I Wanted My Sister’s Murderers Dead—Then I Found Myself Fighting to Keep Them Alive
Part 1
By the time Ben Latimore reached Apache Wells, the jail was empty.
He knew it before he swung down from the saddle.
The town had the wrong kind of quiet.
Apache Wells was usually noisy by midmorning. Freight wagons groaned past the general store. Somebody hammered horseshoes at the smithy. Men argued over cards behind the batwing doors of the Copper Bell. Children chased each other around the church fence until their mothers called them home.
That morning, people watched Ben ride in and suddenly found reasons to look somewhere else.
He had been in the saddle almost a day.
Dust covered his boots, his coat, the brim of his hat. The bay beneath him stood with its legs wide and its sides trembling from exhaustion.
Ben tied the reins outside the jail and went in.
Two cells.
Both open.
He stared at them a long time.
A coffee cup still sat on the marshal’s desk.
The stove had gone cold.
Behind him, boots scraped the boardwalk.
Ben turned.
Amos Pike, who ran the telegraph office, stood ten feet away.
“Where are they?”
Amos swallowed.
“Ben.”
“Where?”
“I promised Jethro I wouldn’t say.”
Ben’s face barely moved.
That frightened Amos more than shouting would have.
Everybody in the territory knew what had happened outside Prescott.
Beth Latimore had been riding home from her aunt’s farm when Jeb and Johnny Sims stopped her wagon.
Maybe they meant only to take the horses.
Maybe Johnny got nervous.
Maybe he simply liked pulling triggers.
Whatever the reason, Beth had been shot while trying to run.
She lived long enough to tell Ben who had done it.
Jeb Sims had laughed.
Johnny had fired.
Ben had buried his sister beneath a cottonwood two days later.
Then he saddled his horse.
Amos glanced toward the saloon.
“They’re going to territorial prison.”
Ben said nothing.
The old telegrapher winced.
“I didn’t say when. I didn’t say how.”
“You said enough.”
“Ben, listen to me. Jethro knows what happened to Beth. Everybody does. But he’s a lawman.”
“So am I supposed to admire him for protecting them?”
“He’s protecting the law.”
Ben looked back at the empty cells.
The Sims brothers had been jailed before.
Their mother, Maude Sims, had bought deputies, bribed witnesses, threatened jurors, and sent armed men through jailhouse walls.
Every time the law closed a hand around her sons, somebody forced the fingers open.
Jeb was twenty-seven.
Johnny was barely twenty.
Between them, men whispered of robberies, killings, burned ranches, stage holdups, and witnesses who vanished before trials.
Ben adjusted the gun belt at his hip.
“Which road?”
Amos hesitated.
Ben stepped close.
“I’m not asking you to betray Jethro.”
“Feels a lot like it.”
“Territorial prison is west.”
Amos nodded slowly.
“And the regular stage west left yesterday.”
Ben’s gaze sharpened.
A little more pressure, and Amos broke.
“There’s a relay at Cottonwood. Then the road passes Calico before Moccasin.”
Ben turned toward his horse.
Amos called after him.
“Ben.”
He stopped.
“You think killing them will bring her back?”
Ben looked over one shoulder.
“No.”
“Then what does it do?”
“It makes sure they never kill somebody else’s sister.”
He mounted and rode out.
Behind him, Amos watched until the dust swallowed him.
Then the old man whispered, “God help whoever gets there first.”
Marshal Jethro Benton had known Ben Latimore for fourteen years.
That was precisely why he had moved the Sims brothers before dawn.
Jethro was sixty, narrow through the shoulders, gray through the beard, and stubborn enough to argue with a rattlesnake over ownership of a rock.
He sat beside the driver atop the westbound stage while Jeb and Johnny rode chained inside.
Across from them sat a traveling salesman named Sam Gill.
Sam had introduced himself as a drummer representing tools, sewing notions, and household goods.
The revolver Jethro took from his coat was a little large for a man who claimed to sell needles.
Beside the stage walked Tomas Quintero, a Paiute horse handler who worked the line between Apache Wells and Moccasin. His mother had been Paiute; his father a Mexican freighter. Tomas had learned long ago that white men frequently decided which half of him they trusted according to which half was more convenient.
On the roof beside the driver sat Mrs. Ada Gregory, a widow traveling to help her daughter through childbirth.
She had objected to riding outside.
Then she had seen Jeb and Johnny.
After that, she objected less.
The final passenger was Sally Mercer.
Ben’s Sally.
Though nobody on the stage knew that at first.
She sat stiff-backed near the driver, watching the desert pass beneath a white sky.
Jethro recognized her from Prescott but said nothing until they stopped to water the horses.
“You know he’ll come,” Sally said quietly.
“Ben?”
She nodded.
“I’m counting on being farther down the road when he does.”
“He loved Beth.”
“So did I.”
Jethro looked at her.
“Then you understand him.”
“I understand grief. That doesn’t mean I worship what grief turns a man into.”
Below them Johnny Sims rattled his chains.
“You two planning a wedding up there?”
Jethro leaned over the side.
“You keep talking, Johnny, and I’ll put a sock in your mouth.”
“Clean one?”
“No promises.”
Jeb laughed softly.
Johnny did not.
Despite his youth, Johnny’s face already carried something unpleasantly old in it. His eyes shifted constantly—toward doors, weapons, distances, chances.
Jeb was different.
He watched.
Calculated.
Where Johnny believed he could shoot his way through every problem, Jeb understood that surviving often meant waiting for someone else to make a mistake.
The first opportunity came near noon.
They had stopped at a relay station where an old horse tender lived with two young men who helped manage the teams.
The place looked wrong as soon as they approached.
No horses in the front corral.
No smoke.
No movement.
Tomas raised one hand.
Jethro stopped the stage.
“Stay put.”
Tomas walked toward the stable.
Jethro followed with the shotgun.
They found the old tender behind the water trough.
Dead.
One of the younger men lay farther out among the rocks.
The other was missing.
Fresh tracks cut west.
Jethro knelt beside them.
“White man’s boots,” Tomas said.
Jethro glanced toward the stage.
“Could be Sims people.”
Tomas nodded.
“Could be.”
Jethro looked at the missing horses.
“Somebody wants us stranded.”
“Or slow.”
Behind them Mrs. Gregory climbed down.
Jethro nearly exploded.
“Ma’am, did I not tell you to stay on the coach?”
“I heard you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I’m sixty-three years old and have been told what to do by men for most of those years. It stopped working somewhere around fifty.”
Even Tomas smiled.
Jethro did not.
They buried the old man.
Not because there was time.
There wasn’t.
They did it because Tomas refused to leave him to scavengers.
When Jethro complained, Tomas handed him the shovel.
“You want faster,” Tomas said. “Dig.”
So the marshal dug.
While they worked, Sam Gill asked for his pistol back.
“No.”
“What if whoever did this comes again?”
“I’ll worry about that.”
“That shotgun won’t cover six directions.”
“I only need one if I put you in the right place.”
Sam studied him.
“You distrust everybody?”
“Keeps me old.”
Jeb Sims watched from the stage window.
“That’ll get you killed eventually, Marshal.”
Jethro wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Maybe. But not by you today.”
Ben found the relay station near sunset.
The grave was still fresh.
He examined the tracks.
Then he looked west.
The stage had continued.
So had several riders.
Ben mounted a fresh horse bought from a rancher outside Apache Wells and pushed hard.
He caught them at the bridge.
Or what remained of it.
The stage stood thirty yards from the shattered crossing, horses steaming in the heat.
Someone had blown the center span into the ravine.
Jethro saw Ben on the ridge and cursed.
Johnny Sims grinned behind the bars of the stage window.
“Well, look what followed us.”
Ben dismounted.
Jethro climbed down with the shotgun.
“Stay back.”
“I didn’t ride this far to admire scenery.”
“You’re not touching my prisoners.”
Ben studied the broken bridge.
“You think I did this?”
“I think you’re angry enough.”
“If I wanted them stopped, Jethro, I’d shoot the horses. Dynamite’s expensive.”
Sally climbed down.
Ben froze.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Going to Moccasin.”
“You knew they were aboard?”
“Eventually.”
Ben looked at the Sims brothers.
Johnny smiled at him.
“I hear Beth screamed your name.”
Ben moved before anyone understood what was happening.
Jethro stepped between them.
“Don’t.”
Ben’s hand hovered near his holster.
Jethro’s shotgun was already aimed.
For several seconds the desert seemed to hold its breath.
Then Ben looked past him at Johnny.
“You’re still breathing because he is standing there.”
Johnny’s smile remained.
But something behind it disappeared.
Jethro said, “You want justice, ride back to Apache Wells.”
“I’ve seen their kind of justice.”
“They’ll stand trial.”
“They always do.”
“And if they’re convicted, they’ll hang.”
“If they reach trial.”
Jethro lowered the shotgun a fraction.
“My badge says they will.”
“Your badge didn’t save Beth.”
That landed.
Jethro’s face hardened.
“No. It didn’t.”
Ben looked at the broken bridge.
“Whoever did that expects you to turn around.”
“That occurred to me.”
“Which means they’re waiting behind you.”
“And ahead?”
Ben pointed north.
“Calico.”
The old mining town had been abandoned for decades.
A scattering of buildings stood three miles off the road: saloon, hotel, livery barn, assay office, church, miners’ shacks.
Water still ran from a spring above town.
Jethro hated the idea immediately.
So naturally everybody else favored it.
“The horses can’t drag this coach halfway back tonight,” the driver said.
Sam nodded. “At least Calico gives us walls.”
Tomas studied the hills.
“And high ground.”
Sally looked at Ben.
“And what do you get?”
He met her eyes.
“The same thing I came for.”
Jethro sighed.
“You’re still planning to kill them.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you want us all hiding together.”
“For tonight.”
Johnny leaned from the barred window.
“Turn me loose and you won’t have to wait.”
Ben approached the coach.
Johnny’s eyes shone.
“You give me a gun. We finish it.”
Ben stared at him.
“You killed an unarmed woman from behind.”
“I’ll be facing you.”
“First honest thing you’ve offered anybody.”
Jethro shoved Ben back.
“That’s enough.”
Jeb gripped his brother’s arm.
“Shut your mouth.”
Johnny jerked away.
“What?”
“Just shut it.”
For the first time, Jeb looked worried.
Not about Ben.
About the hills.
He knew who had destroyed the bridge.
Ben saw that knowledge in his face.
And suddenly revenge became less simple.
“Your people are coming,” Ben said.
Jeb said nothing.
Johnny grinned.
Ben looked toward the falling sun.
“How many?”
Silence.
Tomas answered for them.
“Enough.”
Everyone turned.
He was examining the ridge through narrowed eyes.
“Dust,” he said.
Far south, almost lost against the evening sky, a thin brown plume rose beyond the rocks.
Riders.
Many riders.
Jethro looked at the exhausted horses.
Then at Calico.
“Driver.”
“Yes?”
“Turn north.”
The stage creaked onto the abandoned road.
Ben mounted.
As they moved toward the dead town, Sally watched him from the coach.
“You said justice,” she called.
Ben rode beside her.
“It is.”
“No. You said killing them was justice.”
He stared ahead.
She lowered her voice.
“If their gang reaches us tonight, you’ll have to protect the very men you came to murder.”
Ben looked toward the approaching dust.
Then toward Jeb and Johnny.
For the first time since Beth died, he had no answer.
Part 2
Calico had died slowly.
That was the way abandoned towns died.
Not in fire.
Not in one great catastrophe.
First the richest vein disappeared.
Then the mine owners stopped extending credit.
Then one store closed.
Then another.
Families packed wagons.
Miners followed rumors elsewhere.
The saloon lasted longer than the church.
The undertaker longer than the school.
Eventually even the rats inherited more property than the living.
By the time the stage rolled down Calico’s main street, wind had peeled paint from every building and sand had buried half the boardwalk.
The old saloon offered the strongest walls.
Jethro chose it.
Tomas and the driver unhitched the horses and led them behind the building.
Sam carried water.
Mrs. Gregory searched the kitchen.
Sally stared through cracked windows at the ridges surrounding town.
Ben inspected the roofline.
Jethro chained Jeb and Johnny to an iron support near the back wall.
“You could save yourself trouble,” Jeb said.
“How?”
“Let us go.”
“Seems like that would cause trouble.”
“Our friends don’t want you.”
“They murdered a relay tender.”
Jeb shrugged.
“Did they?”
“They destroyed a bridge.”
“Maybe.”
“They’re surrounding a town full of innocent passengers to get you two.”
Johnny smiled.
“Ma loves us.”
Jeb looked away.
That small reaction caught Ben’s attention.
Later, when Jethro went outside, Ben remained near the prisoners.
“You’re not happy she’s coming.”
Jeb looked at him.
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
Johnny laughed.
“He thinks he can get inside your head.”
Ben ignored him.
“Your brother thinks your mother came to rescue you. You know better.”
Jeb’s eyes darkened.
“Go polish your gun.”
“She’s rescued you before.”
No response.
“So why the long face?”
Johnny snapped, “Leave him alone.”
Ben crouched.
“You know what she’ll do if she can’t get you out.”
Jeb finally spoke.
“You don’t know anything about Ma.”
“I know she has people killed.”
“That makes two of us, gunfighter.”
Ben accepted the blow.
“My sister was one person.”
“And she matters more than everybody you ever shot?”
Sally stood in the doorway.
Ben had not seen her enter.
Jeb smiled.
“That your woman?”
“No.”
Sally said, “Not anymore.”
Johnny whistled.
Ben stood.
“Stay away from them.”
“They’re chained.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She understood.
So did Jeb.
Sally followed Ben outside.
The last sunlight burned against the western hills.
For a while neither spoke.
Finally she said, “When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That you were going after them no matter what I said.”
“You knew.”
“I hoped I was wrong.”
Ben checked his revolver.
She hated that habit.
Not because of the gun.
Because he did it whenever conversation became painful.
“Beth loved you,” Sally said.
His hand stopped.
“She used to say you could fix anything.”
“She was wrong.”
“She meant fences. Harness. Broken wagon axles.”
A faint smile almost reached him.
“She was always breaking something.”
“She broke your watch once.”
“Sat on it.”
Sally smiled despite herself.
“She blamed the horse.”
“She was fourteen.”
The smile died.
Ben stared into the street.
“When I found her, she kept apologizing.”
Sally’s throat tightened.
“For what?”
“For losing the wagon.”
His voice became rough.
“She was bleeding to death and worried I’d be angry about a wagon.”
Sally touched his sleeve.
Ben looked down at her hand.
“You ask me why I can’t let this go.”
“I know why.”
“No, you know what you wish the reason was.”
“And what is it?”
He looked toward the saloon.
“Because I keep seeing her there.”
Sally’s expression softened.
“And if Johnny dies?”
“Maybe I stop seeing it.”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“I know you.”
He pulled away.
“Do you?”
“Yes. That’s why I left.”
Pain crossed his face.
She continued.
“You think I left because I hated you.”
“You said you couldn’t live beside a man with blood on his hands.”
“I said I couldn’t watch you keep putting more there.”
Ben’s jaw tightened.
Before he could answer, Tomas whistled from the roof.
One short note.
Ben’s revolver appeared in his hand.
Tomas pointed toward a distant building.
Movement.
A shadow vanished behind the old assay office.
“They’re here,” Ben said.
The first shot came after dark.
It shattered a bottle behind the bar.
Mrs. Gregory ducked.
“Well,” she said from the floor, “I suppose that settles whether they mean business.”
Jethro pushed everyone into position.
Sam stood at the front window.
Tomas watched from a narrow opening upstairs.
Ben moved between firing points.
Sally refused the revolver Jethro offered.
“I don’t use guns.”
Johnny laughed from the back.
“Then tonight’s a bad night to be holy.”
Sally ignored him.
The second shot punched through the front wall.
Sam fired back.
Ben grabbed his coat and pulled him down.
“Don’t shoot at flashes.”
“I saw movement.”
“You saw what they wanted you to see.”
“You always this cheerful?”
“No.”
A voice called from outside.
“Jeb! Johnny!”
Johnny surged against the chain.
“Uncle Adam!”
Jeb swore.
The voice came again.
“Boys, stay low! We’ll have you out soon!”
Johnny grinned.
“Told you.”
Jeb leaned his head against the post.
Ben noticed.
Again.
He knelt beside him.
“What’s wrong with Adam?”
Jeb whispered, “He takes orders.”
“From your mother?”
Jeb nodded.
“And?”
“She told us once what happens if we ever get taken somewhere she can’t reach.”
Johnny turned.
“Shut up.”
Jeb laughed bitterly.
“You still think she came for us?”
“She did.”
“She came for the name.”
Johnny stared at him.
Jeb looked at Ben.
“Our mother doesn’t fear us hanging because she loves us. She fears what we might say first.”
The truth settled over them.
Jethro moved closer.
“Say about what?”
Jeb smiled without humor.
“You think Johnny and me planned every robbery?”
“Didn’t think you were clever enough.”
“Ma chose banks. Routes. Payroll wagons. Witnesses.”
Johnny shook his head.
“She’s saving us.”
Jeb turned on him.
“She sent Adam to burn that farm outside Tucson when Eli Rucker got caught.”
Johnny went pale.
“He escaped.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Silence.
Jeb continued.
“Ma had Adam kill him before he could testify.”
Johnny stared.
“No.”
“You were sixteen. She told you he rode south.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“She would.”
A shot smashed through the window frame.
Everyone ducked.
Then another came from behind.
Ben crawled toward Jethro.
“They’re tightening.”
Jethro looked at Jeb.
“You telling the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
“Because I’d rather hang than be burned alive.”
That answer convinced him more than any oath.
Ben said, “They can’t storm both entrances without losses.”
“They don’t need to,” Jeb replied.
Ben looked at him.
Jeb stared toward the ceiling.
“They’ll burn us out.”
As if summoned by the words, glass shattered in the street.
Flames erupted against the neighboring building.
Mrs. Gregory whispered, “Dear Lord.”
Adam’s voice came from outside.
“Send the boys out! Everybody else walks away!”
Jethro shouted through the window.
“They’re prisoners of the territory!”
“Then the territory can bury them!”
Johnny’s face changed.
The certainty was gone.
Ben watched the boy finally understand.
Adam was not coming to free him.
He was coming to erase him.
The fire spread slowly.
The old buildings were dry, but gaps between them delayed the flames.
Ben gathered everyone behind the bar.
“We need water on the roof.”
“The well’s behind the stable,” Tomas said.
“Can you reach it?”
“Maybe.”
“Not alone.”
“I go faster alone.”
Ben nodded.
Tomas disappeared through the rear crawlspace.
Jethro turned to Sam.
“You can shoot?”
“I told you I travel rough country.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Sam looked through the window.
“I used to wear a badge in Colorado.”
Jethro blinked.
“You might’ve mentioned that.”
“You never asked politely.”
For the first time that night, Jethro handed him extra cartridges without suspicion.
Sally crouched near Mrs. Gregory.
Johnny suddenly called to her.
“Miss.”
She looked over.
“You believe all that Bible stuff?”
“I do.”
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
He swallowed.
“You think a man can get forgiven?”
Jeb looked at him.
Sally answered carefully.
“I think forgiveness and escaping consequences are different things.”
Johnny nodded as though he expected that.
“What if he did something real bad?”
“Then he tells the truth.”
“And?”
“He accepts what follows.”
Johnny laughed once.
“That sounds worse than hanging.”
“Sometimes it is.”
A bullet punched through the wall.
Sally flinched.
Johnny watched her.
“You scared?”
“Yes.”
“You admitted it.”
“There’s no virtue in pretending.”
He looked at his hands.
“I’m scared too.”
Jeb stared at his brother.
Johnny whispered, “I didn’t mean to kill her.”
Ben heard.
The room changed.
He crossed to the chained men.
Johnny looked up.
Ben’s face was unreadable.
“You shot her in the back.”
“She was running.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
“Why did you pull the trigger?”
Johnny opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
Then, finally:
“Because Adam was watching.”
Ben’s anger rose so fast that his hand moved toward his gun.
Johnny pressed himself against the wall.
But Ben did not draw.
“Beth died because you wanted to impress a man?”
Johnny’s eyes filled.
“I’d robbed folks before. Shot over heads. Shot at lawmen. But never—”
“You put a bullet through her.”
“I know.”
“You left her in the road.”
“I know.”
Ben grabbed his shirt.
Jeb shouted.
Sally stood.
“Ben.”
He ignored her.
Johnny’s face was inches from his.
“She begged.”
“I know.”
“She kept calling my name.”
“I know!”
Johnny’s voice cracked.
“I hear it too!”
Ben froze.
Outside, shots continued.
Inside, for one moment, everything was still.
Johnny’s lips trembled.
“I hear her every night.”
Ben released him.
He walked away.
Sally followed.
“You wanted remorse,” she said softly.
“I wanted him dead.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“No.”
“What do you want now?”
Ben looked at the revolver in his hand.
“I don’t know.”
That frightened him more than certainty ever had.
Near midnight Tomas returned soaked from the waist down.
He had reached the well.
He also brought worse news.
“Eight men,” he said. “Maybe nine. Adam. Others.”
Jethro asked, “Maude?”
Tomas nodded.
“Woman near church.”
Johnny shut his eyes.
His mother had come.
Jeb’s expression hardened.
“What else?”
“Powder kegs in wagon.”
Ben understood.
“They’re not waiting for fire.”
Tomas nodded.
“They blow saloon.”
Mrs. Gregory murmured, “She intends to kill her own sons.”
Jeb said, “Now you understand Ma.”
Jethro paced.
“We can’t hold this building.”
“No,” Ben said.
“Can we get out?”
“Maybe half of us.”
Jethro looked at his prisoners.
Ben knew what he was thinking.
“You’re not abandoning them.”
“You came here to kill them.”
“That was before.”
Jethro studied him.
“Before what?”
Ben looked toward Johnny.
“Before somebody else tried.”
Jethro almost smiled.
“You are a complicated fool.”
“Been told worse.”
Sally heard the words.
And something inside her that had been closed for months opened a fraction.
Ben was changing.
Not enough.
Perhaps never enough.
But grief had loosened its grip long enough for him to make a choice Beth might have recognized.
Jethro said, “What do you suggest?”
Ben pointed toward the abandoned hotel across the street.
“We make them think we’re staying.”
Sam caught on.
“Then move through the alley?”
“To the mine office. Stone walls.”
Tomas shook his head.
“Open ground.”
“Twenty yards.”
“With rifles watching.”
Ben looked upward.
“Then we give them something else to watch.”
Mrs. Gregory cleared her throat.
Everyone turned.
“I may have an idea.”
Jethro looked suspicious immediately.
“That expression has gotten me into trouble before.”
She ignored him.
“The kitchen has lamp oil.”
“Yes.”
“And that old player piano still has a roll inside.”
Sam stared.
“You plan to entertain them?”
“No. I plan to convince them we are bigger fools than we look.”
Ten minutes later, the saloon piano began playing by itself.
The mechanism wheezed horribly.
Music stumbled into the dead street.
Mrs. Gregory set three lanterns moving on strings behind curtains.
From outside, shadows seemed to cross the room.
Then Ben fired from an upstairs window.
Sam fired from below.
Tomas fired from the rear.
Three positions.
Three defenders.
Adam’s men responded.
At once.
Bullets tore into the saloon.
Meanwhile Jethro unlocked the prisoners’ chain from the post but left their wrists shackled together.
“Move.”
They slipped through the floor hatch one by one.
Sally.
Mrs. Gregory.
Jeb and Johnny.
Sam.
Tomas.
Jethro.
Ben remained last.
He pulled a lamp from its hook.
Sally looked back.
“Ben!”
“Go.”
He hurled the lamp into spilled whiskey behind the bar.
Flames roared upward.
Then he ran.
The burning saloon became a furnace of light.
Adam’s men focused on it.
The fugitives crossed the alley.
Almost.
A rifle cracked.
Jethro spun and fell.
Sally screamed.
Ben dragged him behind the stone wall of the assay office.
Blood covered the marshal’s shoulder.
“Through,” Jethro gasped.
The bullet had passed high.
Painful.
Not fatal.
Then another voice sounded from the darkness.
“Ben Latimore!”
Maude Sims.
She stood beyond the flames in a black riding dress, rifle in her hands.
Even at sixty she carried herself like a woman who had never once asked permission.
“Give me my sons!”
Johnny whispered, “Ma.”
Maude continued.
“You hear me, boys? Come outside!”
Johnny moved.
Jeb grabbed him.
“No.”
“She came.”
“She came to kill us.”
Maude shouted again.
“Johnny! Baby!”
Johnny flinched.
Ben saw his face.
The boy wanted desperately to believe.
That was the tragedy.
Not that Johnny Sims had never been loved.
That he had been taught to mistake possession for love.
Jeb pulled him back.
“She always calls you baby when she wants something.”
Johnny’s breathing trembled.
Maude’s voice hardened.
“Come out now.”
Johnny whispered, “She sounds mad.”
Jeb gave a bleak laugh.
“She’s trying to save herself.”
A shot blasted through the doorway.
Adam’s men were circling.
Ben looked around the stone office.
One back room.
One front entrance.
Two windows.
And a roof hatch.
No other exit.
Jethro clutched his bleeding shoulder.
“We bought ourselves ten minutes.”
Ben listened to boots moving outside.
“Less.”
Then Jeb said something none of them expected.
“Give me a gun.”
Ben turned.
Jeb held up his chained hands.
“You want to survive?”
“Yes.”
“Then give me one.”
Johnny stared at his brother.
“You’d fight Ma?”
Jeb looked at him.
“No.”
Then his gaze shifted toward the approaching shadows.
“I’d fight the men she sent to murder us.”
Part 3
Nobody moved.
Jethro leaned against the wall.
“No.”
Jeb laughed.
“Marshal, if I wanted to escape, where exactly would I go?”
“Still no.”
Ben watched Jeb.
“You ever shoot anyone who was facing you?”
Jeb’s expression hardened.
“More than one.”
“That isn’t a recommendation.”
Another rifle cracked.
Stone dust sprayed from the window frame.
Tomas fired once.
A man outside cried out.
Jethro’s face had gone pale from blood loss.
Sam was down to a handful of cartridges.
The roof above them glowed orange as the burning saloon illuminated Calico.
Ben made the decision.
He tossed Jeb a revolver.
Jethro swore.
Jeb caught it awkwardly in his chained hands.
Johnny reached for it.
Jeb pushed him away.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the reason we’re in here.”
Johnny stared.
Jeb’s voice softened.
“And because I’m tired of helping you become what Ma wanted.”
Johnny looked as though he had been struck.
Ben took position at the window.
“Three coming left.”
Jeb crawled beside him.
“You take the far one.”
“Why?”
“I’m better close.”
“You bragging?”
“No.”
For the first time that night, Ben almost smiled.
The attackers rushed.
Ben fired.
Jeb fired.
Sam fired from the opposite side.
Two men fell.
The third vanished behind the undertaker’s building.
Then Tomas shouted from above.
“Back!”
Adam kicked through the rear door.
Mrs. Gregory swung a broken chair leg into his face.
The crack echoed.
Adam stumbled.
The old woman stared at the stick in astonishment.
“I have wanted to do that to somebody for thirty years.”
Adam recovered and raised his pistol.
Sally stepped between them.
“No!”
He struck her aside.
Ben fired.
Adam twisted.
The bullet caught him through the upper arm.
His pistol dropped.
Johnny stared at the man who had shaped so much of his life.
“Uncle Adam.”
Adam lunged for the weapon with his left hand.
Jeb leveled the revolver.
“Don’t.”
Adam sneered.
“You ain’t got the belly.”
Jeb cocked the hammer.
“You sure?”
Adam hesitated.
For years, Jeb Sims had wanted men to believe he was dangerous.
Now, for the first time, he wanted something else.
He wanted the shooting to stop.
“Walk outside,” Jeb said.
Adam laughed.
“Your ma will gut you.”
“Maybe.”
“Boy, you think this gunfighter’s going to save you? He came to kill you.”
Jeb glanced at Ben.
“I know.”
Adam smiled.
“Then what side are you on?”
Jeb lowered the pistol slightly.
“My own.”
Adam moved.
Fast.
He dove for the fallen gun.
Jeb fired.
Adam collapsed.
Johnny screamed his name.
The bullet had entered Adam’s chest.
He tried to rise.
Couldn’t.
For several seconds he looked at Jeb with stunned disbelief.
Then he was still.
Jeb stared at the smoking revolver.
“I warned him.”
Ben said quietly, “You did.”
Outside, Maude began shouting.
“What happened?”
Johnny crawled toward Adam.
Jeb stopped him.
“Don’t.”
“He raised us.”
“No.”
Jeb looked toward the darkness where their mother waited.
“They did something else.”
The assault stopped.
For a time.
That worried Ben more.
Maude Sims was not retreating.
She was thinking.
Dawn remained hours away.
Jethro’s bleeding had slowed after Sally packed the wound.
The marshal’s left arm was nearly useless.
He looked around.
“We need to get word out.”
Tomas shook his head.
“Horses gone.”
“Can you slip through?”
“Maybe.”
Ben said, “She’ll be watching the washes.”
Tomas shrugged.
“She expects white men use roads.”
Jethro looked at him.
“You volunteering?”
“I am only one who maybe gets through.”
Jethro extended his good hand.
Tomas took it.
“No heroics.”
Tomas smiled.
“From man shot guarding murderers?”
Jethro grunted.
“Get moving.”
Tomas climbed through the roof hatch and vanished.
Maude’s voice drifted from the street.
“I know you can hear me!”
Ben moved to the window.
“I hear you.”
“You killed Adam.”
“Your son did.”
Silence.
Then:
“Which one?”
Jeb looked toward the darkness.
Ben answered, “Jeb.”
Maude laughed.
“Then perhaps there’s hope for him yet.”
Jeb’s expression went empty.
Johnny whispered, “Ma?”
She called out.
“Johnny, come to me.”
Ben looked at him.
Johnny shook his head.
But tears filled his eyes.
“Come outside,” Maude said. “Mama’s taking you home.”
Jeb grabbed his brother’s shoulder.
“She’s lying.”
Johnny knew it.
That was what broke him.
He sank against the wall.
“I did everything she said.”
Jeb crouched beside him.
“I know.”
“I shot that girl.”
“Yes.”
“Adam said if I didn’t, she’d identify us.”
“I know.”
“Ma said I did good.”
Jeb closed his eyes.
Johnny looked at Sally.
“Did Beth have a mother?”
“No,” Sally said. “Their mother died years ago.”
“A father?”
“Dead too.”
Johnny nodded.
“So Ben was all she had.”
Sally looked toward Ben.
“Yes.”
Johnny covered his face.
Ben turned away.
He had imagined this moment a hundred times.
Johnny begging.
Johnny afraid.
Johnny finally understanding death.
In Ben’s imagination, it always brought satisfaction.
In reality it brought nothing.
Only exhaustion.
Maybe revenge was like thirst in the desert.
The farther a man followed it, the more water he believed he saw ahead.
Until one day he discovered he had been chasing light.
Near two in the morning, Maude changed tactics.
Smoke began entering the assay office.
Sam smelled it first.
“They’re firing the roof.”
Ben climbed the ladder.
Flames had caught along the wooden rear awning.
He emptied a bucket.
Not enough.
Maude’s remaining men fired whenever anyone approached a window.
Jethro looked around.
“We move again?”
“To where?” Sam asked.
Ben pointed at the old mine entrance beyond the church.
Jeb shook his head.
“Trap.”
“It runs through the hill.”
“You know?”
“I worked Calico one summer when I was seventeen.”
Everyone stared.
Mrs. Gregory said, “You were a miner?”
“For three weeks.”
“What happened?”
“I discovered I disliked rocks.”
Despite everything, Sally laughed.
Even Ben.
The sound lasted only a second.
But it reminded them that life still existed outside bullets and graves.
Ben continued.
“There’s another opening behind the ridge.”
“How far?” Jethro asked.
“Quarter mile underground.”
“And if it collapsed?”
Ben shrugged.
“Then we’ll have found a very complicated grave.”
The roof cracked.
Decision made.
They moved.
Sam and Ben covered the street.
Jeb kept his revolver.
Johnny carried nothing.
They crossed behind smoke.
Halfway to the mine, a shot struck Sam in the thigh.
He fell.
Ben turned back.
“Leave me!”
Nobody did.
Jeb and Johnny hauled Sam between them.
Chained wrists made the work clumsy.
Another shot kicked dirt beside Johnny.
Ben fired toward the muzzle flash.
Mrs. Gregory reached the mine entrance first.
Sally followed with Jethro.
Then the Sims brothers dragged Sam inside.
Ben came last.
Bullets followed him into darkness.
The mine smelled of wet earth and old timber.
Sally found lanterns hanging near a collapsed tool bench.
One still held oil.
They moved deeper.
Jethro leaned on Mrs. Gregory.
Sam limped between Jeb and Johnny.
Ben led.
The tunnel narrowed.
Then forked.
He stopped.
“You remember?” Sally asked.
“No.”
“You said you worked here.”
“I said three weeks.”
“Ben.”
“I mostly carried ore and complained.”
Behind them, voices entered the mine.
Maude had followed.
Ben examined the walls.
Air moved faintly from the right-hand tunnel.
“This way.”
They went right.
The passage sloped upward.
Timbers groaned.
Johnny whispered, “I don’t like this.”
Mrs. Gregory said, “Neither do I, dear, but compared with being shot I find it charming.”
They climbed.
The lantern flickered.
Behind them, Maude called.
“Johnny!”
Her voice echoed through the earth.
He stopped.
Jeb pulled him.
“Keep moving.”
“She followed us.”
“To finish it.”
“Maybe she wants—”
Jeb slammed him against the wall.
“For once in your life, see her!”
Johnny stared at him.
Jeb’s voice broke.
“She made us thieves before we were men. She praised you for hurting people. She taught me to lie before I could shave. Pa tried to take us away and she drove him out.”
Johnny whispered, “Pa was weak.”
“Who told you that?”
Johnny had no answer.
Jeb released him.
“Who told us everything?”
Maude’s voice came again.
Closer.
“I can hear you, boys.”
Jeb raised his gun.
Johnny moved beside him.
“No.”
“What?”
Johnny stepped forward.
“She wants me.”
“Johnny.”
“She always wanted me most.”
“That isn’t love.”
“I know.”
For perhaps the first time, he truly did.
Johnny walked down the tunnel.
Ben caught him.
“You go back there, she kills you.”
“Maybe.”
“Then don’t.”
Johnny looked up at the man who had hunted him halfway across Arizona.
“You still want to?”
Ben understood.
“No.”
Johnny’s eyes widened.
“Why?”
Ben took a long time answering.
“Because Beth doesn’t need another dead man.”
Johnny looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
Ben’s face tightened.
“Don’t say it to make yourself feel better.”
“I ain’t.”
“Then live long enough to say it where it costs you something.”
“To a judge?”
“To everyone.”
Johnny nodded.
And stepped back.
They reached the far entrance twenty minutes before dawn.
It opened onto a rocky slope north of Calico.
Cold air swept across them.
For one brief moment hope rose.
Then rifles clicked.
Three men emerged from behind the rocks.
Maude had anticipated the escape.
Ben slowly raised his hands.
Jeb still held the revolver, hidden behind Sam’s body.
The men ordered everyone down.
Maude appeared from the mine behind them.
She had taken another passage.
Her dress was torn at the hem.
Dust streaked her face.
But she still looked less like a desperate mother than a queen arriving to inspect disobedient servants.
Her eyes found Jeb.
“So.”
Jeb said nothing.
“You killed Adam.”
“He tried to kill us.”
“He was trying to save you.”
“No.”
Something flickered in her expression.
Jeb had never spoken to her that way.
Johnny stood beside Sally.
Maude smiled at him.
“My baby.”
Johnny’s mouth tightened.
“Don’t.”
Her smile vanished.
“What?”
“Don’t call me that.”
She stared.
Johnny lifted his chin.
“I ain’t your baby.”
“You are my son.”
“Then why’d you bring powder?”
Maude looked at Jeb.
“You’ve been filling his head.”
“I finally emptied yours out of it.”
She struck Jeb.
Hard.
Ben stepped forward.
One of the gunmen aimed at him.
Maude raised a hand.
“No.”
She looked Ben over.
“So this is the famous Latimore.”
“Maude.”
“You’ve caused me considerable trouble.”
“Your sons managed most of that.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Beth Latimore should have minded her business.”
The world inside Ben became very still.
Sally saw his hand move.
“Ben.”
Maude smiled.
“Yes. Draw.”
That was what she wanted.
She had men with rifles trained on him.
If Ben reached for his gun, they would kill him.
Then she could tell herself the feared Latimore had been another stupid man conquered by anger.
Ben lowered his hand.
Maude’s smile faded.
“You disappoint me.”
“I’ve been disappointing myself all night.”
Jethro almost laughed.
Maude pointed at Jeb and Johnny.
“Take them.”
Her gunmen stepped forward.
Johnny backed away.
“No.”
“Come home.”
“No.”
Maude stared at him.
Johnny’s voice shook, but he continued.
“You told Adam to kill Beth if she saw us.”
Maude said nothing.
“You told me to shoot.”
“You were protecting your family.”
“I was protecting you.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Johnny looked at Jeb.
Then Ben.
Then Sally.
“No, it ain’t.”
Maude’s face changed.
She raised her pistol toward Johnny.
Everything happened at once.
Jeb fired.
Ben drew.
Sally screamed.
A rifle cracked from the ridge.
Maude’s pistol flew from her hand.
She collapsed, clutching her wrist.
Her gunmen spun toward the high ground.
Tomas stood above them with a rifle.
And behind Tomas came half a dozen riders.
Apache Wells deputies.
Two ranchers.
Amos Pike.
Even the stage driver, who had escaped with Tomas and found horses.
Jethro exhaled.
“Took you long enough.”
Tomas called down.
“Stopped for breakfast.”
Nobody believed him.
But nobody cared.
Maude’s men dropped their weapons.
All except one.
He swung toward Ben.
Johnny saw it.
“Ben!”
Ben turned.
The rifle fired.
Jeb knocked Ben sideways.
The bullet struck Jeb beneath the ribs.
Ben shot the gunman.
Then caught Jeb as he fell.
Johnny dropped beside his brother.
“No. No, no.”
Jeb looked down at the blood.
“Seems unfair.”
“Shut up.”
“Always hated when you said that.”
“You ain’t dying.”
Jeb breathed shallowly.
“I might.”
Johnny began sobbing.
Jeb gripped his shirt.
“Listen.”
“No.”
“Listen.”
Johnny bent close.
“You tell them.”
“Tell who?”
“Everybody.”
Jeb’s eyes found Maude.
“You tell them what we did.”
Johnny shook his head.
“All of it.”
“They’ll hang me.”
“Maybe.”
Johnny stared.
Jeb smiled weakly.
“First decent thing we ever do might hurt.”
Then his eyes closed.
Johnny cried out.
Sally knelt and checked Jeb’s pulse.
“He’s alive.”
Johnny froze.
“What?”
“Barely.”
Jethro barked toward the deputies.
“Get a wagon up here!”
For the first time in perhaps twenty years, Johnny Sims prayed.
Not loudly.
Not elegantly.
He simply bowed his head over his brother’s bloody shirt and whispered to a God he had mocked hours earlier.
“Please.”
Jeb lived.
The doctor in Apache Wells said another inch would have killed him.
Johnny told everything.
So did Jeb when he was strong enough.
Stage robberies.
Killings.
Bribery.
Names.
Dates.
Maude’s instructions.
Adam’s role.
The murder of Eli Rucker.
The intimidation of witnesses.
Even Beth Latimore’s death.
Johnny confessed that Beth had recognized them after they stopped her wagon.
Adam told him no witness could remain.
Johnny fired because he was afraid Adam would think him weak.
The confession did not save him from trial.
It did not erase what he had done.
It did, however, end Maude Sims’s control over half the territory’s frightened officials.
Records were found.
Money caches uncovered.
Men arrested.
A judge who had taken Sims money resigned before he could be removed.
Maude herself stood trial.
She never apologized.
Not to Ben.
Not to her sons.
Not to anyone.
Johnny did.
He asked to speak to Ben before sentencing.
They met in the same Apache Wells jail from which the brothers had once been removed.
Johnny stood behind bars.
“You going to be there?”
“At the trial?”
“At the hanging.”
Ben looked at him.
The sentence had not yet been decided, but both men knew what was likely.
“I don’t know.”
Johnny nodded.
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
“That what you wanted to say?”
“No.”
He gripped the bars.
“I remember your sister.”
Ben almost walked away.
Johnny continued quickly.
“She had a blue ribbon around her collar.”
Ben stopped.
“She told me I could take the horses. Told me she wouldn’t fight.”
His voice broke.
“She wasn’t brave like in the stories. She was scared.”
Ben stared at him.
Johnny’s eyes filled.
“But she still turned around before I fired.”
Ben had not known that.
Johnny whispered, “She looked right at me.”
The cell seemed suddenly too small for both of them.
“She said, ‘You don’t have to.’”
Ben shut his eyes.
Johnny waited.
Finally Ben asked, “Why are you telling me?”
“Because she was right.”
Ben looked at him.
“I didn’t have to.”
Johnny wiped his face.
“And I want somebody to remember that she tried to save me before I killed her.”
Ben stood there a long time.
Then he left.
Not forgiving.
Not forgetting.
But carrying something different from hatred.
Months later, Sally found him beneath Beth’s cottonwood.
The Arizona winter had been mild.
Grass moved around the grave.
Ben had replaced the old marker with stone.
BETH LATIMORE
BELOVED SISTER
SHE ASKED FOR MERCY EVEN WHEN NONE WAS SHOWN TO HER
Sally read the words.
“You changed it.”
“The first one only had her dates.”
“This is better.”
Ben stood with his hat in his hands.
In the distance, cattle moved along the ridge.
Sally came beside him.
“What happened to Johnny?”
“Territorial court commuted the sentence.”
She looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Testimony. Cooperation. Judge said hanging him would hide more truth than it served.”
“And Jeb?”
“Twenty years.”
“Johnny?”
“Life.”
Sally considered that.
“Ben?”
“Yes?”
“Are you disappointed?”
He looked at Beth’s grave.
Months before he would have answered immediately.
Now he thought.
“No.”
Sally touched the stone.
“Neither am I.”
He glanced at her.
“What about us?”
She smiled faintly.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you still think every problem in Arizona can be solved with that revolver.”
Ben looked down at the gun belt.
Then unbuckled it.
He laid it beside the grave.
Sally stared.
“You don’t have to be dramatic.”
“I’ve waited months to do that.”
“Well, pick it up before somebody steals it.”
He laughed.
She had missed that sound.
Ben picked up the belt.
“I’m not throwing it away.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You did once.”
“I was wrong once.”
“That sounds important. Want me to find a Bible and write down the date?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
He fastened the belt again.
But something had changed.
The weapon no longer looked like part of him.
Only something he carried.
They walked toward the horses.
Halfway there, Sally took his hand.
Ben looked down.
“You sure?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Me neither.”
“That may be the first sensible thing you’ve said.”
Behind them, Beth Latimore’s grave stood beneath the cottonwood.
The wind moved through its branches.
Far beyond Apache Wells, Calico remained abandoned, its burned saloon black against the desert, its empty buildings keeping the memory of one long night when a marshal protected men he despised, a gunfighter defended the killers he had hunted, two outlaw brothers learned what their mother’s love truly cost, and ordinary travelers discovered that courage rarely arrived looking the way people expected.
Jethro Benton kept his badge.
Sam Gill stopped pretending to be a drummer and accepted a deputy’s position in Moccasin.
Mrs. Gregory reached her daughter three days late and informed everyone within hearing that the delay had not been her fault.
Tomas returned to the stage line, though Jethro complained loudly that no employee should be allowed to become so pleased with himself.
Maude Sims went east under guard.
Jeb and Johnny went to territorial prison.
And Ben Latimore never again called revenge justice.
Years later, people still told stories about the siege of Calico.
As stories do, they grew.
Some claimed fifty outlaws surrounded the town.
Some said Ben Latimore killed a dozen men without missing once.
Some insisted Mrs. Gregory had stood in the street firing two revolvers.
She never corrected that version.
But the truest part of the story was the part most often left out.
The deadliest thing Ben Latimore did that night was not draw faster than another man.
It was stop.
Stop when rage told him to continue.
Stop when grief gave him permission.
Stop when the man he had been demanded blood from the boy who had murdered his sister.
And on the frontier, where almost every grave began with somebody refusing to stop, that small act of restraint became rarer than any gunfighter’s legend.
Ben and Sally mounted beneath the cottonwood.
The sun was falling westward, turning the distant mesas the color of old copper.
Sally started down the trail.
Ben remained one moment longer.
He looked back at Beth’s stone.
Then he touched two fingers to the brim of his hat.
“Goodbye, little sister.”
He turned his horse toward home.
And this time, when the trail divided, Ben Latimore did not choose the road that led toward another killing.
