Chapter 2 - The Badge at Mercy RidgeCole crossed into Mercy Ridge at sunset.
Nobody welcomed him.
The first thing he saw was Sheriff Amos Bell standing in the center of Main Street with six deputies spread behind him.
Rifles ready.
Cole pulled hard on the reins.
His horse slid through dust.
“Sheriff!”
Bell raised a shotgun.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Cole stared.
“What?”
“Off the horse.”
Behind Cole, the thunder of three hundred riders had stopped beyond the ridge.
That frightened him more than if they had continued.
Silas Rourke had halted his men outside town.
Why?
Cole slowly raised his hands.
“What am I charged with?”
Bell stepped closer.
“Get down.”
“I asked what I’m charged with.”
A deputy cocked his rifle.
Cole dismounted.
His legs nearly collapsed after hours in the saddle.
Bell grabbed the rifle from Cole’s scabbard.
Another deputy reached for the saddlebag.
Cole moved instantly.
“Don’t.”
Five rifles lifted.
Bell stared.
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you won’t mind.”
“I mind.”
Bell smiled without humor.
“You always were stubborn, Harper.”
Cole frowned.
They had met only twice before.
Yet the sheriff sounded as if he had expected him.
Bell held out his hand.
“The bag.”
Cole remembered the courier.
Don’t trust the badge.
“No.”
Bell’s expression changed.
“Cole.”
“How did you know I was coming?”
Nobody answered.
Cole looked around.
Shopkeepers stood behind windows.
A saloon door had gone silent.
Above the street, the office of the Mercy Ridge Gazette showed a woman watching from behind the glass.
Bell stepped forward.
“You’re wanted.”
Cole pulled the poster from his coat.
“This?”
Bell looked at it.
Too quickly.
No surprise.
Cole saw it.
“You’ve seen it.”
“Of course.”
“Who issued it?”
“Territorial authority.”
“There’s no marshal’s signature.”
Bell’s jaw tightened.
“Enough.”
Cole pointed toward the ridge.
“And Silas Rourke?”
At that name several deputies shifted nervously.
Bell said:
“Outlaw.”
“Three hundred men follow him.”
“Criminals collect criminals.”
“Then why isn’t he attacking?”
Bell did not answer.
A church bell rang once.
The last strip of sun touched the western hills.
Bell looked toward it.
Cole noticed.
“Before sundown.”
Bell’s eyes snapped back.
“You read the back.”
Cole slowly smiled.
“That worries you.”
Bell lunged for the saddlebag.
Cole twisted.
A deputy struck him behind the knee.
Cole fell.
Three men pinned him.
Bell tore the bag free.
“No!”
Bell opened it.
He removed the silver watch first.
His face went pale.
Cole saw it.
“You know that watch.”
Bell closed his fist around it.
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
Bell pulled out the child’s photograph.
His reaction was worse.
For half a second, Sheriff Amos Bell looked terrified.
Then he recovered.
“Jail.”
A deputy dragged Cole upright.
“What about the papers?”
Bell folded everything into the bag.
“Evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
Bell leaned close.
“Murder.”
“Whose?”
Bell whispered:
“Yours, if you keep talking.”
The deputies marched Cole toward the jail.
As he passed the Gazette office, the woman upstairs disappeared.
Five minutes later Cole sat inside a cell.
Bell locked the door.
“You stay quiet until morning.”
Cole gripped the bars.
“Why alive?”
Bell froze.
Cole pulled the wanted poster’s words from memory.
“Who needs me alive before sundown?”
Bell said nothing.
“Who issued the order?”
Bell walked away.
Cole shouted:
“WHO?”
The jail door closed.
Outside, darkness settled over Mercy Ridge.
Then came another sound.
Hundreds of horses moving into position around town.
Not charging.
Surrounding.
A deputy whispered:
“Sheriff…”
Bell walked outside.
Cole strained to hear.
A voice carried from beyond Main Street.
Silas Rourke.
Loud enough for the entire town.
“AMOS BELL!”
Silence.
“You have until midnight.”
Bell shouted back:
“For what?”
Rourke answered:
“Give me Cole Harper and the saddlebag.”
Cole gripped the bars.
Bell looked toward the jail.
“And if I don’t?”
Rourke’s reply came from the darkness.
“Then I tell everyone in Mercy Ridge what happened at Red Mesa.”
The sheriff went pale.
Cole stepped back from the bars.
Rourke was wanted for the massacre.
Yet Sheriff Bell seemed more afraid of Rourke talking about it than repeating it.
Then someone whispered behind Cole.
“You need to leave before Bell opens that watch.”
Cole spun.
The woman from the Gazette office stood in the rear hallway holding a key.
“Nora Hale,” she said.
“You know me?”
“I know your father.”
Cole’s blood chilled.
“My father’s been dead twelve years.”
Nora inserted the key.
“I know.”
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The lock clicked.
“And that silver watch belonged to him.”
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