Page 50 of Working the Lode

“Sure.” Cormack’s tone was light, as though he’d just wrung a squirrel’s neck with his bare hands. “Such a heap of fat meat won’t shine any longer.”

At last Zelnora relaxed enough to exhale, and buried her face against Cormack’s chest. “But…Joaquin!”

Why was he leading her back to Joaquin’s body? Enough dead meat for one day! “Not to worry, my mountain flower.”

There was a weak, wavering voice coming from the grass. “Has he gone under?”

Joaquin!

Zelnora found the strength to run the next few steps. Joaquin sat up in the grass, peeling his shirt away from a shoulder wound that looked nearly identical to the one Zelnora had incurred a few weeks back—so she would know how to nurse it. She fell to her knees as Cormack assured Joaquin,

“He went under, all right. No worries.”

“Cormack, let’s get this ball out of his shoulder. Joaquin! I thought you were dead!”

Joaquin grinned, his almond-shaped eyes glinting with amusement. “I was nigh giving you hell,” he said, taking on Cormack’s manner of speaking. “My pistol soared about ten yards off, so I thought it best to play dead while I crawled for it. But I see I didn’t need to.” He looked up at Cormack with open adoration, although Cormack was unsheathing his formidable bowie knife, about to cut into his flesh.

“I’ll see if there’s fresh water in that awful cabin,” Zelnora offered.

When she stood, she saw Aaron and Mercy at the end of the timberline, trotting along on Cormack’s horse. Zelnora waved, and they waved back madly.