Chapter 2

The streets of Lawless Ridge were eerily quiet, the only sounds the occasional snort of a nervous horse and the distant wail of a coyote. Ben knew that the quiet wouldn’t last. The town was a tinderbox, and the explosion had been the spark. He had to get the gold somewhere safe, and fast. His mind raced with the possibilities, each more dangerous than the last.

He stumbled upon a livery stable, the wooden sign creaking in the wind. The place was dimly lit, with the smell of hay and leather thick in the air. The owner, a man named Jenkins, was dozing in a chair, his snores rattling the glasses on his nose. Ben approached him, the gold bar glinting in his hand.

“I need a horse,” Ben said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his voice. “A fast one.”

Jenkins’ eyes snapped open, his sleep-heavy lids lifting to reveal a look of surprise. “What’s the matter, little man?”

“I need a horse,” Ben repeated, the gold bar gleaming in the candlelight. “And I’ve got the coin to pay for it.”

Jenkins squinted at the gold, his interest piqued. He lumbered to his feet, his suspicion giving way to greed. “How much you wantin’ to pay?”

“I’ll give you one of these,” Ben said, holding out the gold bar. “But you keep it hushed. I don’t want anyone knowin’ I’ve got more.”

Jenkins’ eyes widened, and he swiped the gold from Ben’s hand faster than a rattlesnake strikes. “You got yourself a deal,” he murmured, his voice greedy. He led Ben to the back of the stable, where the best horses were kept.

Ben’s eyes scanned the animals, looking for one that was swift and reliable. His gaze settled on a sleek, black stallion with a white blaze down its nose. “That one,” he said, pointing.

Jenkins nodded, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. “Fine choice. But you’re gonna need a good horse to outrun those outlaws.”

Ben’s heart skipped a beat. “Outlaws?”

“The ones that just rode through here like the devil himself was on their heels. They’re the ones you’re lookin’ to outrun?” Jenkins said, his voice thick with disbelief.

Ben nodded solemnly. “Aye, I’ve got some business with ‘em, and I’d prefer not to do it on foot.”

The next stop on Ben’s clandestine mission was the gun shop, a ramshackle building that had seen better days but still had a deadly stockpile within its walls. The proprietor, Old Man Jenkins, was known for his discretion and the quality of his firearms. Ben had to be careful; the less people who knew about his involvement, the better.

He approached the counter, the smell of gun oil and polished steel filling his nostrils. The old man looked him up and down, his eyes sharp despite his age. “What can I do for you, Midget?”

Ben placed the gold bar on the counter with a thunk. “I need the best rifle you’ve got. One that won’t jam on me and can hit a fly at fifty paces.”

Jenkins’ eyes widened, his gnarled fingers reaching for the gold without a second thought. “You’ve got good taste, little man.” He disappeared into the back, returning with a gleaming Winchester Model 1873. “This here’s the fastest draw and the most accurate shot in the West. It’s seen its fair share of action, but it’s still got plenty of life left.”

Ben took the rifle in his arms, feeling the cold, heavy steel against his skin. It was a beautiful weapon, a tool of both protection and destruction. He checked the action, feeling the smoothness of the mechanism, and knew that this was the one. “How much?”

“For you?” Jenkins said, a twinkle in his eye. “This one’s on the house. But I’d be careful who you’re plannin’ on usin’ it on.”

Ben nodded, his thoughts racing. “I’ve got a score to settle,” he said, his voice low and serious. “And I need to be ready.”

Jenkins leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve got somethin’ that might help you out. A bag, sturdy as a bank vault, that’ll hold all that gold and keep it safe from pryin’ eyes.” He disappeared into the back again, returning with a satchel that looked like it had been through hell and back. It was made of thick leather, with reinforced stitching and a heavy lock that gleamed in the candlelight.

Ben eyed the bag, his heart racing. It was exactly what he needed. “How much?”

Jenkins studied him, his eyes sharp. “I reckon you’ve got enough gold to pay for it. But I’m gonna make you a deal. You tell me who you’re after, and I’ll throw in a handful of ammo and a map of the best trails out of town.”

Ben weighed his options. The old man knew everyone’s business, but he had been fair to him in the past. Plus, he needed all the help he could get. “Black Jack and his gang,” he murmured. “They’re the ones with the gold.”

Jenkins’ expression grew grim. “Ah, that snake,” he spat. “Been waitin’ for someone to put a bullet in his skull for years. Take the bag, the ammo, and the map. No charge.” He slammed the gold bar onto the counter. “Consider it a down payment on the reward you’ll get for bringin’ that scum to justice.”

With the satchel in hand, Ben left the gun shop, feeling the weight of his decision. The bag was indeed sturdy, and the map looked well-worn, marked with paths that only a local would know. He had to be smart, to use his size to his advantage. He couldn’t outgun these men in a fair fight, but he could outthink them.

He moved swiftly through the moonlit streets, his eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. The gold felt like a living thing against his back, a silent testament to the greed that had brought him here. The bag was slung low, the weight of it reminding him with every step of the responsibility he had taken on.

Ben knew that he couldn’t return to the train station; it was the first place the outlaws would look. Instead, he headed for the town’s hotel, the only place that might offer some semblance of safety. The Finest Hotel was a two-story wooden structure, its once-white paint peeling like sunburnt skin. The lobby was empty, the only sound the ticking of a grandfather clock that had seen better days.

The clerk looked up from his ledger, his eyes widening when he saw the gold. “What’s all this?” he stammered, his hand shaking as he pushed his spectacles up his nose.

“I need a room,” Ben said, his voice firm. “The best one you’ve got.”

The clerk’s eyes darted from the gold to Ben’s face, his greed clear as day. “Of course, Mr...?”

“Owen,” Ben said, his voice low. “Ben Owen.”

The clerk nodded, his eyes never leaving the gold. “Of course, Mr. Owen. I’ve got just the room for you.” He handed Ben a heavy key, the number 7 etched into the metal. “It’s at the top of the stairs, last one on the right.”

As Ben climbed the creaky stairs, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. The hotel was eerily quiet, the only sound his own footsteps echoing in the hallway. He reached the last door and slipped the key into the lock, turning it with a soft click. The room was small but clean, with a single bed and a washbasin. He locked the door behind him and laid the satchel on the bed, his heart pounding in his chest.

Moving to the cupboard, he pulled out a chair and climbed onto it, his eyes scanning the shelves. He found a hidden compartment, cleverly disguised as a panel in the wood. With a grunt, he lifted the panel and placed the satchel inside, securing it with a sturdy lock. He stepped back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The gold was safe, for now.

The next step was to blend in. Ben knew that his current attire, caked in dust and smelling faintly of the stables, would only attract unwanted attention. He needed to look like he belonged, to be just another face in the crowd. He went back to the clerk and asked for directions to the best tailor in town. The man’s eyes lit up at the sight of more gold changing hands.