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given their life for the Confederacy and that his missus had run off to a crib in New Orleans. Tannington knew about pain and suffering.
    Never had Gil figured these men for scrubby schoolboys.
    Then there was Preacher Wilson. Rather than sustain himself after a hard day of punching cows, Eli added the contents of his plate to Tannington’s. You’d think a man of the cloth would be above that sort of thing. Weren’t preachers supposed to be godly? When he’d hired on, Eli Wilson gnashed at the bit to work his way to his family and a pulpit in Kansas.
    Right now, the only thing gnashing about the preacher was his teeth.
    Gil didn’t bother to observe the other men.
    He took a bite of flattened cornbread, then chugged too-damned-weak coffee to wet his abruptly insulted gullet. When he bit into the burnt steak, the act of chewing went all haywire; he sliced the inside of his cheek. Swallowing the clump of beef and a taste of his own blood, he had a hard time staying angry with his men, especially after he swallowed an eating iron of nearly raw pinto beans.
    What were they going to do between here and Lampasas? With any luck, he’d find a proper cook there. But it would take weeks to reach town. Furthermore, Gil had no desire to make a trip with a bunch of cowhands who might desert over dessert.
    The strangest thought popped into his mind: he wondered what Lisette Keller’s cooking would taste like.
    Damn.
    His food joined the growing pile on the campfire, and Gil stomped over to his bedroll. That fool woman. Whatever possessed her, thinking she could go along on a trail drive?
    â€œNo lady would ever so much as consider such a thing,” he muttered under his breath.
    Sadie Lou barked twice. Gil glanced first at the chuck wagon, where the dog stood next to Matthias, then toward the cattle grazing and resting alongside the cottonwood-lined creek. He listened to the night. Beyond the sounds of cattle, the gentle movement of water, and the chorus of a thousand crickets, he heard nothing. Yet Sadie Lou pulled back her lip and growled.
    A voice floated from the vicinity of a copse of oaks: “Hello there!”
    A woman.
    A woman? What was some female doing in the thick of Comanche country? Or was this some redskin trick?
    Gil’s hand went to his gunbelt to clutch the six-shooter he long ago and for no particular reason had dubbed Thelma. By now, all the cowpunchers, firearms drawn, were edging closer to the intruder.
    â€œWho goes there?” Gil shouted into the dark of night, and advanced in the intruder’s direction.
    â€œA friend from Fredericksburg.”
    That couldn’t be ... of course not. The night was playing tricks. Gil cocked Thelma’s hammer. “Raise your hands and make yourself seen.”
    Two figures appeared, walking side by side. One was human, the other a mule. They were about twenty feet away. Sadie Lou rushed around a prickly pear en route to protecting her interests. The human bent down, and Gil heard the woman say something in German.
    The collie wagged her tail.
    Gil lowered the barrel. “Just as I suspected. Damn you, what are you doing here?”

Chapter Three
    Gil waited for a response from Lisette Keller. But his men were closing in, and dealing with her was something he preferred to face alone. He called over his shoulder, “Keep your distance. I’ll handle this.”
    At their retreat, he stepped forward. Rather than let loose a barrage of obscenities, Gil honed in on the mule. The thing was a pitiable sight, swaybacked and loaded down with packs. It looked as unhappy as the Four Aces crew.
    The mule reached down to nip at the circling Sadie Lou. Stalking with teeth bared and hackles raised, the collie clipped around to the beast of burden’s rear, and for that lapse in strategy, she got a kick to her brisket.
    â€œWillensstark, bad boy,” Lisette admonished her traveling companion as the cowdog yapped and beat for