Matthew’s father used the opportunity to jump up and lunge at the man holding Harrison. His mother rushed forward, wanting to help him, but one of the other men grabbed her and threw her to the ground, pointing his pistol at her. The remaining three split up—one rushing over to where his father and the man holding Harrison were fighting, and two of them turning toward Matthew.
Grabbing another ball from his pocket, Matthew tried desperately to load his pistol, but he couldn’t get it done in time. The man grabbed him, took his pistol, and dragged him to his father, who had been restrained.
“Take your positions,” the man holding Harrison instructed.
Matthew’s father looked at his mother. “I’m sorry.”
She smiled at him sadly and nodded. They knew what was going to happen, and so did Matthew. One of the men positioned himself behind Matthew’s father and pressed his pistol to his head. Another forced his mother to the ground, standing over her with his pistol pointed at her. Matthew felt somebody move behind him.
The leader placed Harrison on the floor, between their parents, and pointed his pistol at him again. “Time to say goodbye,” he declared and pulled the trigger.
Harrison’s body flung back. Matthew’s mother cried. His father sobbed. Matthew watched in horror. Behind Matthew, the man shifted, and then the worst pain imaginable filled his body, radiating down from the side of his skull. He fell forward, still breathing as his vision blurred. He heard another gunshot and a thump next to him.
Slowly, his eyes started drifting closed. The last thing he saw was the man standing over his mother, lowering his body onto hers.
Chapter 5
Quincy paced up and down, his muscles tight with anxiety. He couldn’t believe the boy had stolen his horse. Frustrated, he kicked at a rock, sending it flying into the fire. His men glanced at him, probably startled, but quickly turned their gazes back to what they were busy with. They knew better than to anger him any further.
He cracked his knuckles and dug a quirly from his pocket. Lighting it, he turned to look at the two women sitting on the porch of the old trapper’s cabin. They were tied up and gagged. It was best to keep them quiet and restrained. He already had enough to worry about; he couldn’t deal with the likes of them trying to escape.
Shaking his head, Quincy took a drag of his quirly and inhaled the smoke deeply. He started pacing again as he smoked, waiting for the tobacco to ease the tension in his muscles. His gang was scattered at the moment, and he didn’t like it. They were a big gang, but still, he preferred keeping them all together as much as possible. Given the circumstances, he hadn’t had much of a choice. Five of his men had gone after the boy, and since he couldn’t risk staying at the ranch once theywere done, he had to retreat to somewhere safer. There was no point in stealing valuables and then waiting to be caught.
The problem was that he had to leave some of his men at the ranch to wait for those who had gone after the boy, or they wouldn’t know where to find the rest of them. The whole thing was a mess. He needed his horse back. He liked the animal. He was young, strong, and fast, but that wasn’t the reason he had sent his men after the boy. It was the contents of his saddlebag that had him losing his mind.
Quincy took another drag of his quirly and tried to relax. His men knew what they were doing. Most of them had been with him for years. They were excellent fighters and trackers. They would kill the boy, retrieve his horse, and join the rest of them before the sun rose over the mountains.
The night hadn’t gone as planned. They were supposed to be on their way home, but instead, they were spending the night at the decrepit trapper’s cabin. Quincy growled in frustration and readjusted the patch he wore over his one eye. He didn’t need it, but he liked the way it looked. It reminded him of the stories his old man told him about men sailing the seas in search of loot.
They had already eaten, and some of his men were sleeping inside. Quincy, along with the four men sitting around the fire, was watching the women and waiting for the rest of the gang to return.
Quincy finished his quirly and tossed it onto the ground. He stepped on it with his boot to put out the remains, not wantingto start a wildfire, and joined his men. Sitting down, he looked at the two women again. He had abducted people before, even sold some of them for the right price. Abducting the two women was not a part of his plan, but he needed leverage in case things didn’t go as planned.
Quincy had confidence in his men and was sure that they would arrive any moment, but he didn’t get to be the leader of one of the biggest and most successful gangs in the West by taking chances. Both women were beautiful. The mother still looked good for her age, and the daughter was even more attractive. If all went to plan, his men would return with his horse, and then they would all have a good time making use of the women. When they were done, they would dispose of the bodies and head home. If something went wrong, Quincy would figure out a way to get the contents of his saddlebag back, using the women as bait.
***
Deadshot and the kid rode full speed the rest of the way, but even at that pace, it took them a couple of hours to get to the kid’s ranch. Everything was dark, so it was a good thing that it was a bright night. As they approached the property, Deadshot slowed down. He had a pretty good idea of what they were going to find, but it was still best to be careful.
“Stay behind me,” he instructed. “And do as I say.”
The kid nodded and steered his horse to fall into step behind him. So far, the kid had listened to everything he said,which made things a little easier since Deadshot had no idea how to handle children. He glanced over his shoulder, taking a quick look at the boy. He had no idea how old the kid was, but if he had to guess, he’d say around twelve. It didn’t matter. Deadshot was simply trying to occupy his mind with anything that didn’t involve memories of his own family being slaughtered.
He was the only one who had survived that day. The bandits had left him for dead, but it turned out that the man who had shot him had horrible aim. Even at such a close distance, he had somehow managed to mess up. The impact of the slug had knocked Deadshot out, but it didn’t do any lasting damage except for a permanent dent hidden by his hair.
Deadshot had a feeling that the kid was going to suffer the same fate as him, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Recovering from something so horrible wasn’t easy. Deadshot had many scars covering his body, but it was the mental scars that caused the most pain.
Slipping through the gate, Deadshot and the kid made their way up to the house. The sound of their horses’ hooves was the only sound. The ranch was big, and Deadshot hadn’t seen any other ranches or farms on their way. It was likely that nobody even knew that a raid had taken place. Deadshot had really been hoping for a miracle, although he knew it was wishful thinking.
The sound of something faint drifted their way, carried on the wind, and Deadshot pulled on Bullseye’s reins, bringing his horse to a stop.
“What is—” the kid asked from behind him.
Deadshot held up his hand, cutting him off. His hearing wasn’t what it used to be, and he concentrated with all his might. The sound came again. It was voices talking. There were three possibilities. The first, and most likely, was that it was the sheriff. The second was that somehow, the kid’s family survived, and the third, although unlikely, was that the bandits were still there.
Turning toward the kid, Deadshot raised his finger to his lips, showing him not to make a sound. The kid nodded, his eyes big with worry. Slowly, Deadshot started moving again. They had to be as quiet as possible, just in case it was the bandits. There was a barn close to the house, so Deadshot steered Bullseye to the back of it and tied him to a hitching post. Getting off his stolen horse, the kid did the same.
“Stay close,” Deadshot whispered, keeping his voice as low as possible.
