May nodded, and the two girls began the return journey.
“I wish there were a way for this madness to end,” May said. “How long has Charlie Sheldon torn this town apart?”
Abigail did not reply. She knew exactly how much time had elapsed since Charlie and his boys first rode into Casper. Gone were those better days when her brother, William, served as the town sheriff. She missed him dearly.
It was still unknown as to how Charlie came into contact with Jim Markham, but it wasn’t long after the rustlers first appeared that they began stirring up conflict in town. In those days, not much was known about Charlie or his outfit. When Charlie passed through Casper the first couple of times, only three or four others rode with him. There was nothing to indicate the full strength of his outfit.
Abigail’s brother kept a close eye on the strangers, waiting for a sign of trouble. Charlie left for parts unknown, and word spread that some of the men he left behind had signed on with Big Jim. Things continued peacefully for a time, with the strangers largely removed from town. Then one night, two of the newcomers beat a man to death outside the saloon over a game of poker. After a struggle, William took the inebriated attackers into custody.
The men lingered in jail for almost a week before the other two strangers stole several horses from a nearby ranch and killed their owner when he attempted to prevent the theft. William rode up to Big Jim’s ranch to give him fair warning about what his hands were up to, but the rancher provided no help. A few days later, William received word that the stolen horses had been sold in Rawlins by men matching the strangers’ descriptions. William tracked the men down, killed one of them in a shootout, and took the other man prisoner.
Then Charlie Sheldon returned, and everything went to hell. Abigail remembered seeing her brother for dinner a few days before his death, when William rode out to the ranch to seek their father’s advice. Tobias begged his son to stay the night, but William returned to town shortly after a tense conversation around the dinner table. The next time Abigail saw her brother, he was dead. Charlie Sheldon had gunned William down in cold blood. That was the beginning of his reign of terror.
“Are you all right?” May asked.
Abigail blinked. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was lost in thought.”
May offered a knowing smile. The death of William had only served to strengthen their friendship. Through the years, they had bonded over the shared hardships of life in the West. The two girls neared the barns, enjoying the cool breeze and warmth of the sun.
It was then that May grabbed her friend’s shoulder. There was an urgency in her voice. “Abigail,” May said. “Do those men work for your father?” She pointed at four riders who had suddenly appeared to the west.
Abigail appeared confused. “I’m not sure,” she whispered.
Sunlight glistened off the riders’ guns. May’s eyes widened. “Run!” she said. The two girls retreated toward the barn.
“Mac!” Abigail shouted urgently to one of the farmhands. “Someone’s coming!”
Mac wiped the sweat from his brow and yelled something to the other nearby hands. “Get behind us,” he said to the girls.
The rustlers came to a stop several feet away from the barn.
“Afternoon,” Quinn Blackwell said, commanding everyone’s attention. He touched his hat.
“Can we help you with something?” Mac asked. Although none of the farmhands wore pistols, they kept a rifle in the barn in case it was necessary to put down an animal or shoot a predator. Mac’s eyes darted toward the weapon, which was propped up just out of reach.
“I’d say so,” Quinn said. His gaze sought out the two young women standing behind the row of farmhands. “Miss Vincent,” he said. Quinn touched his hat again. “I’d like you to come with us. Jim Markham wants to have a little talk with you about your father’s recent business decisions.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” replied Ben Sanders, a man who had worked for Tobias Vincent for almost twenty years.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Quinn said. In a flash, he took out his revolver and shot Ben through the chest.
Abigail screamed.
Mac dove inside the barn and snatched up the rifle. He stepped back into the light and pulled the trigger. Quinn’s horse reared, throwing him to the ground. Two of the farmhands fell upon him, but Quinn, surprisingly fast with his guns, cut both men down with his revolver.
“Go!” Mac shouted to the girls, and Abigail and May ran toward the field of tall grasses.
* * * * *
From his spot on the ground, Quinn watched the two girls flee. “After them!” he shouted, firing at the farmhand shooting from the barn. Two horsemen sped off in the direction of the young women. The other rustler remained at Quinn’s side and provided enough cover for him to regain his footing.
Mac stepped out from the barn and pulled the trigger, but the gun clicked empty. The two rustlers shot him down in cold blood.
“Follow the others,” Quinn said to one of the gang. As the man spurred his horse toward the field, Quinn holstered his guns and went to find his horse, leaving the farmhand to die alone.
* * * * *
With the rustlers fast approaching, the two girls scrambled wildly through the field.
“Stay close to me!” May said to Abigail. The grain concealed them but made it almost impossible to see where they were going. May seized the younger girl’s hand and led her farther into the labyrinth. Gunshots echoed behind them, and May could hear the horses closing the gap. When she glanced over her shoulder to get a better look at their attackers, her foot slipped over a rock. The young woman lost her grip on Abigail’s hand and tumbled to the ground.
“Abigail?” May shouted. She stumbled to her feet. “Abigail!” May surged forward, her pulse racing, and suddenly she spilled out into the open. She emerged at the edge of a cornfield overlooking the bank of a pond. The forest loomed distantly like the lure of a siren. She paused, uncertain of what path to take. May spotted Abigail ahead, running toward the forest. She started to call out to her friend.
Then one of the rustlers emerged behind May. The two made eye contact, and the man tugged the reins and rode in her direction. The young woman took a deep breath and sprinted into the cornfield. She weaved between the rows, trying to lose him. A second rider appeared behind him.
“Help!” she shouted, praying someone would hear her.
The first rider was almost upon her. May slipped in the mud and rolled down the bank of the pond. Before she could climb to her feet, the rustler appeared on the edge of the bank, having dismounted from his horse. He outpaced her and seized her by the neck. The rustler held the girl in place and looked her over quickly.
“You aren’t the one,” he muttered, upset that he had wasted his time pursuing the wrong woman. The more she struggled to get free, the tighter he squeezed. His foul breath blew over her face. May fought to breathe. She clawed at the rustler’s face, trying to get free. Her nails dug deep into his skin, which started to bleed. The rustler roared with anger.
“You’re going to regret that,” he spat.
He dragged the struggling girl to the edge of the pond. The rustler forced her head down toward the water. She resisted with every ounce of energy she possessed, but after a time, May’s strength left her, and the water rushed over her head. She felt herself losing consciousness.
Abruptly, the man’s weight was pulled off of her. May’s head burst out of the water, and she sucked in a lungful of air. The young woman collapsed on the bank. Her dress was covered in mud, and her wet brown hair clung to her face. Panting, she looked up and saw Mr. Emerson fighting her attacker. The rustler aimed a punch at Emerson, who swatted the blow away with ease and caught the man in his solar plexus. The man staggered back and slipped in the mud. Emerson kicked him in the face with his boot, and
the man rolled into the pond.
“Come on,” Emerson said, taking her hand.
Another rustler appeared at the edge of the cornfield above them. Emerson moved like a blur, drawing his pistol and shooting the man, who fell from his horse and landed in the mud.
He quickly led May to his horse and helped her into the saddle. “We have to get out of here,” he said mounting Galahad. “There are more of them out there.” Emerson kicked his horse in the sides, and together they emerged from the cornfield.
“Abigail,” May said, her voice weak from the rustler’s arm around her throat.
Emerson nodded toward the forest, where Finley emerged on horseback, carrying Abigail Vincent on the back of his saddle.
* * * * *
Christian searched for Russell Hale, who had led him to the ranch, but the mayor had seemingly vanished. His eyes narrowed. Something was wrong.
A horseman appeared behind Finley and began chasing the pair back toward the ranch. Christian spurred Galahad onward in the opposite direction, straight at the killer.
“Take the reins!” he shouted to May. As she did, he pulled out both of his pistols and fired at the rustler. One of the shots hit the man in the shoulder, and he retreated. Christian holstered his guns and took the reins back before falling in behind Finley.
“Where are we taking them?” Finley yelled.
Christian was glad the young man had tagged along. Initially, Russell was resistant to Finley’s involvement, presumably since Finley had only recently recovered from his beating at the hands of the Pennington brothers.
“Back to the ranch!” he shouted. Surely Russell would be waiting for them there, along with Abigail’s father.
They gained speed and closed in on the barn. Christian kept his gaze trained on the large house ahead. That was when he noticed the line of riders stretched out over the hill. Charlie Sheldon sat on horseback in the middle of the group, next to Russell Hale.
They were betrayed, and hopelessly outnumbered. As the rustlers started charging down the hill, Christian swiveled in the saddle.
“Get to the barn!” he shouted at Finley.
Once inside, he dismounted quickly and shut the two large barn doors with Finley’s help. The girls remained on the horses, in the event they had the opportunity to make a quick escape. Christian pulled his pistols, and Finley loaded his shotgun. The area outside the barn was exposed by a small gap in the wooden planks comprising the front doors. He could see the rustlers approaching in the distance.
“What are we going to do?” Finley asked.
“I don’t know,” Christian said, swallowing. He’d been led into a trap, and there was no way out.
Only seconds later, Charlie Sheldon’s voice echoed through the barn doors.
“Emerson! I know you’re in there with the Vincent girl. Why don’t you come on out?”
“Charlie,” Christian replied, loud enough for the outlaw to hear. He peered through the gap in the wooden planks. The rustlers all had their guns trained on the barn. He glanced at Finley, who looked poised to charge alongside him into oblivion. Christian’s eyes moved to the two girls, who fearfully watched from horseback.
“There’s no need for further bloodshed,” Charlie said. He appeared absolutely gleeful at the prospect of having finally bested the person who had been killing his men, and who now found himself cornered. “Why not throw your guns away? There’s no need for harm to come to the girls inside, and I’d rather have you alive at any rate.”
Christian considered his offer.
“Don’t give in,” Finley insisted. “We can take them. I believe in you.” The young man’s wounds had healed in a relatively short time, but he was in no condition for another fight.
Despite the tension in the air, the words caused Christian to smile. He knew Finley would follow him to his death if he asked him to. But Christian had something else in mind.
“I know you do, Finley. That’s why you have to trust me.” His eyes darted to the rear of the barn. “Open the back doors.” While Finley was busy, he replied to Charlie.
“I have another offer,” he shouted. “Let Finley and the girls ride away, and I’ll give myself up. Otherwise, I’m coming out this door with both pistols blazing.”
“Don’t be crazy,” Charlie spat. “You’ll be killed.”
“Maybe so, but I’ll take a few of your boys with me, Charlie. Maybe I’ll even take you too.”
“And what’s there to stop us from opening fire on the barn right now?”
“Abigail Vincent is of no use to you if she’s dead. Big Jim wouldn’t take too kindly to that.”
“Fine,” Charlie said after a pause.
Christian nodded to Finley. “Get them out of here,” he whispered. “Don’t look back until you get to town.”
“What are you doing?” Finley demanded. “We have to fight!”
“Not this time,” Christian said sadly. “I wish there was another way, but there’s not. He’s got us trapped, and he knows it. There are too many of them for us to fight. Even if we tried, Abigail and May would be at risk. But if I surrender myself, at least you’ll have the chance to get away.” There was no other choice. He had done all he could.
“Mr. Emerson,” Finley protested emotionally. “You can’t.”
“Don’t,” Christian replied. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and nodded.
“Wait,” May said. She slid off the horse and walked toward them. Before Christian knew what was happening, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
Finley’s mouth dropped open in shock.
Christian pulled away. He glanced at Finley. The look of betrayal on the young man’s face was palpable. Then he stared past Christian to the front of the barn, and his expression softened.
“The Union,” Christian said.
“What?” Finley asked, looking confused.
“I was a captain in the Union Army,” Christian said, his face hard. “We were in Georgia. They ordered me to burn a town to the ground. I refused and tried to stop them, and they branded me a traitor. I lost everything—my fortune, my fiancée—all of it. I’ve been running ever since, but not anymore—because of you.” Christian nodded at Finley. “Go,” he said sternly. “Now.”
Finley helped May onto Christian’s horse and then joined Abigail on his own. He looked back at his friend. As their eyes met, tears ran down the young man’s face.
Christian nodded, and Finley took off. Christian watched the two horses disappear over the hill.
He looked over his guns, studying the crafted metal and the silver tips. By choice or not, he had lived by the sword for so long he no longer knew another way.
I gave it my best, he thought.
“They’re gone,” Charlie yelled. “Time’s up.”
Christian threw his pistols into the dirt. Then he opened the barn doors and stepped into the sun.
Chapter Sixteen
Russell Hale knew he had made a mistake. Like many regrets in life, this realization came a good deal too late. The mayor sat on the steps of the courthouse, his head buried in his hands. The streets of Casper had fallen quiet and were almost devoid of any sign of activity. Harsh winds kicked up dust around the closed stores, heralding things to come.
The mayor reached for the bottle beside him. It was of little comfort. Try as he might, Russell was unable to pry his eyes away from the mountain range for long. He didn’t want to consider what horrors were occurring on Big Jim’s ranch.
This is my fault, he knew. Russell had handed Emerson over to Charlie Sheldon in return for a peace he was certain would be short lived. The mayor took a step down onto the road and stumbled, spilling liquor onto the ground. How far he had fallen.
Russell ambled down the road, past the burned rem
ains of the saloon. The mayor remembered when the saloon was built, and the look of pride on Rudolph Griffith’s face. That was a man with grit. Griffith had been willing to stand and fight for what he believed in. If only more people stood as firm in their convictions. The fact was, Russell wasn’t the only coward in Casper. Almost everyone in town bore some of the blame for what had happened. They had allowed evil into their town and had proven too weak to confront it. Time after time they were given the opportunity to do something, yet they did nothing until at last it was left to a stranger from parts unknown to act on their behalf. And now, he was gone too.
Russell pictured his father, Jefferson, who had been mayor before him. Jefferson Hale would never have allowed Charlie Sheldon’s gang to flourish. He would have stood up to Big Jim. He would have sent for the marshals. Russell hung his head. If only his father could see him now.
He closed his eyes and tried to wish away the past. All he could see was the look on Emerson’s face as he walked out of the barn, unarmed. When Emerson met his eyes, Russell didn’t even have the gumption to look away. Instead of hate, Emerson’s gaze reflected only disappointment.
In that moment, the mayor felt compelled to say something―anything―to explain his actions. He wanted desperately to make Emerson understand.
“I’m sorry,” Russell had said. “It was the only way.”
In the seconds before Kane Pennington clubbed Emerson over the head with a rifle and bound his hands with rope, the man said something Russell knew he would never forget.
“Being brave isn’t about not having fear. It’s about choosing to act in spite of it. You always had a choice, Russell.” He looked into Russell with eyes that seemed to penetrate the mayor’s very soul. The mayor felt his inequities laid bare, at last, for everyone to see.
Russell had always possessed a talent for reading people―it was one of the reasons he was a good politician. Yet as he stood there, it was as if Emerson saw something in the mayor that even Russell could not. It was the only time Emerson had called him by his first name.
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