Chapter 5 - The Midnight Ledger
The fire burned down to a bed of glowing red embers, casting long, trembling shadows against the canvas tarp. Zora had eaten a small piece of the fried bread and fallen into an exhausted, feverish sleep, her breathing deep and uneven against the night air.
I sat on an upturned crate across the fire, cleaning my Remington with an oily rag. Every stroke of the cloth was rhythmic, mechanical, steadying the hum of thoughts in my head.
Morrison thought I was still the broken private from Mule Creek—a man who could be cowed by a cold stare and a reminder of past cowardice. He thought Red Creek belonged to him, body and soul, to do with as he pleased. But looking at Zora sleeping under my tarp, I realized something important: the war in New Mexico had never really ended. It had just followed us here, hiding behind land titles, barbed wire, and the silent compliance of a town too scared to look.
If I went to Morrison’s ranch tonight and demanded her brother, Dutch and half a dozen hired guns would fill me full of lead before I reached the front gate. Morrison operated by law when it suited him, and by violence when it didn't.
But men who keep prisoners in barns always make mistakes. And men who think they own the county grow careless.
I stood up, pulled my wool vest over my shoulders, and strapped the gun belt around my waist. Before heading out, I reached into my saddlebag and pulled out a small, leather-bound ledger book where I kept track of my fence-building accounts and the few dollars I’d saved from the rail camp. Inside the back cover slid something else—a crumpled, faded ordnance requisition paper from 1864, signed by Captain Morrison himself, listing supplies and troop movements that proved the captain had abandoned more than just a wounded soldier at Mule Creek. He had falsified reports to cover his tracks.
It was a piece of paper I’d kept for a decade, not knowing why I held onto it, waiting for a reason to use it or burn it.
I tucked the ledger securely into my vest pocket, picked up my Winchester leaning against the cottonwood trunk, and glanced down at Zora. She didn't stir.
May you like
"Stay here," I whispered into the dark.
I stepped past the circle of firelight, leaving the safety of the creek behind, and walked out into the cool midnight air toward the towering shadow of Morrison’s ranch. The first half of my debt to the past was about to be paid, and there was no order left on earth that could stop me.
