Tanner adjusted his focus so he could also watch the other man’s actions. Thankfully, that fellow hadn’t moved. If Purcey forced Tanner to shoot him, Tanner would haveto duck back into the trade room quickly to reload before the other fellow could get a shot off.
A flash of light to his left jerked his focus just as a bullet jolted into his shoulder. The gun’s explosion came a heartbeat before the pain.
Tanner ignored the burning as he fought for balance and scrambled to see what was happening. The woman who’d shot him now held an empty gun.
The men yelled as they ran to their mounts and scrambled aboard.
Tanner had to do something fast or he’d lose his most expensive and needed merchandise. Even more, who knew what these scoundrels planned to do with the weapons.
He aimed at Purcey as he did his best to steady the trembling in his injured left arm. The pack mule that carried the rifles didn’t seem eager to shift into a gallop, dragging behind Purcey and slowing his mount.
A new idea slipped in. Tanner couldn’t bring himself to kill an innocent animal just because he had a lousy owner, but he could wound the mule enough to keep it from running away.
As he shifted his aim to the thin crest of muscle at the top of the animal’s neck where the mane began, his injured arm finally steadied. He squeezed the trigger, then plunged his hand into his pouch to reload.
The mule screamed as though it had been mortally wounded, then spun and bucked in a wild circle. It must have broken its tether strap with the first pull, for Purcey’s horse surged forward, finally free of the beast dragging behind it.
The big man reined his horse in and looked like he wouldcome back for the mule. But Tanner already had his gun loaded again. He’d be content with keeping the rifles the mule carried if these men would just leave. And he still had the one around back to contend with.
He aimed just beside Purcey, where he and his horse would hear the bullet whizz by, then fired.
The scoundrel jerked his focus to Tanner, maybe surprised he’d been able to reload so quickly. Tanner was already forcing the ramrod down the barrel, and that might’ve been what finally convinced the blackguard he’d stolen all he’d be able to. He had the barrel of gunpowder on the other packhorse, after all.
With a shout, Purcey spun his horse and kicked hard to catch up with the other man. He must not care about the fellow he’d sent to take Curly. Maybe he thought the man dead from Tanner’s first rifle shot.
Tanner turned and headed back to the courtyard. The man wasn’t dead—he had no concern about that, even though the woman’s scream had shifted his aim.
Was there a chance that fellow had gotten away with Curly? Tanner’s chest tightened and something like panic welled in his throat.
No. Tanner’s flinch had been to the left, which meant the bullet might have penetrated bone. At that range, the limb would’ve shattered. The wound would be agonizing, but not deadly yet. If it wasn’t treated right, though, the injury could fester and spread poison through his body. Death might come eventually.
Tanner pushed that thought aside before it could plant pain in his chest. He had to deal with all the threats first.
The courtyard was empty.
He scanned the area once more, slowing his gaze in the corners to make sure he didn’t miss anything.
Frustration plunged through him. How had he let the man get away with Curly?
He sprinted toward the open gate, then skidded to a stop just outside.
The man—Anderson, he remembered—was struggling to pull himself up onto a horse. A howl strangled from his throat as he finally draped his injured leg over the mount’s side. He slumped forward over the horse’s neck and slapped the reins on its shoulder as he kicked his good leg.
The spooked horse needed no more prodding, leaping forward into a canter in the direction the others had gone.
Tanner finally managed a breath, though not a very deep one as he searched the area for the calf. Curly’s bawl drew his attention to the right, nearly to the corner where Lorelei’s cabin stood. The calf huddled against the fort wall, looking impossibly scared.
Tanner looked around once more to make sure no other threat remained. Then he finally released a long breath that made his chest hurt.
He kept the rifle secure in his good hand and allowed the arm where fire shot down from his shoulder to rest atop the gun.
He had to get Curly inside, then catch that mule and return the rifles to a safe place before he could see to his injury and the mule’s.
But as he approached the calf, the matted crimson on the animal’s haunches made his own blood run cold. The closer he came, the more the calf trembled. Could the blood be only a smear from Anderson’s wound?
When he had nearly reached the animal, Curly darted sideways with a fearful bawl. Tanner forced himself to slow and hold out a hand. “Here, boy. It’s all right. I’ve come to help.”
Curly let him approach this time, and Tanner slipped his arms around the calf’s chest and hindquarters, though the rifle in one of his hands made the grip awkward. A deep gash on the calf’s rump clenched his belly. The cut ran about the length of Tanner’s hand and looked too much like the crease of a bullet.
