folk were terrified of coming to the territory because of the stories—stories that included putting the Virginia City sheriff at the head of this vicious group of highwaymen. Murders and robberies were commonplace along the trails outside the various gold camps of Virginia City and Nevada City and all along Alder Gulch. It was rumored the gang had killed over a hundred people. Maybe more.
Someone had to do something, to be sure, but Cole had wanted no part of it. Killings, even justified lynchings, were not his style. He’d not even wanted to be a part of the war going on back East, which was one of the reasons he’d happily joined his father on this frontier search for gold.
“Jeremiah Gillham, you were caught in the act of thieving and leaving poor Arnold McIntyre nearly dead to this world and without a horse in the coldest part of winter. Your friends identified you as being with them on at least a dozen other rides where murders took place. Are you still wanting to cover for those who would as soon turn you over to the devil himself as to look at you?” This time the speaker was a man Cole was familiar with. Paris Pfouts was the president of the vigilante committee.
“So if I tell you the truth, Pfouts, you gonna let me go? How ’bout we make a deal? I’ll give you names and you give me a chance to get away.”
“I’ll make no deals with scum like you. I already know you’re guilty. We have eyewitnesses.”
Snow began to swirl around them. Cole glanced to the skies to see thick gray clouds spreading—smothering the land below. He felt the collar around his neck tighten as his gaze went back to Jeremiah. Funny, he could imagine the constricting squeeze of the rope. He drew a deep breath, almost to prove he still had that ability.
The sound of rustling in the brush behind the Gillham cabin caught everyone’s attention. Paris held up his hand for silence. Cole’s father drew his gun slowly and aimed it toward Jeremiah. Several of the other vigilantes did likewise.
The rushing form moving out from the shadows met their sight only a few seconds before the decidedly feminine scream rent the air.
There was no time to think about reactions. The men were nervous—worried that Gillham’s associates would come to his rescue.
Cole’s father fired his gun without thought—a single bullet piercing the breast of Carrie Gillham. As she clutched her chest, two other shots rang out.
Cole was off his horse even as Gillham’s mount reared and took off. Jeremiah was instantly hanged as his daughter crumpled to the snowdusted ground.
Pulling Carrie into his arms, Cole took the handkerchief from his neck and tried to stay the blood that flowed down the bodice of her dress. Her eyes were glazed—lifeless. She was dead.
Moaning softly, Cole hugged her close and rocked back and forth under the swaying form of her father’s lynched body. Tears came to Cole’s eyes. She was the only woman he had ever loved. They had planned to marry in the spring.
“Don’t die,” he whispered, knowing it was pointless. He could feel the life had gone out from her. Oh, God, why Carrie? I tried to save her from even seeing this. Why take her life when I loved her so? She wouldn’t have wanted for anything—I would have seen to that .
“We’d best bury ’em,” someone said from behind Cole.
“Let me help you, son,” Hallam Selby said softly.
“Don’t even touch her,” Cole said, looking up.
His father stepped back as if the very look on Cole’s face had the power to keep him at bay. “Son, I never meant—”
“I don’t want to hear it. You killed her. She never did anything wrong and you killed her. You all killed her.”
Paris Pfouts came forward. “Cole, your father did what he had to. There was no way to tell who was coming to Gillham’s aid. She could have been armed.”
“Does she look armed?” Cole asked angrily. “She just looks dead to me.”
“Now, Cole, you can’t go takin’ this
Robert J. Crane
Dale Cramer
Cait London
Troy Storm
Becky McGraw
Cat Johnson, Carrie Lane
Joe Dever
Robert Graves
Diana Y. Paul
Lois Menzel