Marcus stayed three paces behind, far enough that Dne couldn’t disarm him easily, close enough to shoot if needed.

People watched them pass.

Women paused in their shopping to stare.

Men stopped their conversations to track their progress down Main Street.

By noon, everyone in Rust Valley would know that the stranger who’ challenged Victor Hail was being marched to a reckoning.

Victor’s house sat on the north edge of town exactly as Dutch had described.

Two stories, painted white, though the paint was peeling in places, a wide porch wrapped around the front, and behind it Dne could see what looked like a stable and several outbuildings, the kind of spread that announced wealth and permanence.

Marcus led him around to the back entrance through a gate and a white picket fence that looked ridiculous in this desert town.

They entered through the kitchen.

She was there.

Min stood at a cast iron stove, stirring something in a pot.

She wore a different dress than yesterday, gray cotton, equally plain, and her hair was pulled back in the same severe style.

The bruise on her face had darkened overnight to deep purple and sickly yellow.

She looked up as they entered, and her eyes met Dnees for just a moment.

In that brief connection, he saw fear.

Not for herself.

She’d moved beyond that, he suspected.

Fear for him.

Fear that his interference would make everything worse.

Then she looked away back to her cooking, becoming invisible through stillness.

Wait here, Marcus said, then disappeared through an interior door.

The kitchen was clean, well organized, with copper pots hanging from hooks and shelves lined with preserves and dry goods.

Everything in its place, everything controlled like Mlin herself.

Ordered, contained, a life reduced to function.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” she said quietly, not looking at him.

Didn’t have much choice.

“You always have a choice.

You chose wrong.

” She stirred the pot with mechanical precision.

Victor is angry.

When he’s angry, he’s dangerous.

I’ve dealt with dangerous men before.

Not like him.

Now, she did glance at him, and her expression carried something that might have been pity.

You think because you’re fast with a gun, because you’re not afraid, that means you can win.

But Victor doesn’t fight fair, he doesn’t fight at all.

He destroys.

And he uses the law, the town, everyone’s fear to do it.

Then he needs to be stopped.

By who? you.

Min actually laughed though there was no joy in it.

One man against everything he’s built.

You’ll be dead by sunset or in jail or disappeared like the others who thought they could stand against him.

Others like your sister.

She went very still.

The spoon stopped moving.

What do you know about her? Just what Sarah told me.

That she tried to run? That she didn’t make it? Min’s hands trembled slightly on the spoon handle.

Lily was foolish.

She believed in justice, in righteousness.

She thought that because something was wrong, someone would make it right.

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.

She died believing that I won’t.

What do you believe? That survival is all that matters.

That fighting men like Victor is how you end up dead.

That sometimes the only way to win is to endure.

She finally looked at him fully.

I’ve endured for 3 years.

I can endure longer, but you you’ll just get yourself killed trying to save someone who can’t be saved.

Before Dne could respond, the interior door opened again.

Marcus reappeared, jerking his head.

He’ll see you now.

Dne followed the deputy through a hallway lined with expensive wallpaper and paintings that probably cost more than most people in Rust Valley made in a year.

The house was a monument to Victor’s success.

Each room they passed displaying wealth in increasingly ostentatious ways.

They stopped at a door of dark wood, ornately carved.

Marcus knocked twice.

“Come.

” The voice from inside was cultured, educated, nothing like Dne expected.

The office beyond was everything a successful businessman’s domain should be.

Bookline shelves, a massive desk of polished mahogany, leather chairs, a globe that looked ancient and valuable, and behind the desk, Victor Hail himself.

He looked different than he had in the store, calmer, more composed, dressed in a suit that probably came from San Francisco or even New York.

His hair was neatly combed, his mustache precisely trimmed.

He could have been a banker, a lawyer, a senator, but his eyes were the same.

Cold, calculating, predatory.

Mr.

Callaway.

Victor gestured to one of the chairs.

Please sit.

Marcus, you can wait outside.

The deputy hesitated, clearly unhappy about leaving his boss alone with Dne, but Victor’s dismissal was absolute.

Marcus left, closing the door behind him.

Dne remained standing.

Victor smiled slightly.

Suit yourself.

I understand you’ve been asking questions about me, about my business dealings, about Mlin.

That’s right.

May I ask why? Call it curiosity.

Curiosity.

Victor leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

Dangerous thing out here.

Curious men tend to find trouble they’re not equipped to handle.

I’ve handled trouble before.

I’m sure you have.

You have the look of a man familiar with violence.

A bounty hunter, I’m told.

Successful one, too, if the stories about Blackjack Morrison are true.

Victor’s smile widened slightly.

But there’s a difference between hunting outlaws and involving yourself in legitimate business affairs.

Nothing legitimate about beating a woman.

The smile vanished.

What happens in my home with my property is none of your concern.

Property? Dne let the word hang between them.

That’s an interesting way to describe a human being.

Is it? Victor stood, moving to a cabinet where crystal decanters caught the morning light.

He poured himself whiskey despite the early hour.

I have a contract, Mr.

Callaway.

legal binding properly filed with the territorial authorities.

Mail signed it of her own free will, agreeing to seven years of service in exchange for passage from California and room and board.

3 years remain on that contract.

Legally, she is bound to me.

And if she couldn’t read what she was signing, ignorance of a contract’s terms doesn’t invalidate it.

Any lawyer will tell you that.

Victor sipped his whiskey.

Though I find your sudden concern for contract law touching.

Do you interrogate every businessman about their labor agreements or is this specifically about Chinese women? It’s specifically about abuse.

Abuse? Victor tasted the word like it was foreign.

I provide her with shelter, food, clothing, protection.

In exchange, she performs duties outlined in our agreement.

If she’s occasionally corrected for failing to meet those duties, that’s within my rights as her employer.

Beating someone isn’t correction.

It’s violence.

Your opinion? Not the laws.

Victor returned to his desk, setting down his glass with careful precision.

Now, let me be clear, Mr.

Callaway.

I don’t know what romantic notions you’ve entertained about rescuing a damsel in distress, but Min is not yours to rescue.

She’s mine legally, ethically, in every way that matters.

Nothing ethical about slavery.

Victor’s expression hardened.

Careful.

That’s a serious accusation.

One that could land you in legal trouble if you repeat it without proof.

I’ve seen the proof.

Saw it on her face yesterday.

Saw it in the way she flinches when you move too fast.

You saw discipline.

Nothing more.

Victor leaned forward, his voice dropping to something quieter, more dangerous.

Here’s what’s going to happen.

You’re going to leave Rust Valley today, this morning, preferably.

You’re going to forget about Min.

Forget about contracts and questions and whatever misguided sense of justice brought you into my store yesterday.

And in exchange, I’ll forget about this conversation.

Forget about your interference.

Let you ride out of here alive.

And if I don’t, then you’ll discover that I have considerable influence in this territory.

Judges who owe me favors.

Sheriffs who depend on my goodwill.

Not to mention men who do what I ask when I ask it without bothering with inconveniences like law or morality.

Victor’s smile returned colder than before.

You’re one man, Mr.

Callaway, a stranger in a town where I hold every card.

If you force me to act against you, it won’t be a fair fight.

It won’t even be close.

Dne had heard similar speeches before from men who thought power made them untouchable.

Sometimes they were right.

Sometimes they learn different.

Appreciate the warning, he said.

Then you’ll leave.

Didn’t say that.

Victor’s jaw tightened.

For just a moment, the civilized mask slipped and Dne saw the same man who’d struck Mlin yesterday.

Brutal, petty, used to immediate compliance.

Don’t be a fool, Victor said.

There’s nothing for you here.

Mlin doesn’t want your help.

Did she tell you that? She knows better than to encourage interference.

She understands that her situation, while unfortunate, is better than the alternatives.

Better than deportation, better than dying in an alley.

Like, he stopped himself.

Like Sarah’s sister.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Victor’s face went very still.

You’ve been talking to the wrong people.

Or maybe the right ones.

Sarah Chen is a bitter woman spreading lies about a tragedy she doesn’t understand.

Her sister was killed by robbers.

It was investigated, prosecuted, covered up.

Careful, Victor’s voice had gone soft again.

Dangerous.

Accusing me of murder is a good way to end up answering to the sheriff.

And unlike you, I have witnesses, alibis, proof of my whereabouts that night.

Bought witnesses, paid alibis.

Victor stood abruptly, his chair scraping back.

This conversation is over.

Marcus.

The door opened immediately.

The deputy had clearly been listening.

Sir, escort Mr.

Callaway out of town personally.

Make sure he reaches the county line and keeps riding.

Marcus looked uncertain.

And if he doesn’t want to go, then arrest him.

Disturbing the peace, trespassing, whatever you need to make it stick.

Lock him up until I decide what to do with him.

Dne met Victor’s eyes across the desk.

You’re making a mistake.

No, Mr.

Callaway, you are.

The only question now is whether you’ll compound it by staying or show some wisdom and leave while you still can.

Victor sat back down, picking up a pen like Dne had already ceased to exist.

Marcus, get him out of my sight.

The deputy’s hand went to his gun.

You heard him.

Let’s go.

Dne allowed himself to be escorted out back through the hallway with its expensive decorations through the kitchen where Mlin still stood at the stove, not looking at him, out into the brutal morning heat.

They were halfway to the boarding house when Dne stopped walking.

“Keep moving,” Marcus said, nervous energy making his voice shake slightly.

“No, I’ll arrest you.

” “For what? Standing still?” “For For disobeying a lawful order,” Dne turned to face him fully up close.

The kid looked even more uncertain, hand trembling on his gun.

“How old are you, Marcus?” “That’s not 22, 23.

” old enough to know right from wrong.

I’d guess I know my job, which is what? Protecting a man who beats women? Covering up murders? Being Victor Hail’s trained dog? Marcus’ face flushed.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t I? Tell me something.

You sleep well at night knowing what Victor does to Min, knowing what probably happened to Lily Chen? That was ruled an accident.

It was ruled whatever Victor wanted it ruled.

Dne took a step closer.

Marcus’ gun came up, but his hand was shaking badly.

Now you wear that badge like it means something, like it makes you a man.

But what kind of man serves someone like Victor Hail? He He’s done a lot for this town.

The mine, the jobs.

Built on the backs of people he controls through fear and violence.

That’s not prosperity.

That’s tyranny with a ledger.

Marcus was sweating now.

and not just from the heat.

You need to leave.

Just Just go.

Please.

Can’t do that.

Why not? She’s not worth dying for.

The words hung between them.

And in Marcus’ stricken expression, Dne saw the truth.

The kid knew, knew what Victor was, what he did, knew, and had convinced himself that going along was easier than standing up.

“Maybe not to you,” Dne said quietly.

But worth’s not something you get to decide for other people.

He turned and started walking.

Not toward the boarding house, not toward the edge of town, toward the courthouse.

Hey, hey, stop.

Marcus’s voice cracked.

You’re under arrest.

Stop or I’ll shoot.

Dne kept walking.

Behind him, he heard the distinctive sound of a hammer being cocked.

Then nothing, just Marcus’ ragged breathing and the crunch of boots on dirt as the deputy followed but didn’t fire.

Because for all Victor’s influence, for all the corruption, Marcus Wells was still just a kid wearing a badge he didn’t entirely understand.

And killing an unarmed man in broad daylight in full view of the town was a line he wasn’t ready to cross.

Not yet, anyway.

Dne reached the courthouse and pushed through the doors.

Clancy looked up from his desk, eyes widening in alarm.

“I need to see Minn’s contract,” Dne said.

“You You can’t.

I can and I will.

Either you show it to me or I tear this place apart, looking for it myself.

Marcus burst through the door behind him, guns still drawn.

He’s under arrest, Mr.

Clancy.

He’s for what? Dne asked again.

What specific law have I broken? Neither man answered.

That’s what I thought.

Dne turned back to the clerk.

The contract now.

Clancy’s eyes darted between Dne and Marcus, calculating.

Finally, with shaking hands, he moved to one of the filing cabinets.

This is Victor will have my head for this.

Victor will have bigger problems than you.

The contract, when Clancy produced it, was exactly what Dne expected, dense legal language written in English, outlining 7 years of servitude in exchange for passage and sustenance.

No mention of specific duties beyond household service.

No clause about termination or appeal.

No protection whatsoever.

And at the bottom in careful script that looked nothing like English writing, a Chinese signature.

Mailin’s name signed in characters she probably could write beneath words she couldn’t read.

This isn’t legal.

Dne said it’s been validated by by who? What judge looked at this and decided it was anything other than slavery? Judge Morrison in Tucson? He he’s Victor’s friend.

Dutch told me.

Dne studied the contract more carefully.

What about witnesses? Someone had to witness her signing this.

Clancy pointed to two signatures at the bottom.

One was Victor’s the other Rosa Martinez.

Dne read the housekeeper.

She was present when the contract was signed, made it legal and binding.

But Rosa had also helped Lily Chen escape, which meant she knew what these contracts really meant, which meant her witness testimony might not be as solid as Victor believed.

Dne memorized every detail of the contract.

The date, the terms, the witnessing.

Then he looked at Clancy.

I need to talk to Rosa Martinez.

She’s at Victor’s house where you just were.

Then I’ll go back.

He’ll kill you.

Marcus said the gun was still out, but hanging loose now.

You walk back there, he’ll have you shot.

Maybe not by me, but he’s got men and they will.

Let them try.

Dne walked out of the courthouse into noon sun.

that hit like a hammer.

The street was busy now, people going about their business while pretending not to watch the stranger who’d just declared war on their town’s most powerful man.

He made it three steps before Dutch appeared beside him, moving faster than any man with one leg should be able to.

“You got a death wish?” the old man demanded.

“Just a sense of what’s right.

” “Right gets you buried out here.

Smart gets you gone.

” Dutch grabbed Dne’s arm.

“Listen to me.

I told you about Victor hoping you’d be smart enough to leave, not stupid enough to actually try something.

Can’t leave.

Why the hell not? Dne thought about his wife, his daughter, about the choice he’d made 3 years ago that had haunted every day since.

About standing in his burned out house, staring at their bodies, knowing he could have prevented it if he’d just been brave enough to act.

Because walking away would kill me slower than Victor’s bullets, he said finally.

and I’m tired of dying slow.

Dutch studied his face, and whatever he saw there made him sigh.

Then you’re going to need help.

Real help.

Not just an old man’s information.

What kind of help? The kind that knows Victor’s secrets.

The kind that might actually have leverage.

Dutch glanced around, making sure no one was listening.

Rosa Martinez.

She knows things.

Things that could bring Victor down if anyone could convince her to talk.

She won’t.

Not while he has her family.

Maybe, maybe not.

Dutch leaned on his cane.

But there’s someone else.

Someone Victor hurt bad enough that they might risk everything for revenge.

Who? Chinese man name of Chen Wei.

Sarah’s cousin, Lily’s uncle.

He worked Victor’s mind 3 years back before the railroad moved on.

Saw what Victor really was.

Tried to organize the other workers.

Victor had him beaten, left for dead in the desert.

But he survived barely.

He’s up in the hills now, living rough.

Prospecting, I think, though he never comes to town anymore.

Too dangerous.

Dutch’s expression was grim.

But if you could find him, convince him you’re serious about taking down Victor.

He might know things, things about Victor’s operation that aren’t quite legal.

Like what? Like maybe Victor’s cattle empire isn’t just cattle.

Like maybe there’s reasons he needs those contracts.

Needs disposable workers who won’t talk about what they see.

The implication settled over Dane like a weight.

Rustling or worse.

But that’s just rumor.

Chenway would know for sure.

He worked the mine when it was still running full operations.

Saw the books, the shipments, the men Victor brought in for work that had nothing to do with copper or cattle.

Dne absorbed this.

The picture growing clearer.

Victor wasn’t just a brutal employer.

He was running something bigger.

Something criminal enough that loose ends like Lily Chen had to be permanently silenced.

Where can I find Chen Wei? North Canyon about 3 mi up.

There’s a ridge with a stand of juniper.

Only trees for miles around.

He’s got a camp up there somewhere.

But he won’t trust easy.

Not after what Victor did to him.

I’ll convince him.

Maybe.

Dutch hesitated.

But even if you do, even if he has proof of Victor’s crimes, what then? You going to the territorial marshall with it? That’s three days ride.

And Victor’s got friends all along that route.

You’d never make it.

Then I’ll find another way.

There isn’t another way.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you.

Victor’s got this whole valley sewn up tight.

Law, business, violence.

He controls it all.

One man can’t.

One man can try.

Dutch shook his head, but something like respect flickered in his eyes.

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