“T.D.!”
Tobias’s tense gaze softened in shock. He was standing on the front porch of a quaint little house, a woman shoved behind his back. The combined aura of fear and protectiveness was not missed on Luther, who leapt from his saddle and pulled his hat from his head. A tumultuous wave of relief had soared through his veins at the sight of Tobias. His eyes flew around the surrounding houses. “Was Mace Thorne here? Just now?” He took in Tobias’s rigid stance. “He was here, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” the woman behind Tobias nudged her way forward. “But he left because the Marshal’s coming to—”
“No, he isn’t,” Tobias interrupted her.
Luther was staring at the woman. Her voice sounded all too familiar… his eyes widened as he realized that this was the woman whom he had supposed was Mace’s wife, the woman who had visited Victoria when Luther was convalescing on her couch. Had Tobias saved her from such a fate? He wanted to ask… but she was frowning in response to Tobias’s words. “He isn’t?”
Tobias grinned shiftily. “No, I lied. The Marshal doesn’t even know what happened.”
“Then—”
“Yeah,” said Tobias, a faint note of pride coloring his tone. “I beat a gambler at his own game.”
Luther nodded, his mouth flattening into a thin line. “Mace Thorne is not someone the Marshal needs to handle. It’s not his responsibility. It’s mine.” He fixed Tobias with a dark stare and clapped him on the shoulder. “Mace Thorne won’t have another opportunity to bother anyone else ever again.”
He was already climbing back onto his horse before he had finished speaking. A set of fresh hoof prints in the dirt beside the front porch told him that Mace and his gang had headed south. He nodded to Tobias, tipped his hat to the woman at his side, and nudged Georgia into a gallop, his eyes fixed on the faint cloud of dust he could see forming in the distance. Mace hadn’t gone far.
“Catch them, Georgia, girl,” he whispered, hunching low over her neck as the wind whipped his ears. “Let’s end this.”
His thoughts flew to Victoria as he rode out of town, of her honeyed hair, and the way her skin shone like diamonds in the moonlight. He had to wonder, as the sight of seven riders on horseback came into view along the horizon, if he would ever get the chance to tell her that he had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with her… or if he would perish at the hands of his cousin and take the secret with him to the grave.
“Mace Thorne!!!” he hollered the name like a malediction as the gang barreled towards the tree line, drawing his rifle from its sheath. He saw, as though he was watching through the eyes of a hawk soaring overhead, Mace pull back on his horse’s reins and turn his furious blue gaze on Luther. An evil smile slid across Mace’s face like dark sludge.
The gang had all drawn their horses to a halt as well, and Luther was a lone man, facing his cousin and his men across ten yards, with nothing between them but the gentle sway of grass.
“Luther!” Mace cried, throwing out his arms as though to welcome him back into the fold. “You’re alive!”
“No thanks to you,” Luther spat. The small lump of the bullet with which his cousin had tried to kill him pressed against his leg through his trouser pocket. He nudged his horse forward and saw many a hand reaching for their pistols. He raised his gun, the long, gleaming barrel focused over Georgia’s head. “It’s time for this to end, cousin!”
The seven men before him laughed uproariously. Luther saw Vern grinning at him from beneath the brim of his wide, straw hat.
Mace held up his hand for silence; a silence which fell as though he had struck his men dumb. “What’s that then?” he asked Luther, as politely as if they were discussing the matter over drinks. “You plannin’ to kill the whole lot of us on your own, with nothing but that ‘ole persuader?” He shook his head, his twisted smile still carved into his face. “Thought I taught ye better than that,” he said. “Surely, yer not lookin’ to die today, cousin?”
A fine drizzle began to fall onto the tops of their heads. Blades of tall grass bent forward with the weight of it.
“I’m not looking to die today, no,” Luther growled. “But I think you might just be.”
Mace shook his head again. His expression was incredulous. “For the life of me,” he called across the distance between them. “I’ll never know where ya get these fool ideas, boy.”
Luther cocked the rifle in his left hand. “I’ll give you a choice,” he said, slowly and clearly. “If you come with me now, I’ll let your men live. We’ll take this matter to the Marshal, and that’ll be the end of it.”
Mace’s shoulders shook as he laughed again. “The Marshal’s on his way here! We ain’t got time for this rubbish. We best be off.”
Luther leapt from Georgia’s back and took aim, his finger on the trigger, as Mace made to turn his horse about. “Come with me, cousin. The bloodshed has to end.” He stepped nearer through the tall grass, fully aware of the danger. His pulse thudded in his ears, but he had never before felt such an utter sureness. A stillness had settled in his bones. One way or another, this was going to end with Mace either dead, or locked behind bars. If Luther had to suffer his fate alongside him... at least Victoria would be safe.
He saw Vern’s finger twitch on his gun. Without a second thought, Luther took aim and pulled the trigger. The resounding crack echoed off the air around them as Vern howled and toppled back off his horse. Before the other men had time to blink, Luther had cocked his rifle a second time. Their horses were startled by the noise. Two of them reared onto their hind legs, their riders just clinging to the reins.
Georgia bolted.
“That’s enough now!” Luther shouted and he glared at Mace as his cousin reached for his sidearm. “Don’t think on it,” he added. “This is finished, Mace. This is the end of the run for you. I’ll shoot you down before you’ve even drawn.”
“And the fella’s here will have ya on the ground before you can reload!” Mace spat.
“But it would be the end of you!!” cried Luther. “If it’s the end of me as well, so be it!” He raised the rifle threateningly. “Climb down off that horse now. Nice and slow. Toss your gun out into the dirt.”
Mace glowered at him. Luther felt his injured arm tremble with the effort of keeping the gun steady. Their eyes locked.
“Alright, boy,” Mace breathed. “Alrighty. Have it your way.” He tilted his body to the side, gripping the saddle horn, and Luther watched his hands as he dismounted and dropped to the ground.
His cousin strolled out from behind his horse with his hands raised. “Toss that gun out towards me, now,” Luther’s voice was low in his throat.
Mace raised a sardonic brow. “Like so…?” he said slowly, and Luther knew then, that Mace was never going to go down without a fight. As Mace’s hand flew to his revolver, Luther aimed low, and the resulting explosion of sound from his rifle made the nearby trees quake.
Mace dropped to the ground, clutching his foot, and the air shattered around Luther as each gang member withdrew their own gun and pulled the trigger. Bullets threw clouds of dust and grime up into the air as they struck the earth around him. Luther dived for the gun in Mace’s holster, grasped it, and shot off towards the nearby trees. The sounds of thundering hooves made the ground roar.
Luther dodged behind a thick oak as bullets whizzed by his head. The bark near his left ear fractured into splinters and Luther sunk down low into a crouch. He poked his head around the side of the trees, took aim at the oncoming rider’s shoulder, and let off a single shot. From the shout and the heavy thud he heard in response, he knew he’d hit his target. Four to go. He tugged out his rifle, kicked out the spent shells, and reloaded. The shouts of pursuit reverberated through the trees like the hunting calls of a rabid wolf pack. Luther ducked out behind his tree and let off two more shots. Another screech. Another thud. Three left.
He listened. What was going on? The horses’ hooves had halted. “Where ya gonna’ hide, Garrison
?” called a high-pitched, singsong voice. “There’s only one of ya. We gotcha cornered. Why dontcha come on out?” A twig cracked on Luther’s right and he understood in an instant. He raised the rifle and fired. He saw the man’s eyes widen in surprise as he dropped to the forest floor. Two.
He pointed the rifle with his left hand and the revolver with his right. They would come for him at the same moment. He knew they would. It’s what he would have done. Mace’s two remaining men dodged out from behind his tree. He ducked. Rolled. And when he spun around he fired both guns at the same time. His attackers fell where they stood and Luther straightened up as blood spurted from his own neck.
He felt it dribbling down into the collar of the lacy shirt he had gotten from Victoria.
His thoughts swam.
He had been hit.
Chapter Thirteen
Victoria had never known terror until that moment. Elena had arrived on her front stoop after Luther had ridden out of town.
“Quickly!! Come! It’s Mr.Garrison! He’s gone after Mace!”
Victoria didn’t pause to think. She abandoned Virgil Donahue on her porch, where they had been discussing the developments he had had in the search for Mr. Foswick, and bolted down the steps.
“Which way?” she cried, and together Victoria, Elena, and Elena’s new husband sped through the streets. “Where?!” she begged Elena, hefting her skirts as she ran. “Someone has to stop him!! Mr. Clayborne?!”
“The Marshal is riding out as we speak, Mrs. Rhyan!” shouted Tobias Clayborne from Elena’s other side.
“I need a horse,” Victoria heard herself cry, desperately. “Someone, get me onto one of those blasted beasts!”
“Victoria, you cannot just—”
But Victoria let out a mad laugh. “You just try and stop me,” she spat, turning on her friend. “I’m going. I’m—”
But she froze.
A figure on a horse was plodding slowly down Main Street towards them, and the merest half-glance in his direction told Victoria that it was Luther. She let out a cry of relief, and her skirts slashed against her ankles as she hoisted them once more and ran to meet him.
“Luther!” she called, coming right up to him and practically dragging him from the back of his horse. “How could you be so foolish?!” Her sharp eyes spotted the trickle of blood running down the side of his neck. “You’re injured! Someone, get Dr. Richards at once. I—”
“Victoria!” Luther’s voice was warm. It was the most welcome thing she had heard in weeks, and her heart seemed to swell at the sound of it. “It’s only a scratch. The bullet just grazed me. I’m fine.”
Victoria felt tears spring into her eyes at his words. She gazed up into his disheveled face, and all at once a thick, furious anger flooded into her.
“Luther Garrison, if you ever leave me again, I shall take hold of your gun and kill you myself.”
His responding laugh echoed from the sides of the buildings. Without warning, he took Victoria’s face into his hands and kissed her. The fury and the confusion and the terror all leaked away into the background. She relaxed into his touch for a moment, breathing in the warm, masculine scent of him… but the pain of his departure welled up inside her before she could stop it.
“Why did you leave?” she whispered when they broke apart. “Where did you go?”
Luther gestured vaguely behind him, and it was only then that Victoria realized that there was an almighty ruckus going on just a few feet away.
Luther, it seemed, had tied seven horses together in a long line so that they resembled some sort of parody of a circus performance. On the back of each was a different man. Each of them appeared to be nursing some sort of injury or another.
“I’ll get you for this, Garrison!” spat the man at the very front of the pack. He was tied, as the others, back to front, his legs shoved through the stirrups up to his calves and his wrists bound. The leg of his trouser pant was in bloody tatters. “You ain’t getting away with this!”
“Well, I’ll be dipped,” said Tobias Clayborne, sounding utterly flummoxed. “You got ‘em all.”
Victoria’s eyes skated over the twisted faces of each and landed on the face of the man who had spoken. There was something very familiar about his furious blue gaze.
“My cousin,” Luther announced, following her eyes. “Mace Thorne, and his band of gunslinging scoundrels.”
Victoria’s fingers flew to her lips. “Your—?”
“My dear older cousin, yes,” said Luther in clipped tones. “We’ve come to turn ourselves in.”
It took a moment for these words to sink into Victoria’s benumbed mind. She stared from Mace Thorne to Luther and all at once, the world began to spin. She clutched at the neck of her gown.
“You really are an outlaw,” she breathed. She hadn’t truly believed it until this moment, but the world was crumbling around her now. That was it. Luther was going to leave her again. He would be imprisoned.
Luther reached for her hand. “I’m sorry, Vicky,” he murmured, and the words were for her ears alone. She felt as though she should draw away from him, but instead, she clutched his hand just as tight as she could. The world stopped spinning. He was like an anchor to her. He held her in place and kept her from drifting away on the tides of emotion threatening to engulf her.
“Did someone say Mace Thorne?!”
Marshal Sewell approached the motley collection still standing in the middle of the street, glowering down at them all from the back of his horse. His eyes took in the groaning and shouting group of outlaws, all tied back to front, and then fell onto Luther.
“Mr. Garrison? Do you mind explaining to me what exactly it is that you’ve been up to? You turn up in town with a squalling solicitor on an old mule, and not an hour later, you return with Mace Thorne and his gang in tow? And what’s more—” he continued, holding up his hand as Luther opened his mouth to speak. “I’d like to know precisely why I’ve a handful of wanted posters with your face on them inside my office.
Victoria’s breath caught at these words. What kind of man had she fallen in love with? But she knew that it didn’t matter. Just as she had been unable to stop loving Jaxsom’s memory when she thought he had been a thief, so it was that Victoria knew that she would never be able to stop loving Luther Garrison.
But Luther was looking the Marshal dead in the eye. “I’ve come to bring you Mace Thorne and his entire gang,” he said. “I’ll happily turn myself in alongside them if it will keep the town of Silverpines,” he glanced at Victoria and Tobias, “And all the people in it, safe.”
Marshal Sewell climbed down from his horse, smiling strangely. Victoria was holding her breath, waiting for the blow to fall.
The Marshal strolled over to Mace Thorne, who fixed him with a penetrating, ice-blue stare. “I can attest that this man murdered and thieved right alongside us,” Mace spat. “He’s my blood, and he’s just like me,” his insolent glare turned on Luther, who took a step towards him. Victoria held him back.
“I’ve never murdered,” Luther choked, and Victoria saw the chords along his neck tighten at the accusation. “I should have,” he said. “Should have killed you long ago, but I didn’t.” His blue eyes found those of Tobias Clayborne. “T.D.,” he stopped and took a deep breath. Victoria clutched at his hand. “I wish I had been quicker on the draw that day… with your friend. I’m sorry—” Victoria couldn’t understand what he was talking about, but whatever it was seemed to be causing him great pain.
Tobias’s arm tightened around Elena’s shoulders. He pursed his lips and nodded.
Luther’s eyes flew back to Mace. “I am nothing like you.”
Mace’s responding laugh was cut short by the Marshal tapping him several times on the top of his head in the way one might pacify a growling puppy. “Now, now, Mr. Thorne. That’s quite enough of that. There’s a nice reward on this one!” he said to Luther, grinning. “I truly think—" He moved down the line, where a yellow-toothed individual was c
radling a bleeding hand and peered into his face. “That there just might be a reward out on all their heads. Wait here for me, will you?”
Marshal Sewell strode off, whistling between his teeth, and returned a few moments later. Luther and Victoria exchanged bemused looks. He was holding a sheaf of yellowed parchment in his hands. “Let me see—” he said, flipping idly through them. “Ah, here we are. Mace Thorne.” The Marshal extracted a paper from the stack and flicked it in a satisfied sort of way. “Five hundred dollars.”
Victoria raised an incredulous brow.
“And here—” said the Marshal, stopping in front of the yellow-toothed man. “This must be Vern Hannon. Another five for him.” He moved off down the line of wincing and whining fugitives, matching each with a wanted poster and shouting out the reward offered for their capture. “If I’m not much mistaken,” he continued, striding right back up to Luther, still grinning. “You just earned yourself somewhere around three thousand dollars, Mr. Garrison.”
“But—” Luther appeared to have temporarily lost the ability to form coherent words. He swallowed roughly. Glanced at Victoria, and then choked, “Marshal… I’m—I’m a wanted man.”
Marshal Sewell lifted a final wanted poster and showed it to the group. Luther Garrison, it read. Wanted for questioning regarding the activities of Mace Thorne.
“By my understanding,” said the Marshal, politely. “Any questions the county might have wished to ask you about Mace Thorne have now been rendered rather moot.” He gripped the wanted poster on both sides and tore it neatly into two. “The reward money is yours, Mr. Garrison. You’re free to go.”
Victoria’s face split into a wide grin. Luther looked as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
The Marshal folded his arms and frowned at the long line of horses and their burdens. “I’ll deal with Mace and his ilk. There’s a nice comfy couple of cells in my jailhouse they’ll enjoy until they can be tried and transported to the Oregon State Penitentiary.”
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