If Virgil Cain comes to this ranch, I want to be here.

I want to look him in the eye.

I want him to see that I’m not broken.

You’ve got four cracked ribs and three broken fingers and a spine that still works fine.

Ruth’s voice carried from the kitchen.

She’s got a point, Caleb.

Were you listening this whole time? I’m 58 years old.

I own a restaurant and I raised four children.

I’ve been listening to other people’s conversations since before you were born.

Despite everything, Maggie laughed.

It was small.

It was painful.

She pressed her hand to her ribs immediately, but it was real.

The first real laugh Caleb had heard from her.

It changed her face completely.

“Fine,” Caleb said standing.

“You stay, but we do this my way.

” Tom takes the horses to the back pasture.

If someone rides up, it looks like nobody’s home.

Ruth, can you get word to the sheriff? quietly.

My nephew delivers eggs to the jail every Tuesday.

That’s today.

Tell Yates that Douglas Coloulton’s wife is here.

She’s alive and she’s got evidence of federal crimes.

If Yates is half the law man he claims to be, he’ll know what to do.

And if he’s not, Maggie asked, “Then we’ll find out who Emmett Yates really is.

” Ruth was out the door within 10 minutes her basket of eggs and biscuits looking for all the world like a routine delivery.

Tom moved the horses.

Hannah was already a dust cloud on the northern road.

That left Caleb and Maggie alone in the house with a rifle, a revolver, and whatever was coming next.

Caleb checked every window, every door.

He loaded the rifle and set it by the front entrance, then checked the revolver’s chambers.

“You know how to shoot?” he asked.

Maggie Douglas taught me before things went bad.

Said a frontier wife should know how to handle a gun.

Funny how that worked out for him.

I thought the same thing.

She held out her good hand.

Give me the revolver.

Your fingers are on my right hand.

I shoot left.

He looked at her.

She looked back, steady as bedrock.

He handed her the gun.

She checked the cylinder, tested the weight sighted down the barrel.

Her grip was practiced, her stance natural.

Douglas Coloulton had taught his wife well, and now that knowledge belonged to her.

Six rounds, she said.

Six rounds.

She set the revolver on the table beside her within easy reach.

Then let’s hope I only need one.

The afternoon stretched long and hot.

July heat pressed against the house.

Caleb sat by the front window.

Maggie sat at the kitchen table.

They didn’t talk much.

There wasn’t much to say.

The words had been spoken.

Now it was about waiting and watching and being ready.

Near 4:00, dust rose on the south road.

Rider coming, Caleb said.

Maggie’s hand went to the revolver.

Just one.

Virgil doesn’t travel alone.

I know.

They watched the dust cloud grow.

Caleb raised the rifle.

Maggie pulled back the hammer on the revolver with her thumb.

The click loud in the silent house.

The rider came into view.

Sheriff Emmett Yates alone riding slow badge, catching the afternoon light.

Caleb didn’t lower the rifle.

Could be leading them here.

Could be.

Maggie didn’t lower the revolver either.

Yates stopped at the gate.

He raised both hands, palms out.

Mercer, I’m alone.

Ruth sent me.

Can we talk like civilized people, or are you going to shoot me off my horse? depends on what you came to say.

I came to say that Douglas Coloulton and two of his men are at the hotel in Elkbend right now asking everyone in town about a dark-haired woman.

And I came to say, he paused.

I came to say I’m tired of being afraid of the wrong people.

Caleb looked at Maggie.

She met his eyes.

A decision passed between them in silence.

He lowered the rifle.

She lowered the revolver.

Come inside, Sheriff.

Caleb called.

We’ve got a lot to tell you and not much time to tell it.

Sheriff EMTT Yates sat at Caleb’s kitchen table with his hat in his hands and the look of a man who’d been carrying something heavy for too long.

Maggie sat across from him, the revolver still within reach.

Caleb stood by the window watching the road.

“Start talking, EMTT,” Caleb said without turning around.

Douglas Coloulton arrived in Elkbend this morning with two men.

One of them big fellow scar on his neck, he went into Miller’s store first.

Asked casual like about any strangers passing through.

Miller didn’t say much, but his wife did.

Yates rubbed his face.

She told them a young ranchand had come through before dawn riding hard said something about a woman heard on the north trail.

Maggie’s hand tightened on the edge of the table.

Colton came to my office next polite as Sunday church.

Showed me a darotype.

Said his wife had gone missing.

Said she was fragile, prone to delusions.

Yates looked at Maggie.

That you? That’s his version of me.

What’s the real version? The version with four cracked ribs and three broken fingers that his man Virgil Kain gave me before leaving me to bleed out on a dirt trail.

Yates was quiet for a moment.

I figured something like that.

Man shows up with two armed riders looking for his fragile wife.

That’s not worry.

That’s a hunting party.

So why’d you send them south? Caleb asked.

Because something didn’t sit right.

And because Ruth Callaway walked into my office 2 hours later with a basket of eggs and a look that could curdle milk and told me exactly what was happening.

He turned back to Maggie.

Mrs.

Coloulton Ruth says you’ve got evidence.

Federal crimes.

whiskey running to the reservations.

I did have evidence.

My husband’s men took the originals when they caught me, but I’d already mailed copies to Dr.

Hannah Price here in the territory.

She’s writing to get them now.

When? Tomorrow evening.

Maybe sooner if she pushes hard.

Yates blew out a long breath.

That’s a problem because I sent Colton south, but that road dead ends at Keller’s Creek.

He’ll figure that out by nightfall and double back.

By morning, he’ll be asking harder questions, and I won’t be able to misdirect him twice without tipping my hand.

“Then we have tonight,” Caleb said.

“Tonight, and whatever luck the Lord sees fit to grant.

” Yates straightened in his chair.

“I’m going to be straight with you both.

I haven’t been a brave man.

I took this badge because the pay was steady and Elkbend was quiet.

I’ve looked the other way on things I shouldn’t have because looking straight at them would have caused me trouble.

Why are you telling us this? Maggie asked.

Because I need you to understand what it costs me to be sitting here.

He met her eyes.

And because Ruth told me something I can’t unhear.

She said, EMTT Yates, you can die a coward or live like a man, but you can’t do both.

That woman’s been telling me hard truths for 20 years, and I’ve been too stubborn to listen.

Are you listening now? Caleb asked.

I’m here, ain’t I? Caleb finally turned from the window.

All right.

What can you actually do? Officially not much.

Colton hasn’t committed any crime in my jurisdiction that I can prove.

He’s a concerned husband looking for his missing wife.

His men haven’t threatened anyone.

I can’t arrest a man for being polite.

Unofficially.

Unofficially.

I’ve got four deputies.

Two of them are good men.

The other two would sell their mothers for a steak dinner so they don’t hear about this.

He pulled a folded paper from his coat.

I also have this.

Came by wire this afternoon from the US Marshall’s office in Helena.

Seems somebody he glanced at Maggie.

Filed a complaint about illegal whiskey sales to tribal lands 3 weeks ago before you even left Missouri.

Maggie blinked.

I did.

I wrote to the marshall’s office.

I never heard back.

I thought they’d ignored it.

They didn’t ignore it.

They’ve been building a case quietly.

This wire says a federal investigator named Samuel Harding has been assigned and is currently on route to Montana territory.

Yates set the paper on the table.

Problem is on route could mean next week, could mean next month.

Federal government moves when it feels like moving.

We don’t have next week, Caleb said.

No, you don’t.

Which is why I’m proposing something that might be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.

Yates stood.

I’m going to ride back to town.

Tomorrow morning, when Colton comes back angry, I’m going to tell him I received a tip that his wife was seen heading east toward Fort Benton.

That buys you another day, maybe two.

And when he finds out you lied, then I reckon I’ll find out if this badge is worth the tin it’s stamped from.

Yates put his hat on.

One more thing, the big one with the scar cane.

He didn’t go to the hotel with Colton.

He split off.

Nobody’s seen him since noon.

The kitchen went cold.

He’s scouting, Caleb said.

That’s my guess.

A man like that doesn’t sit in a hotel room waiting for answers.

He goes and finds them.

Yates moved to the door.

Lock up tonight, Mercer, and don’t rely on that gate.

If Kane’s any good, he won’t use the road.

After Yates left, the silence in the house pressed in thick and heavy.

Maggie sat very still, the revolver in her lap now her thumb running along the grip.

He’s out there, she said.

Virgil, right now, moving in the dark.

Not yet.

It’s still light.

He’ll wait.

You don’t know him.

I know his type.

I’ve hunted men like him and I’ve been hunted by them.

He’s patient.

He’ll want to be sure before he moves.

And when he’s sure, then he’ll come and I’ll be ready.

We, Maggie corrected, will be ready.

Caleb looked at her, this woman with her broken fingers curled around a revolver, her cracked ribs wrapped tight, one eye still swollen half shut, beat to hell, and sitting upright through sheer force of will.

We, he agreed.

They prepared the house.

Caleb barred the back door and checked every window latch.

He positioned the rifle by the front door and a shotgun from his bedroom closet by the back hallway.

Tom had returned from moving the horses and Caleb sent him to Ruth’s place in town.

I’m not leaving, boss.

You are.

If something happens here tonight, someone needs to know.

Ruth needs to know.

And if Hannah comes back the southern route, someone needs to direct her here fast.

But Tom, Caleb gripped the young man’s shoulder.

This isn’t cowardice.

This is strategy.

I need you where you’re most useful, and right now that’s in town.

Tom’s jaw worked.

He looked at Maggie, then back at Caleb.

You keep her safe.

Planning on it? Tom rode out as the light started fading.

Caleb watched him go, then closed and barred the front door.

Just us now, Maggie said from the kitchen.

Just us.

The evening crawled by.

Caleb made coffee.

Maggie tried to eat some of Ruth’s leftover biscuits, but managed only half of one before her stomach rebelled.

Pain and fear made poor dinner companions.

“Tell me about Kansas,” she said.

“Now, if someone’s coming to kill us tonight, I’d rather not spend my last hours in silence.

He poured two cups of coffee and sat across from her.

I told you about the Dawson’s.

You told me how they died.

You didn’t tell me what happened after.

After.

He wrapped both hands around his cup.

After I arrested three men from the cattle company had witnesses, had evidence.

Open and shut case.

Everyone said it wasn’t.

The cattle company had money.

Money bought lawyers.

Lawyers got two of the three acquitted.

The third, the one who actually pulled the trigger, got 5 years, served 18 months.

He took a long drink of coffee.

I went to the judge, told him it was a miscarriage of justice.

He told me justice was whatever the court decided, and I should learn to accept it.

So, you quit.

I put my badge on his desk and walked out.

Bought a horse rode west.

Didn’t stop until I hit Montana.

He set the cup down.

That was 3 years ago.

Haven’t worn a badge since.

Haven’t fired a gun at a man since.

Told myself I was done with all of it.

But you’re not done.

Apparently not.

He looked at her across the table.

You want to know the truth? When I found you on that trail, my first thought wasn’t, I have to help her.

My first thought was, don’t get involved.

I heard it clear as a bell.

Just ride past.

It’s not your fight.

What changed your mind? You did.

You were lying in the dirt with your fingers broken and your face caved in and you tried to crawl away from me.

You tried to protect yourself even though you had nothing left.

And I thought he stopped.

I thought about Billy Dawson hiding in that root cellar listening to his parents die.

I thought about what would have happened if somebody had been there.

Just one person who didn’t ride past.

Maggie reached across the table.

This time she didn’t stop short.

Her good hand found his and held on.

“You were there,” she said.

“For me.

You were there.

” His fingers closed around hers.

Rough against smooth, warm against cold.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment, and in that silence, something shifted between them.

Not dramatic, not sudden, but real.

A wall coming down one brick at a time.

A sound outside shattered it.

Caleb was on his feet instantly, hand on the rifle.

Maggie grabbed the revolver.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“Bn he moved to the window, pressing himself against the wall, peering out into the gathering dark.

” “Could be an animal.

Could be Virgil.

” Another sound.

Metal on metal.

The barn latch.

Stay here, Caleb said.

No.

Maggie for once in your life.

I said no.

If he’s out there, we face him together or not at all.

He wanted to argue.

Every instinct from his deputy days screamed at him to secure the civilian and handle the threat alone.

But Maggie Colton wasn’t a civilian.

She was a target who decided to stop running.

And he didn’t have the right to take that from her.

behind me,” he said.

“And if I go down, you don’t stop shooting until the gun’s empty.

You’re not going down.

Just in case.

” He unbardred the front door slowly, easing it open inch by inch.

The yard was gray with twilight shapes losing their edges.

The barn sat 60 ft away, its door slightly a jar.

He’d closed that door.

He was sure of it.

“Cover me from the porch,” he breathed.

Don’t fire unless you see a clear target.

Maggie nodded, pressing herself against the porch post, the revolver steady in her left hand despite the spinted fingers on her right that pulsed with pain.

Caleb moved across the yard in a low crouch, rifle up every sense straining.

20 ft from the barn, he heard it breathing heavy labored.

Not the breathing of a man waiting an ambush, the breathing of someone hurt.

He kicked the barn door wide, rifle leveled.

A man lay on the straw floor, clutching his stomach.

Blood seeped between his fingers, darkened the fading light.

He looked up at Caleb with eyes full of pain and terror.

“Please,” the man gasped.

“He shot me.

He shot me and left me.

” Caleb recognized nothing about him.

Young, maybe mid-20s, trail worn clothes, no visible weapons.

“Who are you?” Caleb demanded, not lowering the rifle.

My name’s Garrett.

Will Garrett.

I ride with He coughed blood, flecking his lips.

I rode with Colton.

I’m the one who was with Cain when he beat your woman.

Caleb’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Please.

I tried to stop him on the trail.

I told Cain that Colton said alive.

He didn’t listen.

And when I tried to pull him off her, he Garrett groaned.

He remembered that.

Caleb.

Maggie’s voice came from behind him.

She’d followed.

Of course, she had.

She stood in the barn doorway revolver aimed at the man on the ground and then her expression changed.

That’s him, she said.

The second one.

He was there.

I know, Garrett said, tears cutting through the grime on his face.

I know I was there, and I’m sorry.

God forgive me.

I’m sorry.

I should have done more.

I should have stopped it.

You should have, Maggie said, her voice flat as a blade.

But you didn’t.

Cain shot me 2 hours ago about a mile from here.

He pressed harder on his wound.

He said I was a liability.

Said I’d gone soft.

He left me to crawl here and die the same way he left you.

Why here? Caleb asked.

How did you know about this ranch? Because Cain knows.

He’s been watching since yesterday.

He knows the woman’s here.

He knows about the sheriff’s visit.

Garrett’s voice was fading.

He’s waiting for full dark.

He’s going to come in from the north side through the treeine.

Colton doesn’t know Cain’s doing this alone.

He wants to kill her and tell Colton she was dead all along.

Maggie lowered the revolver slowly.

Not out of mercy, out of calculation.

Why should we believe you? Because I’m dying, ma’am.

And lying to a woman I helped hurt isn’t how I want to meet my maker.

Caleb knelt beside him, examining the wound.

Gutshot bad.

Without Hannah, this man would be dead by morning.

Maybe sooner.

How many guns does Cain carry? Caleb asked.

Two revolvers, a knife, and he’s better with the knife.

Is he alone? Yes.

The other man peters.

He’s with Colton in town.

Cain works alone when he’s killing.

He says witnesses are complications.

Caleb stood turning to Maggie.

Her face was stone.

This man had watched her be beaten and done too little too late.

And now he was bleeding in their barn, asking for the mercy he hadn’t shown her.

What do you want to do? Caleb asked her.

Not about Garrett.

About everything.

I want to stop running.

She looked at the dying man on the ground.

Then at Caleb, then out at the darkening sky where somewhere in the trees, Virgil Cain was loading his guns.

Patch him up enough to keep him alive.

We need his testimony.

And Cain.

Kane’s coming whether we’re ready or not.

She checked the revolver’s chambers again.

All six loaded.

So, let’s be ready.

Caleb pulled his belt off and pressed it into Garrett’s hands.

Keep pressure on that wound.

Don’t die before morning.

We need you talking to a federal investigator.

I’ll try, sir.

Don’t try.

Do it.

They moved back to the house.

Caleb barred the door again and pulled every lamp from every room, setting them in the kitchen.

Then he extinguished them all.

“What are you doing?” Maggie asked.

Light makes us targets.

Dark makes us invisible.

He positioned himself at the north-facing window, the direction Garrett said Cain would come from.

Sit below the window on the east wall.

Don’t silhouette yourself.

She slid down the wall revolver in her lap, her back straight despite the fire in her ribs.

Caleb.

Yeah.

If he gets through you and gets to me, I’m using the last bullet on myself.

I need you to know that.

He’s not getting through me.

But if he does, he’s not.

Caleb, I need to say this.

I won’t let Virgil Cain touch me again.

Not ever.

That’s not negotiable.

He was quiet for a beat.

Then I better not let him through.

That’s what I’m counting on.

The darkness settled complete.

No moon.

A blanket of stars that gave just enough light to see shapes, but not faces.

Continue reading….
« Prev Next »