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  He slapped the reins over the horse’s back to move him along faster toward Elsie’s cabin. “You’ll be all right, Miss Fin, and the ranch will be fine too now that the Xaviers’ dam’s been removed,” he told her.

  Randall had been a trusted friend and partner to the Fins ever since their arrival in Virginia City. Like them, Randall had been severely wronged by the Xaviers as a result of their underhanded business tactics. He was on her side, and she knew he was only trying to make her feel better, but nothing anyone said would make things right.

  She jostled around in the buggy seat next to him, her body as limp and weak as a rag doll. “I don’t care about the ranch anymore,” she said, her voice wavering and threatening to break.

  “Now, Elsie,” Randall admonished gently. “Your pa wouldn’t have wanted you to give up on it. You take all the time you need to mourn your pa’s passing. I’ll see to things until you’re ready to go about running it. You’ve got a good plot of land there, and you can’t go and give up on it.”

  She sniffled. “Why can’t I? The ranch was my pa’s dream, not mine. I only ever cared about it because he did.”

  “And that’s why you should still care about it. Your pa can’t be here. He’d want you to make the most of it.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, Randall. He’s gone, and it’ll never be the same. I want nothing but revenge against the people who ruined his life.”

  “Well then,” Randall replied, “you know what they say, don’t you? Success is the best revenge. You make your ranch profitable, you’ll make the Xaviers green with jealousy. They won’t hardly be able to stand it.”

  A sliver of dark hope entered her aching heart. Would it be possible to exact revenge on the Xaviers in that way? Without him knowing it, Randall had planted the seed of what would become a full-fledged mission. In the weeks that followed, the only reason Elsie got out of bed was to think about how to damage her neighbors. During that time, the ranch slowly began to prosper. The stream flowed once again. The grass grew green, and the cattle grew fat.

  One morning, Elsie rose from her bed and stared out the window at the milk cow grazing nearby. She caught sight of the infinity symbol burned onto her hide. As she observed it idly, suddenly the perfect idea struck. A slow grin spread across her face, the first one to show for weeks. She knew exactly how she would get her revenge. It was risky, but if she could pull it off, the Xaviers would finally get what they deserved.

  She set out for the barn at a quick clip, hoping to catch Randall there before he headed for the range. He was just mounting his horse to head out when she approached him. “Randall, I’ve got it!” she exclaimed.

  “Elsie,” he said warmly, with some surprise in his voice. “What is it?” He removed his foot from the stirrup and turned to face her. “What put the light back in your eyes?”

  “I know how to get back at the Xaviers, but I need your help.” She proceeded to explain in great detail her plan. By the time she’d finished, she was out of breath.

  Randall narrowed his eyes and studied her. “Well, seein’ you this way is a sight for sore eyes. Can’t remember the last time you looked this excited.”

  Elsie nodded enthusiastically. “I’m excited because I know this is sure to work. Will you help me? You know as well as I that the Xaviers deserve it.”

  Randall pinched the bridge of his nose and thought about it, while Elsie held her breath. Finally, he said, “You know we’d be in an awful lot of trouble if we got caught, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “We won’t get caught.”

  He let out a sigh. “Gotta say, it’s a good idea, and it sure would be a hog-killin’ time seeing Xavier on the receiving end of misfortune.”

  “So, will you help?” she prompted.

  “Yeah. What the devil, why not? Let’s do it.” He held out his hand and grinned at her.

  She took his hand in hers and gave it a firm shake, grinning back at him. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

  Chapter Two

  Wyatt Parker rode his two-bit horse into the dusty town of Virginia City one quiet Monday morning. He brought little more with him than a bad attitude and an injured arm. As often as he’d swung a lasso in the last decade, he reckoned he should be grateful his arm was still attached to his shoulder, but it hurt something fierce and wasn’t good for much.

  Wyatt had learned that not many people have use for an injured man. When he couldn’t wrangle cattle anymore on account of his arm, his boss had fired him and cheated him out of two weeks’ pay. It was a shameful way to treat a loyal hand who’d slicked a saddle on his ranch for ten years, but Chuck Swift was known for his wealth, not his fairness.

  To add insult to injury, Wyatt’s girl had run out on him with the boss’s son, who’d returned from New York City with a fancy education and more than a dime and nickel rattling in his pockets. Marnie had always had a taste for the finer things in life, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she left him. Even with his cowhand’s salary, Wyatt had never made enough money to keep her satisfied, and he certainly couldn’t provide her with any luxuries after losing his job.

  Things in Rosemead were bad for Wyatt, real bad, and he was ready to hang his hat somewhere else. When he heard that crime was on the rise in Virginia City, he thought he might change occupations and become a deputy of the law. Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, he’d made his way to the next town.

  On the day he arrived, it was a scorcher, typical for Nevada in August, and a wind whistled through the air, creating unpleasant clouds of dust that swirled upwards and dirtied his sweaty face. Main Street was empty except for a few wanderers over by the mercantile.

  Wyatt stomped his boots on the mat outside the marshal’s office and sauntered in. The furnishings at the jailhouse consisted of rugs stitched from animal hides, utilitarian wooden chairs, the marshal’s desk, and yellow curtains covering the windows that faced the street. The cheerful color of the curtains seemed sharply out of place in the dismal main room, which smelled faintly of body odor and something else—despair, maybe. He imagined the smells emanated from the back room, which contained the occupied jail cells.

  The first part of the marshal that Wyatt saw was the top of his shiny bald head. He was staring down intently at some paperwork on his desk and didn’t notice Wyatt’s presence until Wyatt cleared his throat. When the marshal looked up, Wyatt approached his desk with an outstretched hand and hid his grimace as pain shot from his bad shoulder to his bad elbow during the handshake.

  “Howdy, Marshal,” Wyatt said in a friendly voice that didn’t match how he felt. “I’m Wyatt Parker. I’m here to see about working for you. It’s a growin’ town, and I reckon you could use some help. I’d make a fine deputy.”

  The marshal eyed him doubtfully, like he was a mustang that looked too mean to break. Wyatt had been told more than once he looked wild and hard, without a shred of compassion. The scar that tracked his cheek from a childhood injury likely added to that impression, but, in fact, Wyatt was gentle. He had a soft spot for animals, even those destined to become supper, and an even softer spot for women. A woman’s smile was enough to erase any meanness that entered his heart. Despite the scar and roughness of his appearance, women generally found him attractive. His straight posture and piercing eyes projected confidence, even when he was down on his luck, and when he offered a rare smile to a neighbor, it was genuinely well received.

  “How old are you, son, and what makes you want to be a lawman?”

  Wyatt sat on the wooden chair on the other side of the marshal’s desk. The first question was easy enough to answer. “I’m twenty-nine years of age, sir.”

  The marshal nodded, encouraging him to go on, and Wyatt was able to come up with a reason for wanting to be a lawman that sounded respectable. “I believe in protecting good people from bad, and I’d feel mighty good about doing that as a deputized official.”

  It was an honest-enough answer. He had a protective nature and would fiercel
y defend those in the right. What he didn’t mention was that his feelings about who was in the right didn’t always match with the law’s opinion on that topic. He’d swiped the Stetson on his head from Mr. Swift, and Wyatt felt very much in the right about stealing it. The boss owed him a lot more as far as he was concerned.

  Though Wyatt would have sworn the reason he gave for wanting the job was the kind of reason a marshal would want to hear, to his great confusion, the marshal looked disappointed. “Well, that’s truthful of you, son. Forthrightness is a good quality that I’d normally want in a deputy, but as it happens, right now I need a man who can tell a lie to a man’s face and appear as honest as Abe.”

  Wyatt frowned, confused. He tapped the heel of his boot on the ground, a nervous tick that went unnoticed by most people. “Well, then, Marshal, I’m the perfect man for the job. I wasn’t bein’ all that honest right then. Thing is, I don’t care much about protecting and serving. I’m out of money and I need a job. I can be as dishonest as you like.”

  A slow, sly grin spread across the marshal’s face. “This might work after all.” He opened a drawer, pulled out two photographs, and laid them side by side on his desk. Leaning forward, Wyatt looked at the images and recognized them as pictures of cows with their hides branded.

  The marshal tapped his finger on one of the photographs. “What do you see when you look at this?”

  Wyatt hesitated, wondering if he was supposed to give an answer other than the obvious. Slowly, he said, “It’s a cow branded with an X.”

  The marshal nodded his approval. “That’s right. It’s the Xavier Ranch’s brand. They’ve been around these parts since I was a lad. I know the rancher and all his hands.”

  Wyatt didn’t know why any of this mattered, but he nodded agreeably and waited for more of the marshal’s chin-wagging.

  The marshal tapped the other photograph. “Now, tell me what you see when you look at this photograph, Mr. Parker.”

  Wyatt didn’t hesitate this time. “That’s another cow with another brand. Looks like the number 8 decided to lay itself down and take a nap.”

  The marshal laughed heartily at his description. “That there is called the infinity symbol, and it’s the brand for the Infinity Ranch, which is right next to the Xaviers. Now, these folks, the Fins, they’ve only been in town for a couple years. And the thing is, for the last few months, the Xaviers have been reporting missing cattle. While their cattle go missing, the cattle on the Infinity Ranch keep multiplyin’. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “I reckon you think the folks at the Infinity Ranch are stealing cattle from the Xaviers, but I don’t see how they could get away with that, so long as the Xaviers make sure to brand all their cattle properly.

  The marshal smiled at him in an indulgent way, like one would an ignorant child, and it ruffled Wyatt’s feathers. He didn’t appreciate being looked down on, but he held his tongue.

  “Look at the photographs again, Mr. Parker, and if you can tell me why folks at the Infinity Ranch are gettin’ away with rustling cattle from the Xaviers, then you have a job to do that will earn you a penny or two.”

  Wyatt couldn’t remember feeling so nervous and desperate to say the right thing, not even when he was a boy standing on trembling knees reciting the Lord’s Prayer in front of the whole church. He frowned at the two photos, looking back and forth, trying to figure out how the brands showed anything but who the cattle belonged to.

  He’d never been known for his smarts. He wasn’t stupid, and might even have been blessed with above-average intelligence, but there hadn’t been much time for book learning growing up since his pa had needed him most of the time to help with the crops. But somehow, despite his lack of education, Wyatt figured out how the Infinity folks were rustling cattle from the Xaviers. His heart thrummed in his chest. He was darn impressed with himself and pretty darn impressed with the Fins too, for being so wily.

  “You got a piece of paper and pencil, Marshal?”

  “Sure do.” Both were planted in front of him.

  Wyatt drew the X first. “The Xaviers, they brand all their cattle with an X. Easy as pie.”

  The marshal nodded. “Been that way for years.”

  “Then the Infinity folks come in with their own symbol, a lazy 8.” He drew another X. “To get away with stealing, all they’ve gotta do is steal a cow with the X and brand over the same place with a branding iron that has a C to the left and a backwards C to the right of the same X. Then it looks like it’s one of their cows. That’s how they’re stealing.” He drew the swirl to each side of the X.

  Setting the pencil down, Wyatt leaned back in his chair, pleased as punch with himself.

  “That’s very good, Mr. Parker.”

  He shrugged his good shoulder, attempting to appear casual, though he felt as proud as a peacock. He thought to himself that if Marnie had stuck around, she might’ve been impressed by what he’d figured out, even without a fancy New York education.

  “You and I can see what’s happening,” the marshal explained. “But what I need now is proof. I need someone to witness the theft before I can make any arrests. That’s where you come in.”

  “You want me to go spy on ‘em?” Wyatt asked, wondering how he could manage to stay out of sight while the hands did the branding.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. I want you to get hired on there as a ranch hand, get involved in the work, and get them to trust you. Then when you see one of the hands branding over the Xaviers’ brand, you arrest him and bring him to me.”

  Wyatt scratched his beard. “So you want me to pretend to be a ranch hand, but really be a deputy of the law.”

  The marshal nodded. “That’s the long and short of it. You’ll be an undercover deputy. You’re the perfect man for the job, really, since you’re new in town. No one will guess your true motives for getting a job as a ranch hand. What do you say?”

  Some of Wyatt’s earlier excitement drained out of him. He was tired of being a cowhand and had hoped to do something different as a deputy. Beggars can’t be choosers, though, so he agreed to the assignment. “I’d be happy to take on this task, Marshal. I’m much obliged for the opportunity.”

  The marshal’s face split into a wide grin. He stood as Wyatt did and reached out to shake his hand again. Wyatt groaned inwardly as the marshal caused renewed pain in his arm by bobbing it up and down.

  “I forgot to mention the best thing about this job.”

  “Oh?” Wyatt quirked his head.

  “The Infinity Ranch is run by a real pretty lady. Her pa died, which left her in charge. I suspect she’s the brains behind the whole thievin’ operation.”

  Wyatt frowned. “You mean I’m gonna have to arrest a woman?” He didn’t like the prospect of that one bit.

  The marshal shook his head. “Nah, I reckon I’ll be the one doing that. Your job is to arrest the hand you catch carrying out her orders. Once you get him back here, I’ll find out during interrogation if what I suspect is true.”

  Wyatt nodded his understanding, still not entirely liking the arrangement.

  “Report back tomorrow, Mr. Parker. I’ll swear you in, proper-like, and then you can go about getting a job at the ranch.”

  Chapter Three

  Elsie sat atop her mare and watched her ranch hands as they rebranded the cattle acquired from the latest roundup. The activity was performed in a flat clearing on the opposite end of the property, the side farthest from the Xaviers. Tall elm trees circled the space, providing some cover and making it an ideal location for performing the final stage of the theft. Still, Elsie made sure to keep an eye out for unwanted visitors who might happen upon them.

  She’d never thought her scheme would become so successful. According to her calculations, she and Randall had covertly stolen and rebranded nearly 200 head of cattle from the Xaviers. In time, people in town greeted her with less pity and more respect as her ranch went from nearly bankrupt to prosperous. As f
ar as the townsfolk knew, she was a wily rancher who had turned a brown plot of land into a steady source of income.

  She’d never participated in branding before her pa died. Because of that, the formerly unfamiliar scent of hot metal and burnt hide became associated with Xavier. Every time the wind wafted the scents to where she sat on her horse watching, a surge of vengeance would fill her spirit.

  Randall and her two hands were loyal and willing participants in the dishonest branding. Randall had even assisted with shaping the iron used to carry out the thefts. Elsie rewarded them all richly. For every five cows they stole and rebranded, she gave them the full profit from one of them. At first, she had planned to give them the profit from all of them. She didn’t care about the money. She only cared about getting even with the Xaviers, but Randall had sat her down and explained how she needed to think smart. She needed to reinvest the money they earned in the ranch so that they all would have long-term employment. With Randall’s help, she worked out a pay system that benefited both the profitability of the ranch itself and her individual hands, whose families happily thrived with the extra income.

  Elsie had no intention of ever stopping her operation, though Randall had suggested to her that she might consider ending the scheme after a year or so. He was concerned that they would be caught. But Elsie couldn’t imagine missing out on the thrill of hurting the Xaviers. With every newly stolen cow, she felt that injustice was being remedied in some small way. Of course, no number of cattle would ever make up for the way Mark Xavier had pushed Cal Fin into an early grave.

  Along with a dark sense of satisfaction, however, Elsie carried guilt. She knew her pa wouldn’t approve of her dishonest undertakings, and knowing that tore at her heart like barbed wire on cotton. She didn’t share this overwhelming feeling of guilt with Randall, for she knew he would use it as an argument that they should discontinue the operation.