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.

You’re either the bravest fool I’ve met or the most foolish brave man.

Either way, you’re probably dead by week’s end.

Weeks longer than I expected.

The old man laughed despite himself.

Get going.

Find Cheney before Victor realizes you’re not leaving town.

And Callaway? He grabbed Dne’s arm one more time.

Don’t trust anyone who works for Victor.

Not Marcus, not Rosa, not the sheriff.

when he gets back from wherever Victor sent him.

They’re all on his payroll one way or another.

Dne nodded and headed for the livery stable where Ash waited.

The mayor knickered when she saw him, sensing his tension, he saddled her quickly, checking his weapons one more time.

3 mi to the North Canyon, then a conversation with a man who had every reason to distrust strangers.

Then what? Even if Chenway had proof, even if Dne could expose Victor’s crimes, the system was rigged.

The law was bought.

The town was cowed, but systems could be broken.

Law could be circumvented.

Towns could be reminded that fear was a choice, not inevitability.

He swung up into the saddle and pointed ash toward the northern hills.

Behind him, Rust Valley baked under the merciless sun, unaware that its carefully maintained order was about to crack wide open.

In Victor Hail’s kitchen, Mlin set down her spoon and allowed herself one moment of dangerous hope.

Just one.

Then she crushed it, went back to stirring, and prepared herself for whatever fresh hell the stranger’s interference would bring.

Because hope, she’d learned, was the crulest master of all.

The canyon opened up before Dne like a wound in the earth, all red rock and shadows that shifted with the sun’s movement.

Ash picked her way carefully along the narrow trail, her hooves finding purchase on stonew worn smooth by centuries of rain and wind.

“3 miles,” Dutch had said.

three miles north to where Cheney had gone to ground after Victor’s men had tried to kill him.

Dne scanned the ridge line looking for the juniper stand.

The landscape up here was harsh, unforgiving, the kind of country that killed the unprepared and tested everyone else.

Heat radiated off the rocks in visible waves, and the only sound was the rhythmic clop of ash’s hooves and the occasional cry of a hawk circling overhead.

He found the trees just as the sun reached its zenith, their twisted trunks clinging to the canyon wall like gnarled fingers.

Beyond them, a narrow path switch backed up the ridge, barely wide enough for a horse.

Dne dismounted, deciding to make the final approach on foot, less threatening that way.

And if Chenway was as skittish as Dutch suggested, appearing on horseback might be enough to send him running.

The path climbed steeply, forcing Dne to use his hands in places to maintain balance.

Sweat soaked through his shirt and dust coated his throat until breathing felt like swallowing sand.

But he kept climbing, driven by the knowledge that without Chenway’s testimony, without proof of Victor’s crimes, Mlin would remain trapped, and he’d remain just another stranger who’d complicated her life before moving on.

He crested the ridge to find himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

Far enough.

The voice was accented but clear, carrying the weight of a man who’d made peace with violence.

You turn around, go back down.

Don’t come here again.

Dne raised his hand slowly, making no sudden movements.

The man holding the shotgun was Chinese, perhaps 40, with a face weathered beyond his ears and eyes that held the flatw weariness of prey animals.

A scar ran from his left temple to his jaw, thick and ropey, the kind that came from a blade or broken bottle.

His clothes were patched, worn, but clean, and behind him, Dne could see a small camp tucked into a natural overhang in the rock.

“Cheni?” Dne kept his voice calm, non-threatening.

The shotgun didn’t waver.

Who asks? Name’s Dne Callaway.

Dutch sent me.

Dutch should know better.

But something shifted in Chenway’s expression.

Not trust, but perhaps a fraction less immediate hostility.

Why would he send anyone here? because I need information about Victor Hail.

The name hung in the air like smoke from a fired gun.

Chenway’s jaw tightened and for a moment Dne thought he might pull the trigger just hearing it.

Victor Hail, Chenway repeated, his voice gone flat.

You work for him? No.

Then you’re a fool who’s about to.

Men who get involved with Victor end up working for him or dead.

No middle ground.

I’m not planning on either.

Chenway actually laughed.

Though the sound held no humor.

Planning? Yes, I plan too.

Plan to organize workers, get fair wages, safe conditions.

You know what Victor planned? He gestured to the scar on his face.

This and worse.

Left me in the desert to die.

Would have too if a prospector hadn’t found me.

I heard about that from Dutch and Sarah.

The shotgun lowered slightly at Sarah’s name.

Sarah Chen, Lily’s sister.

That’s right.

You know what happened to Lily? I know what Victor wants people to think happened.

And I know what probably really did.

Chenway studied him for a long moment.

The shotgun still ready, but no longer aimed directly at Dne’s chest.

Why do you care? She was nobody to you.

Just another Chinese girl who died in a place that didn’t want her.

The words cut because they were true.

Lily Chen had been a stranger.

Her death one of thousands that happened on the frontier every year.

Women vanished, were killed, were broken by men with power and no conscience.

Most of the time, nobody cared enough to ask questions.

But Dne had asked, and now he couldn’t stop.

Because there’s another woman, he said quietly.

Min.

She’s trapped in the same contract that trapped Lily, and if I don’t do something, she’ll end up the same way.

Chenway’s expression shifted again, and this time Dne saw something raw beneath the weariness.

Pain, old and deep.

Melin, Chenway said softly.

Yes, I know this name.

Sarah mentioned her.

The new one, Victor’s new possession.

Continue reading….
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