Chapter 17
Itching to End It
The trees were taller, the undergrowth denser, yet the years hadn’t changed the old cabin where he’d grown up.
The scent of pine and the towering Bur Oak he climbed countless times as a boy brought back memories.
Now, the massive tree concealed him as he watched the front door, his hand resting on his Colt.
Fifty feet away, Aaron mirrored his stance. Heath, Luke, and Joseph covered the sides and back of the small building should anyone try to escape through a window.
“Give up, Thorn,”Seth called. “We’ve got the cabin surrounded.”
The front door creaked slowly open, and a rifle barrel protruded, followed by a distinctive lisping voice. “Ain’t that a shame? After all these years, the Hartigan brat finally shows up, and here I am with no pie and coffee to offer.”
He chortled, a second laugh joining in on the joke.
Seth glanced at Aaron, who held up two fingers to show he’d heard it too. Thorn wasn’t alone.
“You’re a mighty poor host, then,”Seth commented, overriding their laughter. “You couldn’t have thought for a minute we’d let you come to our town, cheating and shooting up the place, and not come after you.”
He heard the second man ask in a panic, “We? How many is ‘we’?”
“I brought a few friends along,”Seth replied. “Come out with your hands up, and maybe you’ll see the sunrise.”
“I ain’t going back to that cesspool of a prison you sent me to,”Thorn spat, his amusement gone. “I’d rather die.”
“That’s easily arranged,”Aaron drawled, his deep voice booming across the clearing, confirming Seth’s claim of reinforcements.
The cabin went quiet, but not for long. In a burst of gunfire, two men rushed out, heads down, firing into the trees.
They ran toward the end of the porch and the path that led to the creek.
Seth’s father kept a lean-to for the horses down there, saving him from hauling water.
If they had mounts, that’s where they would be.
“Coming your way, Heath!”Seth shouted as he and Aaron returned fire, bullets whizzing everywhere. The sharp aroma of gunpowder quickly overpowered the scent of pine.
Fire from the trees on the creek side, Heath’s position, sent Thorn and his cohort diving behind a stack of firewood. After a few minutes of constant shooting, there was a lull as most of them reloaded.
“I’m out of ammo!”the other man exclaimed. “We’re done for if we don’t give up.”
“I ain’t going back to prison or getting hanged in front of a bunch of angry yokels. If we die, we go down fighting right here.”
“You’re crazy, Emmett. For 20 percent, I’m not going down with you.”
Thorn growled a warning. “Don’t you dare chicken out on me!”
The older man ignored him. “I’m coming out. Don’t shoot.”
His battered hat appeared above the woodpile as he cautiously peeked out then slowly rose, hands up in surrender.
A single shot rang out, causing his head to jerk and his hat to fall off. He then tumbled onto the porch, partially concealed behind the woodpile. Even from a distance, Seth could see a good chunk of his skull was missing.
Seth and Aaron glanced at each other. Both shook their heads. They hadn’t taken the shot.
Thorn’s voice reached them as he muttered, “Fucking useless coward,”and they realized who had.
“There’s five of us to one of you,”Aaron advised. “You can’t win.”
A shotgun blast chipped the bark from the tree where he stood. The former lawman’s instincts were still sharp, and he dove to the ground just in time.
“You all right, Brother?”one of the other Jacksons yelled.
As Aaron got to his feet, he gave the all-clear. “I’m good. I think.”Only Seth was near enough to hear the last part.
The bullet had come close, uncomfortably so. This needed to be over—now.
Using hand gestures, Seth communicated his plan. Aaron understood, shooting a spray of bullets as cover fire while he crept through the trees toward the rear of the cabin. There was no back door, only windows barricaded with furniture and what looked like anything they could find.
He scanned the trees, searching for a specific one.
It was still there, taller than when he was a boy, but so was he.
Holstering his weapon, he approached, needing both hands to grasp the lowest branch.
He jumped, swung himself up, and climbed until he reached the loft window, the one he and Judd used to sneak out as boys.
Sporadic gunfire drowned out the thud of his landing on the roof, heavier than when he’d last done it at twelve. The window looked smaller than he remembered, but he’d have to make it work. It was his only way in through the back.
He opened the shutters and raised the hinged flap—only the downstairs had glass.
Seth squeezed through headfirst, his shoulders a snug fit.
Once inside, he peered down from above. Through the front window, he could see the man crouched behind the stack of firewood.
He had an unimpeded shot with the panes shattered and the frame busted out.
He took aim with his Colt before his voice cut through the chaos. “It’s over, Thorn!”
Murderous and defiant, the outlaw turned with his weapon raised. But Seth was ready and took the shot. The bullet slammed into the outlaw’s shoulder. He roared and cursed in pain, but his earlier vow to fight to the death rang true.
Ignoring the wound, Thorn stood up, sacrificing his cover.
Firing into the cabin and the woods with a gun in each hand, he ran for it.
Seth timed his shots until he passed the open doorway.
Then he emptied his six-shooter. At least one of his bullets found its mark.
Thorn staggered then tumbled over the porch railing.
An eerie stillness followed the furious shootout.
Only the wind rustling through the leaves and the occasional groan of pain broke the quiet.
Gun still raised, Seth climbed down the ladder, his boots crunching on broken glass and splintered wood covering the floor as he cautiously approached the front door.
He paused before stepping onto the porch, scanning for any remaining threats—just in case.
In a glance, Seth could safely say Thorn wasn’t going anywhere. Lying in the dirt, bleeding from a shoulder wound, the one in his belly was far more serious. Blood seeped between his fingers with each breath. Having seen his father and brother die from gut shots, he knew it was almost always fatal.
If he was going to get answers, it had to be now. “Where’s Ike?”he demanded to know.
“Fuck you, Hartigan! I don’t owe you nothin’.”
He didn’t let his objection stop him. “This is your chance to confess and face your maker with a clear conscience.”
Seth doubted Thorn had a conscience, but pain, or perhaps blood loss, loosened his tongue. “Old Ike wasn’t the brightest of your kin, was he? Taking his share of the loot was like taking candy from an idiot baby.”
“You killed him,”Seth accused.
“That answer dies with me. You’ll wonder, and it will gnaw at you for the rest of your miserable life. Serves you right for being a thorn in my side for years.”He chuckled, but it devolved into a wheezing cough fit that ended in a groan.
“I hope you rot in hell for what you did to my family and to Charlotte,”Seth seethed, his hand tightening on his Colt, his finger itching to end it.
“You mean that whore at the Red Eye? Are you sweet on her, kid? Do you even know what to do with a woman like that?”He taunted him, just like he had thirteen years ago.
“You got good taste in pussy, that’s for sure.
Hers is the sweetest I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something ’cause I’ve had my share. ”
Seth raised his gun, cocked the hammer, then hesitated. Thorn intended to get a rise out of him so that he’d act and end his suffering. The bastard didn’t deserve mercy.
Lowering his weapon, Seth turned to walk away, leaving him to agonize until his last miserable breath.
“Watch out!”someone hollered right before gunshots exploded all around him.
Seth whirled, gun drawn, but didn’t shoot. He didn’t need to; his Jackson posse had his back. They all lowered their smoking weapons, except Joseph Whitefeather, who stood with them. His gun remained holstered, but the knife sheath he always wore on his belt was empty.
When Seth’s gaze dropped to Thorn, whose lifeless eyes stared sightlessly upward, what he saw told the story.
The outlaw had two bullet holes in his chest and another in his forehead.
Near him lay a pistol, which, clearly, he had hidden beneath his body for a final shot.
It was a shot he never got to take, thanks to the wicked-looking hunting knife, Shoshone markings on the hilt, protruding from his gun hand, pinning it to the ground.
Aaron walked over and clapped Seth on the back. “You’ll get your wish. He’s gonna rot.”
From his other side, a grim-faced Heath added, “Being worm bait is too good for him, but he won’t be causing you, the town, or Miss Charlotte any more trouble.”
Seth nodded, a sense of relief washing over him.
“Should we bury him?”Luke asked.
Joseph bent and retrieved his knife, calmly wiping it clean on the grass.
“My mother’s people believe in spiritual harmony in life and after death.
My father, a businessman turned cattle rancher from back East, had a different belief—if you show no mercy, don’t expect to receive it.
”When he stood, he spat on the ground next to Thorn.
“After hearing this son of a bitch’s story, I’m inclined to follow my father’s ways on this one. Shall we go home?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, his long strides carrying him quickly through the trees toward where they had tied their horses.
Seth watched him until he could see him no more then said to the brothers, “I like him.”
Heath chuckled. “We do, too. His style is unusual but grows on you.”
Luke smacked his brother’s arm. “The Shoshone also believe it’s disrespectful to laugh around the dead. They say it can prolong their journey to the afterlife. I wouldn’t want someone as evil as Thorn stuck in the realm between Heaven and Earth. Who knows what trouble he might cause?”
“Nothing I want any part of,”a properly sober Heath agreed. “Let’s not risk it.”
“Agreed,”murmured Aaron, following in Joseph’s wake. Seth, Luke, and Heath headed out, too, with not so much as a grin on their faces.