Chapter 7 - A Choice in the Dark
The night hand’s breath hitched, his finger tightening on the forward trigger of the double-barrel. The muzzle was pointed straight at my chest, less than ten feet away. In the dim light, I could see the wide, startled white of his eyes.
"Hold your fire, Tom," I said, using the name stenciled on the brass buckle of his belt from an old cattle drive we'd both worked five years back.
The man blinked, lowering the shotgun a fraction of an inch as recognition flickered across his lined face. "Miller? What in God's name are you doing in the captain's barn at midnight?"
"I'm here for the man you've got locked in the holding pen," I said, my voice low and level, keeping my hands empty and well clear of my holster.
Tom let out a dry, nervous laugh, shaking his head. "You've lost your mind, Adam. That Apache boy belongs to the captain. Morrison says he’s holding him for stock theft, and if I let him out, the captain will have my hide nailed to this door by morning."
"The boy didn't steal anything, Tom, and you know it," I stepped forward, closing the distance by half a step. "Morrison wanted to clear the upper ridge for his spring grazing leases, and he needed a pretext to run the families off. You saw how it was at Mule Creek ten years ago. You were there when the captain gave the order to leave Burch behind. Is that the kind of man you want to spend your old age guarding a barn door for?"
Tom flinched. The mention of Mule Creek hit him like a physical blow. He looked away, his grip on the shotgun loosening just enough for me to read the internal conflict grinding through his conscience.
"That was war, Adam," Tom muttered defensively, though his voice lacked conviction. "This isn't."
"It's the exact same man doing the exact same thing," I said, reaching into my vest pocket and pulling out the crumpled, yellowed requisition paper from 1864. I didn't hand it to him; I held it out so he could see the faded ink and Morrison's signature under the lamplight. "I've got the paper trail of what happened at Mule Creek right here. And if I walk out of this barn empty-handed, I take this paper straight to the federal marshal in Austin by Friday morning. Morrison goes down for embezzlement and illegal seizure. And everyone who helped him cover his tracks goes down right beside him."
May you like
Tom stared at the paper, his mouth working silently. He knew as well as I did what a federal marshal would do to a cattle baron who played fast and loose with military property and civilian rights.
"You're a stubborn fool, Miller," Tom whispered after a long, agonizing silence. He slowly lowered the shotgun, leaned it against the feed bin, and reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a heavy iron key and tossed it through the dark toward my feet. It clinked sharply against the concrete floor. "I didn't see a thing. And if anyone asks, you knocked me out and took it by force."
