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.

Slater smiled grimly at the man who was watching him over the barrel of a six-gun.

«Looks like she suckered both of us,» Slater said calmly.

«Looks that way,» Reno agreed.

«Friend of yours?»

«No.»

Slater grunted. «Just as well. Man would have to be crazy to turn his back on that bit of scarlet.»

Reno said nothing.

Slater fell silent. It was dealer’s choice, and the man with the six-gun was the dealer.

Without looking away from Slater, Reno assessed the men remaining in the saloon. Raleigh and Steamer were dead.

«Friends of yours?» Reno asked.

«Not particularly. I don’t cotton to stupid men.»

«But you ride with them.»

«No,» Slater corrected. «They ride withme.»

Reno’s smile was sardonic.

«Well, you’ll be riding a little light,» he said, «but not for long. God must have loved fools and horseflies. Sure to hell he made a lot of them.»

Reno’s ice green eyes counted the men remaining in the saloon. Three of them were drifters. The rest were part of Slater’s gang. All of them were being careful not to give Reno a reason to shoot.