He was tired of having guns pointed at him, but he wasn’t about to move a muscle with the business end of a hand cannon trained on his face. “What the hell is going on out here, daughter?” Horatio Stoddard demanded. He, too, wore a robe, only his was bulky and ill-fitting. His thin hair, normally slicked back, stuck out at all angles. “I was roused out of a deep sleep by shots and shouting.” Quickly rising, Gwendolyn said, “It’s Fargo.” “I can see that,” Horatio snapped. “Who else is out there? Who was he yelling to?” “That woman who escaped,” Gwendolyn said. “Alice Thorn. She killed the men in the posse and now she’s out to kill us.” “Preposterous,” Horatio said. “She’s a snip of a woman. And she hasn’t given us any trouble since she was sentenced. Unlike that Carmody Wells.” “But I heard her,”
