Whip gave the Culpeppers a narrow, icy look and wondered how often Shannon had been forced to endure their lewd talk. Probably every time she came into town for supplies.

Damn her husband for letting it happen, Whip raged silently. If he’s half as mean as his reputation, he should cut out their filthy tongues and use them for cleaning the barrel of his buffalo gun.

But he hasn’t, and now it’s left for me to do.

A movement at the back of the store caught Whip’s attention. Murphy was slowly lifting the lid off a barrel of flour. He handled the wooden lid as though it weighed more than a side of beef. His head was turned toward Shannon rather than toward the contents of the barrel.

«What do you think, Floyd?» asked Beau over the sound of the other Culpeppers’ arguments. «Is that little girl’s teats big enough to squeeze until they turn red and white and blue like a Yankee flag?»

Whip tried to control the anger tightening his gut. It was a losing battle. He couldn’t stop thinking how he would feel if it were his woman shopping alone while men talked loudly about how she would look naked and what size her breasts were.

If Shannon were my wife, when I came back from yondering I would hunt the Culpeppers down like the coyotes they are.

The thought didn’t satisfy Whip. Sometimes a yondering man didn’t come back. And even when he did, nothing could erase the sickening memory of humiliation in his woman’s eyes.

Damn Silent John anyway! If he can’t take care of a girl like Shannon, he never should have married her and brought her to such a rough place.

«Well, Floyd,» Beau persisted. «What do you think about them teats?»

Floyd belched, scratched his crotch thoughtfully, and said, «I think Silent John is a damned good shot.»

«So what?» Beau retorted. «We ain’t touchin’ her. Thet was all we was warned about. Touchin’.»

«And followin’,» Clim added.

«We ain’t done thet, neither,» Beau said.

«Not after the first time,» Floyd agreed.

He pulled off his hat and stuck two fingers through two bullet holes in the brim.

«Damn fine shootin’,» Floyd said. «Must have been near a thousand yards. Sure never saw hide nor hair of him, neither.»

«All we done is try to be friendly-like to his wife,» Clim said. «Follow her an’ see she got home safe.»

«Yeah. We was bein’ neighborly.» Beau smiled, showing a line of sharp, uneven teeth. «Like now. Right neighborly. Thinkin’ warm thoughts about birds and tight little nests.»

«Downright hot nest, I’ll bet,» Darcy mumbled.

«Stuck-up bitch,» Clim muttered.

«Murphy,» Whip said sharply. «Start measuring that flour instead of staring at it. I’m getting tired of hearing dogs break wind.»

«Huh?» Clim said.

For a few moments there was silence while the Culpeppers tried to figure out if they had been insulted, and if so, how.

Murphy slammed the lid back on the flour barrel and walked slowly to the front of the store. He was carrying a small sack of flour over one shoulder and a much smaller bag of salt in his left hand.

«Do you think she yells?» Darcy asked no one in particular.

«What you yammerin’ about now?» Beau demanded.

«Her, what else?» Darcy said impatiently. «When the old fart bends her over a chair and goes to rutting on her, does she fight and yelp and beg for mercy, or does she just let him do it any way he wants and whimper for more like a bitch in heat?»

Darcy will be the second one, Whip decided.

A subtle movement of Whip’s right shoulder dislodged the bullwhip’s coils, sending them sliding down his right arm. His left hand closed around the butt of the long lash as the coils fell toward the floor.

The bullwhip came alive.

With each small motion of Whip’s left hand, waves of energy rippled through the bullwhip, making the long, slender length of the lash seethe and whisper delicately like a snake gliding through dead grass.

Whip began whistling softly through his teeth, looking at nothing, yet seeing every move the four Culpeppers made. None of them noticed. They had already decided Whip was no threat.

Last chance, boys. Clean up your talk or have it cleaned up for you.

Murphy walked past Shannon, leered at her, and plunked the flour and salt down on the counter.

«Be back with the lard in a minute,» Murphy said. «Take good care of her, boys.»

The Culpeppers laughed. Then they stopped laughing and eased closer to Shannon. Beau looked Shannon over with speculative, watery eyes, eyes that stripped her as she stood there, eyes that probed every curve and shadow for the vulnerable female body beneath the cloth.

Shannon stood like a wild animal frozen in the moment of discovery by a hunter, poised on the edge of panicked flight. She was white and flushed by turns, obviously fighting for control.

«Dunno how she likes it, Darcy, or if she likes it a’tall,» Beau drawled.

Shannon flinched despite her desperate attempt not to show that she heard Beau’s words.

«Know how I’d like it, though,» Beau continued. «I’d cut her pants open with a knife, put those little feet behind her ears, and — Ow!»

Beau’s screech covered the pop of the bullwhip, but nothing could hide the bright gush of blood from his mouth.

Like lightning, Whip’s hand flicked again.

The long lash writhed and snapped, striking too quickly for the eye to follow. Darcy bent over, grabbing his crotch and trying to yell through a throat closed by pain.

Whip didn’t even hesitate. Surprise was on his side, but only for a few more seconds.

Snap.

Clim grabbed his shirt, which was suddenly split from collar to waist.

Snap.

Floyd’s hat was sliced in two.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Beau grabbed for his trousers. The steel buttons that had once held up his pants were bouncing and rolling across the mercantile’s uneven wood floor.

The rest of the Culpeppers were still dancing in place and looking around for the hornet nest they must have kicked over.

«Wonder how you boys would look without your clothes?» Whip asked sardonically.

Snap. Snap.

«Rawboned and filthy, I’ll wager,» Whip continued, «with privates smaller than a rat’s.»

The lash hissed and snapped in savage counterpoint to Whip’s words, flaying buttons from cloth and cloth from flesh.

While the Culpeppers hopped and yelped and their clothes were shredded too quickly for the eye to follow, Whip kept on giving the Culpeppers back the words they had used to bait Shannon.

«Are you going to scream and beg for mercy?» Whip asked. «Or do you like being whipped so much you’ll whine and ask for more? Which will it be, boys? Speak up. Usually I’m a patient man, but you’ve plumb rode my temper raw.»

By now, three of the Culpeppers were bent over, covering their crotches with whatever remained of their pants.

The fourth Culpepper went for his gun.

The bullwhip uncoiled in a blur of speed. Leather shot hungrily around Floyd’s wrist. After a quick, hard jerk, Whip flicked the lash free, retrieved it, and struck again. Floyd yelped and flailed and fell to his knees. Blood streamed from a long cut just beneath both eyebrows.

«I’ll kill the next one who goes for his gun,» Whip said. «That includes you, Murphy.»

«I ain’t reachin’ for nothin’,» Murphy said calmly.

«Keep it that way.»

Then the lash was still.

Silence gathered like a storm while Whip looked over the Culpepper boys. Other than Beau and Floyd, there was no blood, simply stinging welts. Yet everyone in the room knew that Whip could have reduced the Culpeppers to scarlet shreds as easily as he had disarmed Floyd. The attack had been so unexpected and so swift that they had never had a chance to gather their wits, much less fight back effectively.

«Boys, I’ve known outhouses with cleaner mouths than yours,» Whip said. «I’m purely sick of your filth. If you all want to keep a tongue in your head, put a bridle on it when you’re around a woman. Hear me?»