«Shut up, Raleigh,» Slater interrupted coldly. «You can get killed on your own time. I came here to play cards.»

«The only one doing any dying will be this here rebel turncoat,» retorted Raleigh.

«I don’t see any rebel turncoats,» Reno said, smiling lazily. «Do you?»

The wolfish quality of Reno’s smile, plus Slater’s blunt warning about getting killed, told Raleigh he had made a mistake by dismissing the lazy-looking stranger as no threat.

«No offense meant,» Raleigh muttered.

«None taken,» Reno said easily.

Both men were lying.

Eve’s heart threatened to choke her as the moment approached when she would have to stop shuffling and deal. Given a choice, she would have gotten up and walked away from the grimy saloon and the three dangerous men. But there was no real choice.

She had nowhere to go, no money to pay her way, her stomach was growling from hunger; and most of all, a desire for vengeance burned in her blood like acid. Raleigh King had killed the only two friends Eve had.

And she had just thought of a way to return the favor.

Praying that the green-eyed stranger was as deadly as she suspected he was, Eve took a deep, invisible breath and began dealing cards with great care and dazzling speed. The cards made a crisp sound as she placed them facedown, one at a time, in front of the three men and herself.

Slater and the stranger watched Eve’s hands. Raleigh watched the place where red silk swelled outward over her breasts. Though the neckline of the dress was modest, the fit left no doubt there was a female beneath.

While Eve dealt, she avoided looking at Jericho Slater, for she knew his cold blue eyes would be telling her that she wasn’t going to get away with bottom-dealing good hands to herself any longer. With her fingers still sore and blistered from burying Don and Donna Lyon, she simply wasn’t fast enough to hold her own for long against a gambler of Slater’s skill.

Nor was the derringer concealed within the pocket of her red silk dress going to be much help against the heavier handguns worn by both Slater and Raleigh.

It has to work, Eve thought desperately. Just once, the weak have to win out over the cruel and the strong.

Eve didn’t look at the green-eyed stranger again. A man that handsome would have been unsettling under any circumstances, much less when a girl’s life depended on her concentration.

Five cards now lay facedown in front of each player. Eve set aside the deck and picked up her own cards, wondering what she had dealt to herself. From the corner of her eye she watched the stranger. If the possibilities of the hand he had been dealt excited him, it didn’t show on his face or in the light green crystal of his eyes.

Eve wasn’t surprised when Slater opened the betting, for she had dealt him two pairs. Nor was she surprised when Raleigh jumped in with a raise, for she had dealt him a straight. The stranger simply called for that round, as did Eve.

Without a word she dealt each man the one or two cards he requested and swept the discards to the bottom of the deck. She permitted herself a brief glance at each man’s face as he looked at his hand.

The stranger was good. Not a flicker of emotion showed on his face as he picked up his single new card.

Nothing showed on Eve’s face, either.

The cards she had were uninspiring. A jack, a nine, a six, a three, and a two. The suits were a complete mismatch. About all the cards were good for was to conceal the fine trembling of her fingers as she waited for the shooting to begin.

Dear God, let the stranger be as quick as he is handsome. I don’t want his death on my conscience.

Raleigh’s death, however, was another matter. Eve had no scruples about that. Anyone who could torture an old man to death while his dying wife looked on helplessly deserved a much more painful death than he was likely to get from the stranger’s six-gun.

Slater began the betting by throwing two twenty-dollar gold pieces into the pot. Raleigh called and then raised. So did the stranger.

Eve threw in her cards and waited for the shooting to begin.

On the final round of betting, Slater pushed the pearls into the center of the table. Raleigh followed with the journal. Reno tossed the ring into the pot.

«Call,» Reno said coolly.

Slater fanned his cards face-up at the table. «Full house. Kings and aces.»

Slater’s blue eyes began appraising Eve the way a man appraised a strange mare he planned to ride.

Raleigh crowed and turned over his cards.

«Four nines and a queen,» he said triumphantly. «Looks like the little lady is mine.»

«What about you?» Eve asked quickly, turning to the stranger.

Reno gave her an odd look. Slowly he began turning over his cards one at a time with his right hand. Beneath the table, his left hand lay relaxed and close to his gun.

«Ten of hearts,» Reno said. «Jack. King. Ace.»

As he turned over the last card, he watched Slater’s hands. The royal flush gleamed like blood on the table.

«Queen of hearts.»

For an instant there was only silence. Then Raleigh and Slater went for their guns. Slater was much faster than Raleigh, but it didn’t matter.

Reno moved with stunning speed. Before Slater could draw his gun, Reno upended the card table and slammed it into the other men with his right hand. With his left he reached for his own gun.

Eve scooped up the ring, the pearls, the journal, and the coins before any of it hit the floor. Instantly she sprinted for the back door of the saloon, racing past men who were too surprised to stop her. Just before she reached the door, she risked a fast glance over her shoulder, wondering why no one was shooting.

Slater had known immediately that he was no match for the stranger. Hands held away from his sides, he watched Reno with reptilian intensity.

Raleigh was neither as bright nor as fast as his friend. He believed he could draw and shoot quicker than Reno could. Raleigh died before he understood his mistake.

As the abrupt thunder of gunshots exploded in the room, a man called Steamer stepped partway between Eve and Reno. She watched, horrified, as Steamer drew his gun to shoot Reno in the back.

There was no time for Eve to pull her derringer free of its hidden pocket. She jammed her hand in the skirt pocket, grabbed the small pistol, and pulled the trigger. The layers of red silk didn’t slow the bullet one bit, but the hasty shot almost missed.

The bullet burned across Steamer’s thigh. He gave a startled cry, his arm jerked, and the shot he triggered went into the ceiling.

Before Steamer’s finger could squeeze the trigger again, Reno turned and shot him in a single fluid motion. As Steamer fell dead to the floor, Reno spun back around to face Slater.

Shocked by the stranger’s lethal speed, Eve stood and stared for a moment before common sense took over. She bolted for the nearby stable.

Eve had prepared well for this moment. She had traded the battered Gypsy wagon that belonged to the Lyons for an equally battered saddle and saddlebags. She had been surprised to discover that, once free of the traces, the gentle old gelding called Whitefoot was both fast and eager for the trail.

Whitefoot was saddled, bridled, and ready to go. All of Eve’s possessions were in the saddlebags and bedroll tied behind the saddle. Later she would take time to change into trail clothes. For now, speed was more important than modesty. She jammed the ring on her right hand, pulled the rope of pearls over her head, and stuffed the journal and gold coins into a saddlebag.

In a wild swirling of crimson silk, Eve threw herself into the saddle, spun Whitefoot on his hocks, and headed out of town at a dead run. By the time Whitefoot passed the saloon, the scarlet skirt had climbed to Eve’s thighs.

From the corner of his eye Reno glimpsed a flurry of crimson and a breathtaking length of leg clad in cotton pantalets so sheer, they were little better than going naked. The drumroll of horse’s hooves filled the ringing silence that had followed the crash of gunfire.