Chapter 6

The tub was so cramped that Lacey's knees were bent under her chin. She marveled at Dora's resilience, living as she did with no amenities. She reached for the sponge she'd dropped on the floor and nearly toppled over.

Through the adjoining closet, she could hear Slade's footsteps. The man, she was certain, would be far too tired to attend any dance. As she rubbed her hair dry with the bath sheet, the familiar scent of his tobacco drifted to her from beneath the door. Lacey thought of his crooked smile and experienced an unfamiliar emotion, one akin to homesickness. How, she wondered, could a person miss something they'd never had? And she would never have Slade Dalton. That was a given. The man needed no one, especially not her. He'd made it clear that he was counting the days until Grady took her off his hands.

She frowned at the plain calico dresses hanging in her wardrobe and chose instead an outfit she'd worn to a London theatre, a brown velvet skirt and fitted satin jacket with military style buttons. The understated golden shade of the jacket nearly matched the color of her eyes. She knotted her hair at the nape of her neck and topped it all with a slouch hat made from the same fabric as the jacket.

* * * *

Lacey could barely move her arms, squeezed as she was between Tait and Dora on the wagon's box seat. "Will Slade be putting in an appearance this evening?" she asked, fiddling with her reticule, trying to appear nonchalant.

Tait peered over her head to meet Dora's eyes, and they both laughed.

"No, honey. Slade finds these dances a bit dull," Dora said.

Tait flicked the reins. "And we men are all thankful for that. You can't even get a girl's attention when Slade is around."

There were rush lights set up around the perimeter of the wooden platform. Standing with Dora along the railing of the makeshift dance floor, Lacey turned as though on instinct. He rode past the music, weaving his horse deftly between the throngs of partygoers. He tipped his hat a couple of times in greeting. Her corset seemed suddenly too tight. She reminded herself to breathe. Clearly, he hadn't come to dance. He was still wearing his jeans and chaps. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. What was it about this man that made her such a complete wreck? Her reactions to him were truly starting to worry her.

Slade hitched his horse in front of the two-story building across the way. The lone candle in the window of the sheriff's office flickered as Slade stepped inside.

He wasn't in the office very long before he came out, slamming the door behind him. A tall, heavy man followed him out. Slade's anger was apparent even from a distance.

"Slade's wasting his time. Talbot's worse than useless," Lacey overheard Tait telling Dora.

"We're here to enjoy ourselves." Dora tucked her arm in Lacey's. "I'm parched. Let's fetch some refreshments." She led Lacey to the trestle table.

They ladled the pale pink punch into mason jars. Lacey took a sip and glanced around. The band consisted of three fiddlers and the makeshift floor creaked with every step. Most of the conversations she'd overheard were about livestock. A few shades different than the soirees in London, she thought, and found, to her amazement, she didn't even miss the marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and satin ball gowns.

A heavy finger tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to face a man with hair plastered back with grease. He scrunched his hat in his hands and nodded politely.

"Good evenin', ma'am. I was noticin' you standin' here, and I thought maybe you'd like to dance."

"No, thank you. I've barely just arrived. Perhaps later."

"I look forward to it," he said with a tobacco-stained grin and immediately turned around and asked the woman standing beside her.

There was a sudden rustling of skirts and a chorus of tittering laughter. Lacey peered across the dance floor to find Slade Dalton slipping through the crowd. And didn't he maneuver smoothly, she thought with annoyance, offering up his crooked smile to giggling admirers.

Determined not to fall prey to his masculine charm, Lacey looked away as he approached.

"Dancin' tonight, Miss Jarrell?"

His deep voice seemed to hum through her blood. "I don't think so. This style of dance is a bit foreign to me."

"I suppose you danced some with my brother back in England?" Slade raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner that made her want to slap his face.

"Yes. Grady is a splendid dancer. We took many turns around the dance floor," she lied. "Truth was, I was the envy of all the ladies at the parties we attended."

"'S that right?" His white teeth flashed in a big smile as he gave Tait a conspiratorial wink. She couldn't help noticing Tait's mouth hanging open.

"Gee, Grady must have learned quick. 'Round here we called him Lefty, on account of his two left feet," Tait said, looking truly bewildered.

Slade shook his head. "All I can say is, it must have been a damn miracle."

"I guess anything's possible when you are in love," she lied again, but not without a twinge of guilt.

One eyebrow quirked in disbelief. "Quite the little yarn spinner tonight, Lacey."

She felt herself blush. How was he able to read her so well? Or was it obvious to everyone that she had no deep feelings for Grady...yet.

Tait pushed between them and leaned over the railing. "Hey, Sheriff, how many of those wanted posters d'you think my brother's cleared off your board?"

The sheriff stopped in the road and spit a wad of tobacco into the dirt before approaching the platform. "Enough," he said, but you couldn't mistake it for a compliment.

"Bet you sent home plenty in a box, eh Slade?" Tait made a move to give Slade a congratulatory thump on the back, but stopped himself short when he saw the cold expression on his brother's face.

Lacey cringed as she watched the sheriff spit another disgusting wad of tobacco, just missing the tip of Tait's boot.

"Even sent your partner home in a box." The sheriff twisted an end of his drooping mustache. "Heard you were too busy flirting with the women to cover his back properly."

Even though Lacey didn't understand the whole gist of the conversation, she could tell by the way Tait's face went white that things were getting ugly. The sheriff's face blanched as well, and he suddenly took a few steps back before wheeling around on his heels and stalking off.

Lacey made the mistake of glancing back at Slade. The squint-eyed look he focused on the sheriff had a menacing formidable quality that made her shiver.

Before she could even catch her breath, another imposing man approached.

"Heard you were back in town, Dalton."

Lacey could tell by the set of Slade's jaw that he was not pleased.

The man's small, porcine eyes shifted from Slade to Lacey. He lifted his hat in exaggerated greeting. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure..." His eyes drifted not so subtly downward, and Lacey quickly flipped open her fan and fluttered it discreetly over her breasts.

By the flick of his eyes, she knew that Slade found her modest tactic amusing.

"Careful, Banyon, you just might trip over your own tongue."

Banyon's cheeks turned a florid shade. "Dalton, it seems living by the gun hasn't improved your manners any."

"I'm Lacey." She interjected herself between the two men. "I am—"

"A friend of the family," Slade finished for her.

"Certainly, not a friend of yours, Slade. She's far too refined. I heard tell, Grady's got himself a wife. Would you happen to be her?"

Slade squared his shoulders and lifted his chin at an aggressive tilt. Lacey inched further in front of him. She could feel the heat of him on her back.

"We aren't married, yet. I'm staying at the ranch until he completes some business in Europe."

"How is the ranch, Slade? Your herd's looking a mite lean."

Slade hooked an arm around Lacey's waist and pulled her first to his side and then positioned her behind him. "Trouble is, I've got neighbors casting such a wide rope, they manage to lasso my cattle. I don't suppose you noticed any of my longhorns mixing with your herd? I'm only missing a few, mind you, about six hundred, give or take."

"You suggesting that we've been rustling your cattle?"

Fearing how Slade would respond, Lacey tugged at his coat hoping to provide a diversion.

"I'm not suggesting anything," Slade answered, his voice deadly calm. "I'm stating it."

Lacey walked a wide arc around Slade to avoid his restraining arm. "Mr. Banyon, would you be kind enough to take a turn on the floor with me? I've been dying to dance." She could see beads of sweat on the older man's brow.

Banyon jammed his hat back on his head. "Of course, Miss. I'd be honored."

She rested her gloved hand on his arm and took a furtive glance in Slade's direction. Those pale eyes, so devoid of emotion when she had first seen him, were now blazing with anger. Clever girl, she chided herself, fraternizing with a sworn enemy of the Daltons...a perfect way to worm your way into the heart of a family.

"Pity your old man saw fit to leave the ranch to you, instead of Grady," Banyon said.

Although she was dreading dancing with the big buffoon, Lacey's fingertips pressed his arm lightly, hoping to lead him away. Obviously, too dunderheaded to pick up on her signal, he continued speaking in an overloud voice.

"Never could understand your pa's reasoning. 'Cause you'll never change, Dalton. There's always been the thinnest line between you and the men you track. I wager, the burden of this ranch will push you over that line."

Slade didn't seem the least bit interested in the man's opinion of him. He was now looking at her with a silent warning.

* * * *

Lacey stepped out of the barn. From this distance, Slade looked relaxed, sitting on the bench, his boots propped on the porch railing. Yet somehow, she was struck more than ever by his lethal aura. She wished she hadn't taken the time to visit Irish. She could have walked in safely with Dora and Tait. Now, she would have to pass him in order to enter through the front door.

Gripping the shawl tightly around her shoulders for comfort, she chided herself for acting like a silly child. What could he possibly want from her? Underfoot, the wood steps creaked, announcing her approach.

He swung his feet off the rail and stood. Directly in her path.

"Mr. Dalton," she said in greeting.

"Dance with me, Duchess," he said, his voice gruff.

Rendered speechless for a moment by his surprising command, she just stared at him before replying, "I'm tired."

"Damn, you sure the hell were lively tonight. Christ, you must have danced with near half the county." One corner of his lips kicked up into a nasty smile. "Surely you can spare me a dance."

"Here?" Her eyes measured the narrow porch. "There isn't enough room."

Without a reply, he leaned over the bench. Lacey watched as he lifted the sturdy wood seat, the muscles in his arms bulging. With a heave, he sent it sailing over the railing. It cracked as it hit the dirt.

"Better?" he asked. His eyes burned into hers.

"Much." She heard the tremble in her voice. She had never seen this reckless side of him, and a shudder of apprehension crawled up her spine.

His hand circled her waist, toppling her forward, until she was nested between his hips. He did not lead; instead his arms circled her lower back, his hands resting provocatively close to her bottom. She felt the shawl slide off her shoulders. Her hands were trapped between their chests.

The rough shadow of his beard rubbed her forehead as he swayed gently from side to side. She had expected him to reek of whiskey. He was acting so oddly. But blast it, if he didn't smell wonderfully of soap and his own masculine scent. Her heart quickened.

"I had quite an interesting talk with Ned Banyon."

"Found Banyon a fine conversationalist, did you?" His hand strayed to the base of her spine.

She took a shivering breath.

"Living under a Dalton roof and dancing with a Banyon. Traitorous, little brat."

His hand slid lower, cupping her bottom, pulling her in tight until she was aware of his hardening desire. She couldn't bring herself to pull away. Surprising herself, she wantonly pressed against him.

Slade lowered his head to kiss her, and she reminded herself that his kisses were nothing to get excited about. Yet, her heart set to fluttering like a trapped butterfly.

His lips were a whisper away when she pushed herself off of him. He was the wrong Dalton. The dangerous one.

His chest was heaving with the same frustration that she felt.

"I don't abide a tease." His voice sounded raw.

Lacey hadn't realized how seriously a man might take an interruption in an amorous moment. She hadn't meant to be a tease. She'd just made the mistake of giving into her own desires.

"I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to—"

"What? Press yourself against me? Make me think, you wanted me?"

"Exactly," she responded.

"Exactly." His lips curled with a surly expression as he repeated her ambiguous answer.

"Well good night, then." She whisked past him and through the door.

* * * *

Slade rode the long dirt path to the main house on Triangle B Ranch. Two ranch hands had seen him enter the gate, and before he could tip his hat, they'd mounted and spurred their horses. The man on the buckskin sped past him, riding in the direction of the house. He was sure the other was headed toward town. As he neared, he noticed the buckskin tethered to the porch.

The door swung open and Banyon stepped out onto the veranda. He'd changed a lot in the last ten years. Muscles had turned to fat. Obviously, Banyon spent many a night dining on his own prime beef. Or, more accurately, Dalton prime beef. Nearly tripping on his heels, were his overgrown twin sons. Following close behind them were his men, both wearing enough hardware to take on a small army.

"Neighbor," Banyon greeted him with a thin-lipped smile. "Nice dance, huh? Sure enjoyed my turn with that pretty little gal. Too bad for you that your brother snagged her first. He always was the smart one." He puffed out his chest and thrust his thumbs into his vest pockets. His gut flopped over his waistband.

"You know I'm not here to talk about the dance, Banyon." Slade swung himself out of the saddle.

"Why'd you bother coming back, Dalton. Nothing here in this town for you, anyway. Always did tell my sons, you could tell the mettle of a man by how he makes a living. Man-hunting just ain't a proper occupation. Hell, any son-of-a-bitch can heft a gun."

Impressed by his own wit, he grinned at his sons. He turned back to Slade, focusing his squinty, mud-colored eyes on him. "Your father would be damned ashamed about the way the ranch looks now. You actually prepared to do some real work, boy?"

The fingers of Slade's right hand curled involuntarily. Shooting the man wouldn't be near as much fun as putting a fist into his smug, meaty face. "I can see just how hard you've been working, Banyon." Slade looked pointedly at Banyon's overflowing belly. "Those forkfuls get awful heavy."

Banyon's face turned an unhealthy red. His lips pulled into an ugly sneer. "Seems to me, Dalton, you haven't got the time to make these social calls. Go on back home, boy. And see to that sorry plot of yours."

"There ain't nothing to see to, Pa. He could count the number of cattle he's got on one hand," one of the twins said. The other chortled in appreciation.

Slade watched Banyon's eyelids flicker as he hitched his coat flap behind the holster, effectively exposing the gun riding on his hip. He dropped his arm casually to his side as though the gesture had been harmless. Just a man adjusting the fit of his coat. Banyon's face darkened with the implied threat.

"Look, Dalton, I know why you're here. You got it in that fool head of yours we've taken some of your cattle." He inclined his head in the direction of the fields. "Sons, let's make our neighbor happy. Roust up a few of the longhorns. Let him check out the brand."

The handful of longhorns they led out had one ear tagged in the grub fashion. Slade considered it a ham-handed way to mark cattle. Instead of a small notch an entire ear had been removed.

"Nice job. Didn't know you had a butcher working for you," Slade said.

The Lazy Heart brand was a simple outline heart resting on its side. It was an easy brand to alter and given that the Banyon ranch was called the Triangle B, they'd accomplished it easily by bisecting the heart and creating both a triangle and the letter B.

"Funny. I don't remember your brand looking like this before. As I recall, the triangle used to sit above the B."

"Maybe your memory's slipping, Dalton."

Slade walked around the steer, which was too busy munching grass to pay him any mind. He hunkered down on his haunches and inspected the animal's underside.

"Lose something down there, Dalton? Or are you trying to size his up next to yours?" This struck the trio of Banyons as guffaw worthy.

Slade felt the back of his neck crawl. He straightened up and saw two riders kicking up dust in the distance. Banyon's man had returned with Sheriff Talbot.

Banyon's sons relaxed from their sentry positions and greeted the sheriff like an old friend.

Slade touched the brim of his hat. "Sheriff."

"It sure is interestin' how trouble seems to kick up when you're around, Slade." The big man heaved himself out of the saddle.

The sheriff tucked a big plug of tobacco in his cheek before addressing Banyon. "What's the problem here, Ned?"

"Seems this boy's gotten it in his head that I've taken his cattle."

"That right, Dalton? Don't seem like a very neighborly thing to accuse someone of." Sheriff Talbot acted as though this was the first he'd heard of Slade's grievance.

"I'd advised you to drop this, son," he muttered under his breath as he stalked past Dalton. He examined a few of the longhorn's hips. "I don't see your father's brand. Looks like Banyon's mark to me. Son, it's obvious these ain't your cattle. Why don't you just head on home and don't cause any more problems."

Slade gave a slow nod and walked back to his mount. He pulled himself atop the horse and unhooked his rope from the saddle. He wheeled his horse around, loped toward the cow, and spun his lasso. With an overhead toss, he neatly snared the steer's horns. With a jerk, he landed the animal on its side. He tied the rope off on the saddlehorn before jumping to the ground. He threw himself over the dazed beast to keep it down. To his right, he heard the unholstering of a gun.

Banyon muttered, "What the devil?"

Slade looked over at the sheriff. "Sheriff, I want to show you something."

Sheriff Talbot looked skeptical but plodded over anyway.

Slade traced his finger around the lopsided heart burned into the inner thigh. "My pa and I always double-branded our stock for insurance."

"Enough of this circus. I've extended my hospitality long enough. Sheriff, I want this man off my property and I want him off immediately." Slade couldn't help noticing that all the guns were unholstered now, with the exception of the sheriff's and his own.

"It's not even worth taking on the Banyons for a few head of cattle," the sheriff said, dropping his voice so only Slade could hear him.

Slade collected his rope. "Once again, Sheriff, you've proven yourself to be an outstanding lawman."

"I'm warning you, Dalton, stay out of trouble," the sheriff said through gritted teeth.

* * * *

"Enjoy your visit, Dalton?" Dix asked as he sauntered over. "Wished you'd invited me along. Wouldn't have minded a word or two with Banyon."

Blue joined them, taking a seat atop the fence.

Slade leaned against the corral fence and drew a cheroot from his coat pocket. He cupped his hand around the match as he lit it. "Those are definitely our longhorns. Checked the hidden brand. Interesting thing happened. Sheriff Talbot dropped by while I was there."

"Well that's proof even Talbot can't deny," Dix said. "So what's he gonna do about them thieves?"

Slade exhaled a plume of smoke. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Blue repeated.

"Either the man's blind to everything but the color of Banyon's money, or he's afraid," Slade said.

Dix spat out a chunk of tobacco. "I think there's another option. I think he's just one inept lawman."

"Well, ain't that something," Blue said dejectedly. "There goes our last chance to build up the herd."

Dix looked long and hard at Slade before speaking. "What are you gonna do, Dalton?"

Slade pushed himself off the fence and tossed the stub to the ground, extinguishing it under his boot. He thumbed the brim of his hat up and looked at Dix. "I'm going to get my cattle back."

Dix reached over and gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Now you're talkin' like the Slade Dalton I know."

"You wouldn't happen to know where we could get our hands on a couple sticks of dynamite?"

Dix hardly blinked an eye at his question. "Dalton, have I told you how great it is to have you back home?" he said with a chuckle.

"Whooee!" Blue hollered, tossing his hat in the air. "Count me in, Boss."

Slade flashed them a grin as he turned and headed to the house. If only Dix knew how much he loved being home. When he'd first decided to return to the Lazy Heart, he thought he would never adjust. Only to find that he'd inherited his father's love for the land, after all. On the road as a bounty hunter, he'd forced himself to become so detached that each gray day blended into the next. The ranch was making him feel real again. The emptiness was fading. But there was still one aching void to fill. And there was only one person who could fill it.

* * * *

Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night was never easy with Dora. It was a lesson he'd learned the hard way in his youth. But since his return, he'd had so many sleepless nights of pacing not even Oliver stirred when he left the house.

He glanced at the shut door, behind which she slept so innocently. Lacey had no idea how she contributed to his restlessness. The familiar nightmare about his father's death could still wake him with a start. But it was the idea of climbing into an empty bed that kept him up and miserable most nights.

Slade stepped out onto the porch. The brisk night air gave him the wake-up jolt he needed. By the time he reached the barn, the horses were already lined up and saddled. The men strutted around the drive like a clutch of high-strung roosters. Blue almost jumped out of his skin as Slade approached.

"Glad you could make it, Dalton," Dix said, as he handed him a package wrapped in brown paper. "Extra long fuses, too."

Slade examined the explosives briefly. Then he glanced around at his men. "You all look a little nervous. It's not too late to pull out. No one will think less of you, if you decide against going." Slade aimed this particular remark at his younger brother, who looked a shade or two paler than usual.

"Don't look at me, Slade. I wouldn't miss this for anything."

Slade gave Tait a nod.

"Saddled your horse, Boss," Blue said.

Slade turned to take the reins from Blue. "Remember, once we get there, stay quiet and wait for my signal. Then circle them and drive them back to the eastern pastures. As far away from Banyon's as you can get." He pulled himself into the saddle. "And whatever you do, don't get shot. Dora'll have my hide if any one of you gets hurt. If things get tough, spur them in the belly and head for home. That clear?"

"Sure thing, Dalton," Dix answered for all.

"Hey, Boss, how come you ain't scared?" Blue called to Slade as they headed out.

"Blue, you stupid son-of-a... Who do you think we're riding with, Reverend Smith? That's Slade Dalton, you fool. This is like picking flowers to someone like him."

"Geez, Dix. To hear you talk, you'd think I was Satan himself." Slade clicked his tongue once and his horse picked up a fast trot. He hated to admit it, but there was too much truth in what Dix had said. Used to be, the riskier the situation, the more interesting he found it. Seemed Lacey Jarrell had cured him of the need to take unnecessary chances. He intended to stick around for a while.

The horses, sensing the men's unease, twitched with excitement. Dix rode along silently with his shoulders bunched up around his ears.

"Dix, you're riding like a greenhorn. If you don't ease up on the horse's mouth, he's liable to buck and dump you out here in the middle of nowhere," Slade flashed him what he hoped would be a reassuring smile.

Dix forced a chuckle and gave his reins more slack. His horse relaxed his head with a grateful snort.

"Hell, ain't no horse in all of Colorado that can buck me out of the saddle," Dix boasted.

"S'that right?" Then you must be fillin' your pockets with lead, lately. 'Cause, I'm sure I've seen you hit the dirt more than once," Slade quipped as he spurred his horse into a run.

The west end of the Lazy Heart had several small hills. The Banyon ranch could be seen from the top of the last rise.

Slade reined his horse to a stop a few feet away from the fence. Soon after, the men brought their animals to a blowing, snorting standstill beside him.

The moon didn't provide enough light to gauge where they'd cut the barbed wire earlier in the day. Slade dropped to the ground. He took his lantern from his saddlebag and lit it.

Fortunately, they hadn't missed their mark by much. It only took him ten long strides to find the opening.

He held the lantern aloft and waved the men through.

Slade snuffed out the light and saddled up. He rode down the hill to join his men. "We'll follow that stream up to the first big shadow there. That grove of trees. I want you all to hide there until I give the first signal. Let's go. And remember, total silence."

"You hear that, Blue?" Dix whispered roughly over his shoulder. "You'll have to keep your yap shut, or you'll get us all killed."

"You're the one yammerin' right now," Blue retorted.

"Do you s'pose we could practice some of that silence right now?" Slade asked with exasperation. He was feeling a little anxious although his plan was foolproof. He glanced back at his group of marauders. It was a good thing, too. He seemed to have a few fools with him tonight. Unfortunately, he couldn't hope for silence from the horses. As a bounty hunter, he'd had more than one of his plans ruined by an impatient animal. It had even been a horse's whinny that had warned him of the sheriff's early return home. He'd crashed through the bedroom window, escaping a sure bullet to the head. Not a clean escape, though. His father had died in his stead. Grady had never failed to remind him that his cowardly act had sealed the lid on their Pa's coffin.

Leaving his horse behind with the men, Slade went the rest of the way on foot. He crept along the bank of the stream. He could see Banyon's sprawling ranch house in the dim light of the moon. He moved soundlessly, a skill he had perfected as a bounty hunter. He caught a whiff of the dank smell of the watering hole. According to Blue, the herd, including his stolen longhorns, would be resting there for the night. Shadowing himself in a cluster of trees, Slade scanned the area. There was a lone rider guarding the cattle. This would be easier than he thought.

Slade approached the man from behind. The horse sensed him as he got within striking distance. The man's hand shifted to his holster, the instant Slade brought the butt of his revolver down on his head. His limp body fell forward, slumping over the neck of the horse. Slade yanked him to the ground. Taking the rope off the man's saddle, Slade tied his hands and legs. He dragged the unconscious body behind a fallen tree trunk.

Still cradling the sticks of dynamite in his jacket, Slade found a long branch and headed in the direction of the massive manure piles that lay near the front edge of the grazing field. Using the branch, he pushed a stick of dynamite deep beneath the center of each odorous mound. He pulled the long fuses out, and whistled once loudly, before lighting the ends. After several moments, he could hear the thunder of hooves. His men were closing in. The cattle began lowing as soon as they sensed the approaching horses. Slade glanced back at the ranch house. The lanterns were being lit, and he could hear muttered voices. The sputtering flames inched closer to the mounds, and he hoped his timing was right. As he ran toward the agitated herd, the sound of gunshots made him turn. Banyon, yelling curses, stood on the porch firing into the air. No doubt, to raise his men from the bunkhouse. Slade watched as Banyon's two hulking sons came crashing out of the house to join him.

The three Banyons took off toward the fields where the manure piles sat in stately silence. A muffled, yet effective explosion sent the moist, foul-smelling debris twenty feet into the air. Large chunks of it plummeted back to earth in a glorious shower of cow dung. Slade knew he should be moving, but he couldn't resist lingering behind a minute longer to enjoy the sight. The Banyon boys stood frozen in stunned silence, completely coated in manure. Seeing the ranch hands stumbling out of the bunkhouses, into the night, Slade hurried his pace.

In the distance, he could see the silhouettes of his men circling the herd. Why the hell weren't they moving them? Slade blew a low whistle, and his horse loped over to him.

"Good boy." He jumped into the saddle and rode toward the watering hole.

"What the devil are you men doing?"

"Can't find a longhorn in the bunch, Dalton," Dix said as he pulled up alongside him.

Slade took a quick survey of the cattle. There were nothing but Herefords moseying around the watering hole. "That bastard must have sold the rest of them off."

"Probably figured you'd be back," Dix said.

"Should we grab some of these?" Thorpe asked.

"Hell no. I don't take another man's cattle. Especially not sorry looking ones like these."

The sound of gun fire drew closer. They'd overstayed their welcome. "High-tail it out of here," Slade ordered.

They hunkered over their horses and sped over the fields.

It wasn't long before Slade could hear only distant scattered shots. His ears were still ringing from the percussive sound of the dynamite. It had probably thrown off their pursuers' hearing, as well. He surmised that whoever was firing at them had taken a wrong turn.

Once at the fence, Slade counted heads as the men hurried through. He and Dix dismounted and bent back the barbed wire to make a makeshift fence. It would look seamless to the naked eye.

"Let's wait a few days before we fix this," Slade told Dix. "No need to draw attention to ourselves."

"Where did you plant that dynamite?" Dix asked as they rode deep into Lazy Heart land.

Slade was coming home empty-handed. Yet he couldn't contain a smile. "The manure pile. Thought it would provide a nice diversion. Wasn't expectin' the Banyons to run straight into the explosive results. Now that was an entertaining bonus."

"I'll say," Dix sputtered and almost fell out of his saddle with laughter.