He knew ranching thanks to all the summers he had spent up in Wyoming with his sister, and he definitely needed a job, since his money had just about run out. But his ignorance had really come through on this one. He had tried pretending he was something he wasn't, hadn't asked the questions he should have, and found himself hired on, not to a ranch, but to a gang of cattle rustlers and stage and pack-train robbers.

The ranch near Galeyville was merely their headquarters.

A couple of miners who worked the Mountain Maid Mine and had seen him ride in with Clanton had smartened him up that very first night in town. Not that he was willing to take their word for it. But anyone he asked after that told him about the same thing. The Clanton gang had been operating in this area for years, and also clashing with the authorities in Tomb-stone because of it. They were still known by the same name even though Old Man Clanton, who had started the gang, had been killed a few months ago, leaving Curly Bill Brocius in charge.

Besides Bill Brocius and the three brothers, Bee, Finn, and Billy Clanton, there were other well-known members of the gang who were also well-known troublemakers here in Tombstone. John Ringo was one, known to have participated in the Mason County War down in Texas before joining the gang, and who had not long ago killed Louis Hancock in an Allen Street saloon. Frank and Tom McLaury were also members whose names came up frequently. And Billy Claiborne, another young glory-hunter, who insisted he be called Billy the Kid now that the real Kid was dead. Claiborne had killed three men already for laughing at such grandstanding, and Ike and the McLaury brothers broke him out of the San Pedro jail just the other night after being arrested for that third killing.

Young Billy Clanton had been involved in what was now being called the Guadalupe Canyon Massacre, which had led to his father's death. Ewing had really heard an earful about that particular deed of the Clan-tons. The gang had attacked a mule train that was freighting silver bullion through the Chiricahua Range in July of this year, slaughtering the nineteen Mexi-cans leading the train. Old Man Clanton died a few weeks later when friends of the dead muleteers ambushed him and some of his gang as they were lead-ing a stolen Mexican herd back through those same mountains. Young Clanton had missed that deadly en-counter, even though from the reports, he had been rustling cattle since he was twelve.

This was who Billy Ewing had gotten tangled up with? He still couldn't believe it. And he plain and simply didn't know how to extricate himself from the situation. He had tried. He had told young Clanton he had changed his mind. But the allusions to cow-ardice and the way the kid kept resting his hand on the six-shooter he wore had made Billy rethink that decision. Next he had tried to just avoid Clanton. But he was supposed to head out to the ranch with him tomorrow. If he didn't show up, would Clanton come looking for him? If he took off tonight, would the whole damn gang come looking for him?

"This place is dead, man. Whyn't we try the Al-hambra, or Hatch's place?"

Billy glanced around at the crowded tables and bar, and at the casino area that was more than half filled with miners from an earlier shift. Dead? He was afraid his "friend" was just looking for trouble his last night in town.

"It's early, not even near sundown," Billy replied. "I just stopped in here for a drink before trying out the New Orleans Restaurant for dinner. Care to join me?"

He had made the offer only out of politeness, so he was glad to hear the answer, "Ain't hungry, an' you sure ain't much of a drinker, are ya? Ya talk funny too, like some Eastern dude. Don't know why I didn't notice 'fore now. Where'd you say you was from?"

"I didn't," Billy hedged. "Does it matter?"

"Guess not, but. well, lookee here." Clanton straightened up in his chair, his right hand moving automatically down to caress the handle of his gun as he stared at the tall stranger who had just swung through the batwing doors. "Ain't 'Pache or Comanche, but I can smell Injun a mile off, an' I sure as hell know a breed when I see one. Maybe this place' liven up some—"

"Oh, shit," Billy groaned, and then again as he yanked his hat down low over his brow and sunk down in his chair. "Oh, shit. "

Clanton looked at him with a measure of disgust. "Ya know him, or are ya just scared of breeds?"

And they claimed his brother Ike was the loud-mouthed braggart? Billy had had about enough of this Clanton, killer or not.

"Don't be a fool, kid," he hissed aside to the younger and much shorter boy. "He's not your nor-mal half-breed raised with the whites. That one was a full-fledged Cheyenne warrior until only a few years back. And since he left his tribe, he's made a point of learning how to use that gun he's toting. I’ve never seen anyone faster."

The warning went right over his head, for Clanton considered himself pretty fast. "So ya do know him.

He lookin' for you, by any chance?"

One look at the kid's grin of anticipation and Billy groaned again. "Don't even think about it."

"But he's comin' right to us."

Billy chanced a look up and found himself stabbed with those blue eyes so much brighter than his own. If he could crawl under the table, he would.

"Colt," he said miserably in greeting.

He didn't get so much as a nod in reply, and Colt was no longer looking at him, but watching Clanton coming up out of his chair. Before the kid had even straightened fully, Colt's gun was palmed and direct-ing him to sit back down, which he did with eyes now widened and a good deal of color gone from his young face.

Billy stood up slowly, very slowly, but relaxed some when Colt put his gun away. Colt still hadn't said a word, and Billy didn't think he would, not in here anyway. But later.

The color was rushing back into Clanton's face to show how angry he was at being bested so easily, but he didn't make a move to get up again. Still, he didn't keep quiet either, not when there had been witnesses, including Earp's bartender, Buckskin Frank Leslie. Not a word had been said, but the breed had gained notice when he walked in, notice that was still on him when he had silently forced young Clanton to back down.

"Ya don't have to go with him, Ewing, whatever ya done. Ya got backin' now. When I tell my broth-ers—"

"Forget it, kid," Billy said with a sigh, more relieved really than not, now that he realized Colt's appearance had gotten him out of his predicament. He even grinned at his short-time friend. "I do have to go with him."

"Like hell-"

"Oh, I've no doubt there will be hell to pay," Billy interrupted, his grin widening before he added, "He's my brother, you see."

Chapter Seven

Billy had had his fun. He wasn't grinning as he stepped out onto the boarded walkway in front of the Oriental, waiting for Colt to back out of the swinging doors and step quickly to the side before relaxing his gun hand. Now he felt kind of sick to his stomach. Colt Thunder here? He didn't even begin to hope it was a coincidence.

"Where's your horse?" Colt asked curtly.

Billy grimaced, noticing the big-boned Appaloosa down the street in front of yet another saloon. "I walked from Noble's Hotel, where I'm staying."

"Come on, then."

They were almost the same height, but Billy felt like he was tripping over his own legs trying to keep up with Colt as the taller man took off down the boardwalk. "I didn't think she'd send you after me, Colt, I swear I didn't."

"You thought she'd hunt you down herself?"

"Of course not! I knew she'd write Jessie, and I guess I figured she'd ask Chase to find me. She always depended on him for help."

"That was before he married Jessie. But he prob-ably would've been elected if he was home at the time, only he wasn't. And it wasn't your mother sent me, it was Jessie. She had the dumb idea I'd have no problem tracking you."

"I'm sorry," Billy said lamely.

"Wait until I decide whether or not to beat the shit out of you, kid, before you're sorry."


Billy flinched. He wished he had seen Colt's expression when he said that, but the man was still walking several paces ahead and hadn't looked back to speak. He had little doubt he was serious, though. Which way he decided on the matter would depend on just how angry he was. But come to think of it, seeing his expression wouldn't have told Billy the answer to that. You just couldn't tell with Colt, not with his ability to conceal his emotions when he chose to.

The past years had been one surprise after another for Billy. He had been raised in Chicago by his mother, Rachel, and his stepfather, though he didn't know Jonathon Ewing was only his stepfather. He didn't know he had a sister either, until Jessie's father died and Rachel went to Wyoming to be her guardian. He had been only nine at the time, and meeting someone like Jessie had been an impressionable ex-perience. Her father had raised her like a boy, and she was running the ranch he had left her as well as any man could. She wore britches, toted a gun, and knew everything there was to know about raising cat-tle. Billy had worshiped her and was delighted when he learned she wasn't just his half sister, but his true sister, that Thomas Blair was his father, too.

But Rachel returned to Chicago, taking Billy with her, and it wasn't until a couple of years later that Billy got to visit the Rocky Valley Ranch again. In fact, he was there the day Colt first showed up, though he was called White Thunder then.