When he finally returned to the sheriff's office, he found two of his men waiting for him. They glanced up at him, then at each other. Lucas rose a brow, sweeping his gaze from them to his claimed office. He couldn't discern what was going on or why they were here.
Finally, one of them spoke up. "We found out where the camp is... there's some caves past the Devil's Bones Valley. We can ambush them tonight if we move fast." Lucas glanced between the two of them, then strode to the desk.
"You're sure? What if it's a trap?" Lucas asked, taking several bullets and stowing them. He checked his pistol to make sure the barrel was clear, then holstered the gun.
"It's more than likely a trap," the other man spoke before the first could, shooting a look at the other man. "We heard about that... uh, deal that outlaw tried to make with you. What if we use that as our own trap?"
"He'd expect that," the first man countered, crossing his arms. "We should just ambush them at their hideout."
While the two of them argued, Lucas frowned and pulled out the map of the area. Glancing over it, he found Devil's Bones Valley easy enough. This town—Devil's Backbone—was quite literally at the foot of a vast mountain range, one that extended several miles each way. The township did well because of the mines and the forest valleys in the area.
Devil's Bones, however, wasn't a forest valley. It was one of the few dry waterbeds in the area, and it had no other entrance. Seeing this on the map, Lucas was more than sure this information came to them as a trap. There were few ways in or out of the Valley that he could see on the map; the incline didn't look notably steep, but he'd never been there and wasn't sure of the terrain. Twisting his lip in thought, Lucas studied the map carefully. He didn't see any indication of caves—but then again, there was little hope that a map like this would have that information. Shaking his head, Lucas looked up at the two men.
"We're not going to ambush them. They know the area, we don't. They'd expect us to use me as bait, so we're not going to—not until we know the area better. It's too late to take a look at the Valley. Get some sleep. Have Garn and Beryl take first watch. I don't want to be caught off guard." The men didn't immediately move, and Lucas glanced at them sideways, a frown on his lips. He didn't have to say anything; they moved then, going out the door in a hurry.
A sigh came from the lawman, and he slumped down into what passed as a desk chair. It was beyond uncomfortable, and he was confident he wouldn't get any sleep. Muttering about how much he needed to clean this place up, Lucas stared again at the map. He must have missed something, some clue to help him catch this... this...
Malachite Fury.
Arrogant bastard.
—
He didn't remember falling asleep. Instead, he swam in the void of dark eyes and starlit hair cascading around him, caging him in. Lucas drowned in the silky-smooth deep voice filled with amusement and a hint of malicious, sultry intent. He drifted along against a solid, toned chest, held within a gentle embrace. Turning his eyes to see who supported him, who laughed with him—
A knock on the door jolted him awake, and he slumped forward in his chair, rubbing at his tired eyes. Head pounding, Lucas stood with a screech of the chair and strode to the door. There, with his hat in his hands, stood the mayor, shifting from one foot to the other.
"Sir—I think you need to see this," the mayor said in a shaking voice. Nodding, Lucas grabbed his coat and hat from the hook by the door. As he flung them on, he quickly followed the mayor. Before they even reached the edge of the town, Lucas could hear a tremendous cacophony of birds. His steps faltered as his mind raced, going through all the possibilities.
"Here—a few of the boys found them like this—came to fetch you immediately," the mayor said, coming to a stop and turning his eyes away. He couldn't look at the sight before him. But he had to look. Forcing himself, telling himself that his men deserved at least this much from him, he turned his attention back to the scene.
There, nailed to three separate posts, were dismembered bodies of three of his men.
15.
The bodies were fresh, still dripping with blood. Blackbirds pecked at the bodies, cawing to alert their fellows of the fresh meat.
Lucas felt his gorge rise. But he wouldn't turn his eyes away, not again. Gulping hard, forcing the lump in his throat away, he strode toward the bodies. There must be a clue. Something he could use to lure that bastard in.
Clenched in the fist of one of the mutilated hands was a piece of paper. Hope soared when Lucas discovered the scrap and carefully unclenched the fist, taking the paper and cautiously opening it.
Written in bold, bloody letters was a note for Lucas: I warned you, blondie.
Gritting his teeth, Lucas crumbled the note again and glared towards the Valley in the distance. That bastard wasn't getting away with this.
Lucas insisted on helping to bury the bodies and mark the graves. The dry ground kicked up dust with each shovel full and by the end of it, Lucas wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a cold, stiff drink.
From the sheriff's desk, Lucas had a perfect view out the window of the five graves up on a hill with a simple cross to mark each grave. He'd barely known the men, but the fact that they died under his command was enough to make him lose heart. Down to fifteen, what hope did he have of bringing in fifty bandits?
All I have to do is bring in Malachite. Once he's gone, I'm sure the rest will disperse. Rubbing his eyes in fatigue, Lucas reached for what passed as coffee here and took a hearty gulp. It wasn't what he really wanted right now, but being drunk on the job wasn't going to keep his men alive. Grinding his teeth in anger, Lucas turned his eyes back to the map.
We'll scout the Valley tomorrow, Lucas decided.
A knock on the door, and Lucas glanced up, calling for whoever it was to enter. Two of his men came in while a third kept watch on the street.
"What is it?"
"Boss, we got word that outlaw went to the next town over," one of the men said, jerking his thumb in the right direction. "He took half his crew with him. If we go now, we can take the other half easy."
Lucas's eyes widened at the information, and he stood quickly. "Get everyone ready! Get the horses!"
The men grinned and nodded, heading out the door quickly. Lucas was right behind them, grabbing his duster and hat. He didn't bother locking the door behind him; there wasn't much of value in there to steal.
Soon, the sixteen lawmen mounted up and galloped out of town, heading straight for the Devil's Bones Valley. The men were silent as they rode, their weapons ready, their eyes alert. Lucas slowed his horse to a trot when they were near enough to the Valley; when they reached the mouth of the Valley, he slowed to a walk. The men followed his lead. Under his direction, he sent two scouts ahead and made sure they weren't clumped together.
"Spread out in pairs—make sure you're watching each other's backs," Lucas ordered, thankful that their numbers were even. The man with him—Henry McBear—was the same one who sat with him on the train here.
The first gunshot rang out when they were more than half a mile into the Valley. A shout alerted the lawmen and several rushed ahead. Lucas made sure at least five remained with him, careful in their approach. With the boom of shotguns coming from up ahead, Lucas quickly dismounted.
"A mounted man is easier to hit than a man taking cover on foot," he explained when he saw the confused looks on his men. They accepted this answer and followed his lead, approaching on foot. The six of them took cover behind some scrabbly bushes and boulders, glancing around quickly to get a sense of the situation.
"Looks like there's some up on the cliffs over there," one of the men said, "and that cave... shit, they have the high ground."
"Take out the ones you can, and we'll get closer," Lucas ordered, cocking his gun. The men nodded and took aim.
The sky blazed in orange and red tones chased by the darkening purples, marking far too many hours taken by the shoot-out. The sun's retreat bathed the Valley in darkening shadows, and the cliffs loomed higher above. Closing in over them-
"We took too long to take them out," Lucas muttered, shaking himself. Sundown approached quickly, and Lucas wanted to be gone from this place.
"Boss, I count 26 outlaws!" called one of his men from where the bandits had been firing down on them from the cliffs.
And we lost three of our own.
12.
"Alright, gather our dead and wounded, get the horses, and let's get back to town. The rest of those shits will be back soon," Lucas ordered. He wiped the blood, grime, and dirt from his hands off on his trousers—not that it made much difference, as the fabric wasn't in any better condition.
With a quick glance around—and avoiding looking at the cliffs overhead— he saw his own horse had gotten his reins stuck in a brambly bush while trying to get to the sparse leaves on the branches. Shaking his head, Lucas strode to the struggling, snorting horse. Patting the beast's shoulder, Lucas murmured calming words, slowly getting the horse to still.
"There... good..." Lucas murmured. With one hand, he grabbed the horse just under the bit and, with the other, worked the reins free. "There we go." Lucas smiled at the horse as the beast gave him a thank-you snuff. The lawman patted the horse on his neck before throwing the reins over his head. After a quick check of the saddle—always keeping a hand on the reins, as the horse was acting rather skittish—Lucas swung himself up into the saddle.
He saw with a quick check around the Valley that his men had found their horses. Lucas couldn't help but look to the three horses whose riders were slung over the saddles like sacks of grain as the men moved out. Though the world kept spinning and the wonders of the sunset spread before them, Lucas's throat squeezed tight.
The men around him stuck close together, silent as the grave. Their eyes scanned the Valley as far as they could see. A brisk wind picked up, pulling the vestiges of the desert with it. A wailing cry spooked the men—and the horses—to the point where Lucas called for the posse to pick up the pace.
"Let's get back quickly!" Lucas ordered, digging his heels into his horse's sides. The horse snorted and tossed her head as her hooves rang out along the hard-packed earth in a steady canter. As if the Valley's ghostly claws chased after them, the nine lawmen raced around the tall stone pillars and scraggly bushes, eking out a living in the desert valley. A breath of fresh air caressed his cheeks as the Valley suddenly came to an end, and the lawmen were free of its melancholic embrace. With a shudder, Lucas drew his duster tighter around his shoulders and led the way back to town.
After the fight, four of his men had to be sent by train to the nearest hospital. The rest were either only scratched or not injured enough to warrant a hospital visit. The kit in the sheriff's office took care of them just fine.
Lucas, for all his trouble, had a few scrapes and bruises. A few close calls with a bullet, but nothing major.
But now, he was down four more men.
8.
READ THE FULL VERSION ON GUMROAD. Link in the Author's Note.
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