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dammit!” Langley bellowed. Blood was beginning to seep through the hole in his trousers, but his demands were ignored as Ian mulled over the sheriff’s words. He could either argue with the sheriff and further delay his journey home or he could agree and get the train moving again. “All right,” he said to her. “Come on.”
    It was easy to see from her tightly set features that she’d rather not, but she had no choice and so fell in beside him for the walk back to the train.
    Once aboard, the conductor said breathlessly, “Thank you! Are you taking her back to the cattle car?”
    â€œNo, she’ll be in the seat by me.” He pulled a pair of cuffs from his coat and clapped one ring on her wrist and the other on his.
    The startled man looked at her mud-stained skirt and boots. “But she can’t ride in the main car.”
    Ian shot him a dark look.
    â€œUm, well maybe she can, as long as you take full responsibility for the safety of the other passengers.”
    â€œIsn’t that what just happened?”
    The man cleared his throat. “I, um, I’ll have the engineer get us under way.”
    â€œYou do that.”
    So the female prisoner now under his care took Ian’s seat by the window. Ignoring the outraged faces of the other passengers, he settled into the aisle beside her and the train resumed its journey to the next stop. Kansas City.
    M aggie didn’t know what to make of the marshal seated beside her, but she did know that she’d never witnessed anyone take down three men in the space of a breath the way he’d done back there. If Sheriff Wells had his way and all the charges against Langley stood, she’d never have to worry about Langley threatening her life ever again. But that left the problem of how to escape from Bigelow, or better still, convince him to let her go. After the astounding display of his gun prowess an escape attempt didn’t seem real smart. Convincing him to let her go might prove the better idea, but in truth, she was stuck with him, at least for the present.
    The train got under way and she was glad to be away from Dowd. She could see only a portion of Bigelow’s face because of the brim of his black hat, but the green eyes were memorable. He had a faded scar that ran vertically down his unshaven cheek. She looked around the car and found herself being scrutinized by the other well-dressed passengers. There wasn’t a friendly face in the bunch. Admittedly she looked like something the cat dragged in because she had been dragged through mud and manure and heaven only knew what else. Her hair had come loose of its single plait and was wild as an eagle’s nest, and she was so dirty she could smell herself from a mile away. Like the conductor, the paying customers probably wanted her in the cattle car, but she had the marshal to thank for not agreeing. He could have just as easily retied her, tossed her in with the cows and horses, and fetched her when they reached Kansas City. That he hadn’t made her wonder what kind of man he was.
    Something else that caught her attention was the tone of voice he’d used during the confrontation with Langley and his men. He hadn’t yelled or shouted. In fact, he had a way of speaking that might be considered soft-spoken until you heard the deadly power behind the words. Watching him scare the bejesus out of them, he’d reminded her of a coiled snake. You knew it would strike, just not when.
    She hazarded a glance his way and found him reading a Harper’s Weekly . That surprised her as well. Not many people in the West were literate enough to read just for the sake of reading, so she assumed him to be an educated man. She added that kernel of information to the pot and wondered what else she might learn about Deputy Marshal Vance Bigelow before he handed her over to the authorities in Kansas City.
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œMaggie