Upon his return to Devil's Backbone, Lucas got cleaned up. The bruises purpling his skin and scabs on his wrist reminded him all too well of what happened when he let his guard down—as did the silent graves of his men. The people of the town didn't approach, didn't come near him as he walked down the street to the post office.
The manager greeted him like a porcelain doll. "Your, uh, office sent a letter for you. I was just about to come see you..."
"Let me see it," Lucas asked, keeping emotion from his voice. The man handed over the letter, still sealed. Lucas opened it and read quickly. Sending more men… return immediately… Bart will take over...
"What about the backup he was supposed to send?"
The manager shrugged. "They never arrived. Neither did the train. I think I got something about that here..." The man started to sift through the stacks of notes on his desk. It took him some time to find what he was looking for. "Ah-ha! Here it is!" He took a moment to read the memo over before he spoke up again. "Says there was trouble on the tracks and that Angband Gang blew up the lawman's train car. Good thing there weren't no other people on that train, huh? Just livestock and some supplies."
Blew...up the train? Lucas gritted his teeth, scribbled a note, and handed it to the manager before turning on his heel.
"Please send this back to HQ.”
I'm not giving up. I started this; I'll finish it.
The lawman left in a hurry, not waiting for the manager to respond. Grinding his teeth together, Lucas strode to the gunsmith, purchased two new sidearms and several rounds, then, on a whim, bought a shotgun. He took those new weapons and got a new horse—his was missing, along with his old weapons and most of his other belongings. The only thing left of his in the sheriff's office was his clothes. His favorite duster was gone, though, as was his hat.
Muttering about outlaws stealing his things, he mounted up. "Fine. I'll get the bastard myself."
—
Lucas didn't know what to expect when he got to Devil's Bones Valley, but it wasn't bodies. Bodies of what appeared to be militiamen were strewn all over the Valley floor—along with several bandits. Confused, Lucas glanced about, trying to make sense of it. He moved further into the Valley, guiding his horse through the carnage.
Once he made it to the back of the Valley, he glanced up at the ledge where the bandits had come from—at the cave where they'd spilled out. Twisting his lips in annoyance, Lucas dismounted and led his horse up the mountain path. He attempted to lead the horse into the cave, but the beast wouldn't budge. Sighing, Lucas finally blindfolded the animal with his bandana and took him inside. As the hooves of his horse echoed off the walls of the cave, Lucas kept a sharp eye out, his eyes glancing about, looking for anything that would tell him the bandits were nearby. But they came out the other side without incident.
From their vantage point, it appeared to be a box canyon. Lucas removed his horse's blindfold and tucked the bandana into his pocket. He led the beast down the slope to the floor of the canyon, glancing about for tracks or clues. The canyon, he saw, had a lush green oasis in the center—around what looked to be a small pond.
Blinking in the harsh sunlight, Lucas swung up into his saddle, adjusting the shotgun on his back. When he looked back to the oasis, he swore he saw people around the water. With a frown on his lips, Lucas spurred the horse into a trot. He kept his distance—until he saw just who was there.
Malachite. A few bandits sat with him, not enough to put up a lot of resistance. Most of them looked injured; even Malachite was bloody. One of his arms was in a sling. At the sight, a little pang went through Lucas-
Only because I didn't shoot him myself. Just because it wasn't me that injured him.
"Boss, we got company," one of the bandits said, slowly standing.
Lucas swung his shotgun forward, aiming it at Malachite, his lips set in determination. "Malachite Fury. You're under arrest, by order of the Federal Government! Put your hands in the air!"
Malachite slowly turned his dark eyes toward Lucas, a sigh escaping him. "I'll only come quietly if you let my men go free."
"You're not in a position to bargain," Lucas replied.
A laugh came from the outlaw and shook his head. "You think one against five are good odds? Man, I knew you were feisty, didn't know you were crazy, too." That smirk came back to his lips. Lucas had the sudden feeling that maybe he should have asked for backup. Too late now.
"Don't kill him. I still want to have some fun with him, after all."
"Bastard!" Lucas pulled the trigger, the shotgun still aimed at Malachite. When nothing happened, Lucas cursed and threw the gun aside, drawing one of his pistols. He aimed at the bandit coming straight at him, cocking, and pulling the trigger. The air vibrated with the blast and the bandit collapsed to the ground, a hole in his chest. The lawman cocked again, the barrel turning for the next bullet, and he aimed quickly at the next bandit. Pulling the trigger, he realized too late that the bandit was nearly upon him. The man grabbed his gun hand, knocking the pistol up as it went off, and knocking Lucas off his horse. They landed heavily on the ground, the horse snorting at the violence around him, and ran off.
Lucas didn't have time to worry about the damn horse. Gritting his teeth, the lawman swung with the gun, slamming the pistol into the side of the bandit's head. Then, quickly, he cocked the next bullet and looked around for the other two men—but they were gone.
Malachite still sat by the water. When he noticed Lucas looking at him, he grinned.
"Sorry—I couldn't let you take them... and I figured we'd be no match for you," Malachite said as Lucas pushed the unconscious bandit off him.
"What? Then why didn't you escape, too?"
"Me?" Malachite laughed, smiling, shaking his head. Lucas stood and came closer, pointing the gun at Malachite to ensure he didn't try anything.
"Yeah, you. Why didn't you try and escape?"
"I'd have just slown 'em down, blondie. Those two... they're young. I taught 'em everything I know. None of us get outta this business alive, but maybe those two will."
Lucas didn't understand what he was talking about, none of it. It didn't much matter to him. "Malachite Fury, I'm placing you under arrest."
"Yeah, you said as much. Tell ya what. I'll go, no fuss no muss—but you gotta kiss me first." Malachite grinned up at the lawman.
Without even blinking, Lucas shot Malachite in the shoulder.
—
After throwing Malachite into a cell, he had the local doctor check the outlaw over and reported his success to HQ. It didn't take long for them to respond; they sent five lawmen out to Lucas and organized the building of a gallows. Lucas ensured that Malachite was always under guard by at least one of the lawmen at all times.
Whenever Lucas's turn to watch the prisoner came around, Malachite found new and interesting ways to annoy him. His latest line of annoyance was asking for his' last request'.
"I get a last request, don't I? Since I'm gonna hang and all that," Malachite started one afternoon. Lucas wasn't sure where this was going to go, but he sighed.
"Yes, you get a last request, if it's reasonable. What do you want?"
Malachite grinned and scooted closer to the bars to see Lucas properly, who sat at the sheriff's desk cleaning his pistol.
"I want you."
Lucas's motions stopped for a moment—as did his heart. Then he clenched his jaw and slowly looked up at Malachite. "What?"
"Just what I said. I want you."
"What are you talking about?"
"I want to fuck you, duh. I told you that."
Lucas ground his teeth together, his fist clenching over the gun and the polishing cloth. "Why don't you suggest something a bit more feasible, hmm? You're not going to fuck me. I'd rather just shoot you, but your sentence is clear."
Malachite laughed and put his back against the bars, leaning his head against the metal. "Man, you're one tough cookie to crack. That's my last request. I want to fuck you. I'll walk to the gallows with a smile on my face if I get to fuck you just once."
"Not happening!" Lucas growled, slamming his fist and the gun on the desk. Sending the chair clattering back, Lucas stood and stormed out of the office, asking one of the others to take over.
The construction of the gallows proceeded slower than anticipated. When they thought it was done, they'd come back the following morning to check everything, but there'd be a piece missing or broken. The rope frayed, or the support beam splintered. When the rope frayed and they had to buy a new one, the corner store mysteriously ran out. It had to be shipped in.
Every time something broke, it delayed Malachite's execution further.
READ THE FULL VERSION ON GUMROAD. Link in the Author's Note.
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