Return to Canyon Creek

By John Layne

In the third installment of the international award-winning series by John Layne comes a story that reunites the justice-seeking duo of Luxton Danner and Wes Payne for their toughest test yet.

A ruthless land baron with visions of turning a quiet settlement into a raucous boomtown besieges the peaceful town of Canyon Creek. Gilford Knox set his sights on devouring every inch of land in and near Canyon Creek, employing threats and violent tactics to force out vulnerable ranchers, farmers, and proprietors. Soon, Knox held businesses occupy half the town as he pressures the remaining proprietors to sell or suffer the consequences.

When Knox builds a rowdy saloon, mercantile, hotel, and bawdy house, an old friend summons Danner and Payne, who bring their gunslinging brand of justice to quell Knox and his renegades. Joined by a quartet of former Buffalo Soldiers, a gun-toting farm girl, and a mysterious young gunfighter, Danner and Payne set out to do what they do best, defend Canyon Creek or die trying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Labrador Publishing
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986011011

John Layne

John is an international, multi-award-winning Author of Western Fiction. He is also a screenwriter and actor, recently appearing in 1883 A Yellowstone Origin Story and the film A Dark Destiny​His professional writing career began in the sports industry where he penned articles for national magazines and served as an editor for online publications.His adoration for Western films and novels began at an early age and expanded over the years. His theatrical inspirations include actors John Wayne, James Stewart, and Clint Eastwood as well as directors John Ford, Henry Hathaway, Howard Hawks, and Andrew McLaglen. He drew literary muse from Louis L’Amour, Robert B. Parker, C. J. Box, and Lee Child. His passion for history and the classic western genre inspired him to write short stories and three novels about the Old West along with his first feature film screenplay adapted from his second novel Red River Reunion. All are classic westerns set in 1870s Texas.​John is an avid sports fan, and horse enthusiast. He is a member of; The Authors Guild, Western Writers of America, Western Fictioneers, Wyoming Writers Inc. and the Oklahoma Writers Federation.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

SATURDAY, 6 JULY 1878

Gilford Knox – Circle X Ranch

Gilford Knox read over the letter he received from his father. Dated June 1, 1878, the message outlined the ongoing negotiations between several railroad companies that planned expansion across the western frontier, including Texas. A highly respected and wealthy businessman in Washington DC, Horace Knox was privy to most of Washington’s politics and business. Bankrolling his son and sending him to North Texas ahead of the western railroad expansion was a well-conceived plan that was about to take shape.

A trained military man with a striking command presence, Gilford Knox had never married, not wanting the distractions a wife and children brought with them. He carefully studied the Texas Range map, always impeccably dressed in a suit and a fine silver bolo tie. His successful purchase of the KC Ranch from Sam Coleman was an excellent start to his plans, but he needed the parcels that Coleman sold off before the KC purchase. According to his father’s communication, the Texas and Pacific Railway Company had bought Southern Pacific and completed a rail line to Fort Worth. There were rumors that the Texas and Pacific were negotiating with the International and Great Northern Company to connect rail lines north of Oneida near Canyon Creek, then proceed west. Knox needed all three ranches that Coleman had sold, if that was true.

Knox further examined the topography of the North Texas panhandle region. The easiest path to completion would run right through the land currently owned by Virgil Robertson, Carl Kincaid, and Dale Morgan. Following the trail further north, Knox figured the territory between Canyon Creek and the town of Thornton would also significantly increase in value if not directly used to extend the railway. Knox leaned back in his winged back bull hide chair and gazed out the front window of his office. He smiled at the revelation that his purchase of the KC Ranch was better than he and his father imagined. Now, Canyon Creek needed to expand. It needed to become a town that everyone knew. That would easily convince the railroad companies to purchase his property and establish a railhead at Canyon Creek. He’d already begun purchasing businesses in Canyon Creek and accelerated the building of his new companies. Convincing the ranchers would take a different approach—a far more forceful one. Knox lit a cigar. The thick purple smoke billowed from the fiery end, forming a cloud. He stepped onto the front porch and saw one of his wranglers, working a horse in a nearby round pen. He whistled, drawing the attention of the wrangler.

Yes sir, Mr. Knox, the wrangler called to his boss.

Find Colbert and tell him I want to see him right away, Knox demanded before returning to his office.

Knox thought about his three primary adversaries. Virgil Robertson would be the easiest to push out. He was nothing more than a farmer and had to worry about a wife and three daughters. Kincaid would be a more formidable opponent. He was younger and had a gunslinger for a foreman. Dale Morgan wouldn’t be a push-over either. He didn’t know Morgan very well but knew he would put up more of a fight than Robertson. He’d save Morgan for last unless something unexpected changed his plans. The pounding of boot heels on the planked wood floor disrupted Knox’s thoughts. He set his cigar on the lip of a large glass ashtray and waited for his top gun hand.

You called for me, sir? Erwin Colbert asked before removing his hat and standing at attention in front of the boss’s desk.

Erwin Colbert was a tall, thin, sinewy man with long black greasy hair and an uneven gunpowder burn on the right side of his ruddy face, thanks to a prior misfire from his rifle a cheap hired gun, and cattle rustler.

Yes. I’ve decided to up the ante for the Robertson, Kincaid, and Morgan land. I’ll need it sooner than later. They’ve all refused the previous offers I’ve made. It’s time to tell them they’d be better off somewhere else. You know what I mean, Colbert? Knox asked.

Colbert smiled, showing what few tobacco-stained teeth he had left in his mouth. He instinctively reached down and grasped the handle of his pistol.

I believe I do, sir, Colbert answered.

We’ll start with the Robertson’s. Take a couple of men over there tomorrow night and run their herd off. Scatter ‘em as best you can. Run a few over to our pasture. Just harassment right now. I don’t want any killing yet. That’ll bring the law around, and I don’t need that kind of a problem, Knox advised.

What about Kincaid and Morgan? You want us to hit all three at the same time? Colbert asked.

We’ll wait a bit for them. They’ll be more of a challenge. We’ll probably have to kill them both if they don’t agree to sell. Robertson first, then we’ll take on Kincaid and his foreman Cox. I need to learn more about Morgan before moving on to his place. After he sees what happens to Robertson and Kincaid, he may be more open to selling, Knox said.

Yes, sir, Colbert answered, then began to turn and leave.

Colbert, take a couple of unrecognizable new men. And make sure you’re not recognized. I want this to look like rustlers, Knox ordered.

Yes, sir. You can count on me, Colbert assured his boss.

Knox retrieved his cigar and puffed while he scanned the map again. He had committed most of the map to memory, but he wanted to take note of the river and creeks. After a few seconds, he rolled the map into a tight cylinder and placed it under his desk.

Well, Virgil Robertson, we’re about to see what you’re made of, Knox thought, rolling the fat cigar between his fingers.

CHAPTER 2

SUNDAY, 7 JULY 1878

Virgil Robertson & Shelley Robertson – Robertson Ranch

The four riders leaned back in their saddles, scanning the crowded pasture below. The full moon’s burnt orange hue propped behind the riders confirmed another sweltering day would follow a night of nefarious exploits. At half-past midnight, the oppressive heat already took its toll on horse and man. Each mount billowed snorts of opposition while beads of sweat stung the riders’ eyes and cracked lips. The men impatiently waited for the last light in the Robertson ranch house to flicker out. On an illicit mission to run off Virgil Robertson’s herd, the rustlers received orders this was a harassment raid; thus, there’d be no killing. For now, the boss wanted the four hundred acres of pasture and its water access, not dead neighbors. After another impatient twenty minutes, the flame of the last lantern faded into darkness.

Erwin Colbert, an unsavory saddle tramp and hired gun waved to his three cohorts before spurring his horse down the shallow incline toward the 450 or so bullocks milling about in Robertson’s main pasture. The orders were simple. Wait until the ranch house was dark, quickly scatter the herd in as many directions as possible, then high tail it out of there before any of the Robertson’s started shooting.

Colbert headed around the right flank of the herd while the others took positions on the left and middle of the stoic group. Once in place, Colbert drew his pistol. Crack! A single shot began the chaos, followed by yips and yells from the four brigands. Crack! Crack! Crack! All four rustlers fired into the night’s dense humid air, sending their horses into a charging force. The gunfire echoes sent cattle thundering in every direction, reminiscent of ants fleeing their jolted nest. Colbert kept his right flank cattle pushing toward the west while the others moved the rest outward into the moon-lit night. Crack! Crack! More gunfire sent the stampede rolling off the Robertson land.

Virgil Robertson rolled out of bed clutching his Colt pistol. Dashing through the house with bare feet and a tattered nightshirt, he crashed headfirst through the front door, his .45 poised and ready for action. The heat-soaked auburn moon wasn’t lighting up the pasture with its customary bright light, limiting his vision. All he saw were shadows of his remaining herd and a couple of riders on horseback disappearing over the north ridge. He eased the hammer back down on his pistol and slumped onto the weather-beaten top step of the porch.

Shelley Robertson rushed through the front door behind her father, cocked Winchester in hand. The eldest of three daughters, twenty-three-year-old Shelley was a crack shot with both rifle and pistol, not afraid to use either. Clad in a long white nightshirt that danced against her slender ankles, she took a seat next to her father, propping the Winchester against her right leg, and looked out toward the barren pasture. You know who’s responsible for this, she sneered through clenched teeth.

We don’t know for sure, her father half-heartedly answered, sounding out of breath, and defeated.

The hell we don’t! Shelley shouted, her voice echoing off the barn into the still night air.

Michelle Robertson! Don’t you use that kind of language in this house! her mother bellowed from the doorway, much to the delight of Shelley’s two younger sisters giggling at their mother’s feet in their wrinkled white nightshirts dulled from too many washboard visits. You two get back to bed! Nothing left here to see! Madeleine Robertson called down at her young daughters. Both girls obediently hurried back to their room without a word.

Maybe we can find a few in the morning, Shelley offered a word of encouragement to her father, keeping her sights on the north ridgeline.

Virgil patted his daughter’s knee and nodded. Maybe, he said before slowly standing and returning into the house for what would be a futile attempt at getting some desperately needed sleep.

Shelley didn’t move, and her father knew better than ordering her back to bed. His eldest daughter had become a fine woman who had taken it upon herself to be the son he never had. She was a better shot than most men and could ride and rope with the best wranglers around. Choosing a close-fit bib shirt, riding pants, and vest instead of the print dresses and prairie skirts ladies of her age preferred, she hadn’t yet found a young man willing to take on such a woman. At twenty-three, when most women were married and had children, she remained with her parents working hard to make her father’s modest ranch a success. At 300 acres, they had quickly built a nice size herd in the year since her father purchased it with the proceeds of his small sugar cane farm in Louisiana. Now, because of its water source on Coldwater Creek, it had become precious to the more prominent surrounding ranchers, particularly Gilford Knox and his 4,500-acre Circle X Ranch bordering on their western edge.

Having purchased Sam Coleman’s KC spread a year earlier, the wealthy ambitious Knox had been pursuing the purchase of nearby land with intimidation and strong-arm tactics available to men with wealth and the power that comes with it. Employing rowdy cowboys to work his herds and gunfighters to protect his assets, Knox had successfully pushed many of the nearby landholders out with so-called offers they couldn’t refuse or amounts of money poor men wouldn’t turn down. Virgil Robertson and Carl Kincaid were two stubborn holdouts. Kincaid’s 400 acres abutted Robertson’s on the north side. Their properties bordered Coldwater Creek on the east. Relying heavily on the season’s rains, it delivered water to the surrounding grassland and the large cattle herds. Although no one could legally blame Knox for the recent rustling of the smaller ranchers’ herds, Shelley and a few others around Canyon Creek believed Knox was behind the harassment.

The first-born Robertson daughter laid her Winchester across her lap and leaned forward, closing her eyes. The night had become eerily quiet after the unwanted guests had fled. She listened hard, hoping to catch the sound of a lonesome cow’s call. Nothing. Not a cow, owl, or coyote. Just the faint buzzing of a passing insect flushed from its nighttime grass den. She opened her eyes and stared at the Winchester. You’d better hope I don’t find out it was you, she thought of Gilford Knox before surrendering to the need for sleep. After all, it would be a busy day when she woke in a few hours.

CHAPTER 3

SUNDAY, 7 JULY 1878

Virgil Robertson & Shelley Robertson – Kincaid Ranch

Abright yellow sun replaced the solemn moon’s glow and ignited an onslaught of sweltering heat despite the early morning hour. Virgil and Shelley were already in the saddle, making their way toward Carl Kincaid’s ranch looking for remnants of last night’s raid. Virgil hoped his spooked animals would flee to the nearest herd then settle down. Although Gilford Knox’s land spread all around Robertson’s and Kincaid’s ranches, Kincaid’s place was the closest. Retrieving his cattle from Kincaid was no problem, but if Shelley was right, and he believed she was, encroaching onto Knox’s property would be far more precarious. Thus far, they’d quickly rounded up fourteen heads that hadn’t entirely made it off the pasture. After pushing those back toward the house, father and daughter moved quickly onto Kincaid land, where they had checked dozens of cows, all burned with the Kincaid brand. Up ahead, a lone rider, tall in the saddle, was heading their way at a steady trot.

Dad looks like Mr. Cox is coming to talk, Shelley announced to her preoccupied father.

Clay Cox had been with Carl Kincaid since the end of the war. In his late forties, with close-cropped gray hair, a narrow face, and a muscular build, he was known to be as good with a gun as he was managing cattle. He shared Shelley’s belief that Knox was behind the raids and rustling that had plagued Canyon Creek’s small ranchers for the past few months.

Good mornin’ Virgil, Shelley. What y’all doin’ over this way so early, Cox asked in his Deep South pleasant manner as he reined his horse to a stop.

Morning, Clay, Virgil greeted his neighbor’s top hand.

That damned Knox ran off our herd last night! Shelley exclaimed.

Shelley, please, her father begged, taking his hat off and mopping a dirty red bandana on his tired face already gleaming with sweat.

Cox’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing above a sharp frown centered amidst a whisker-clad square jaw.

What happened? Cox asked.

Some riders showed up around half past midnight shootin’ and hollerin’. Put the herd into a stampede. By the time I got out there, they were running all over the place, Virgil reported.

Get a look at any of them? Cox asked, leaning forward on his saddle horn.

Didn’t have to, Mr. Cox. It was Knox’s men. I’m sure of it, Shelley said between a tight-lipped expression.

Now, Shelley, we don’t know that fer certain, Virgil offered.

Why is it then that Knox never complains about his herd being run off? Shelley asked.

Shelley has a point, Virgil. I’m inclined to agree with her. Knox has the most to lose, yet he doesn’t seem bothered much, outside spoutin’ off in town once a while. I reckon that’s just for show, Cox offered.

I know, I know. I reckon I just don’t want to believe it. With Knox’s power, we really could use him on our side, Virgil explained.

It’s that power that separates him from the rest of us, Cox said, glancing west toward the Circle X.

That foreman of his, Erwin Colbert’s nothing but an outlaw. Everybody knows it, Shelley continued.

Cox passed a faint grin and nodded. He does have a bit of a reputation. I know he was part of a land war further south. Rumor is that’s why Knox hired him, Cox agreed.

Maybe we should hire a gun of our own then, Virgil said.

I don’t need no one gunning for me! Shelley declared, slapping her Colt Lightning.

Ain’t no cows or land worth you gettin’ killed for Shelley! Virgil said sternly.

Your Paw is right, Shelley. Knox has a dozen or so men, all professionals. None of them give a damn about anything but earning their pay, Cox clarified.

I’ve kept back a little money. Think I’ll ride over and talk to Carl and see if he’s willing to hire a few guards, Virgil said.

Go on ahead, Virgil, I’ll join Shelley, round up any of your strays that mingled with the herd, and drive them back to yer place, Cox offered.

Virgil nodded, then snapped his reins and headed toward the Kincaid house.

Cox and Shelley watched him for a moment before Cox spoke up. I’ve never seen your father look so defeated, Cox said in a deep voice.

Nope. He was a confident man when he was farming sugar cane back home. He probably should’ve never left, but he and Ma agreed to come to Texas and give ranching a try. They figured there was more money in cattle, so he invested in that, she explained.

Yep, more money and more risk. Just like a Louisiana gambler, Cox answered with a chuckle.

Shelley smiled. She dug the soles of her boots into the stirrups and sat straight up.

We gonna chat all morning or look for our stock? she said with a laugh.

Yes, ma’am! Let’s go! Cox shouted, tapping his spurs and heading toward the herd assembled down in the bottom pasture.

Virgil pulled up on the reins and stopped at the expansive front porch of Kincaid’s massive log house. Filling a full half acre with rotund beams supporting lesser sized timbers, it was home to Carl, his wife Anne, and two young sons. It was one of the finest places in Randal County. Virgil dismounted and tethered his horse to the hitching post. Before his boot hit the first step, Kincaid stepped through the front screened door. His six-foot-two muscled frame cast a younger look than his 47 years, mainly since his bald head had already shed what gray hair he had in his younger years. The touch of gray on his unshaved face lent a clue. Hello Virgil, what brings you out this morning? Kincaid asked.

Good morning, Carl. Me and Shelley have been out looking for my herd that got run off last night, Virgil reported.

After their cordial handshake, Kincaid rubbed a worn calloused hand over his unshaven chin and looked at Virgil. Again? What the hell happened this time? Kincaid asked, waving Virgil toward a couple of pine ladder-back rocking chairs on the porch.

They got almost all of them this time, Carl. They ran them off just past midnight. It was quick. By the time I got out there, they were headin’ over the ridge. It looked to be four or five rustlers. I didn’t see who they were. I found a few cows left in the south pasture. I figure the rest of the herd is scattered all over yours and Knox’s land, Virgil advised.

Well, you know you’re welcome to gather any from my place but going onto Knox’s land may not be too smart, Kincaid offered.

I know, thank you. Clay and Shelley are already out lookin’ to cut ours out of your herd. Both Shelley and Clay think Knox is behind these raids. I tend to agree, I guess. I figured he had enough land, but I hear different. You? Virgil asked.

Knox wants every piece of dirt he can get his hands on. It looks like he’s racing the J.A. Ranch for first place. Adair and Goodnight are staking claim to most of the good raw land near Palo Duro Canyon. They got the money to back it—Paying’ fair price or more. Knox has money, but he’s bought land all over the County and more out of it. The old KC was a good start, but he wants those like us to get out of his way. I hear he’s up to Thornton now buying folks out. It seems you, me, and the Morgan place are the only ones stopping him from owning everything from here to Canyon Creek. It looks like we’re a burr under his saddle, Kincaid said with a glint in his gray eyes and the flash of a sarcastic grin.

Carl, I can’t lose my place. I’ve invested darn near everything I’ve got into it. I was wonderin’ if you’d join me in hirin’ a few guards to watch our places until fall when we can sell the herds? I know Dale Morgan doesn’t have a family to worry about and already has a couple of men working for him, but maybe he’ll join in if he knows you and me is, Virgil added.

Kincaid removed his hat, displaying a smooth round sweat-shined head where hair used to flourish, and paused to ponder the suggestion. Virgil stayed silent, knowing he needed both Kincaid and Morgan to join him if his idea was going to work. The radiant heat choked out the fresh morning breeze. Flies and bees quickly became buzzing pests in the still air.

As you know, I was here before Sam Coleman decided to sell out and move east. Before you arrived, we had a fine lawman in Canyon Creek by the name of Ben Chance. Rustlers killed Joel Thornton, and Ben joined up with a couple of gunslingers to track his killers. Although Ben was killed, one of the men was a federal marshal named Danner. Marshal Danner brought word of Chance’s death back to Canyon Creek. In particular, the owner of the Sundown Hotel, Rachel Brennan. You see, Mrs. Brennan was a widow and sweet on Ben. Anyhow, the word is that Mrs. Brennan wrote a letter to Marshal Danner asking for help. It seems the business owners in town aren’t too pleased with Knox building his hotel, store, and brothel at the end of town. Townsfolk say he’s tarnishing the town. Could it be the suggestion of hiring a few gun hands has already been made? I think you, me, and Morgan need to take a ride into town and have a talk with Mrs. Brennan, Kincaid proposed.

I’d heard about Thornton and Ben Chance’s ride up to Six Shot. I didn’t know all that, though. The girls haven’t been to town in a while. Seems like a good time to pay a visit and see what Knox is up to, Virgil answered.

Very well. Let’s ride over to Morgan’s place. If I know Morgan, he’ll be jumping to join us. One thing, Virgil. This business could get ugly. Make sure Madeleine knows what’s at stake, Kincaid warned.

And Anne?

Clay and I saw this coming. I’ve already had this talk with her. She can handle it, Kincaid advised.

I better head back to the house and speak with Madeleine. Shelley already wants to charge over to Knox’s like a bull steer in heat, but Madeleine will need some convincing, Virgil stated flatly.

All right. How about we see Morgan after you speak to Madeleine, then we’ll meet for dinner at the Sundown in a few days? We can see Mrs. Brennan then," Kincaid suggested.

Yep. I’ll let you know. Might be tomorrow or the next day, Virgil said, rising from his chair with a stroke of confidence he lacked when he arrived.

Kincaid stood with his hands on his hips and watched his neighbor ride away. I don’t know what kind of trouble you saw in the sugar cane fields, but I fear you’re about to get into something you ain’t ready for, Kincaid thought.

CHAPTER 4

SUNDAY, 7 JULY 1878

Robertson Family – Robertson Ranch

The sun settled behind the western horizon, stripping what limited light dusk had to offer into the black darkness of night. The crescent moon provided little more than the dim outline of the Robertson house. Virgil brought the wagon to a halt next to the front porch, where Shelley jumped down and took the reins from her father. Madeleine carefully stepped down from the wagon then helped her two young daughters to the ground before they clamored up the steps and into the house. Virgil lifted a large basket of supplies off the back of the wagon and followed his wife and young daughters into the house. He set the basket down next to the table and lit the large candle in the middle of the kitchen table. The candle’s soft glow spread a warm glow throughout the kitchen. Madeleine began to unload the basket of baked goods Anne Kincaid gave her after their supper at the Kincaid ranch. Virgil slid his boots off and lit the stove.

Coffee? Madeleine asked in-between filling the cupboard.

Please, Virgil answered in a low voice.

Shelley stepped through the front door and stamped her boots on the frayed braided rug for such business. She removed her boots and placed them neatly next to the door before hanging her gun belt on a nail next to the front window. She then joined her parents in the kitchen.

Shelley, do you have to hang that gun right next to the window? her mother asked.

Don’t worry, mother, I’ll take it to my room before I go to bed, Shelley said. What are we going to do now, dad? Shelley asked before taking a seat across the table from her father.

Yes, dear, I’d like to know too, Madeleine added while setting three cups of hot coffee on the table, then taking a seat next to her husband.

Virgil stayed silent for a few moments, rubbing his weathered hand across the smooth surface of the table. Virgil took a sip of hot black coffee and set the cup down in front of him.

This tastes especially good tonight, he announced with a slight grin.

Madeleine gently placed her hand on her husband’s arm. We’re in danger, aren’t we? she asked.

Virgil let out a long sigh and looked at his wife. I’m afraid so, especially if Marshal Danner doesn’t come, he admitted.

If that bastard Knox or his men– Shelley began.

Michele Denise Robertson! I’ve told you not to speak like that in this house! her mother demanded.

Your mother’s right Shelley. That kind of talk won’t help us, Virgil added.

Maybe not, but– Shelley began again.

I don’t know what we can do if Knox’s men come here. There’s only the two of us, and you know I’m not very good with a gun, Virgil interrupted his impetuous daughter. That’s why I want to hire a man or two, Virgil began.

But we’ll have to use our entire savings for that, Madeleine interjected.

Look, Maddie, if we don’t protect our herd until the fall, then there won’t be any money left anyway. Defending the ranch is a do-or-die situation, Virgil announced, loudly rapping his knuckles on the table.

Virgil, I know selling the farm back home and coming here was mostly my idea, but I think we should just sell everything to Mr. Knox and go back to Louisiana, Madeleine suggested.

What? Go back to growing sugar cane? Virgil asked.

I believe that’s the smartest and certainly the safest thing to do, Madeleine said.

Well, I can’t argue with it being the safest thing to do. I’m just a farmer trying his hand at cattle raising, but I’ve never turned tail and ran when things got rough, Virgil declared before taking another sip of his coffee.

Crack! A bullet shattered the kitchen window then splintered the wall across the room. Madeleine screamed as Virgil slapped his hand down onto the burning candle, extinguishing its flame and light. Shelley pounced from her chair and bolted to the front window, grabbing her Colt Lightning from its holster before disappearing through the doorway.

Shelley! No! her father yelled, following her onto the porch where he saw her crouching at the corner of the house, gun in hand. He hurried to her side and peeked around the corner. The moonlight lit the landscape just enough to see the shadows of two men on horseback fading into the distance.

Sons a bitches, Shelley mumbled loud enough for her father to hear.

Virgil patted his daughter on the shoulder when a flash of pain shot through his right hand. Just then, he realized he had burned his palm dousing the