McCrory's Lady by Shirl Henke Henke Page A

white,” she said as they moved cautiously through the rocks to await Colin's signal that he had disposed of the other sentry.
           “My pa came back for me. His white wife had died without giving him any children. My mother was dead. Killed in a smallpox epidemic.” He shrugged. “Hell, her band was decimated. They couldn't feed any of the children. The tribal elders let him have me. I guess he figured a half-breed son was better than no son at all. He sent me to school. Beat civilization into me...”
           When he said no more, Maggie studied the harsh planes of his face. There was a terrible burning anger in Wolf Blake. “There's more, isn't there, but you don't want to talk about it.”
           “No, ma'm. I don't.”
           “If you ever do, I'm a real good listener, Wolf,” she said gently.
           He smiled again, but this time his eyes smiled, too. “I appreciate the offer.”
           Colin watched the two of them, talking in low, quiet voices. A wave of completely irrational jealousy swept over him and he cursed himself for a fool. The woman was a whore who enticed every man she met. What did he expect? Damned if he'd marry her. She had to have a price. Once Eden was safe, he'd meet it.
           Wolf saw McCrory emerge from the shadows. Night was coming on. They would have to move fast to get in position before full dark. “You got the other one?” The look in the older man's eye was confirmation.
           “Now comes the tricky part. We've got to pick our positions carefully and locate Eden before we move. You stay back,” Colin commanded Maggie. To his surprise, she nodded in agreement.
           “I'll just hang onto my rifle. When the shooting starts, I may be able to pick off one or two. I'm a damn good shot.”
           “Just don't make a sound until we open fire.”
           With that the two men began to circle around the rocky, tree-studded rim of the canyon, approaching the flickering campfire below. Maggie found a position up on the ridge, behind a pinyon pine. Using the field glasses Colin had left behind, she studied the layout of the camp and located Eden McCrory, who lay bound hand and foot in the shadows while several men milled around the fire, helping themselves to a pot that bubbled over the flames.
           Eden had just wriggled into a sitting position, hoping one of the men would untie her long enough to let her eat something when the shooting erupted all around her. Manuel fell first, knocked into the fire by the impact of the powerful .44.40 slug. She recognized the belch of her father's big Remington. Rodriguez and Haywood were picked off cleanly. Only Morton managed to jump into the shadows behind a juniper bush. She knew instinctively he would try to reach her and use her as a shield. Eden rolled toward the campfire, but a strong callused hand tangled in her hair and yanked her back.
           For an instant. Then her father's rifle thundered again, and the powerful stinging of her scalp eased as Morton's fingers loosened their hold. His head had been blasted almost off his shoulders. The knife he had clasped in his other hand lay gleaming dully in the dust. A dark river of blood ran across the ground, surrounding her as she screamed and screamed again.
           Miles away, struggling to remain mounted on his gelding, Judd Lazlo heard the shots echoing across the foothills. With a curse, he tried to turn his horse. Had McCrory finally shown up? He did not like the sound of that many shots being fired. The guards should have spotted McCrory coming and laid a neat, clean ambush. Of course, he could have miscounted. His head pounded with fever and his vision was blurred. Pain lanced up his leg in jagged waves.
           He cursed the whole McCrory family as he felt himself sliding from his horse, unable to stop his fall to the rocky ground below. Judd Lazlo lay still as death, the distant