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  Harry shook his head in disgust and asked, “Is this who you are? You’re really going to ride back and take advantage of those women?”

  “Harry, if you go to an orchard and pick the low-hanging fruit from the tree, is that considered taking advantage of the tree?” Gus asked.

  “Stop this insane talk and let’s keep moving,” Harry pleaded.

  “You go ahead. We’ll meet you at the next town in a few hours,” Joseph said.

  “I’m not letting you go back to that house and hurt those women,” Harry said, pulling his pistol from its holster. He cocked it and said, “Now let’s move on.”

  The other three looked at each other, with Gus speaking first. “He’s right. This is stupid. Let’s ride on until the next house.”

  “Don’t back down,” Joseph said.

  “I think Harry might be right,” Henry admitted. “Let’s keep moving on to Missoula.”

  “Cowards,” Joseph spat.

  Gus and Henry moved alongside Harry, who still had his pistol out and now trained on Joseph.

  “You’re outnumbered now, Joe. Let’s go,” Harry said, his full attention on Joseph.

  Safely out of the way, Gus pulled his horse next to Harry’s, pulled his pistol, cocked it and placed it against the back of Harry’s head. “Drop it.”

  Stunned by the sudden turnaround, Harry did as Gus ordered and let go of his pistol.

  “I don’t much like being told what to do, not by you or anyone. We’re just trying to have a good time, and all you care about is being a pain in everyone’s ass.”

  “I just want us to do our job, that’s all,” Harry said.

  “We’re going to go back, but you, you’re going to stay here,” Gus said. “Henry, tie him up over there.” Gus nodded towards a wooden split-rail fence.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Harry begged.

  “Yeah, we do,” Gus said.

  Henry dismounted his horse, took a line of rope from his saddlebag, and said, “Hop off, Harry.”

  Harry climbed down from his horse and followed Henry to the fence, where his arms were bound behind his back and tied to a fence rail. When Henry finished securing the last knot, he patted Harry on the shoulder and said, “You should get some shut-eye. We’ll be gone for a bit.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Harry said. “This could go terribly wrong.”

  “Best you stay quiet,” Gus said, chuckling.

  The three men rode back towards the house, their laughter filling the air.

  MISSOULA, MONTANA

  “Bartender, two more,” Hemsworth said, his speech slurred.

  The bartender walked up and set the entire bottle of whiskey down. “Just tell me when you’ve had your fill.”

  “Fair enough,” Billy said, snatching the bottle and filling their glasses. He picked his up and said, “A toast.”

  Taking his glass in his hand, Hemsworth asked, “To what are we toasting now?”

  “Our lives.”

  “Lives?”

  “Maybe it’s the booze talking, but I’m grateful that I can do what I do. If I had never met you, I wouldn’t be here today. More than likely I would have been working a mine,” Billy explained.

  “Cheers to you not having to work in the mines,” Hemsworth said, tapping Billy’s glass.

  “Yes, cheers to me not having to work in those silver mines,” Billy said and tossed the whiskey back.

  A woman approached the bar. She gave Billy an alluring gaze and took a spot next to him. “I haven’t seen you in here before,” she purred.

  Billy leaned back, squinted and said, “On account I’ve never been here.”

  “What brings you to Missoula?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m here because—”

  Interrupting Billy, Hemsworth said, “Ma’am, you don’t need to ask questions, just take my friend upstairs with you.”

  She touched Billy’s arm and asked, “Do you want to go upstairs and get to know me better?”

  Billy’s face turned red. Unable to look at her, his eyes darted to the floor.

  She leaned in and said, “My name is Beatrix, but everyone calls me Trixie.”

  “Trixie, hey?” Hemsworth asked, finding her allure attractive.

  “So what do you say?” she asked Billy, while ignoring Hemsworth’s comment.

  “I’m fine. I’ll just stay down here,” Billy replied.

  “Oh, come on, you’re not married; go have some fun,” Hemsworth said, nudging Billy with his elbow.

  “No, I’m fine,” Billy asserted, his tone more forceful than before.

  “Oh, why not? You look like you could use some company,” Trixie said, petting Billy’s arm more aggressively.

  “No,” Billy said and stormed off.

  “What’s the matter with him?” she asked flippantly, a look of irritation on her face.

  “I don’t know,” Hemsworth answered.

  Giving Hemsworth a once-over, she asked, “How about you, then?”

  “I’m married, happily, so best you go find someone else,” Hemsworth replied. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the bar, tossed the bartender a few coins, and headed towards Billy, who was now leaning against the far wall near the stairwell.

  The bar was a two-story building, with the doors to the upstairs rooms overlooking the main bar area below.

  “Something wrong?” Hemsworth asked.

  “I don’t like prostitutes,” Billy snapped.

  “All you had to do was say so. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Just don’t do that again,” Billy snapped.

  “Noted,” Hemsworth said. He filled Billy’s glass, then his own, and continued, “What shall we toast to now?”

  Looking dour, Billy replied, “To Bob getting the justice he deserves.”

  “That’s a good one,” Hemsworth said, touching his glass to Billy’s. “Say, who do you think this Alfred character is?”

  “I don’t know, but you should send a wire to Coeur d’Alene and see if they can help shed some light on him,” Billy proposed.

  “That’s not a bad idea. I think I’ll do that once we’re done here,” Hemsworth said, pulling his pocket watch out to see what time it was.

  Billy placed his glass on an empty table near him and said, “I’m finished anyway. Let’s head to the Western Union and fire that telegram off. I want to find out more about Alfred sooner rather than later.”

  Putting the cork back in the bottle, Hemsworth said, “You were serious about knowing, weren’t ya?”

  “Dead serious,” Billy said, wanting to just stay busy.

  “Then let’s go,” Hemsworth said with a crooked smile on his face.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JULY 9, 1895

  TWO MILES SOUTH OF GREAT FALLS, MONTANA

  Gus, Henry and Joseph waited for the last light to go out before making their way down the drive. After seeing how Maggie was before, the last thing they wanted to do was barge in and be greeted with her double-barreled shotgun.

  “I’ve got dibs on the girl in the window,” Joseph grunted as he spit tobacco juice on the ground. A dribble of saliva clung to his thick beard. He wiped his chin and snickered. “She looks like she could use a hug.”

  “You’re a sick bastard,” Gus said.

  “Don’t pay no mind to what I do. You worry about yourself,” Joseph said.

  “You suppose they have any money socked away?” Henry asked.

  “I suppose so. We’ll search for it when we’re finished having our fun,” Gus replied.

  The men quietly walked up to the front porch and stopped.

  “Let’s do this,” Joseph said, stepping forward.

  Gus grabbed his arm and stopped him. “No, we can’t go kicking the door in. I suspect their bedrooms are upstairs. If we go in making a bunch of noise, it will alert the mother. I suspect she sleeps with that shotgun.”

  “Then how the hell are we going to get in?” Joseph growled.

  “We check
to see if any window or door is open,” Gus replied.

  “And what if none are?” Joseph asked.

  “Then we go in like you want to,” Gus said.

  Joseph grunted. He shrugged off Gus’ grasp and walked quietly up to the front door, gingerly placing each foot on the steps so they wouldn’t creak under his weight. He reached the door, grasped the knob, and tried to turn it, only to find it locked. He looked over his shoulder and whispered, “Locked.”

  Henry was at the front window but, like the door, found it secured.

  Meanwhile, Gus made his way around the side of the house. He found a window there, tried to open it, but it too was locked.

  The creaking of the back door sounded.

  Gus froze.

  Footfalls could be heard heading away from the house.

  Gus quietly made his way to the corner of the house and peered around. The full moon provided enough light to make out a small figure heading towards the outhouse. He turned the knob but found it locked.

  Henry and Joseph made their way to Gus.

  “I heard a noise,” Joseph whispered.

  “It’s the child, I believe,” Gus replied.

  “Perfect,” Joseph said. He stepped away from the other two but again was stopped by Gus.

  “Just wait,” Gus warned.

  Shrugging off his grasp once more, Joseph spat, “I’m not waiting anymore. You know the damn door is unlocked; go do your thing and leave me be.” He briskly headed to the outhouse.

  “Damn fool. We’d best hurry up and get inside before he wakes everyone up,” Gus said.

  The two raced around the back, up the small set of stairs and into the house.

  Joseph walked up to the door of the outhouse; a thrill shot through him. He knew he was a despicable man but didn’t care. He knew he was slated for hell as it was, so why not just keep doing devious and disgusting things, he thought. He took the latch of the outhouse door in his hand, lifted it, and threw the door wide open. With a devilish grin stretched across his face, he said, “Hey there.” His grin melted away when he saw it wasn’t Alice. “Who are you?”

  Martha sat staring in terror at Joseph.

  Seeing she was about to scream, Joseph pulled a six-inch knife from a sheath on his belt and held it out. “You make one sound, I’ll cut your throat.”

  Martha began to whimper.

  “Be quiet,” Joseph warned.

  Martha’s whimpering quickly turned to sobbing. Under her breath she pleaded, “Don’t hurt me, please.”

  Joseph stepped closer to her, placed his left hand over her mouth, and put the blade to her throat. “Ssh.”

  Inside the house, Gus and Henry slowly navigated the darkened space until they reached the stairs.

  Gus peered through the pitch black, his heart pounding.

  Just behind him, Henry stood anxiously waiting for Gus to move.

  Craning his head back, Gus whispered, “Be quiet and follow my lead.”

  “Okay,” Henry replied.

  Back outside, Joseph was stumped on what to do. He stood silent, staring at the trembling child. “I’m going to remove my hand. And when I do, I need you to tell me where I can find your sister. Do you understand?”

  Martha nodded.

  “And if you scream, I won’t just slit your throat, I’ll go inside and kill everyone. Do you understand?”

  Martha again nodded.

  “Good,” Joseph said. He slowly removed his hand and asked, “Are you ready to get up and take me inside?”

  With tears flowing down her face, Martha nodded.

  Joseph stepped back and said, “Now come.”

  Martha reached for old newspaper so she could wipe but was stopped.

  “Now,” Joseph barked.

  Fearing for her life, Martha did as he said and stood up without wiping herself.

  Joseph grabbed her by the back of her head and pulled her out of the outhouse. Wrapping his fingers through her hair, he pulled her head towards his and said, “No screaming.”

  “I won’t,” she whimpered.

  “Good, now take me to where your sister sleeps,” Joseph said and pulled her towards the back door.

  Gus and Henry were slowly scaling the stairs and heard the footfalls of Martha and Joseph at the back door. They paused a few steps shy of the landing and listened.

  When Martha entered the house, all she could think about was her family. She knew if she didn’t cry out, they would suffer at the hands of this stranger, and her death could follow. She didn’t know him nor what he was capable of. But if she did warn her mother and the others, maybe she’d have a chance; at least they would. Quickly making up her mind, she pulled away from Joseph and yelled, “Mama, Alice, wake up, wake up!”

  Hearing Martha cry out, Gus and Henry froze.

  Alice heard the cry from her little sister and opened her eyes.

  “Alice, Mama, wake up! There’s a bad man in the house!” Martha bellowed as she sprinted through the kitchen.

  “Damn you!” Joseph barked as he went in pursuit.

  Martha dodged the table, but as she went to clear the doorway, her shoulder struck the doorjamb, spun her around, and caused her to fall to the floor hard.

  Knowing the element of surprise was now gone, Gus and Henry cleared the remaining stairs and burst through the first door they came to. The lantern on her nightstand was lit just enough to cast a slight glow, allowing them to see Maggie going for the shotgun.

  Gus ripped his pistol from his holster, cocked it, and took a shot at Maggie. The bullet smashed into the wall behind her.

  Henry leapt across the bed, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to the ground. “I got her, I got her.”

  Gus ran up to help Henry, who was wrestling with Maggie on the floor.

  “Get off me!” Maggie spat.

  “Settle down and we won’t hurt you or your family,” Henry snapped.

  Ignoring his warning, Maggie leaned her face towards his, opened her mouth wide, and bit down on Henry’s cheek. She twisted and pulled her head away, forcibly tearing a chunk of flesh off.

  Henry wailed in pain. He rolled off her and onto the floor, his hands covering the wound on his face.

  Maggie didn’t hesitate, she jumped to her feet, but before she could even make an attempt to grab the shotgun, Gus slammed the butt of the revolver into the back of her head.

  The blow was enough to knock her out. She collapsed to the floor.

  Downstairs, Joseph got to Martha and pulled her small body off the floor, his arm wrapped around her tiny neck. “I told you what I’d do,” he seethed in anger.

  “Mama! Alice!” Martha screamed.

  “Damn you, girl!” Joseph said. With the knife still firmly in his grip, he contemplated plunging it deep into her side or slicing her throat, but those were empty threats. While he was a monster by all definitions, murdering children was where he drew the line.

  “Mama!” Martha hollered.

  Angered, Joseph cocked his arm back and came back down with the hilt of his knife against the back of Martha’s head.

  Martha yelped then dropped to the floor unconscious. On her way down, her hand got tangled with Joseph’s pocket watch chain and ripped it from his vest.

  Unaware that his watch had fallen out, and knowing he needed to get upstairs fast, Joseph stepped over Martha and sprinted in the direction of the stairs.

  In her room, hearing the chaos and terrified for her life, Alice went to her window and opened it. The cool air washed across her flushed face. She went to climb out but paused; she looked back to her door and questioned whether she should run or go help. She’d heard Martha crying out for help, but the idea of going out and challenging whomever it was seemed impossible. Unable to come to grips with just running away, Alice abandoned the idea and headed for the door. Before opening it, she took a knitting needle from atop her dresser and wrapped her hand around it. She threw open the door and found Joseph standing there.

  “There you are!” Joseph h
ollered. He reached for her, but Alice went to slam the door.

  Before the door could close, Joseph stuck his arm out and prevented it from closing. “Let me in.”

  Alice did what came naturally. With the needle firmly in her grasp, she recoiled and slammed it into Joseph’s arm.

  He wailed in pain and pulled his arm back, allowing Alice to close the door. With nowhere to go but out, Alice raced to the window, climbed out onto the eave, then jumped the twelve feet to the ground below.

  Joseph kicked the door in. He stepped inside but didn’t see her. He first went to the bed and looked under, but she wasn’t there; then he noticed the window was open. He ran to it, looked out, but couldn’t see her. “I’ll find you!” he hollered.

  Alice didn’t look back after hitting the ground. She sprinted for the open field and ran across it at breakneck speed. When she was hundreds of yards away, she stopped and looked back to the house. She prayed everyone was safe, but she just knew that wasn’t the case. Unsure where to go, she headed to the one place she thought she’d find safety: the woods. After what seemed like an eternity, she took refuge in a hollowed-out dead tree. She covered herself in dead dry leaves, waited, and prayed, not just for her family but also that they wouldn’t find her.

  MISSOULA, MONTANA

  Billy held the telegram from Coeur d’Alene, his mouth wide open in shock at what was written on the paper. “Look at this,” he said, handing the telegram to Hemsworth, who was anxious to read it.

  Glancing over it, Hemsworth said, “Apparently they don’t know or won’t tell us.”

  “We should demand they give us an answer.”

  “Demand? My young friend, we’re deputy marshals. We don’t make demands unless you’re a wanted criminal; otherwise we don’t have much power or leverage.”

  “But they owe us some sort of explanation,” Billy pressed.

  Crumpling up the paper and tossing it in a trash can, Hemsworth gave Billy a smile and said, “No, they don’t, and when or if we ever end up sitting behind a desk like they do back in Idaho, then we’ll be able to know privileged information and withhold it all we want.”

  “You’re just going to let this go?” Billy asked in a righteous tone.

  “I am. Listen, Billy, we take orders from those in authority and arrest outlaws; if they felt we needed to know, I suspect they would tell us,” Hemsworth said, putting his hat on. He turned and headed from the telegraph office’s exit.