Chapter 1

I admit it. I had the fever like everyone else, so I was going West. Then again, I had nothing to lose and reasons to leave. Our farm was gone, stolen by capetbaggers and a crooked justice system.

I grinned a little as I rode away. I might not have it any more, but neither would the carpetbagger. Well, that’s not entirely true, he would own six feet of it for the rest of eternity.

I planned as well as I could, remembering the words of my father. “Think about what you’re doing, son. Is this the best way to get the results you want? Are there other ways that may work as well? Always think things through and the best path will come to you.” I thought about that a lot as I sat hidden in the cave I’d run to. As far as anyone knew I had left five weeks ago, walking down the road witrh just the clothes on my back, hearing him laugh until I was out of sight. Then I went to the cave where I had been gradually stashing things, knowing this day would come.

I only lit fires in the daylight so they wouldn’t be seen and lived off the land to suppliment the supplies I’d managed to bring along, using a bow and fishing line to procure my meat. I sat, and brooded, and planned. Finally ready, I slipped out of the woods.

Knowing the ins and out of the house I was raised in, I was able to slip in and not step on the squeaky boards I knew were there. He was drinking my father’s brandy out of a crystal goblet, one of a set my mother got as a wedding gift 25 years ago, sitting on the horsehide sofa she was so proud of, the same one I found her on after she drank enough laudlum to end her life.

I put the barrel against his head and felt him stiffen. “Just so you don’t get notional, why don’t you place both pistols, the knife in your belt, the one in your boot, and that little derringer you keep in your vest pocket on the side table. Say you don’t have any of them and I’ll shoot you before I check.”

He didn’t know who he was dealing with and the clicks the hammer made as I pulled it back made him very agreeable. When all the hardware was on the table I told him to stand up and put his hands behind his back. He stood, glancing back.

“You! We run you off! You need to git on outta here kid. I’ll give you a headstart just for the fun of hunting you down. Who you gonna kill with that antique?”

My weapon was a single shot, one of a pair of dueling pistols that had belonged to my grandfather. I grinned. “You, if you don’t act right. Don’t you worry none about this thing, it and it’s mate have done in five men over the years. One more won’t bother it none. Now stick them hands out.”

I could almost feel his brain working. I was a kid witgh a single shot, and he had come up on the streets of New York, working his way up until he was a shoulder striker for one of the toughest bosses in the city. It was rumored he’d killed seven men with his bare hands. I waren’t about to give him that opportunity and when he tensed up to turn I rapped his skull with the pickaxe handle I’d fetched along. The sound of the “Thunk!” was music to my ears, and he dropped like a rock. I found myself whistling as I tied him up, thinking about what was about to happen.