"Didn't think you were going to bed down with us tonight."

With a glance at all the other fires still occupied, Colt replied. "Doesn't look like anyone's got a han-kering for sleep."

Billy shrugged. "The new fellow was spinning some pretty gruesome tales. He probably spooked some of them." Remembering those stories, and that Colt wouldn't find them entertaining, Billy quickly added, "Did you see the blonde this morning? She's his sister."

Colt ignored the question, his eyes stopping on the stranger. The duchess sat next to him, too close to him.

"Who is that guy anyway?"

"Name's Dryden, Miles Dryden."

Colt's brow knitted in thought. "He remind you of anyone, kid?"

"Can't say that he does. Why?"

"Seems like IVe seen him before somewhere."

"Maybe when you went east with Jessie and Chase? He claims to be from there."

Colt shook his head slowly. "No, I've seen him more recent than that. You sure you don't recognize him?"

"Are you sure you do?"

Colt stared hard at the man once more before glancing away. "Yes. It'll come to me in a while." And then, looking pointedly at Billy, "What tales was he telling?"

Billy flushed with the question, having thought he'd neatly avoided it. "Just stories."

"Give," was all Colt said.

"He's an Easterner, Colt," Billy said defensively.

"You know how a little Indian attack wouldn't faze a Westerner, but a greenhorn will make it into a big deal every time."

"He was attacked?"

"Him and his sister."

"It took all night to tell it?"

Billy grinned, now that it looked like Colt hadn't taken offense at the subject as he thought he would.

"You know how it is. A fellow comes into town and mentions he nearly got scalped, and every other person who's had a similar experience or even heard of one has got to tell him all about it. Dryden heard enough tales to fill a book while he was in Silver City."

"Then he was there before we arrived?"

"Several months. Why?"

"Just wondered."

Colt's mind was put to rest on one score. Dryden wasn't working for Longnose. It still didn't mean he liked the idea of the duchess inviting strangers to join her party. She ought to know better.

Several bites of food later, Colt asked, "What the hell is this stuff I'm eating?"

Billy chuckled. "One of Philippe's specialties. Good, ain't it?"

"You can't taste the meat for the sauce." Colt tossed the plate aside in disgust. "And what's his problem?"

Billy turned to see who had drawn Colt's attention now. Parker Grahame was staring right back, and none too amiably.

"He — ah — you could say he's been a mite put out since that night you took care of those two would-be thieves who tried to rob the duchess."

"Was I supposed to let them rob her?"


Billy grinned. "I think he objects to you being the one to rescue her, when that's his job. You have been making a habit of it, after all, which doesn't reflect too well on him."

"And that's enough to get him killed?"

Billy tensed. "What are you talking about?"

"The man's making up his mind to come over here, and not to pass the time."

"Christ! Well, don't kill him, for God's sake! He's more or less spokesman for all of them, being their captain, and they're kind of fed up with the disrespect you keep showing their lady. / know you do it on purpose, but she doesn't, and they don't either. I think this morning was just one time too many for nothing to be said about it."

"Exactly right, Mr. Ewing," Parker said from behind him.

Billy didn't turn to look at the Englishman again. He stared at Colt, dreading his reaction. Considering that he'd been in a foul disposition ever since they'd joined up with the duchess, he couldn't hope for now to be any different. And you just didn't push Colt when he was in such a mood.

Colt leaned back against his saddle in a negligent manner, not at all concerned that the man was stand-ing there bristling. "You got something to say, Gra-hame, spit it out."

"Your brother has already said it. If you can't behave with a modicum of civility—"

"You'll do what?" Colt cut in with a near sneer. "Call me out?"

"Dammit, Colt!" Billy put in, but too late.

Parker was already stepping around him to get to Colt, so enraged he didn't stop to think, simply hauled Colt to his feet by the front of his shirt. That Colt let him do it, and did nothing to block the fist that was drawn back to clobber him, didn't seem peculiar to Parker because he still wasn't thinking, merely react-ing. But years of breeding broke through at the last moment to make him hesitate, if only for a second.

Unfortunately for Parker, in that second their gazes locked and his confidence was nearly shattered. He had the horrible feeling he was looking death in the eye. He'd never backed down from a fight in his life, never had to, never lost one. But he had somehow forgotten just whom he was dealing with here, that the man was in a class all by himself, a man damned close to the savages whom Dryden had been telling them tales of all evening, a man who would know ways of killing that Grahame had never even dreamed of. And he had challenged him?

"Sir Parker, release him at once!"

The voice of authority, reason, and his salvation. Parker obeyed with great relief.

Colt's reaction was just the opposite. "Shit!" He glared at the duchess, standing not far from them. "The man has a genuine grievance to pick with me. Who in the hell asked you to interfere, woman?"

Even if she wasn't rendered momentarily speech-less by his verbal attack, Jocelyn had no chance to answer. The scales were tipped for Parker, who saw red again with this latest insolence and let his fist fly.


The blow caught Colt on the side of his face but only slightly turned his head. That it had come when he wasn't looking, however, had everyone who was watching holding his breath, waiting for Colt's reac-tion.

Parker in particular felt rather sick, never having taken a man unawares before. So he was most sur-prised when Colt turned back to him, slowly, and grinning.

"It took you long enough, English," he said just before his backhanded blow knocked Parker to the ground.

Billy caught Colt's gun and knife, both tossed to him, then simply got out of the way. Jocelyn had to step back also when one charge took both men crash-ing through the fire, scattering sparks everywhere.

"Come away, my dear," Vanessa said quietly at her side. "You can't stop it now, and shouldn't want to."

"Shouldn't want to? But they're—"

"Behaving atrociously, I know, but your Thunder obviously needs to inflict violence on someone. Better Sir Parker than you. Now come away."

Jocelyn bit her lip, remembering Colt's hostility that morning, watching his savagery now. Despite what Vanessa said, she didn't think he would hurt her, no matter how angry he got. And she was still angry herself. She was not some vaporous ninny to hide from a man's displeasure.

"I'm staying, Vana," she said determinedly. "I won't try to stop them, but when they're finished I'll have my say."

Chapter Twenty-eight

Colt felt wonderful. He hurt like hell, but inside he was in control again, his emotions spent, his anger leashed, manageable. He could probably even con-front the duchess now and get it over with, or so he thought until he saw her standing there watching him.

Back came the irritation, first because she had managed to approach him without his hearing her. He could blame that on the slight ringing in his ears from one of Grahame's punches. He shook his head, but the ringing persisted. He glanced around then to see if anyone else whom he didn't know about had fol-lowed him, but she was the only one there. And that was why his irritation increased. She just never learned, this woman. He'd avoided her, he'd warned her off. How much clearer could he get? But it was no more than he could expect with her stubborn streak, so it shouldn't irritate him. It still did.

"What're you looking at?"

Jocelyn let out a sigh, hearing Colt's surly tone. To think she had actually been concerned when he had stumbled out of camp. Sir Parker had been rendered unconscious, and Vanessa, who was seeing to him, had assured her he would be all right. But Colt still had been on his feet at the end of the fight and had left before anyone could attend to his cuts and abrasions.

He had doused his head in the water hole they had camped next to, and had just finished drying his face with his bandanna when he'd noticed her. Whoever had last toted water from the hole that evening had left a torch behind, stuck in the ground. From that light, she could see the swelling of his left cheek, the cut over his eye still trickling blood down his temple. His clothes were filthy, his pants ripped at the knees. His other injuries were likely hidden, since Sir Parker had concentrated most of his blows to the body. There would be many, however, for the fight had lasted a good fifteen minutes.

"You look terrible. Does it hurt?"

"Does a dog piss?"

Her back stiffened. "I'd appreciate a civil answer, thank you."

"Then go talk to someone else. Here you take your chances."

"I could have sworn you would have had your nasty temper worked off after your exercise this evening."

"Me too," he sneered. "Just goes to show how wrong a dumb Indian can be."

"Don't do that," Jocelyn said angrily.

"What?"

"Belittle yourself like that. You may not be edu-cated in the normal way, Colt Thunder, but you aren't stupid, and we both know it."