The Bar-Girl, the Battle and the Bar-D

by Ben Frank

copyright 1956 Standard Magazines

for the July 1956 Texas Rangers .

No record of copyright renewal.

JEFF Doyle left his team in the shade, and hitching up his gun belt, strode across the dusty street of Ralston toward the post office. Because he was worried about three year old Ginny, he didn't see Vance Simms until they came face to face in front of the Emporium Saloon and Dance Hall. Then it was too late to do anything about it.

They were in their late twenties. Both were lean, hard and fit - Jeff, who kept himself that way with the work he did on his Bar D ranch; Vance, who kept himself that way because he knew it added to his dark, good looks. Feet spread, arms dangling, they stood facing each other, two men who had lived as neighbors and enemies as long as they could remember.

For a moment, it was touch and go whether either would give way to the other.

Their eyes held with angry tenacity; their faces grew as taut as fiddle string.

Then each man gave a little to the right, and they passed without speaking.A thin gauze of sweat cooling his hot face, Jeff went on into the post office.

Sometime, he knew with a despairing certainty, he would have to kill Vance Simms, or be killed by this man who owned the sprawling Crooked S ranch. The trouble between them went back too far and covered too much rivalry and hate ever to be compromised.

Jeff's only mail was the weekly Ralston News. Turning to the want ad section, he suddenly forgot Vance Simms.

Wanted, a woman to care for and be a companion

to my three year old daughter. Must have had experience

with children. Jeff Doyle, Bar D Ranch.

That's all there was to the ad. But behind it lay a story of happiness and sorrow. Some who would read the ad and, knew the story, would shake their heads in sympathy and allow that Jeff Doyle would never find a woman to take over that job. To others, the folks who didn't know Jeff, the ad would mean nothing. But to Jeff himself, it was something born out of desperation and fear, and the story behind it was the beginning and the end of his happiness.

He didn't really expect an answer to his ad. In this raw wild country, what few women there were had homes and families of their own to care for. His wide shoulders sagging, his lean brown face crumbling, giving him a look of oldness, he stepped out into the street.

A woman's shrill laughter came to him from the open door of the Emporium Saloon and Dance Hall, and it occurred to him ironically that in this country, the only women not tied to husband families were those who inhabited such places as the Emporium. A certain bitterness in his mind, Jeff went on along the street and rounded his buggy to step to the hitch-rail. Suddenly he saw the girl.

Where' she'd come from, he had no idea. One moment, it seemed, the street had been empty. The next, she was standing In front of him. A small, slender girl, maybe eighteen or twenty. High-piled brown hair, curly, with a reddish cast toit, framed a thin, tired face that needed more flesh on the finely - shaped bones to make her as pretty as she might be. But he had no interest in her and turned to untie his team.

"Are you Mr. Doyle?" she asked.

Surprised, he faced her again. This time he saw that she held a newspaper and purse in one hand, a small straw suitcase in the other.

"I'm Jeff Doyle," he answered.

"Someone pointed your rig out to me," she said. "I would like to take care of your little girl."

He was too astonished to speak.

She smiled faintly. That made her look less tired and younger and prettier.

"I'm Flo Johnson," she said. "I just arrived on the stage. I bought a paper and looked through the help wanted ads."

Slowly Jeff shook his head. "I was thinking of an older woman. Someone with experience."

"For a number of years, I lived with my uncle and aunt," she said quietly. "They had four children, all younger than I. I helped take care of them. Later on, I had a child of my own."

The huskiness in her voice made him almost afraid to look at her face again. But when he did, he saw that she was dry-eyed, although her blue eyes had an old, old expression about them.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson," he mumbled. Then he looked at her hands and saw she wore no rings.

She knew what he was thinking. "Sometimes, Mr. Doyle," she said, her voice growing firm, "money for food and medicine is more important than a wedding ring. I sold mine. My husband is dead."

Now she met his eyes squarely, and he found himself wanting to believe and accept her. Yet, to trust his small, frail daughter to a complete stranger was frightening.

"Do you have someone who would recommend you?"

"I haven't," she said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Doyle. I guess I should have known you wouldn't hire a stranger." She began to walk away from him.

"Hold on," he said. "Would you be willing to take the job on trial?"

"Oh, yes," she answered almost too eagerly.

"Another thing, you'll be the only woman at the ranch. It's a lonely place. It will be pretty dull for you."

She smiled. "I'm twenty-four. I can't believe it will be dull for me with a three-year-old child to love and care for."

It probably was the "to love and care for" that tipped the scales for Jeff. That and the fact that she was older than he had thought.

"All right, you're hired," he said. "But there's one other point I want to make clear. I have no intention of ever marrying again."

He saw a spark of anger leap into her eyes. "Mr. Doyle," she said with dignity,

"I want a job, not another husband."

"I meant no offense," he said.

He liked that quick, righteous anger in her. Grinning faintly, he took her suitcase and put it in the back of the buggy.

Its lightness surprised him. Again he looked at her, this time noting her cheap blue cotton dress, the worn shoes, the battered purse. Wondering, what had brought her to this tough, rough cowtown of Ralston, he helped her into the buggy and climbed up beside her.

"Thank you, Mr. Doyle, for hiring me," she said.

Her gratefulness embarrassed him. "Better save your thanks till you see how it works out. You and Ginny may not get along."

"We'll get along, Mr. Doyle," she promised quickly.

"Let's simplify things a bit," he said, smiling, knowing that it would be best for them to be on friendly terms. "You can call me Jeff, and I'll call you Flo."

"All right, Jeff." But there was a wary expression in her eyes.

After that, they rode in silence toward the foothills and the distant mountains.

And again he thought of the story behind the ad he'd put in the paper.

It was a simple story. Ellen Reese had come here to teach school. One look at her, and Jeff had fallen in love with her. But Vance Simms had looked at her, too, and had wanted her. However, by the end of the school year, Ellen had made up her mind. Jeff was the man she wanted.

Why, Jeff had never quite understood, for Vance could have given her money and a fine home and an easy way of life, while Jeff had none of these things to offer.

And since her death, a question haunted him. Perhaps Ellen would still be living if she had chosen Vance and the life of ease. Certainly, life had not been easy for her on the Bar D. Not that she hadn't seemed happy enough, but in wanting to help Jeff, she had worked much too hard. Maybe, if - but it was a question he had never been able to answer.

That first year, Ellen had given him Ginny, who had her mother's bright blond hair and clear blue eyes. A year and a half later, Ellen had died in trying to give him a son. And now Ginny needed a woman's care, for the old Indian woman, Grandma Eagle, who had worked on the Bar D longer than Jeff could remember, had recently passed on. All this was the simple story behind the ad in the newspaper, although there was a little more to it.

Only a few days ago, Doc Carney had confirmed Jeff's suspicions that Ginny needed better care. Snapping his black bag shut, Doc had given Jeff a grim look.

"Nothing wrong with her a woman's care and love won't cure," he'd said. "Sure, you and Pete Peters and Joe Eagle would cut off your right arms for her. But a woman can give a child something no man can. Maybe it's a soft way of talking or smiling, I'm not sure."

"But where can I find a woman to look after her?"

Doc had shook his head. "I don't know. But if I was you, I'd start looking for that kind of medicine in a hurry."

Jeff had suddenly felt frightened. Now he had this strange girl with the young, pretty face and the old eyes.

Again he glanced at her. She seemed to be staring blindly ahead at nothing. She hadn't spoken a word for the last three miles.

"I'd like to know more about you, Flo," he said.

Her eyes jerked up to his face like those of a frightened animal.

"Where're you from, where have you worked?"

"I lived with my aunt and uncle in Missouri from the time I was seven. I married a man named Cole Johnson. We came to this country right away. He had an accident and died suddenly. My baby, Susan, was almost two when she died. Since then, nothing much has mattered, so I - well, here I am."

He wasn't quite satisfied with her story. Too many details were left out. But the huskiness of her voice stopped him from asking questions. He lifted his hand to point to a distant cluster of trees and buildings.

"Our nearest neighbor," he said. "The Crooked S, owned by a man named Vance Simms,"

He could have told her of the bad blood between himself and Vance. How trouble had begun between their fathers over water rights and how that trouble had been passed on to him and Vance and had grown through the years. How his winning Ellen Reese had only fanned Vance's hate.

But thinking of Ellen, he was held silent by the haunting question. Suppose she had married Vance Simms? A man had to have a question like that settled in his mind before he could think of looking for happiness once again.

They arrived at the Bar D shortly before sundown. The big-shouldered, stoic-faced Joe Eagle hurried up to take over the team. He was old Grandma Eagle's grandson, and he'd been born on the Bar D the same year that Jeff had come into the world. Now he spoke softly, and the team stood perfectly still as if they understood they were not to move until the girl had climbed from the buggy.

Jeff made the introductions. No change of expression came to Joe's bronze-colored face, but his dark eyes missed nothing of the girl's youthful appearance. Whether or not he approved of her, not even Jeff could tell.

Old Pete Peters was waiting for them on the porch of the small, drab ranch house. Since Grandma Eagle's death, he'd been doing the best he knew how to care for Ginny. Pete had come to the Bar D when he was sixteen, and now he was sixty-three. He expected to die here and be buried in the little family cemetery in the grove of pines behind the house.

Again Jeff made introductions. "Now," he said, "you've met the whole crew, except Ginny."

At that moment, the child came to the door. Small, frail, timid, she hugged a battered doll in one small arm. She wasn't very clean. Jeff realized with a tug of dismay. Her blue eves seemed much too large for her thin face, and old Pete hadn't got around to combing the tangles out of her blond hair. She halted to stare up at the strange woman who stood beside her father.

"Ginny," Jeff said gently, "this is Flo. She's come here because she likes little girls like you."

"Hello, Ginny," Flo said softly.

Ginny neither smiled nor spoke. She was a half-frightened child waiting for an older person to make the first move toward friendship.

"I have something for you," Flo said.

Smiling, she opened her purse and drew out a gold locket on a tiny gold chain.

And somehow, Jeff knew that the locket had belonged to another little girl, one who had died. A bit of a lump squeezed up into his throat.

"How lovely she is!" Flo whispered to Jeff. Then she swept Ginny up in her arms and carried her into the house.

"Where'd you find her?" Pete asked gruffly as he and Jeff crossed toward the bunkhouse.

After Jeff had told all he knew about Flo Johnson, the old man scowled and shook his grizzled white head.

"There's something wrong someplace Jeff," he muttered. "Hiring a girl you don't know anything about - you may be letting yourself in for trouble."

"I guess I can take care of trouble better than I can take care of Ginny," Jeff said, smiling faintly.

"Girls like her don't just happen to be around and footloose," Pete went on doggedly. "There's more to her wanting this job that she's told you."

"Let's not cross any bridges," Jeff said. "If anything seems wrong, we'll get rid of her in a hurry. "

"Maybe getting rid of her won't be so easy," Pete said. "Ginny's going to like her."

The old man had supper waiting on the stove. After Jeff had eaten, he crossed over to the old ranch house. Stepping into the kitchen, he found that Flo had cooked supper, and now she and Ginny were sitting at the table. And Ginny was eating hungrily.

Jeff stared at his child in amazement. She was scrubbed and clean, and her hair had been combed. It had been a long time since he had seen her look this happy, and he knew old Doc Carney had been right when he'd said that the only medicine Ginny needed was a woman's understanding and care.

"I see everything's under control," he said, smiling.

Flo smiled back at him. But again he detected a wariness in her eyes.

"There's quite a lot of things I need to take care of Ginny properly," she said.

"Make a list," he told her, "and I'll send Joe Eagle to town in the morning for them."

"I've already made a list," she said, handing him a slip of paper.

He read through it. "You haven't anything here for yourself."

"I have everything I need at present."

"Your suitcase seemed pretty light to me."

A faint flush touched her cheeks, and he knew he'd blundered.

"Perhaps I'll want to send for some .things after you've paid me," she said, a faint edge coming to her voice.

"If it's money you need, I'll advance some on your salary."

"No, thanks," she came back at him so firmly that he wondered if she'd considered his offer as something more than an advance on her salary.

He turned toward the door. "The house is yours and Girmy's," he said testily.

"I'm staying at the bunkhouse with Pete and Joe. The only key is in the door.

You needn't worry about anyone bothering you."

He stalked out into the night a bit angry with her because she wouldn't let him do her a favor.

Joe Eagle stood filling the bunkhouse doorway with his big shoulders and long, lean frame.

"Jeff," he said, "I found about twenty head of Crooked S cattle on our side of Dry Creek. We don't have grass and water enough for both outfits. So I rounded 'em up and drove 'em back on Simms range."

Jeff went on into the bunkhouse. He suddenly felt old and tired. "How'd they get on our side?" he asked.

"The usual way," Joe answered, "Through a hole in our fence."

There was no point in asking how the hole got in the fence. "All right," he said wearily. "Tomorrow Pete and I will patch the fence again. You have to go to town."

"Maybe we need to use a few bullets to patch that fence," Pete muttered darkly.

"Not yet," Jeff said firmly. "Not until the other side starts using bullets."

They didn't argue with him about it, for they knew he was right. But they didn't like it.

Scowling, Joe unstrapped his sixgun and hung it on a nail at the head of his bunk. For a moment, old Pete's eyes rested longingly on the worn Winchester above the door. Then both men began to get ready for bed, and no more was said that night about the trouble between the Bar D and the Crooked S.

***

The following noon, when Jeff and Pete returned from repairing the fence, Flo called to them from the kitchen doorway.

"I have dinner ready for you," she said.

"Cooking for us wasn't in the bargain I made with you," Jeff reminded, her.

"I know it," she said. "But there's no reason why I shouldn't, is there?"

Looking at her, Jeff was struck by the notion that she'd changed over night. She still wore the old cotton dress and the worn shoes, but she stood a little straighter, and her eyes seemed to have lost some of their oldness.

He and Pete went into the house. The place looked cleaner than it had looked for a long time. Then Ginny came running up to him, and he swung her up on his shoulder. She seemed already to have gained weight. Of course, Jeff knew she hadn't had time for that. Then he saw she wore the gold locket about her throat and he read the name "Susan" engraved on it. Someday, he knew, that name would have to be explained to Ginny.

After they had eaten, he and Pete went outside to smoke and rest a few minutesbefore going back to work.

"Well," Pete said abruptly, "you're stuck with Flo Johnson. Ginny'll never let you get rid of her without a lot of tears."

"Maybe I won't have to get rid of her."

The old man eyed him sharply. Then he shoved to his feet and walked toward the corrals.

Ginny's happy laughter floated out to Jeff, and a touch of unease went through him. Was Flo trying to make herself indispensable? Did she have some ulterior motive in mind?

Worried, he got to his feet and walked toward the grove of pines behind the house. For a time, he stood with his wide shoulders against a tree, staring down at Ellen's grave. Ginny was all he had left of Ellen. If something should happen to her - he felt a touch of panic and wondered if he shouldn't get rid of Flo before she became too much a part of Ginny's life.

Again he heard the child's laughter, and his doubts about Flo faded. But his doubts about himself began to fill his mind. Had it been wrong for him to love Ellen, to ask her to share his life on this lonely ranch? Would she now be alive and happy if she had married Vance Simms? A little blindly, he turned away and stumbled toward the corrals. . . .

By the end of the second week, Flo had sent for material and had made herself a new dress. The first time Jeff saw her wearing it he felt a bit startled. It was a blue and white checked gingham - the blue matched her eyes, and the white seemed to add luster to her soft brown hair. She was, he decided, very attractive. But he had no thought of her, except as a person who was making a good life for his and Ellen's child. Ellen was still the beginning and the end of his happiness.

For four straight weeks, no rain fell, and water became something to be guarded and hoarded. The fence along Dry Creek went down on a hot Sunday night, and Crooked S cattle swarmed in on the Bar D water holes.

***

Monday morning, Joe Eagle rode out on the north range to cut out the Crooked S stock and two hours later, he came home with a blood-soaked shoulder. The bullet had been high, the wound not deep; but Joe would have to take it easy for a day or two.

"I didn't see a thing and I stayed on our side of the creek," he said grimly.

"But I've got a hunch it wasn't a stray bullet that nicked my hide."

Finished dressing the wound, Jeff went outside. He felt angry and a little sick.

He had always tried to avoid a fight with Vance Simms, but now he wasn't sure he could. Or that he wanted to. He was still standing in the shade of the bunkhouse, waiting to talk this business over with Pete, when Flo came hurrying toward him.

"Is Joe hurt very much?" she asked worriedly.

Jeff shook his head. "Just a scratch."

"What are you going to do about it, Jeff?"

Funny how it was. Looking at her, Jeff felt as if she belonged, that she was as much a part of the Bar D as the rest of them and should have a chance to help shape the future course of his actions.

"What would you suggest?" he asked

"Talk it over with the sheriff," she said quietly. "You've got too much at stake, Jeff, to start a range war. You're all Ginny has left, you know."

Joe Eagle had come to the door. Whether or not he liked the idea of Jeff asking Flo's advice couldn't be told by his expression.

"You give the word, Jeff," he said, "and I'll cross the creek and do some scouting around. It won't be too hard to pick up a trail and see where it leads."

Jeff shook his head. "Stay on our side of the creek, Joe. You're like a brother to me, and I won't have you running any unnecessary chances."

For a moment, a smile played across the Indian's bronzed face. Then it was gone, and he went back into the bunkhouse.

Jeff rode to Ralston that afternoon and told the sheriff what had happened.

Sheriff Beeson was an old man and an old friend. He knew the history of the trouble between the Bar D and the Crooked S. Listening to Jeff, worry shadowed his tired eyes.

"I'll talk to Simms," Beeson said. "I don't know what good it'll do, but I'll go see him right away. I've been afraid for a long time that you and Simms were letting this trouble get out of hand. It's no good killing a man, Jeff. Or to be killed, either. It's a big world, there's enough room in it for both of you.

I'll tell that to Simms, too. Now, go back to your ranch and take it easy until you hear from me again. "

Jeff rode back to the Bar D, filled with a feeling of approaching disaster.

Nothing had been settled by his talking with the sheriff. Nothing could be settled peaceably - the trouble was too old and too deep. The sheriff, he knew, was wrong about one thing. The world wasn't large enough for both himself and Vance Simms. But he knew equally well that Beeson was right when he'd said it was no good to kill - or be killed.

That night, he went as usual to the house to spend some time with Ginny. And, as usual, Flo left him alone with the child.

Ginny came running to him, ready for a romp. He swung her up on his shoulder and listened to the good sound of her laughter. At last, when he saw that she was growing sleepy-eyed, he said "It's time little girls and their dolls went to bed."

Ginny's old doll lay on a small stand beside Flo's worn purse. In getting the doll, Ginny knocked the purse to the floor, and the contents spilled out.

Suddenly Jeff found himself staring down at a small, pearl-handled revolver.

When he lifted his startled eyes, he saw Flo standing in the doorway, watching him in a half - frightened way.

Believing she'd done something wrong, Ginny began to cry. Flo ran to her and swept her up in his arms.

"It's all right, honey," she said gently.

She carried the child into the bedroom and tucked her into bed. Returning to the front room, she began to gather up her things and stuff them into the purse.

"My husband gave me the gun and taught me how to use it," she said. "Sometimes he had to leave me alone at night. He thought I would be safer if I was armed."

His mind filled with questions, Jeff went out into the night. Had Flo told him the truth about the gun? There was no reason to doubt her, but he couldn't help wondering if she were afraid of someone. Perhaps that was the reason she had been so eager to come to this lonely ranch? She might be in danger - he felt a sudden, frightening worry for her. And at that moment, he knew that Flo Johnson had come to mean more to him than a person hired to look after Ginny. She had begun to fill the emptiness in his heart.

The truth came to him as a shock. But after the shock had passed, he felt despair. Had he not cheated Ellen out of a long and happy life by marrying her?

If he had cheated Ellen, then would he not also cheat Flo? A man had to know the answers to questions like those before he could think of happiness.

***

Two days later, Jeff was driving calves from one water hole to another when he saw Vance Simms riding toward him. Feeling a tingle of caution, he stepped down from the saddle to wait for the Crooked S owner. A man could draw and shoot faster if he stood on the ground.

Pulling his horse up, Vance also stepped down to the ground. The twisted smile on his face was a feeble mask for his dislike and hate.

"Sheriff Beeson told me about someone taking a shot at Joe Eagle," he said.

"Thought I'd better come over and tell you I don't know who fired that shot. I stopped at your house. Your woman told me where I could find you."

He laughed suddenly.

"Quite a deal you've got, Jeff. Making everyone think you hired this girl just to look after your kid."

Jeff swung. The blow caught Vance on the chin and sent him sprawling. His dark eyes filled with unhidden hate and fury, Vance shoved up his left arm and pulled his gun with his right hand.

Jeff was ready for him. He booted Vance's arm at the elbow and sent the gun

spinning across the dry grass.

"Get up!" he said harshly. "I hate like hell to hit a man when he's down!"

Vance made no move to get to his feet.

"Sometime I'm going to kill you for that punch," he said, his lips curling. "But no dancehall girl is worth fighting about."

"You'd better explain that," Jeff said tightly.

"You mean you don't know what she is?"

Vance laughed again. It was a laugh filled with scorn.

"She was one of Big Jim Blue's girls. I ran across her one night when I paid his joint a visit for a few drinks and a good time. You don't have to take my word for it. Ask her. Or ride over to Hastings and ask Big Jim."

Jeff picked up Vance's gun, shucked out the shells and tossed the weapon into a tangle of weeds. Then he swung into the saddle and rode toward the Bar D.

Inside, he felt a cold sickness begin to form. But he had no doubt that Vance had spoken the truth. But he had to hear Flo's side of the story before he passed final judgment on her.

She had known he would come and was waiting for him on the front porch. Face deathly white, she, too, looked as if she felt sick inside.

"Do you want me to tell you about it?" she asked. "Or have you heard enough from Vance Simms?"

"I want to hear your side of it," he said hollowly.

"Thanks, Jeff," she said huskily. "I don't think I could bear it if you didn't listen."

She lifted her shoulders.

"I wasn't quite eighteen when I married Cole Johnson. I married him because he offered me a chance to get away from a place where I wasn't really wanted. I was too young to know that drudgery and not being wanted were better than being married to a man like Cole. He was a gambler, and a cheat."

A shudder ran through her.

"When he won, we lived high. When he lost, I would sing in saloons and dance halls for whatever the customers tossed to me. It wasn't much, but we ate. Then Cole was killed in a card game a few weeks before Susan was born. He'd had a lucky streak the day before and left me enough money to get along on for quite a while. Then Susan and I had pneumonia. She was so tiny and young, she couldn't take it. I wanted to die, too, but I was too strong - or too cowardly.

"When the money was gone, I sold my rings. I sold everything except the gun. It's a hide-away gun that Cole always carried. I kept that, for it was to be a quick way out for me if the going got too rough. If I could find the courage."

She met his stricken gaze.

"I'd sung some at Big Jim Blue's place in Hastings. When I was strong enough, I went back. That's where Vance Simms saw me. He came there quite often, some of the girls told me. I went back, knowing what Big Jim would expect, thinking I didn't care. Then I found I did care.

"That's about all there is to it, Jeff. I knew I could never get or hold a decent job in Hastings. I had just enough money left to bring me as far as Ralston. Now, I'll go finish my packing. You won't want to keep me here a dancehall girl taking care of your daughter. People will think, just as Vance Simms thought, that I'm your woman."

He caught her by the arm and swung her around to face him. Two things were very clear in his mind now. The old haunting question had been answered by the sneer on Vance Simms face and the scorn in his voice when he had told about Flo.

Ellen, Jeff knew now, had not chosen the wrong man to marry. She would never have known any happiness with a man like Vance Simms. He would have broken her spirit and dignity, which would have been worse than death for a girl like Ellen.

The second point that was now clear in his mind he had to tell Flo. And he wasn't quite sure how to begin. Someway he had to make her understand that the past was not important for either one of them, that it was the future that really mattered. But before he could find the right words, he saw her eyes widen in terror.

With a little cry, she put both hands against his chest and shoved, sending him off balance. In that same instant, a gun roared, and a bullet crashed into the side of the house where he had been standing.

Catching his balance, he whipped up his sixgun and fired an instant too late to hit the man who ducked around the corner of the bunkhouse. Another blast came from the unseen gun, flinging Jeff back and down.

The pain beginning to climb along his left arm, he sat up and waited. He saw the brim of Vance Simms' hat ease around the corner of the bunkhouse. Still he waited. He saw the glint of a gun barrel, the corner of the dark, handsome face.

Still he waited.

"I won't miss the next time," Vance said. "I'll get you like I got Joe Eagle.

Only I'll get you six inches lower down!"

Then the man's hate got the better of his caution. He stepped into the open to make the kill.

This was the thing Jeff had been waiting for. His gun hammered out a single shot, and the trouble between him and Vance Simms was settled for all time.

Jeff lifted his gaze from the sprawled body. Flo stood in the doorway. While he had waited, she had gotten the pearl-handled gun. She had not fired it, but he knew that if he had missed his target, she would have tried to kill Simms.

Suddenly Flo dropped down beside him and began ripping away his sleeve.

"It's not bad." Her voice was husky with relief. "The bullet went on through.

It's clean and will soon heal." Now the tears were running down her face. "Oh, Jeff, I was so afraid for you!"

He put his good arm about her and held her close. He knew that what he had to offer her was enough, just as it had been enough for Ellen. Love, loyalty, kindness - these were enough - and as soon as Flo stopped crying, he would tell her he loved her.

Of course, she already knew it, but he wanted to tell her, anyway.