She shot Cal a murderous glare—not that he could see the fire in her eyes. Too bad about that. Now where could these men have heard about her, if not from this no-good, backstabbing gambler?
To her astonishment Cal tossed her a warning glance and discreetly squeezed her hand before he released it.
Now she was completely confused.
“You first, gringo,” the thief wearing fancy silver spurs demanded. “Empty your pockets.”
Cal accommodated by slowly reaching into the pocket of his breeches to retrieve a hefty roll of bank notes, then pulled off his diamond-studded ring.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Silver Spurs taunted as he raised his pearl-handled Colt and aimed it at Cal’s head. “What else ya got that’s of any worth?”
Cal fished into his vest pocket for the expensive watch and a handful of silver dollars. “That’s all I have,” he said. “You’ve wiped me out until someone takes pity and grubstakes me for another poker game.”
Silver Spurs gestured his head—which was concealed by the bandana mask and a wide-brimmed sombrero—to the two hombres riding a roan and a buckskin gelding. “Loot the strongbox while Granny hands over her valuables.”
“I have nothing valuable except sixty years of wit and wisdom,” she insisted.
Silver Spurs snorted. “You’ll have to do better than that, crone. Now hand over your money and valuables before I lose my patience.”
Quinn flinched when the old woman huddled closely behind him and commenced yowling about how she was so terrified that she was about to have a seizure.
“Don’t let them hurt me, Cal!” she shrieked.
“Nobody will be biting any bullets if you cooperate, lady,” Silver Spurs snapped. “Now hurry it up.”
Quinn tried not to show his surprise when he felt Agatha tug on the waistband of his breeches, then drop something down the back of his pants. Then she shuffled sideways to step into clear view of the four outlaws holding them at gunpoint.
“I told you I didn’t have much money,” she gritted out as she opened her beaded reticule. She waved one lone coin in Silver Spur’s masked face. “See? Only one lousy dollar. And if the fright you have given me over one measly coin becomes the death of me, I swear I will come back to haunt you.”
“Agatha…” Quinn muttered warningly.
“What? Just because I’m down to my last dollar and he’s taking it from me doesn’t mean I have to like it. And shame on all of you!” she shouted at the gang at large.
“Agatha—” he began again.
“Scaring an old woman to death like this,” she harrumphed. “If you don’t cease your wicked ways you will all wind up in the seventh circle of hell!”
“Will you please shut up!” Quinn growled, but quietly.
“Fine. I’m shutting up—” Her voice broke off when a shotgun blast erupted from behind the coach, startling the team of horses.
“Hey, boss, come look what we found,” one of the thieves called out a moment later.
Silver Spurs gestured his pistol toward the coach. “You two get back inside, pronto.”
Quinn grabbed Agatha’s hand, but she pushed him ahead of her. No doubt, she intended to block the outlaws’ view so they wouldn’t notice the bulge in the seat of his breeches.
“Some watchdog you turned out to be.” Agatha scowled at the pup that was sprawled out on the seat.
Quinn heard the cackles of delight coming from the back of the stage. Obviously the booty in the strongbox had pacified the bandits.
Six gunshots erupted simultaneously and the stage lurched forward. Harnesses jangled. Horses whinnied. Another round of gunfire sent the team lunging off at a swift pace.
Quinn thrust his head out the window, noting the driver and guard—their arms held high—had been left afoot.
The bandits split up and headed for the hills.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered as the runaway coach careened around a sharp curve, hurling Agatha against the window frame.
Flinging open the door, Quinn tried to twist around to grab the luggage rail atop the coach. Agatha pulled him off balance and he sprawled backward on the floorboards. Snarling, he stared up at that veil-covered face. He was tempted to rip off that concealing getup so he could give her the full benefit of his irritated glare.
“What is the matter with you, woman?”
“You are not bailing out on me,” she snapped brusquely. “You are in on this scheme, aren’t you?”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Where did you get the idea that I’m part of that outlaw gang?”
“You knew we were about to be robbed,” she hurled in accusation.
“That’s because I have good instincts.”
She scoffed at that and tilted her head to a challenging angle.
“I wasn’t bailing out on you,” he insisted as he lurched to his knees. “In case you haven’t noticed, no one is guiding this coach. Unless you want to plunge off a cliff I need to climb onto the driver’s seat and get control of the horses.”
“Fine, but not until I have my money and valuables back!”
Grumbling, Quinn rolled onto one hip and dug out the heavy pouch that she had stashed on him for safekeeping. “There. Happy now?”
She bobbed her head a couple of times and clutched the leather pouch to her ample bosom.
Muttering at the woman’s obsession with her worldly possessions, Quinn plunked onto the seat and hurriedly strapped on his holsters. He couldn’t track those desperadoes until he stopped this stage and grabbed one of the horses. Agatha, insisting on retrieving her precious valuables, had cost him several minutes he didn’t have to spare. Those bandits could be miles away before he went after them.
Clamping a hand on the luggage rack again, Quinn leaned out to survey the road ahead of them. “Son of a bitch!”
He recoiled the instant before the opened door crashed into an outcropping of rock on the narrow trail. The door was ripped off its hinges and it shattered to pieces against the stone wall beside them.
Quinn collapsed on the seat and gripped the window frames on either side of him. He stared solemnly at the old harridan. “Agatha, if you’re a religious woman, I suggest you start praying. Now.”
“Why?” Her voice was wild with alarm.
He nodded his ruffled head toward the open doorway. “Take a look for yourself.”
She grabbed the window frame and peeked out. “Good God!” she howled in dismay.
“My sentiments exactly. And it’s been nice knowing you…sort of.”
The mountain pass they were traveling at breakneck speed had opened into a yawning canyon where the ledge plunged at least a hundred feet straight down. It would take only one wheel dropping off that unprotected curve in the road to send the coach plummeting off the cliff. No way could Quinn scramble atop the stage to gain control of the horses on such a dangerous bend of the road. All he could do was hold on for dear life and encourage Agatha to do the same.
The coach jostled and rocked on its springs. Fallen rock must have littered the path because the stage bounced violently. He and Agatha were simultaneously launched upward and tossed off balance.
The pup howled and cartwheeled onto the floorboards.
Timber cracked and shattered. Quinn had the sickening feeling that the front left wheel