to do, so she had rolled over behind the tree. And now she was pressing her back tightly against the trunk, holding his .44 against her breast with both hands. “Here,” he said, “you can give it back now.” She released it, realizing only then that she had been clutching it with the muzzle aimed up under her chin. “I reckon I’d best clean up our campsite if you’re gonna feel like havin’ any of that deer meat I was talkin’ about.” She could only nod in response, her emotions not sufficiently recovered from the sudden shooting.