Abigail Thorne stood at the edge of the gallows, her fingers curled around the rough-hewn wood. A chill wind whipped across the town square, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke. She stared at the trapdoor, imagining her brother’s feet dangling above it.
“It ain’t right,” she muttered, her jaw clenched. “Thomas wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
The crowd had dispersed, leaving only a few stragglers milling about. Abigail’s gaze fell on Judge Elias Blackwood as he emerged from the courthouse, his black robes billowing. The judge’s eyes met hers briefly before he looked away, a flicker of… something… crossing his face.
Guilt? Fear? Abigail couldn’t be sure.
She pushed away from the gallows platform, her boots crunching on the hard-packed dirt. There had to be a way to prove Thomas’s innocence before the hanging in three days’ time. But how?
The saloon doors creaked as Abigail shouldered her way inside. The warm air was thick with tobacco smoke and the reek of cheap whiskey. A handful of men hunched over tables, nursing their drinks. In the far corner sat a solitary figure, his face obscured by the brim of a battered hat.
Abigail approached the bar, fishing a coin from her pocket. “Whiskey,” she said, her voice rough. “And information.”
The bartender, a portly man with thinning hair, raised an eyebrow. “What kind of information?”
“I’m looking for someone. A bounty hunter named Samuel Hawkins.”
The bartender’s eyes darted to the corner where the lone figure sat. Abigail followed his gaze, studying the man more closely. His clothes were trail-worn, a gun belt slung low on his hips.
“Much obliged,” Abigail murmured, tossing back the whiskey. She crossed the room, her footsteps muffled by sawdust.
“Mr. Hawkins?” she asked, stopping before his table.
The man looked up slowly, revealing a weathered face etched with lines of hard living. A jagged scar ran from his left temple to his jaw. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, regarded her warily.
“Who’s asking?” His voice was a low growl.
Abigail pulled out a chair and sat without invitation. “My name’s Abigail Thorne. I need your help.”
Samuel Hawkins leaned back, his fingers drumming on the table. “I don’t come cheap, Miss Thorne.”
“I’ve got money,” Abigail said, meeting his gaze steadily. “And a job that might interest you.”
A hint of curiosity flickered in Samuel’s eyes. “I’m listening.”
Abigail leaned forward, her voice low and urgent. “My brother’s been falsely accused of murder. He’s set to hang in three days unless I can prove his innocence.”
Samuel’s expression remained impassive. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“By finding the real killer,” Abigail said. “I need someone who can track, someone who knows how to find people who don’t want to be found.”
A ghost of a smile touched Samuel’s lips. “And you think that’s me?”
Abigail nodded. “I’ve heard stories. They say you’re the best tracker this side of the Mississippi.”
Samuel’s eyes narrowed. “Stories can be dangerous things, Miss Thorne. Not always true.”
“True enough for me to seek you out,” Abigail countered. “Will you help me or not?”
Samuel was silent for a long moment, studying her face. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll need details. And payment up front.”
Relief washed over Abigail. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small leather pouch, placing it on the table. The coins inside clinked softly.
“Half now, half when we find the real killer,” she said.
Samuel picked up the pouch, weighing it in his hand before tucking it away. “Fair enough. Now, tell me everything.”
As Abigail recounted the events leading to her brother’s arrest, Samuel listened intently, his keen eyes never leaving her face. She told him of the murdered man, a drifter named Jack Collins, found stabbed to death on the outskirts of town. Of the bloody knife discovered in Thomas’s saddlebag, and the damning testimony of a witness who claimed to have seen Thomas fleeing the scene.
“And you’re certain your brother is innocent?” Samuel asked when she’d finished.
Abigail’s eyes flashed. “I’d stake my life on it. Thomas couldn’t kill a man any more than he could sprout wings and fly.”
Samuel nodded slowly. “Alright. We’ll head out at first light. Pack light and dress warm. The trail’s likely gone cold, but we might get lucky.”
As Abigail stood to leave, Samuel’s voice stopped her. “One more thing, Miss Thorne. This Judge Blackwood who sentenced your brother – what can you tell me about him?”
Abigail’s lips thinned. “He’s got a reputation for harsh sentences. Some say he’s in the pocket of the cattle barons, always ruling in their favor. But he’s respected, feared even. No one dares cross him.”
A thoughtful look crossed Samuel’s face. “Interesting. We’ll start there, then. See you at dawn.”
The next morning, a pale sun was just cresting the horizon as Abigail met Samuel at the edge of town. He sat astride a sturdy bay gelding, leading a second horse for her.
“Hope you can ride,” he said by way of greeting.
Abigail swung into the saddle with practiced ease. “I was born on horseback, Mr. Hawkins. Where to first?”
Samuel pointed towards the distant mountains. “The murder happened near Crow Creek, about half a day’s ride from here. We’ll start at the scene, see what we can find.”
As they rode, the town gave way to rolling prairie, dotted with scrub brush and the occasional stand of cottonwoods. Abigail found herself studying her companion, trying to reconcile the gruff exterior with the sharp intelligence she’d glimpsed the night before.
“You’re not from around here,” she ventured after a while.
Samuel’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “What makes you say that?”
“Your accent. It’s not local. Back east, maybe?”
A muscle twitched in Samuel’s jaw. “Boston. Long time ago.”
Abigail sensed she’d touched a nerve and let the subject drop. They rode in silence for a time, the rhythmic thud of hooves the only sound.
As the sun climbed higher, Samuel pulled up his horse, pointing to a copse of trees in the distance. “There. That’s where they found the body.”
They dismounted, tethering the horses to a nearby tree. Samuel moved with the quiet grace of a predator, his eyes scanning the ground as they approached the site.
“Here,” he said, crouching down. “See how the grass is trampled? There was a struggle.”
Abigail knelt beside him, her brow furrowed. “But it’s been days. How can you tell?”
Samuel’s fingers brushed the bent stalks. “The grass is still trying to right itself. And here –” he pointed to a dark stain on a nearby rock “– that’s blood. Old, but not washed away yet.”
He stood, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the area. “Your brother – he’s right-handed?”
Abigail nodded. “Yes, why?”
“The witness said he saw Thomas fleeing to the east, towards town. But look at the tracks here.” Samuel gestured to a faint trail leading west. “Whoever left these was favoring their left side. Probably wounded.”
Hope surged in Abigail’s chest. “So it wasn’t Thomas?”
Samuel held up a hand. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. But it’s something to go on.”
They spent the next hour combing the area, Samuel pointing out details Abigail would have missed – a scrap of fabric caught on a thorny bush, the faint imprint of a boot heel in a patch of soft earth.
As the sun reached its zenith, Samuel straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. “We should head back. I want to talk to this witness, see if his story holds up.”
They were halfway back to town when Samuel suddenly reined in his horse, his head cocked to one side. Abigail was about to ask what was wrong when she heard it too – the distant sound of hoofbeats, approaching fast.
Samuel’s hand went to his gun. “Off the trail,” he said tersely. “Now.”
They urged their horses into a thicket of scrub oak, barely making cover before a group of riders thundered past. Abigail caught a glimpse of feathers and war paint.
“Crow,” Samuel muttered. “Looks like a war party.”
Abigail’s heart raced. “What are they doing this far from their territory?”
Samuel’s eyes were hard. “Nothing good, I’d wager. Come on, we need to warn the town.”
They spurred their horses into a gallop, eating up the miles back to civilization. As they crested the final rise, Abigail’s breath caught in her throat. Smoke rose from the outskirts of town, and she could hear the faint sound of gunfire.
“No,” she whispered. “Oh God, no.”
Samuel’s face was grim. “Stay close,” he said, drawing his pistol. “And keep your head down.”
They rode hard into town, dodging panicked townspeople and riderless horses. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Abigail’s eyes stung as she searched desperately for familiar faces.
A war whoop sounded to their left, and Samuel’s gun barked twice. A painted warrior tumbled from his horse, arrow still nocked in his bow.
“The sheriff’s office,” Samuel shouted over the din. “We need to regroup!”
They made for the squat stone building, ducking low in their saddles as arrows whistled past. Abigail’s heart hammered in her chest, fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins.
As they neared the sheriff’s office, a figure stumbled into their path. Abigail recognized him as Bill Tanner, the town drunk.
“Miss Abigail!” he cried, his eyes wild. “They took him! They took your brother!”
Abigail reined in hard. “What? Who took Thomas?”
But Bill was already staggering away, lost in the chaos. Samuel grabbed her reins, pulling her towards the relative safety of the sheriff’s office.
“We can’t help your brother if we’re dead,” he growled. “Come on!”
They dismounted and ran for the door, bullets splintering the wood around them. Samuel shoved Abigail inside, following close behind.
The office was crowded with townspeople seeking refuge. Sheriff Hank Miller, a barrel-chested man with a drooping mustache, looked up as they entered.
“Hawkins? What in tarnation are you doing here?”
Samuel ignored the question. “What’s the situation, Sheriff?”
Miller wiped sweat from his brow with a bandana. “Crow war party, at least thirty strong. They hit us out of nowhere, started grabbing prisoners.”
Abigail pushed forward. “Sheriff, is it true? Did they take my brother?”
Miller’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Abigail. They busted into the jail, took Thomas and two others.”
Abigail felt as if the floor had dropped out from under her. She gripped the edge of a desk to steady herself.
Samuel’s voice cut through her shock. “This doesn’t make sense. The Crow haven’t raided this far south in years. Why now?”
A new voice answered from the doorway. “Because they were paid to.”
All heads turned to see Judge Elias Blackwood standing there, his black robes streaked with dust and smoke.
Samuel’s gun was in his hand in an instant, leveled at the judge’s chest. “Start talking,” he growled.
Blackwood raised his hands slowly. “I can explain everything. But first, we need to stop this attack before more people die.”
Abigail found her voice. “You’re behind this? You arranged for my brother to be taken?”
The judge’s eyes met hers, filled with a mixture of guilt and defiance. “I had no choice. They threatened my family.”
Sheriff Miller stepped forward, his own gun drawn. “Who threatened you, Judge? Who’s behind this?”
Blackwood opened his mouth to answer, but his words were drowned out by a deafening explosion. The wall behind him erupted in a shower of splinters and stone.
Abigail was thrown to the floor, her ears ringing. Through the haze of dust and smoke, she saw Samuel dragging the unconscious judge to cover.
“We need to get out of here!” Samuel shouted. “This whole building’s coming down!”
Abigail struggled to her feet, helping a dazed townsperson up. “Where do we go?”
Samuel’s eyes darted around the room, assessing. “The church. It’s made of stone, should hold up better than this place.”
They began evacuating, Samuel and Sheriff Miller covering their retreat as they fled into the chaos-filled streets. Abigail’s mind raced. Who could have orchestrated this attack? And why take Thomas?
As they neared the church, a familiar figure on horseback appeared through the smoke. Abigail’s heart leapt.
“Chief Grey Wolf!” she called out.
The Native American leader reined in his horse, his weathered face etched with concern. “Abigail Thorne. I feared we would be too late.”
Samuel stepped forward, his gun still at the ready. “You know what’s happening here?”
Grey Wolf nodded gravely. “We received word of the attack and came to help. But I fear there is more at play here than a simple raid.”
They ushered the last of the townspeople into the church before Grey Wolf continued. “There have been rumors among my people. Whispers of a man known only as the Raven, who seeks to sow chaos along the frontier.”
Abigail’s mind whirled. “The Raven? What does he want?”
“Power,” Grey Wolf said simply. “He plays both sides against each other, profiting from the conflict.”
Samuel’s eyes narrowed. “And you think this Raven is behind the attack?”
Grey Wolf nodded. “It fits his pattern. But there is more. We believe he has agents in positions of power throughout the territory.”
Abigail’s gaze fell on the still-unconscious form of Judge Blackwood. “Like a circuit judge?”
Understanding dawned on Samuel’s face. “That’s why Blackwood was so quick to sentence Thomas. He was following orders.”
A commotion outside drew their attention. The sounds of fighting were dying down, replaced by shouts of “They’re retreating!”
Grey Wolf’s expression was grim. “They have what they came for. We must act quickly if we hope to rescue the prisoners.”
Abigail’s heart raced. “How? We don’t even know where they’ve taken them.”
Samuel’s eyes glinted with determination. “No, but we’ve got someone who does.” He jerked his head towards Blackwood. “Time to wake up the judge and get some answers.”
As the town began to assess the damage and tend to the wounded, Samuel and Abigail sequestered themselves in a back room of the church with the slowly rousing Judge Blackwood. Chief Grey Wolf stood guard outside, ensuring their privacy.
Blackwood blinked groggily, wincing as he touched the lump on his head. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings and the stern faces before him.
“I suppose there’s no point in denying anything now,” he said wearily.
Samuel leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. “Start talking, Judge. Who’s the Raven, and where have they taken the prisoners?”
Blackwood slumped in his chair. “I don’t know his real name. No one does. He contacted me months ago, said he had evidence of my… indiscretions. Threatened to expose me unless I cooperated.”
Abigail’s hands clenched into fists. “So you sentenced innocent men to hang? Destroyed lives to save your own skin?”
The judge had the grace to look ashamed. “I told myself I had no choice. But you’re right. I was a coward.”
Samuel cut in impatiently. “Where are they taking the prisoners?”
“There’s an old mining camp in the hills, about a day’s ride northwest of here,” Blackwood said. “That’s where I was told to send any… special cases.”
Abigail’s heart raced. “Then that’s where we’ll find Thomas.”
Samuel nodded grimly. “Along with this Raven character, I’d wager.” He turned back to Blackwood. “You’re coming with us, Judge. Consider it your chance at redemption.”
As they made hasty preparations to leave, Abigail found herself studying Samuel. There was a fierce intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“This isn’t just about the bounty anymore, is it?” she asked quietly.
Samuel was silent for a moment, checking the load in his revolver. “Let’s just say I’ve got my own reasons for wanting to see the Raven brought down.”
Before Abigail could press further, Chief Grey Wolf approached. “I have spoken with my warriors. We will accompany you to the mining camp. This Raven threatens all our people, not just the white settlers.”
Samuel nodded his thanks. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”
As the first light of dawn broke over the hills, a small party set out from the battered town. Abigail and Samuel rode at the front, flanked by Chief Grey Wolf and a handful of his most trusted braves. Judge Blackwood brought up the rear, his hands bound to his saddle horn.
The day’s ride was tense and largely silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Abigail’s mind raced with worry for her brother and determination to see justice done. She found herself stealing glances at Samuel, wondering about the demons that drove him.
As the sun began to set, Samuel held up a hand, signaling a halt. “We’re getting close,” he said in a low voice. “We’ll make camp here and approach under cover of darkness.”
They settled in a small clearing, keeping the fires low. As night fell, Samuel gathered them for a final council.
“The camp will be guarded,” he said, sketching a rough map in the dirt. “Grey Wolf, I want your men to create a distraction here and here. Abigail and I will slip in from the south and find the prisoners.”
Chief Grey Wolf nodded solemnly. “And the Raven?”
Samuel’s eyes hardened. “Leave him to me.”
As the others made their final preparations, Abigail pulled Samuel aside. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked. “This is personal for you, isn’t it?”
Samuel was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the distant hills. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“The Raven… he killed my family. My wife and daughter. Burned our home to the ground while I was away on a job.” His hands clenched into fists. “I’ve been hunting him for three years.”
Abigail’s heart ached for him. She reached out, laying a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Samuel. I had no idea.”
He met her eyes, and for a moment, Abigail saw past the gruff exterior to the pain beneath. “Now you know why this has to end. One way or another.”
As midnight approached, they moved silently through the scrub brush towards the old mining camp. The moon was a thin crescent, providing just enough light to see by without giving away their position.
Samuel held up a hand, pointing to a cluster of ramshackle buildings ahead. Two guards stood at the entrance to what looked like an old bunkhouse.
“That’s where they’ll be keeping the prisoners,” he whispered.
As if on cue, a series of war whoops split the night air. Torches flared to life on the far side of the camp as Grey Wolf’s warriors launched their distraction.
“Now,” Samuel hissed.
They sprinted for the bunkhouse, keeping low. The guards were already running towards the commotion, leaving the way clear. Samuel made quick work of the lock, and they slipped inside.
The interior was dark and musty. Abigail blinked, willing her eyes to adjust. She heard the rattle of chains, then a familiar voice.
“Abby? Is that you?”
“Thomas!” She rushed forward, finding her brother shackled to the wall along with two other men. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”
Thomas shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m fine, but Abby, what are you doing here? It’s not safe!”
Samuel was already working on the shackles. “We can catch up later. Right now, we need to move.”
As the last prisoner was freed, a shot rang out, splintering the wood near Abigail’s head. She whirled to see a figure silhouetted in the doorway.
“Well, well,” a silky voice drawled. “What have we here?”
Samuel’s gun was in his hand in an instant, but the newcomer was faster. A second shot knocked the weapon from his grasp.
“Samuel Hawkins,” the man said, stepping into the dim light. He was tall and lean, with eyes like chips of obsidian. A raven’s feather was tucked into the band of his hat. “I wondered when you’d catch up to me.”
Abigail’s blood ran cold. This was him. The Raven.
Samuel’s voice was a low growl. “It’s over. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”
The Raven laughed, the sound chilling in its lack of warmth. “Oh, I don’t think so. You see, I always have a contingency plan.”
He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the room was filled with armed men. Abigail and the others found themselves surrounded, outgunned and outmanned.
The Raven’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Now then, let’s discuss terms. I have a proposition for you, Mr. Hawkins. One that could prove quite… profitable.”
Samuel’s face was a mask of barely contained fury. “I’ll die before I work for you.”
“Perhaps,” the Raven mused. “But will you sacrifice them as well?” He gestured to Abigail and the others. “Their lives for your cooperation. It’s a fair trade, I think.”
Abigail saw the conflict in Samuel’s eyes. She knew he was weighing the lives of strangers against his need for vengeance.
“Samuel,” she said softly. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. We’ll find another way.”
The Raven clucked his tongue. “I’m afraid there is no other way, my dear. Now, Mr. Hawkins, what will it be?”
The tension in the room was palpable. Abigail held her breath, her mind racing for a solution. Just as Samuel opened his mouth to speak, a commotion erupted outside.
The sound of gunfire and shouting filled the air. The Raven’s men looked around in confusion, their attention momentarily diverted.
It was all the opening Samuel needed. He lunged forward, tackling the Raven to the ground. Abigail and Thomas sprang into action, disarming the nearest guards.
The room erupted into chaos. Fists flew and guns blazed. Abigail found herself back-to-back with her brother, fighting for their lives.
Through the melee, she caught glimpses of Samuel grappling with the Raven. They crashed through the door, taking their fight outside.
As suddenly as it had begun, the fighting in the bunkhouse ceased. The Raven’s men lay subdued or unconscious. Chief Grey Wolf and his warriors stood in the doorway, bows at the ready.
“Perfect timing,” Abigail gasped, wiping blood from a split lip.
Grey Wolf’s eyes crinkled in a rare smile. “We thought you might need assistance.”
Abigail’s relief was short-lived as she remembered. “Samuel! He went after the Raven!”
They rushed outside to find Samuel kneeling over the Raven’s prone form. For a heart-stopping moment, Abigail feared the worst. Then Samuel looked up, his eyes haunted but clear.
“It’s over,” he said simply.
As dawn broke over the hills, casting long shadows across the mining camp, Abigail found Samuel standing alone at the edge of the camp. The Raven and his surviving men were securely bound, awaiting transport to face justice.
She approached quietly, coming to stand beside him. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Samuel broke the silence. “I’ve been chasing him for so long,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not sure I know how to stop.”
Abigail reached out, taking his hand in hers. “You don’t have to figure it out alone.”
He turned to her, a mix of vulnerability and hope in his eyes. “What happens now?”
Abigail smiled softly. “Now? We go home. We heal. And maybe… we see where this leads.”
As the sun climbed higher, casting its warm light over the land, Abigail and Samuel walked back to the others hand in hand. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in years, both felt the stirring of hope.
The Raven’s reign of terror was over. Justice would be served. And perhaps, in time, two wounded souls might find healing in each other.