By N. C. Campbell

High noon at Cato Pass, dust billowing from horse hooves and stalled stagecoach wheels. No wind to blow it down the valley, out of the lungs of the passengers or the outlaws.

Ty herded the travelers against the sheer red walls of the canyon. The driver, his guard, and an elderly woman and her dog. All passengers of the stagecoach carrying payment in gold for the copper miners down in Van Etten.

“Y’all sit still,” Felix Bridger ordered, smiling. Ty hated that smile. Felix enjoyed this sort of thing too much. “Ty and Jayne, keep an eye on these folks. They do anythin’ stupid, shoot ’em.” Felix walked his horse to the other side of the stagecoach.

Ty dismounted, squinting against the sand in the air. He turned to Jayne, already on the ground beside him, glanced absently at the blood-red scar half-hidden under the collar of Jayne’s shirt. A deathscar. The mark of a murderer. A little “gift” from the Fair Folk, probably. A gift Ty didn’t want today, or ever. “Ain’t shootin’ anyone.”

Jayne swiped at his hair, sweat-stuck to his cheek. “Good.”

Ty moved over to the passengers.

The elderly lady looked him dead in the eye. “You wouldn’t hurt a woman.”

“Ma’am, you shouldn’t be travelin’ through territory like this.” Ty shrugged, hand resting on his holstered six-gun.

The woman scoffed. “Boy, you’re the reason this route is dangerous.” Her dog, a massive, hairy thing wearing a knit scarf, snarled in front of her legs.

Ty smirked. “Perhaps, but you’re the one who rode the gold coach south. Seems like an issue to work out on your own.”

“If we make it out of here,” the driver muttered. “I know you, Ty Eversmann.”

“And I know you, Jehu Page. And you, Shep.” He nodded to the guard. “I’m surprised you two are allowed to drive this division considerin’ how soundly we whooped you last time.”

Page crossed his arms. “You expect us to be punished for bein’ held up by outlaws? You got a funny sense o’ justice.”

“Hey, I’ve never been accused of bein’ Fair Folk. Bein’ just ain’t my business.” Ty shrugged, glancing toward Jayne.

Jayne stood unmoving, squinting slightly. Watching someone.

Frowning, Ty turned back to the others. Didn’t notice anything that would have had Jayne that tense. Shep’s shotgun lay on the ground near the stagecoach, and Ty guessed the guard was figuring on getting to it soon. It’d be stupid, but he’d try, and he’d get shot for his troubles. Just not by Ty.

Sure enough, in that brief pondering moment, Shepherd pounced. He shoved Ty away from the woman, and Ty barely had time to yell a curse before a gun went off. Shepherd reeled back, shoulder bloody. Someone screamed. Felix came round the stagecoach on foot, shouting.

Ty swore, straightened up, glanced toward the smoking gun.

Jayne. Six-gun held at his hip, just out of his holster. Calm as ever, still squinting, but not at Shep.

“What’s goin’ on?” Felix aimed his own six-gun at the coachman and guard. Page supported Shep, one hand over the gunshot wound.

Ty didn’t answer. Neither did Jayne.

Shepherd caught his breath, swore at Felix. “Take the gold and go. We don’t want trouble.”

Felix laughed. “If you didn’t want trouble, you shoulda sat still like you were told. We’ll take the gold. Shoot you again, maybe.”

Shep’s knees buckled. Page held him up. “Please. Don’t kill Mrs. Takkenridge.”

“I’ll kill who I well and please.”

Ty looked at Jayne. He’d holstered his gun and watched Felix now, frowning.

“Alright,” Ty sighed. “Felix, get the money. We’ve got this rabble.”

Felix stalked back around the stagecoach.

“You won’t let him kill anyone, Ty,” Page said, hushed.

Ty squinted. “Nobody lets him but him. What am I supposed to do?”

“Let us go. Now, before he realizes.”

Ty laughed. “An amusin’ thought. No.”

The dog growled and moved closer to Ty. The woman moved with him.

“Stay where y’are, missa.” Ty frowned, watching the dog.

“My name is Miriel, son. And pardon Matteo; he’s just a bit offended by this killin’ talk.” She smiled, or… smirked. And then she was right next to him, whip-quick, and something poked his side. At the same time, Matteo jumped Jayne, and he went flat on his back with a yell.

Ty tried to jerk away. Then he realized there was something in his side and it hurt and he looked down and… What was that?

“A knitting needle, dear,” the old woman said. Only she didn’t look old anymore, just… Well, he couldn’t think with her needle in him. “I’ve got another one. I hate to do it, but I will put it in your lung if your friends come closer.”

Page held Shep’s shotgun on Felix, who had reappeared to stare at Ty and Miriel. Jayne was pinned, Matteo snarling over him.

“That’s right,” Miriel said. “Take your gold and go, boys. Go on.”

A bead of sweat snaked down Ty’s spine and he shivered and winced.

Felix took a step back, hands up. Slowly he went to his horse, loaded the bags of gold, and mounted up.

“We were leavin’, anyhow,” Felix muttered, and he swore.

“Good for you, boy.” She whistled and Matteo gave Jayne’s face a sound licking, then got off him.

Jayne scrambled up, stepped forward. “Let him go.”

Miriel smiled and gently removed her needle.

Ty covered the wound, limping to his horse. Mounted up with Jayne’s help. Then Jayne was up, and they rode north out of the valley, into the noonday sun and dust.

“Had a feelin’ she was bad news,” Jayne said once they’d slowed.

Ty wiped sweat off his brow. “I don’t know. She might have been one of the Fair Folk.”

“I never want to see her again.” Jayne swiped at his hair, dog-slobbered to his cheek.

“At least I didn’t have to shoot anyone,” Ty said. “I never want to see anything knitted again.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

N. C. Campbell was homeschooled in the Endless Mountains with ten younger siblings. In her teens, she dealt with the harsh pain of losing loved ones, and her Christian faith is stronger than ever for it. Now, she writes fantasy westerns full of grit and life, focused on family and forgiveness. When she’s not writing, you can find her playing an instrument, watching TV, or roadtripping with her siblings.