Only 05 - Autumn Lover

last year. He was chasing some story about a redheaded child. He just couldn’t believe Susannah died with the others.”
    “ Damn ,” Hunter said softly. “Sorry to hear that. Alex was a fine man.”
    “That he was, for all the good it did him.”
    When Hunter turned back to the waiting men, his expression was bleak.
    Curious, Elyssa looked between Johnny and Hunter. She sensed the deep currents of emotion running between them, emotions that neither man put into words. She wondered if they ever had.
    Or could.
    “All right,” Hunter said curtly. “I don’t know any of you, so I’ll have to ask which of you boys favor the long gun.”
    Five of the remaining men spoke up.
    A look passed between Morgan and Hunter. The black rider lifted his reins. His wiry pony loped out of the barnyard down toward the cottonwood trees.
    When Morgan was about four hundred yards away, he reined in, stood on the saddle, and balanced the bottleof whiskey on a broad branch. Glass glittered in the sunlight.
    “One shot each,” Hunter said. “Notch the branch as close as you can without hitting the bottle. You on the left. Start now.”
    The man sighted and fired with an ease that spoke of long familiarity with rifles.
    Bits of bark leaped, but only Morgan saw.
    “Less than an inch!” hollered Morgan.
    “Next,” Hunter said.
    The second man fired.
    The top inch of the bottle exploded.
    The rifleman said something beneath his breath and sheathed the weapon with a disgusted look on his face.
    “Next,” Hunter said.
    The shooting continued until the fifth man was done. Two of the men notched the branch less than a finger’s width from the bottle.
    “If any of you boys fancy yourself with a six-gun, too,” Hunter said, “go to the cottonwood.”
    Two of the riflemen left for the cottonwood tree, including the man who had shot the top off the bottle.
    Silently Elyssa looked from Hunter to the men and back again, wondering what he would do next.
    “I suppose if I walk off, you’ll just follow me,” Hunter said.
    “Of course. The Ladder S is my ranch. I’ll hire the men you choose, but at the very least I have the right to see how skilled they are.”
    “You’ll get that fine silk all dirty.”
    Elyssa looked at Hunter in disbelief.
    “The cow took care of this ‘fine silk’ with one swipe of her grimy tail,” Elyssa retorted.
    Hunter looked at the shotgun in his hands and fought not to smile. The graceful gold and silver tracings onthe barrel reminded him that it was Elyssa’s gun he carried, not his own.
    Fancy gun for a fancy lady , Hunter thought acidly. Silk and fire and the kind of body that haunts a man .
    Damn !
    “Stay behind me,” Hunter said, his voice rough. “Six-guns are chancy things, especially if a man is in a hurry.”
    Without looking at Elyssa again, Hunter walked to the cottonwood where the riders were gathering. Elyssa had to hike up her skirts and all but trot to keep up with him.
    “All right, Morgan,” Hunter said. “Let’s see if your Arkansas toothpick still has a good edge.”
    Smiling, Morgan unsheathed a knife whose blade was as long as his forearm. With quick, hard strokes, he carved the Ladder S brand into the cottonwood’s bark.
    “Back up about forty feet,” Hunter said to the men. “When I say so, draw and fire.”
    The men backed their horses, spread out slightly, and waited. Morgan went to stand beside Elyssa. He lifted his hat in silent greeting, but his eyes never left the horsemen.
    “Fire!” Hunter said.
    Shots shattered the quiet. The area between the two S-shapes of the Ladder S brand exploded into leaping bits of bark. Quite a few bullets ended up outside the brand as well.
    “Cease firing!” Hunter commanded.
    The men holstered their guns and turned toward Hunter. He signaled to Morgan.
    “At the bottle. Now ,” called Morgan.
    One of the riders got off two shots before the other men recovered and began firing. The quickest man was the same one who had shot the neck off the bottle with a rifle.
    “What’s your name?” Hunter asked.
    “Fox.”
    “Well, Fox, you’re pure hell on bottles.”
    The other men smiled.
    Hunter smiled in return, briefly.
    “You’re hired, Fox,” Hunter said. “So are you two.”
    Hunter indicated the riders who had been almost as quick as Fox to get back into action with their six-guns.
    “What about the rest of us?” asked the kid.
    As he spoke, he reined his horse over until it was all but standing on Hunter’s