A Gunman’s Final Reckoning (Preview)

Prologue

John Bane was just eight years old when he learned exactly what his father did for a living—and it wasn’t pleasant. He would never be able to look at his father the same way.

Just a month shy of his ninth birthday, John sat up in a tree, watching the people come and go from his house way out in the woods. He lived there with his mother and sometimes his father, but always with at least two members of the Red Caps, a gang that had recruited his father long before he was born.

He swung both legs, secure on the large limb. He wasn’t a very big boy. He was teased mercilessly, because not only was he an inch or two shorter, he had a disorder that made it hard to read. Letters appeared to him backwards or he lost concentration halfway through a sentence and would have to read it over and over to comprehend what it was saying.

The disorder had caused such a fuss, his mother had taken him out of school and taught him his numbers and letters herself. For the last two years, she had dedicated every weekday when he would have been at school to helping him learn.

John was glad not to be in school anymore. He enjoyed his mother teaching him. Sometimes the other men besides his father would join in his lessons, men who stayed to protect John and his mother from possible rival outlaw attacks.

He’d heard the rough talk between them and his father. They talked about killing and kidnapping a lot. Those were practically John’s first words. He had never understood what they meant before.

But he was to learn that day.

His father came riding up the path. He didn’t look up at John, which left John thinking he hadn’t seen him. He wondered how his father would react if he knew John was above him. Should he jump down and scare him? John put a hand quietly over his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh and be discovered.

It was the loud noises that had driven John to go outside and climb the tree. He didn’t want to hear the screaming. It had stopped a while ago, but John didn’t go back inside. He was afraid of what he would find.

John was pretty sure the screams had come from his mother. The two men left with them to protect him hadn’t wanted to stay behind. They were hard, rough, scar-faced men who didn’t have families and likely never would. They were just too mean to have kids. John stayed away from them.

“Elliott,” his father’s voice boomed from below. John gripped the limb again, fearful because of the tone of John Sr.’s voice. “What the hell happened here?”

“You shouldn’ta left them two here, if I might be able to tell the truth. You know they don’t like family duty.” His gravelly voice sounded frustrated.

John Sr. spit into the dirt. “I told you and the others not to call it that!” he roared, placing his hands on his hips right above the guns that lay silent in their holsters.

John liked Elliott. He hated that his father was yelling at the man. Elliott had arrived after the screaming stopped. John had watched him go inside and come right back out, a stricken look on his face. He stood outside the house, leaning against the porch railing until John Sr. came on site.

“I’m sorry, Johnny. I really am. But this is on your shoulders. She’s dead because of you. You killed her.”

Those words didn’t settle comfortably with John. He narrowed his eyes, perking up his ears to listen as closely as possible. Who was Elliott talking about? His mother? All that noise had led to his mother dying?

John’s chest tightened and he fought tears. Maybe she wasn’t dead. Maybe she was just hurt.

He lifted his eyes and looked at the house. Instead of leaving, maybe he should have stayed and tried to help her.

It was too late now.

“Dammit!” His father took off his hat and threw it on the ground, stomping one foot. “What are you sayin’? They killed my wife because they didn’t get enough loot the last time we robbed a bank? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know what they were thinking,” Elliott responded. “You knew they were mad at ya. Ya had to know!”

“Go get them and bring them out here!” John shouted. “Now!”

“Yes, boss,” Elliott stated firmly, nodding. He spun around in the dirt, kicking some of it up, and raced up the steps.

“Bring them out here!” his father yelled again.

“Yep!” Elliott called over his shoulder.

John’s heart slammed in his small chest. It felt like all the blood was draining from him as he realized what Elliott had told his father.

Was his mother killed? Was she dead? Was she who they were talking about?

Suddenly, John felt completely empty, as if all his strength had washed out of him. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around the tree. They weren’t long enough to go all the way around, but he was able to press his face against the bark, putting one hand over his mouth as his tears squeezed through his closed eyes.

Below him, he heard Elliott coming out of the house with the two men in tow. One of them looked scared, the other defiant. Both were of average size and height. The one named Kirk had copper hair and the other was yellow blond. John didn’t know his name.

As he paced back and forth in front of the porch steps, the two men sauntered down to him. Kirk started speaking right away.

“Wasn’t meant to go like that, boss, really. We was just havin’ a little fun and she didn’t want us too, that’s all. We were jus’ messin’ around. Just joking, is all.”

The man with no name reached over and shoved Kirk. “He ain’t gonna do anything to us, Kirkie, stop actin’ like a child.” He pressed his chest out, staring defiantly at John Sr. “She was bein’ a nag and we got tired of it. That’s what hap—”

He didn’t get out another word. John watched in horror as his father pulled one gun from his right holster and shot both Kirk and the blond man in their foreheads. They crumpled to the ground, but not before John saw the horrified surprise covering the faces of the two dead men as they went down.

He held onto the tree even tighter. This was a sight he’d never seen before. His father looked so comfortable killing both those men.

“Where’s the kid?” his father asked Elliott, sliding the gun back into its holster. “He all right?”

John was surprised by the second question. He’d never seen any affection from his father. Why now? What made him care now, when he never seemed to before?

“Yeah, he’s all right.”

John Sr. walked toward the steps and started going up.

Elliott turned his head and looked right up at John. “I’ll find him for you.”

“Tell him when you see him to pack his bags. We’re leavin’ this place tonight. Come on, we got some buryin’ to do.”

“Yes, boss.”

John would never forget the look of sympathy and sorrow Elliott gave him before looking away from his tear-streaked face.

Chapter One

Twenty years later, John Bane Jr., known to his colleagues as Junior, was trying to decide if he wanted to stay in Lonetree, Texas, where he and his gang—formerly his father’s gang—had holed up, or move on.

He’d been in the game so long, he didn’t know if he could live a normal life. Sometimes it appealed to him. Sometimes it didn’t. The life he was leading now kept him protected from harm because he only had loyal men in his gang, unlike his father. But a normal life with a wife and kids sounded okay, too. He just didn’t know how to make something like that happen.

At that moment, he was lying in a tub of hot soapy water. He lifted a cigarette to his lips and took a drag. The tub had been placed outside in the back yard. They’d gone to a lot of trouble getting it there and filling it with heated water from the stove.

The woman inside, along with her husband and son, had been tasked with keeping the water hot, bringing out more boiling water every ten minutes or so. Junior was a little upset with how fast the water cooled.

It was like that in spring and fall. During the summer, the water stayed warm. But breezes and raining and sudden cold weather plagued those who just wanted to peacefully enjoy a bath outside.

Taking another drag from his cigarette, he saw Elliott come out from the back door of the farmhouse. He liked the gray color on the outside of the house. It had black shutters at every window and a large black door at the entrance. Maybe he would offer to buy it from the Longmonts, the family inside. He grinned. He could offer them their freedom for the house.

“You almost done, boy?”

Elliott was the only one in the gang who was allowed to call Junior “boy.” The rest of them knew better.

Elliott was the only holdover after John Sr. died in a shootout up in Northern Texas. Junior had gotten rid of anyone he didn’t like and recruited new “soldiers” for his “army.” Some of them had left on their own. Others he’d told to leave or die.

They had chosen correctly, leaving him with a spotless no-kill record.

“Dunno,” he replied to Elliott. “Why? You wanna take one, too?”

Elliott shook his head, eyeing their surroundings. “Nah, I don’t want to take a bath, especially not outside, unless it’s in a creek. Too risky. Especially for us. You’ve got a bounty on your head, Junior! You shouldn’t expose yourself like this.”

Junior scoffed, smirking at Elliott. “You really think the Pinkertons know where we’re at right now? We lost them when we left Callahan. And I ain’t exposin’ myself. I got shorts on. See?” He stood up, spreading his arms out like wings. “You see too much, it’s ’cause yer lookin’.”

He burst out laughing, sinking back into the warm water. Elliott didn’t do much more than smile at his joke. Junior had personally thought it was really good, so he laughed a little more.

“The Pinkertons have spies everywhere, Junior, and you know it.”

“That bounty ain’t nothin’ to worry about,” Junior went on, glad that he’d kept his cigarette out of the water. He was relaxed, content. Why was Elliott trying to destroy his peace?

“Of course it’s something to worry about!” Elliott snapped, coming down the three porch steps, carrying a large towel. “You need to be more careful. Yer pa put me in charge of you. I’m supposed to be takin’ care of you and yer makin’ it impossible!”

“I didn’t ask you to stick with me or protect me. Never once have you heard me say those words.” Irritation slid through him, making his chest tight. He jabbed the two fingers holding the cigarette between them at Elliott. “And I’ll get out of this tub when I’m ready, not a minute before.”

Elliott looked around them again. Junior watched him, curious why he was so alarmed. Had he heard something Junior hadn’t? He turned in the tub, looking behind him through the trees. He saw nothing.”

“I’m nervous,” Elliott said. Junior could hear the tension in his voice. A tingle spread over him from the back of his neck all the way down his spine. Elliott wasn’t messing around.

Junior rose up from the water, reached down and pulled the plug from the drain hole, and grabbed the towel from Elliott at the same time. He rubbed it over his body and hair, stepping out of the tub onto the dirt. His wet feet were promptly coated with it, creating mud.

After drying off the best he could with the towel, Junior dipped his feet in the remaining water and stepped onto the towel, which he’d spread on the ground. He used it to dry his feet before walking to the porch and going onto the deck. He turned to see Elliott grab the towel, throwing it over the railing to dry.

Junior wasn’t happy now that he was out of the water. He had to get dressed. It was back to reality, no more comfort for him. He walked past the family, who were all clutched together on the couch. He could feel their eyes on him. He darted his head quickly to give them narrow looks. The woman and the boy flinched. He chuckled.

“Not gonna hurt you three as long as you don’t cause me any trouble.”

Junior had no plans on killing this family. He simply wanted some fresh clothes, to take a bath, and use their stove to cook food and feed his men. The family had to sit on that couch and wait. He hadn’t tasked them with anything except heating the water to bring to him. He didn’t want to put that burden on any of his men.

But his intention was now, as it had always been, not to kill people. He didn’t care if he had a reputation for stealing, looting, or using people’s houses when he wanted to. He didn’t allow his men to kill anyone but the lawmen. Bystanders were not to be used as shields. Anyone seen using a person to shield bullets would receive one to the head, just like he’d seen his father do twenty years ago to Kirk and that blond.

When his men were on their own and not in his company, he didn’t care if they killed a man. If a woman was killed, there would need to be a good reason for it. No children were to be killed. Ever.

It was Junior’s only rule after taking over the Red Caps when his father died six short years ago. Most of the men complied, as long as they got paid.

He saw the curious look on the boy’s face as he crossed in front of them. He went in the large room the parents shared and grabbed his newly cleaned and dried shirt, trousers, and underclothes.

Once he was dressed, he pulled the belt through the loops of his pants and walked back out to the living room. The family’s eyes were on him once more.

“How old are you, kid?”

“Nine,” the boy replied. His mother squeezed him tighter to her. Junior was amused by the uncomfortable look on the boy’s face.

“What’s your name?” Junior came to a stop, leaning on the back of a tall chair so he could look at the boy while they spoke.

“Willy.”

Junior liked how responsive and eager the boy was. He had tumbleweed hair, blond and wavy all over his head. His eyes were blue and bright like his mother’s.

“And what are your parents’ names?”

“My pa is Ulysses and my ma is Diana.”

Junior nodded his head, puckering his lips slightly to show his approval of the names.

“Longmont, right?” he asked.

“That’s right.” The boy was the only one answering, His parents looked very uncomfortable that he was speaking so freely.

Junior would have continued the conversation but Elliott came in through the back door and walked up to him, murmuring low in his ear.

Chapter Two

Junior gestured for Elliott to follow him. He went back outside, only this time he went through the front door after checking through the windows to make sure the men he’d left there were still there. And no one else.

He opened the door and went through, turning to Elliott at the last moment. “Wait, you stay inside and make sure that family doesn’t leave that couch.”

Elliott nodded, going back inside.

Junior pulled the door closed, his eyes on Mark. “What did you see? Why are you worried?”

“I’ve got real good eyes, Junior,” the man said, his brown eyes narrow and suspicious. “I can spot someone comin’ down that road from miles away.” He lifted one hand and pointed to the east. “I’m not sayin’ that’s anybody comin’ here necessarily, but I reckon it could be. What do you want us to do? You want someone to ride out there to the end of the Longmont drive and take a look?”

Junior turned his head, staring out at the main road. There were trees in between that blocked a lot of their view. He couldn’t see out as far as Mark. The man had a reputation for his eyesight, with some of his closest friends calling him Hawkeye.

Junior didn’t call him that. He was older, in his forties, and had treated Junior with as much respect as he had his father. Because of that, Junior had no problem believing his story.

“I reckon somebody better go on out there and look, yeah. Don’t wanna be surprised. But you stay here.” He turned his head to the other guard. “You go, Butch. You ain’t made any enemies out here, have ya?”

Butch shook his head. No matter where the very tall, very large man went, he always seemed to attract enemies. He didn’t even have to do anything. He told Junior it came from his intimidating size, and he didn’t mind a bit when he was feared for no reason.

“Good,” Junior replied. “You go one out there and stay alert of what’s in those woods. Come back as soon as you see them.”

“Got it, boss.”

Butch stomped down the steps. Junior watched, wondering how those steps could hold such weight. He also wondered that about Butch’s horse.

Junior watched the man mount his horse and turn the stallion toward the path that led to the main road a quarter of a mile away. He stuck to the side so he’d have the opportunity to disappear into the trees whenever he needed to.

Before Butch got to the end of the road, Junior turned and headed back inside. Elliott was in the kitchen with the wife. She was making a pot of coffee and had another pot of water set to boil on another burner. They both looked at him. Elliott’s familiar blank stare and the wife’s muted fear were displayed perfectly on those faces.

Junior walked to the living room, which was open to the kitchen, and sat in one of the chairs, adjusting his guns. A nervous tension had taken over his stomach. If men came and raided this house, he and his men would have to fight back. The family that lived here would be put in danger.

All he wanted was a rest. It looked like he might not get that.

“My men think someone is on the way here,” he said, giving the father a direct look. “You got a notion why there might be anybody coming here, Ulysses?”

The tension in the man’s voice showed how apprehensive he was. “I… I wouldn’t know.”

Junior sighed, adjusting himself again, pulling one of his guns forward, still in the holster but rested now on his thigh, his hand on the grip. It was aimed at the father and son.

The boy continued looking at him. The father’s eyes had dropped to Junior’s grip on the gun.

“There some reason why you were needed in town today? You got a job other than runnin’ this farm?”

“I… I run a fruit and vegetable stand in town.” Ulysses’ voice trembled. “I don’t have a boss but I do have a lot of friends. They… they might be coming to check on me.”

Junior sat forward, scratching his chin, contemplating his next move. It was his policy not to use humans to shield himself or his men. That wasn’t going to change.

He sighed through his nose, tapping his finger on the arm rest, letting his gun slide off his thigh. “So you don’t know if anyone would be coming for you? What about the boy? Willy, were you supposed to be at the schoolhouse today?”

“They wouldn’t care if I wasn’t,” Willy spoke up, his eyes bright as if he was delighted to be spoken to by the outlaw. Junior could see he would respect authority in his future. He knew who was in charge, even at nine. Junior respected that.

He paused a moment before continuing, “Well, Willy, y’see, if there’s anyone comin’ here for you or for your pa, they might get real hurt. So if we go in the back room and let y’all talk to them, you promise to send them away and not say anything about us?”

Junior switched his gaze to the father, speaking as sincerely as he could.

“I don’t want you or your family to be hurt. If we go in the back room and you don’t send them away, there’s a very good chance you will be killed. Do you know what that means? To be killed?”

Willy nodded.

“Now that wouldn’t be no good, would it?”

Willy shook his head. Diana came over, two cups of steaming coffee in her hands. She gave one to Junior and the other to her husband.

“Thank you, Diana,” Junior said with sincere gratitude. He gave her half a smile. What he got in return was weak but understandable.

His stomach churned at the first sip of coffee, which was not his favorite drink. He set the cup down on the table between them.

“You seem like a good kid, Willy. Why don’t you answer for your parents. You think you can stay mum about me and my men until your visitors leave? Or do you want to start a war in your own home and risk gettin’ hit with crossfire?”

“How do we know you won’t kill us anyway?” Ulysses answered the question with one of his own, wrapping one arm around his wife, who pressed against him as if she wanted him to absorb her.

Junior let out a sharp laugh. “If any of us wanted to kill you, we’ve had plenty of opportunity. Don’tcha think?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Willy answered in a strong, admiring voice.

Junior gave him a smile. “That’s right. We would have. So we’re just gonna head on to the back room once we see who’s comin’ and when they’re gone, you let us know. We’ll get our things and leave. Sound good?”

The whole family nodded at once.

“That’s what I like to see,” Junior remarked, getting to his feet. “Family unity.”

It wasn’t something Junior had ever experienced. But it was nice to see it once in a while

Chapter Three

Junior was ready to go out and wait for Butch to return but was stopped in his tracks when the door was thrown open. Mark gave him a wide stare, his face white as a sheet.

“Boss! They ain’t here for a friendly visit! I think Butch is dead!”

Junior ran out onto the porch, his heart slamming in his chest. Fury boiled his blood, racing through his veins. To his horror, Butch’s body was draped over his horse, which had come back of its own volition.

“What happened?” he yelled, pulling his gun from his holster.

“They ain’t visitors!” Mark repeated himself, wailing the three words in horror. “They killed him!”

Junior could see Butch was dead. The side of the horse where the big man’s head and arms hung were splashed blood on the hard ground whenever the animal moved.

“Whoa!” he cried out, hopping down the steps and rushing to the body. He pulled Butch off the horse and let him fall to the ground.

Immediately, he turned his head and covered his mouth with one hand.

Butch’s head had nearly come off. It wasn’t a gun that had ended Butch’s life. It was a blade. There was only one person Junior know of who used a long hunting blade in battle.

Among the Pinkertons, there was one man, a hunter who didn’t wear the Pinkerton uniform but instead dressed like an Indian, in leather, beads, and tassels, who used a long hunting knife and a bow and arrow. He was a ruthless killer, as far as Junior was concerned. He had been with the rival gang that took his father’s life six years ago but he hadn’t been a Pinkerton at that time. He’d joined the lawmen some years after.

Junior wouldn’t be surprised if he joined the Pinkertons simply because they were searching for the son of John Bane, notorious for the number of men, white and Indian, he had slaughtered. His father’s murder spree was the very reason Junior avoided murdering other people. His father had killed enough for the whole gang Junior had taken over.

At the end of the pathway up to the house, where it connected with the main road, at least six horses turned and began to approach. Junior’s jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists and he ground his teeth together in rage.

Butch had been nothing but a scout. They didn’t have to almost decapitate the man.

Junior whipped around, gesturing to his men. He slapped Butch’s horse on the backside, yelling, “Git! Git!” The last thing he wanted to see was a dead horse, hit by the bullets of uncaring lawmen.

The Pinkertons shot rifles and pistols as they approached but Junior and his men were still too far away to hit.

Junior ran up the steps and into the house. Mark came in behind him. Junior had two men on each side watching the house so they couldn’t be ambushed. He had to hope they would eliminate the entire posse of Pinkertons before they could get in and kill them all. Would they spare the family?

Along with his men, Junior began to push furniture in front of the door. Locking it wasn’t good enough.

“Back door! Someone go back there and make sure it’s locked. Drag something in front of it. The only men we want in here is our men. You hear me?”

“Yes, boss!” Two of his men ran for the back door.

“Now y’all just remember…” Junior pulled both guns out and cocked them, aiming at the ceiling but looking at his men, “them boys can’t get in here. They been followin’ us for a while now and it’s time we end this. Kill them if you have to. You hear me? You got a shot and you don’t see another way, you take it! Don’t wait for permission. You do what you gotta do.”

Junior wasn’t a bit surprised to see delighted looks on the faces of his men.

He typically shot men in the leg to stop them, or in the arm to knock the gun away. His men tried to do the same out of respect for him. After what Junior had seen, when two of his father’s men had killed his mother, Junior only took on men he respected and felt he could trust. His father should have done that. Then his mother would still be alive.

Mark had been joined by Elliott, Carl, and Billy. Junior waved one of his guns toward the two.

“You boys take those windows there. Mark, Elliott. We’re stayin’ right here, right up front. It’s gonna be Jeremiah Edwards and the Pinkertons, ya know that.”

They all knew Jeremiah. He was a man who killed for the sins of the father, not caring that Junior wasn’t his father and had strived hard his entire life not to be.

“Yes, boss!” Carl and Billy took nearby windows while Junior went to the right side of the door and Mark to the left.  Elliott stared through the glass at the top of the front door.

Junior eyed the family on the couch. Diana was crying, her husband was comforting her the best he could, joined by Willy, who repeatedly told them Junior Bane would keep them safe.

He wondered what made the boy think that. Did he look like an innocent man? He shouldn’t. Junior wasn’t some gun-slinging do-gooder. He wasn’t a vigilante. He was just living his life the only way he knew how. For now.

The only money he had was money he’d stolen. Nothing he had had been acquired in a legal way, not even the clothes on his back, since they’d been either stripped from a body or bought with stolen money. Not murdering other people didn’t put him on any moral high ground and he was fully aware of that.

Turning his attention back to the problem at hand, he pushed himself against the interior wall directly next to the window and barely moved to peek through the glass.

The six he’d seen turn onto the path were the same six he saw there now. He recognized Jeremiah Edwards out front leading them. He was a senior Pinkerton who had, before he was a lawman, hunted Junior’s father for a decade. When his father died, Junior became the target. It didn’t surprise him to see him leading the pack.

Junior sneered at the look on the man’s face. Edwards was so smug. So triumphant. He knew Butch was in the Red Caps. He had put two and two together. The men on horseback avoided the body on the ground. One man spat on Butch as he passed.

Rage boiled over in Junior’s chest. His hand clutched the gun so tightly it hurt. But he didn’t care. Butch had been one of the good men in his gang. He’d always used his fists in saloon brawls where he’d served more as a protector than an aggressor. He’d saved Junior’s backside time after time. His loss made Junior feel a heavy weight in his chest, a hard hand clutched around his heart.

“You bastard,” he growled through his teeth. Thinking quickly, he spun around, smashed the glass with the butt of his gun, dropped down to one knee, and shot through the hole he’d made.

There was no time to aim. He let off three bullets before standing back up against the wall. He dropped down and scooted under the window to the other side just as bullets riddled the wall next to the door right where he’d been and penetrating the door itself.

“Get out here, Banes!” Edwards shouted. “You ain’t welcome here and ya know it! Get out here and take your punishment. It’s time for you to go behind bars. Yer paps avoided prison the only way he knew how—he got himself killed! Just like yer gonna do! Not very smart, Banes. Not very smart!”

Junior could barely contain his fury. His face had felt hot, his jaw hurt from clenching, He wanted to beat Edwards’ face into the ground. His “no kill” rule had gone right out the window.

“You can’t even take us on, ya coward!” one of the Pinkertons shouted. “You can’t even shoot straight! Always hidin’ behind somebody bigger!”

Junior heard the laughter. It dug into his skin like the claws of a cat, making him tingle with rage. He switched the guns in his hands so he could shoot with the gun that was fully loaded, dropped down on one knee again, and shot through the window on the other side, making the entire pane shatter. Glass went everywhere inside and outside.

This time, Junior could see where he was shooting and aimed at the man next to Edwards. His bullet shot true, puncturing the man through the chest, where his heart would be. A stunned look crossed the man’s face. He looked down at the blood forming on his white shirt, turned his eyes to Edwards, and slid out of the saddle.

Junior had shot his first man. And it was in defense of one of his own. Did that even count? No matter. He would kill the rest of them himself if he had to. Where were the men in the woods?  Why hadn’t they stopped these trespassers?

“That’s for takin’ one of mine!” Junior yelled. “So come on, I got more!”

He was worried for the man who had been protecting the house while Junior’s gang was there. He saw none of them emerging to ambush these Pinkertons. They had to be dead.

A sinking feeling took hold of him momentarily before he discarded it in favor of getting back to business.

Bullets began to fly through the air, the sound of the guns popping almost making music in Junior’s mind. Finally, several men stepped out of the woods, dodging the bullets that came their way by darting behind the trees. Junior allowed himself a moment of relief seeing them. The feeling didn’t last long.

One went down with Junior watching. They moved in closer and closer while the Pinkertons were forced into a circle on horseback, shooting in all directions.

Junior focused on Edwards himself, now that the others were distracted. He shot until his bullets were spent and spun around to sit on the floor and reload. He jerked a handful of bullets from his pocket and let them scatter on the floor next to him, snatching them up with trembling hands to push into the cylinder.

He lifted his eyes when Diana screamed. Her eyes were up and on the window behind Junior. He almost didn’t want to look. But he had to.

He turned quickly to see one of Edwards’ men had made it on the porch. He was standing in the window, his gun aimed at Junior.

Before he could send his bullet into Junior, Elliott jumped in front of him, taking the bullet directly to the chest.

“No!”

Junior’s body reacted in a way he didn’t expect. Elliott had been more of a father to him than John Sr., and when his body slammed to the ground, his eyes wide open, Junior felt an overwhelming pain, a headache of fire consuming him.

Every muscle tensed. Junior saw red in front of his eyes. Rage spilled over and he emptied one entire gun into the Pinkerton lawman, shrieking at the top of his lungs. Later, he would remember the tears that had clogged his throat during that scream, turning it into an animalistic sound that he would never make again.

Chapter Four

Ten years earlier, in the dead of winter, Junior stood tall next to his father. He was angry, his blood boiling, his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists. Things weren’t supposed to be this way.

Outside the cabin, they were surrounded by Jeremiah Edwards and his posse. Edwards had managed to get more than half the men in the nearby town to join his crusade against John Bane. 

Junior was angry with his father. They were all going to die because of him. Every single one of them. If they weren’t shot and killed that night, they’d hang in a week’s time. 

Life didn’t have to go this way. There were other paths that led to happiness, prosperity, even love. But that wasn’t the way John Bane had decided to raise him. He was fifteen years old and dying to break free. He feared he never would. 

“You need to go out there and confront him!” Junior yelled at his father. The guns he gestured with felt natural in his hands, though he had never pulled the trigger and ended another man’s life. 

He had done a lot of leg shots, and his favorite was shooting the gun out of someone’s hand. If he mangled the hand in the process, that was a good thing. It meant the outlaw or lawman would never be able to shoot with that hand again. 

His father’s face collapsed into fury, the corners of his mouth drawn down, the wrinkles enhanced by the light of the fire burning in the hearth behind Junior. He lifted one hand, and though he was holding a gun, he extended his index finger and poked Junior in the chest with it.

“Look who’s gettin’ too big for his britches. You know full well I can’t go out there without gettin’ shot.”

“You could try to talk to Mr. Edwards,” Junior bravely countered. “You could try to reason with him. You’re not a stupid man, and I’m sure he isn’t either. You could bargain or negotiate.”

Bane Sr. took a step back, a mocking look on his face, his eyebrows raised high. “Look who’s usin’ big words now. You gonna start tellin’ me my business, boy?”

Junior shook his head. “That’s not what I’m tryin’ to do, Pa. I’m tryin’ to save you. I don’t think he’ll just shoot you for no reason. He’s a lawman. He won’t kill you unless the state tells him to.”

His father threw back his head and laughed out loud. He shook his head, screwing up his face, wrinkling his nose. This time when he poked Junior’s chest, it was with his gun. 

“What you think those posters mean when they say ‘dead or alive’? You think that means they want to talk about things?” He put heavy emphasis on the last three words, saying them in nasal voice. “They don’t wanna talk, boy. They want to kill me.”

“You gotta try somethin’ new, Pa, or every one of us is gonna die.”

“Don’t you worry about it, boss. I’ll go out. I’ll talk to ’em.”

Before Elliott could take two steps toward the door, Bane Sr. got in his way, shaking his head. “No. You aren’t taking my place, Elliott. Ain’t none of us goin’ out there. And if we do, it will be a shootout because I ain’t goin’ down without a fight.”

“That’s insane!” Junior shouted. He spread his arms out, one of them toward the front door. “He’s gonna kill us all! Or have his men do it! I just think we should try somethin’ new. We been runnin’ from him for a couple years now. Don’t you see? He’s in control of us. You’re givin’ him power over us!”

“I ain’t doin’ no such thing!” Bane Sr. yelled right back. “I ain’t scared of that badge! I ain’t scared of that man!”

Junior shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. “I won’t be goin’ out there to protect you, Pa. I’ve had enough. I don’t wanna be ready to die every couple days. I want to have a happy life. Want to get married and—”

His words were brought to an abrupt end when his father let out a sharp sound of exasperation and shoved him hard. Junior toppled backwards, trying to catch himself with his left arm. His hands plunged deep into the burning logs of the fire. The flames lit up his skin, but he barely felt the pain before he felt strong arms around him, pulling him out of the fireplace. 

Junior didn’t realize the magnitude of his injury until he brought his left hand in front of his face. He was burned in several places, the fire leaving swirls of burned skin from his fingertips to his elbow. 

Chaos suddenly filled the cabin when the door burst open and Pinkerton men, led by Jeremiah Edwards, filed in. Junior scrambled on all fours backwards like a crab, disregarding the tingling sensation that was taking over his left side, even up to his face. 

Edwards stepped up to Bane Sr., a terrifying man by his side, dressed in leather and beads. Junior hated the grins on their faces. His father was pushed back until he was blocked by a couch in the middle of the room. 

“Let me!” the man in leather cried out, his snake-like tone slithering from his mouth. 

“Go ahead,” Edwards stated calmly, never taking his eyes from Bane Sr. 

Without even a word, the man in leather brandished a shiny long knife, which he took to Bane Sr.’s throat.

Junior couldn’t look away, as much as he wanted to. He felt Elliott’s arms still around him, dragging him down a hallway through the cabin to the lantern light beaming through the back door. The last thing Junior saw was Edwards shooting his father in the forehead while the man in leather brought the knife across Bane Sr.’s throat.

Pain sparked in Junior’s mind and took over. He screamed and didn’t stop screaming until his gut was filled with whiskey and he passed out.