Nor was the derringer concealed within the pocket of her red silk dress going to be much help against the heavier handguns worn by both Slater and Raleigh.

It has to work, Eve thought desperately. Just once, the weak have to win out over the cruel and the strong.

Eve didn’t look at the green-eyed stranger again. A man that handsome would have been unsettling under any circumstances, much less when a girl’s life depended on her concentration.

Five cards now lay facedown in front of each player. Eve set aside the deck and picked up her own cards, wondering what she had dealt to herself. From the corner of her eye she watched the stranger. If the possibilities of the hand he had been dealt excited him, it didn’t show on his face or in the light green crystal of his eyes.

Eve wasn’t surprised when Slater opened the betting, for she had dealt him two pairs. Nor was she surprised when Raleigh jumped in with a raise, for she had dealt him a straight. The stranger simply called for that round, as did Eve.

Without a word she dealt each man the one or two cards he requested and swept the discards to the bottom of the deck. She permitted herself a brief glance at each man’s face as he looked at his hand.

The stranger was good. Not a flicker of emotion showed on his face as he picked up his single new card.

Nothing showed on Eve’s face, either.

The cards she had were uninspiring. A jack, a nine, a six, a three, and a two. The suits were a complete mismatch. About all the cards were good for was to conceal the fine trembling of her fingers as she waited for the shooting to begin.

Dear God, let the stranger be as quick as he is handsome. I don’t want his death on my conscience.

Raleigh’s death, however, was another matter. Eve had no scruples about that. Anyone who could torture an old man to death while his dying wife looked on helplessly deserved a much more painful death than he was likely to get from the stranger’s six-gun.

Slater began the betting by throwing two twenty-dollar gold pieces into the pot. Raleigh called and then raised. So did the stranger.

Eve threw in her cards and waited for the shooting to begin.

On the final round of betting, Slater pushed the pearls into the center of the table. Raleigh followed with the journal. Reno tossed the ring into the pot.

«Call,» Reno said coolly.

Slater fanned his cards face-up at the table. «Full house. Kings and aces.»

Slater’s blue eyes began appraising Eve the way a man appraised a strange mare he planned to ride.

Raleigh crowed and turned over his cards.

«Four nines and a queen,» he said triumphantly. «Looks like the little lady is mine.»

«What about you?» Eve asked quickly, turning to the stranger.

Reno gave her an odd look. Slowly he began turning over his cards one at a time with his right hand. Beneath the table, his left hand lay relaxed and close to his gun.

«Ten of hearts,» Reno said. «Jack. King. Ace.»

As he turned over the last card, he watched Slater’s hands. The royal flush gleamed like blood on the table.

«Queen of hearts.»

For an instant there was only silence. Then Raleigh and Slater went for their guns. Slater was much faster than Raleigh, but it didn’t matter.

Reno moved with stunning speed. Before Slater could draw his gun, Reno upended the card table and slammed it into the other men with his right hand. With his left he reached for his own gun.

Eve scooped up the ring, the pearls, the journal, and the coins before any of it hit the floor. Instantly she sprinted for the back door of the saloon, racing past men who were too surprised to stop her. Just before she reached the door, she risked a fast glance over her shoulder, wondering why no one was shooting.

Slater had known immediately that he was no match for the stranger. Hands held away from his sides, he watched Reno with reptilian intensity.

Raleigh was neither as bright nor as fast as his friend. He believed he could draw and shoot quicker than Reno could. Raleigh died before he understood his mistake.

As the abrupt thunder of gunshots exploded in the room, a man called Steamer stepped partway between Eve and Reno. She watched, horrified, as Steamer drew his gun to shoot Reno in the back.

There was no time for Eve to pull her derringer free of its hidden pocket. She jammed her hand in the skirt pocket, grabbed the small pistol, and pulled the trigger. The layers of red silk didn’t slow the bullet one bit, but the hasty shot almost missed.

The bullet burned across Steamer’s thigh. He gave a startled cry, his arm jerked, and the shot he triggered went into the ceiling.

Before Steamer’s finger could squeeze the trigger again, Reno turned and shot him in a single fluid motion. As Steamer fell dead to the floor, Reno spun back around to face Slater.

Shocked by the stranger’s lethal speed, Eve stood and stared for a moment before common sense took over. She bolted for the nearby stable.

Eve had prepared well for this moment. She had traded the battered Gypsy wagon that belonged to the Lyons for an equally battered saddle and saddlebags. She had been surprised to discover that, once free of the traces, the gentle old gelding called Whitefoot was both fast and eager for the trail.

Whitefoot was saddled, bridled, and ready to go. All of Eve’s possessions were in the saddlebags and bedroll tied behind the saddle. Later she would take time to change into trail clothes. For now, speed was more important than modesty. She jammed the ring on her right hand, pulled the rope of pearls over her head, and stuffed the journal and gold coins into a saddlebag.

In a wild swirling of crimson silk, Eve threw herself into the saddle, spun Whitefoot on his hocks, and headed out of town at a dead run. By the time Whitefoot passed the saloon, the scarlet skirt had climbed to Eve’s thighs.

From the corner of his eye Reno glimpsed a flurry of crimson and a breathtaking length of leg clad in cotton pantalets so sheer, they were little better than going naked. The drumroll of horse’s hooves filled the ringing silence that had followed the crash of gunfire.

Slater smiled grimly at the man who was watching him over the barrel of a six-gun.

«Looks like she suckered both of us,» Slater said calmly.

«Looks that way,» Reno agreed.

«Friend of yours?»

«No.»

Slater grunted. «Just as well. Man would have to be crazy to turn his back on that bit of scarlet.»

Reno said nothing.

Slater fell silent. It was dealer’s choice, and the man with the six-gun was the dealer.

Without looking away from Slater, Reno assessed the men remaining in the saloon. Raleigh and Steamer were dead.

«Friends of yours?» Reno asked.

«Not particularly. I don’t cotton to stupid men.»

«But you ride with them.»

«No,» Slater corrected. «They ride withme.»

Reno’s smile was sardonic.

«Well, you’ll be riding a little light,» he said, «but not for long. God must have loved fools and horseflies. Sure to hell he made a lot of them.»

Reno’s ice green eyes counted the men remaining in the saloon. Three of them were drifters. The rest were part of Slater’s gang. All of them were being careful not to give Reno a reason to shoot.

«Might your name be Reno?» Slater asked.

«Some folks call me that.»

A sound went through the men in the saloon. As one, they eased backward, giving Reno all the room he might want and then a bit more just to be safe.

The only move Slater made was to nod as though a private guess had just been confirmed.

«Thought so,» he said. «Only a few men can move like that.»

Slater paused, then asked with real interest, «Is the Man from Yuma still hunting you?»

«No.»

«Too bad. Hear he’s fast. Really fast.»

Reno smiled. «You heard right.»

«Did you kill him?» Slater asked. «Is that why he isn’t hunting you anymore?»

«I had no reason to kill him.»

«I do.»

«So I hear. Pity you weren’t with your twin brother, Jed, when he died. Then Wolfe could have made it a clean sweep.»

Slater became very still. «You were the third one there that day. The one with a six-gun.»

Though it wasn’t a question, Reno nodded.

«I was there. Best piece of work I’ve done. Whole lot of folks are sleeping more easy now that Jed and his boys are pushing up daisies.»

Slater’s face went still and hard.

«Lie facedown on the floor, boys,» Reno said calmly. «I’m feeling a mite nervous right now, so don’t do anything to startle me while I take your guns.»

There was a muted surge of motion as the men in the saloon went facedown on the floor. Reno moved among them quickly, gathering guns. As he worked, he kept an eye on Slater, whose right hand was inching toward his belt.

«After I gather up all the loose iron,» Reno said casually, «I’m going to wait outside the door for a while before I ride on. Whenever you feel lucky, you just lift your head and see if I’m still around.»

None of the men seemed in a hurry to take Reno’s offer.

«Slater, I hear you keep a little hideout gun behind your buckle,» Reno continued. «Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Now, I’d hate to kill an unarmed man, but not as bad as I’d hate to be shot in the back by a coyote who beats women and cheats at cards enough to put Satan to shame.»

Slater’s hand stopped moving.

Reno went through the room, drawing guns and shucking bullets onto the saloon floor. His passage was marked by the sound of the bullets falling and bouncing across the uneven wooden boards.