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past for a long time before she grew tired of the monotonous scenery. Leaning her head back against the seat, she shut her eyes. As rough as the ride could be, she preferred resting over watching two men become inebriated in front of her.
A headache began building at her temples and she tried to relax to keep it at bay. Thoughts of the bank president and her debt filled her head, but she chased them away with plans for what the ranch needed in preparation for colder weather.
A short time later, she heard loud whispering between Horace and Clyde. Curious, she pretended to still be sleeping and focused on their words.
“I told you wearing these fancy duds and takin’ the stage would work,” Clyde said in a slightly slurred voice.
“We sure showed ’em,” Horace said, his speech thicker with intoxication than his brother’s. “Slipped right past the sheriff. Bet he didn’t think we’d be walkin’ into town, all respectable.” He snorted in obvious delight.
“Two thousand dollars, Horace! Now we can buy us some horses and land—whatever we want.”
Horace murmured in agreement. “I’d like to go back to Wyoming soon and live by Ma, but I don’t think she’d like knowin’ we’re bandits.” He sighed heavily, then added in a brighter tone, “Maybe we could buy her somethin’ real nice, so she ain’t too mad. Whatdaya think she’d like?”
Jennie missed Clyde’s response as her mind raced. They’re the bandits I heard about in the store—the ones who stole the two thousand dollars.
Her first impulse was to jump out the door. She might not live through such a fall, but staying put could also mean death if the men realized what she’d overheard. That left her two choices: sit tight and pretend she hadn’t heard a thing or try to disarm the men herself and hand them over to the stage driver.
At the pricking of her conscience, Jennie chose to act. But not just yet. Better to hold off until they were at their weakest. Perhaps all the alcohol they’d been drinking would work out in her favor in the end. She waited until their whispering turned to snores and opened her eyes. Both bandits were passed out on their respective sides of the stagecoach, mouths hanging open, their relaxed jaws bouncing with the stage’s movement.
Jennie shifted her gaze from them to the luggage beside their feet. Which of the two bags held the money?
If only I had that cash...
She shook her head, though she couldn’t rid the wish completely from her thoughts. Slowly, the innocent desire for money became an idea—a bold, dangerous idea.
If she took the money, would it really be stealing? She’d only take what she needed to pay the bank at the end of the month and buy herself time to raise more funds. The ranch would be temporarily saved, and she and her family wouldn’t lose everything. The brothers had already spent some of the money—their new clothes showed that. No one would expect the full two thousand to be recovered. It’s just my informal reward for turning in these men.
Before she changed her mind, Jennie scooted to the edge of her seat. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and her hands grew clammy. Sliding onto the middle seat, her back to the door, she leaned over to grab hold of the suitcase next to Clyde. She hefted it onto the bench and quietly cracked it open. Desperation surged through her at finding nothing but a faded bundle of sweat-and-campfire-scented clothes inside.
Jennie placed the bag back on the floor. She had to hurry before either man woke up. She scooted down the bench to reach Horace’s bag and saw that one boot rested against it. With a sigh, Jennie pivoted on the bench to face Horace straight on. She bent down and gripped the boot with both hands. She gently slid his foot toward her. The drunken Horace didn’t stir.
Exhaling with relief, she lifted the bag into her lap and unfastened the clasp. Peering inside, she sucked in a quick breath. She’d never seen so much cash in one place. She could pay the ranch’s debt in full with that much money.
No, she told herself firmly. Only what we need to buy more time. Grabbing two bundles and hoping it was enough, she shoved the money into her purse.
“What are you doing there?” Clyde demanded.
Startled, Jennie pushed the money bag behind her. Thankfully the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the wheels muffled the sound of the bag hitting the floor.
“I...uh...needed some air,” she said, motioning to the window above the coach door.
“You sick?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She fanned her flushed face with her purse. “Just a tad warm.”
“It can be dangerous sittin’ in the middle there,” Clyde said in a drowsy voice as he blinked heavily.
You have no idea. Jennie willed herself to smile as she took several calming breaths. She set aside her purse and busied herself arranging her skirts and examining her fingernails until Clyde fell back asleep. When she was certain he was unconscious, she retrieved the money bag, closed it up and put it back beside Horace’s boots. Now she needed to get those guns and hand over these men to the stage driver.
Bending forward again, Jennie peeled back part of Horace’s jacket to reach his revolver. As she inched her fingers toward the barrel, she heard a snort. She jerked her head up and found Horace watching her, a puzzled expression on his face.
“You had a bee on your knee,” Jennie said, thinking fast. “I moved up to swat it away.” She blushed as she straightened.
Horace cocked his head to one side and lifted his eyebrows. “Oh...um...thanks.”
She hoped he’d join his brother in drunken slumber, but Horace stretched and sat up instead.
“How much farther we got to the next town?” he asked.
Jennie peered out the window at the afternoon sun. “We still have several hours until we stop for the night at Cove Fort. It’s a way station for travelers.” Plenty of time to get those guns, but how?
“You ever been to Wyoming?” Horace scratched at his hairy jaw.
“No,” Jennie said curtly. She needed to formulate a plan, not waste more time chatting with Horace.
“That’s where me and Clyde come from. I want to get back up there someday. Our ma’s still there.” Horace glanced out the window and exhaled a long sigh. “Sure do miss her cookin’. And my horse, Jasper.”
Jennie tried to ignore his reminiscing, but he kept on.
“Clyde made me leave Jasper behind. Probably ’cause I ride better than he does. Can shoot better, too. Pa taught me to shoot anything with a trigger.”
His words prompted similar memories in Jennie’s mind—times when her father had shown her how to draw a gun and shoot straight.
That’s it.
Jennie heaved a dramatic sigh and batted her eyelashes like she remembered her girlhood friends at church doing. “I don’t know the first thing about guns. Why, I wouldn’t know how to go about defending myself. I wish somebody would teach me.”
“I’ll show you.” He hurried to sit beside her on the middle bench and pulled his gun from its holster. “This here’s a .44 Remington revolver.”
“Is that right? Well, imagine that,” she said.
“Once it’s loaded, you wanna pull the hammer back.” Horace lifted his thumb and pantomimed the action, then aimed the gun out his window. “You point at your target, squeeze the trigger and shoot.” He shrugged and passed the revolver to Jennie. “Nothin’ to it.”
Jennie pointed the gun out her window, hoping he didn’t see her hands shaking with nervous energy. “Seems easy enough.” Setting the gun on her right side, where Horace couldn’t easily reach it, she smiled coyly. “What about your brother’s gun?”
“Works the same.” Horace leaned across