Free Ride the Panther by Kerry Newcomb

attention from Lorelei to Pacer and back to Lorelei, who still clutched McQueen’s bedroll to her bosom.
    “You little trollop. I take you off that mud farm of your pa’s and this is the thanks I get. The minute I turn my back, you run off with some no-account drifter.”
    “Hold off and let the waters clear, mister. I’m sure we can come to some kind of understanding,” Pacer interjected. Although he was in Confederate territory, the Union troops weren’t all that far off, and to a man on the run in these days of clashing armies and shifting loyalties, just about any town could be considered enemy country.
    “You can go to hell,” the man in the doorway growled as he advanced on Pacer. The Choctaw Kid palmed the Colt he had tucked in his waistband and trained it on Shapter. The man halted in his tracks.
    “Stand aside. I’ll be on my way,” Pacer told him.
    “So you aim to steal my wife,” Shapter exclaimed.
    Wife? So that was the reason the big man was so all-fired determined. A jealous husband was as unpredictable as a twister and to be avoided at all possible costs.
    Pacer kept the man covered and managed to lead the pinto out of the stall. He reached out and took his bedroll and gunbelt from Lorelei and draped them over his saddle. Then with the gun he waved Shapter out of the way and headed for the open door and freedom.
    “What about me?” Lorelei said. “You can’t just leave me here.” The alarm in her voice was real. She followed after Pacer and inadvertently came within arm’s reach of Shapter, who caught her by the wrist and hurled her backward against a wall hung with bridles and blankets and carriage harnesses.
    “He ain’t got no use for you. But I do. You shamed me, girl. You won’t be likely to run off again,” Shapter said. He turned his back on McQueen as if dismissing him out of hand. Shapter had an abiding respect for the Colt .36 Pacer kept trained on him. Lorelei had no such protection and became the obvious focus of his rage.
    “Don’t ever let the sunset catch you in this town again,” Shapter added as a menacing afterthought. Pacer eased himself through the doorway and out of the stable. The rain had eased somewhat, but the ground was crisscrossed with tiny creeks and rivulets. Each wheel rut was a flash flood in miniature. A cooling breeze rippled the watery curtain, behind which the streets of Fort Smith appeared to dissolve and reform in ever-shifting patterns. Pacer sensed magic in the phenomenon. He paused alongside the Kentucky mare that Frank Shapter had abandoned to the elements after catching sight of Lorelei and the Choctaw Kid within. Pacer stood against the wall in the deepening night and realized he could not bring himself to leave. And this time it had nothing to do with the likes of Frank Shapter. No one told Pacer Wolf McQueen to tuck his tail and run. A smart man would ride, a sensible man would leave and never look back. The girl was the worst kind of trouble, and Shapter was a bully in his own backyard with family and friends to come to his aid if need be. Pacer stood with his back to the stable wall running through every argument in a desperate attempt to convince himself to leave. It was a brave but hopeless gesture. He looped the reins in his hand over the doorlatch and then stepped around and entered the stable once again.
    Shapter stood with his back to Pacer. Droplets of water sprayed from the man’s black coat as he backhanded Lorelei to the hard-packed floor. She cursed her assailant, her voice thick with pain. It took all her willpower to hold back the tears.
    “You’re my wife. The parson hitched us legal. Better you learn to accept it.”
    “I don’t care what you paid my pa,” she said. “You ain’t ever gonna have any rights over me. You can’t make me stay.” Her auburn hair spilled forward to partly conceal her hate-filled features. “I’ll leave even if I have to crawl.”
    “You’ll crawl, all right. Get yourself back in the