The Devil’s Revolver
Hettie couldn’t say what had woken her; her eyes had simply snapped open and she’d known something was amiss.
Sure enough, she found the rope had been chewed through, the frayed ends still wet. Dammit, Abby. This was the third time in two weeks. She yanked her coat over her thin nightgown, grabbed her boots and Winchester and padded quickly down the stairs. Outside, she pushed her bare feet into the cold, hard leather and checked her rifle’s action, loading it quickly. Coyotes were often seen roaming the ranch, and there’d been rumors of a pack of wolves roving the hills. But out here, it was men Hettie was more afraid of.