It reared.
The rider slid backward, hit the snow, and lost his revolver.
Martha moved.
Not quickly.
She did not need speed.
She stepped forward and used the barrel of the rifle to drag the revolver through the snow toward herself before the man could rise.
The broad rider pointed his weapon.
“Drop it!”
Martha looked at him.
“No.”
His hand trembled slightly.
Her hand did not.
Then something came from behind the cattle.
A deep metallic clang.
The men turned.
Billy Watts had disobeyed her.
The sixteen-year-old ranch hand, one arm still partially supported from a healing collarbone, had followed at a distance with a second draft team and the ranch dinner bell tied to the wagon.
He stood thirty yards back, striking the iron bell with a hammer.
CLANG.
The cattle jerked.
CLANG.
They turned away from the sound.
Exactly toward the open pasture Martha had wanted them to choose.
The broad rider realized what was happening.
“You little—”
He wheeled his horse toward Billy.
Martha fired into the snow directly in front of the animal.
The horse shied violently.
The rider pulled hard on the reins.
“Next one goes through your saddle.”
Whether Martha would truly have done it, even she did not know.
The rider believed her.
That was enough.
The third man, still on the ground, stumbled toward his horse.
The cattle were moving now.
Slowly at first.
Then with purpose.
Away from Dead Man’s Gulch.
Away from the cut fence.
Toward the open southern meadow.
The theft was failing.
The broad rider looked at Martha.
“You know who you’re crossing?”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised him.
“You’re dead by spring.”
Martha’s expression did not change.
“If I were you, I would worry about making it through tonight.”
She nodded toward the sky.
The storm had intensified.
Their escape route was disappearing.
The broad rider looked toward his companions.
Then toward the cattle.
Thirty breeding heifers were worth more than most men in the territory would earn in several years.
But not enough to die over.
He holstered the revolver.
“You’ll regret this.”
Martha said nothing.
He kicked his horse around.
The other mounted rider followed.
The third man scrambled into his saddle and went after them.
Within a minute, their lanterns vanished into the snow.
Martha kept the rifle raised for another thirty seconds.
Only when she was certain they were gone did she lower it.
Then her entire body began shaking.
Billy reached her.
“You all right?”
Martha glared at him.
“I told you to stay at the ranch.”
“I brought the bell.”
“You have one working arm.”