Clim went head over heels and landed flat on his back. When he rolled to his feet and lunged again, Whip slipped the knife attack as he had before, grabbed Clim on the way by, and launched him headfirst into the side of the cabin. Clim hit with a force that shook the logs…and then he slid down onto the ground and lay very still.

Just as Whip bent over to check Clim, Shannon screamed from inside the cabin. Her high cry was cut off by the thunder of a shotgun blast.

The window was closer to Whip than the door. He kicked the partially open shutters aside as he vaulted over the windowsill, counting on surprise to help him against whatever he found inside.

Shannon spun toward him, her face pale and her hand frantically cocking the shotgun.

«Easy, honey girl. It’s just me.»

Shannon made a small sound and stood, swaying, her eyes huge in her bloodless face.

«I —» she said. Her voice broke. «A Culpepper — the cave — he —»

Whip saw the open cupboard door behind Shannon. A man’s boots stuck out into the room, toes up. There was blood on them.

Shannon started to turn back toward the cupboard. Before she could finish turning, Whip took the shotgun from her hands and stepped between her and the fallen man, blocking her view.

«You did what you had to,» Whip said gently. «I’ll take care of it now. You go outside and make sure that Floyd doesn’t get into mischief.»

«F-Floyd?»

«The one with the bandaged wrist.»

«What about the other t-two?»

«I don’t think they’ll be much trouble,» Whip said neutrally. He handed Shannon the shotgun again. «Go on, honey girl. I’ll be out real soon to collect their weapons.»

Whip unbarred the front door and watched closely as Shannon walked by him. Her eyes were too dark and her skin was much too pale, but her hands were steady on the shotgun. She kept walking until she was in a place where she could watch all three Culpeppers at once.

«You’ll do, Shannon Conner Smith,» Whip said beneath his breath. «You’ve got real sand.»

Whip turned and went to the cupboard. He lit the lantern and held it above Beau Culpepper. After a single look Whip blew the lantern out and went to Shannon.

«Is he dead?» she asked starkly.

«Yes.»

Shannon closed her eyes for an instant. A tremor ripped through her, but her grip on the shotgun didn’t loosen.

«He had a knife in one hand,» Whip said, «and a six-gun in the other. Don’t feel bad for him. He’s had it coming for a long, long time. It’s just too bad you had to be the one to deliver it.»

Shannon took a steadying breath. «Prettyface —»

She could say no more.

«I’ll look for him,» Whip said. «But first, I’d better see to these boys.»

To Whip’s surprise, Clim was still alive, but only barely. Darcy hadn’t been so lucky. Floyd was already coming back to his senses, moaning and complaining every breath of the way.

Talking softly, Whip went to one of the mules. The animal eyed him warily but made no attempt to flee; obviously the Culpeppers had trained their mounts not to be upset by a little gunfire and blood. With a few quick motions, Whip untied the blanket roll behind a saddle.

«I’ve never seen a man fight like you did,» Shannon said, watching Whip and remembering his flashing, always unexpected movements. «Did you learn that in West Virginia?»

«China.»

With one hand Whip removed Darcy’s weapons. With the other, he shook out a blanket and covered the dead man. Then Whip turned to the other Culpeppers.

«The Chinese have tricks that make what I did look like child’s play,» Whip added.

Shannon made a disbelieving sound.

«It’s true,» Whip said. «The man who taught me didn’t come up to my breastbone and weighed less than you. But he could lay me out like a fish for filleting in about five seconds flat. Damnedest wrestling tricks you ever saw.»

While Whip spoke, he stripped away guns and knives from the fallen men, retrieved his own bullwhip, and put it on his shoulder. Then he bound Clim’s wrists and knees together with rawhide thongs. He did the same for Floyd, ignoring the groans.

«Where did they jump you?» Whip asked Shannon as he stood up.

«Halfway between here and the big stump on the far side of the meadow.»

Whip went to Shannon, tilted her chin up with his hand, kissed her lips lightly, and released her.

«You keep an eye on things here,» he said. «I’ll bring Prettyface back to you.»

For a moment Shannon looked at Whip with haunted blue eyes. Then she nodded and turned back to watching Culpeppers.

Whip swung up onto a mule and headed out into the meadow. When he neared the place Shannon had described, he began quartering the tall grass and wildflowers. It didn’t take him long to find the big hound.

Cursing under his breath, Whip looked down at Prettyface. Bloody cloth was still gripped in his jaws. A shallow scarlet groove went across his skull, just above the glazed, half-open eyes. Another wound left a bright strip of blood across his brindle chest. A third bullet had clipped his haunch.

Blood welled slowly from the wounds.

Whip made a startled sound and dismounted in a single rushing movement. An instant later he was kneeling by Prettyface’s side. The hound’s flank rose and fell slightly, steadily, as much a proof of life as the fact that his wounds still bled.

«You’re a tough son, aren’t you?» Whip said in a low voice.

Gently, thoroughly, he went over the big brindle body. Prettyface flinched once and made a high sound.

«Easy there,» Whip said soothingly. «Looks like you got kicked pretty good, and you’re bleeding in three or four places, and knocked sillier than a squirrel from that crease on your skull, but you’re young and strong. You’ll live to play with your mistress in the flowers again.»

Before Prettyface could regain his senses completely. Whip eased the big hound into his arms, stood up, and grabbed the mule’s rein. The dog whined, but made no other protest as he was carreid across the meadow to the cabin with the mule Following along behind.

The first thing Whip saw as he approached the cabin was a big stranger standing off to one side of the yard, watching him with eyes the color of gunmetal.

Damnation, Whip thought grimly. I sure to God hope that man’s name isn’t Culpepper.

«Shannon?» Whip called.

«If you mean the girl with the shotgun, she’s inside the cabin, fixing to ventilate my spine if I do something foolish.»

Whip looked past the man to the window. Sure enough, the barrel of the shotgun was poked through the window, plainly tracking the stranger’s every breath.

Prudently, Whip stepped to the side.

The dark-haired stranger nodded slightly, understanding Whip’s move. If the shotgun went off, Whip wouldn’t be in the way of any stray buckshot.

«Take care of your hound,» the man said, looking at Prettyface with sympathy. «I’ll keep.»

Then the man’s eyes changed, becoming as hard as flint when he glanced at the three Culpeppers on the ground.

Whip knelt and lowered Prettyface gently to the grass. As whip stood again, the long lash dropped from his shoulder. The butt of the bullwhip came into his left hand as though summoned. Leather coils seethed and rippled restlessly at his feet.

«Come on out, Shannon,» Whip said clearly. «Prettyface is cut up some, but he’ll live.»

The shotgun barrel vanished from the window. The cabin door opened and banged shut as Shannon ran out, hope and fear clear in her face.

«Prettyface?» she asked huskily.

«Right behind me. Watch that shotgun, now.»

Shannon didn’t bother to answer Whip. She had already uncocked the shotgun and was kneeling by her dog, making soft, happy noises.

Whip never took his eyes off the tall, long-boned stranger whose riding cape, trousers, and boots had once been part of a Confederate uniform.