RETRIBUTION: - GlenMarcus (best summer reads TXT) 📗

an empty look on his face. As Ricketts’ mind began to fixate on the present again, he realized where the rage was emanating.
Recollections of the beatings his father doled out to not only him but to the rest of his family had triggered his emotions. It also could have been the remembrance of his mother and how she left in the middle of the night, without him or his two brothers to escape that monster. It was not so much Atkins’ appearance, but the crass tones against the intruders earlier that snapped his twig. As the feeling coursed through his twisted mind as he stood there blankly staring at the elderly couple.
“C’mon, man?” Tony yelled from the back of his horse, as he could see his boss still inside through the open front door.
As his credence was coming back to him Ricketts turned slowly to leave. But Bruce Atkins’ stern personality couldn’t resist getting the final word in.
“Go on and get the hell out of here!”
Those words. The words that triggered another blow to Dawson’s psyche were almost the exact ones his abusive father had yelled at him in his adolescence. Yelled, as he himself was leaving home to escape the brutality.
“You got what you came for now…”
But the sentence was never finished by Atkins. Ricketts now clearly viewed the bodies lying there as the smoke cleared from his pistol. Without even realizing the act, he had wheeled, fired twice and sent the old couple to their maker.
“What the hell Dawson?” Bell shouted from his mount as his leader jumped down off the front porch.
Grinning and displaying a wild-eyed determined look on his face, the demented killer jumped aboard his roan without a word and turned to ride away.
The rest followed for a few miles until they came upon some sweet gum trees thick enough for adequate cover. Dividing the money quickly, Dawson suggested they split up and meet later in Beaumont. GreyHawk and Bell headed due east, while the Ricketts brothers turned for Nacogdoches.
Remembering the events that lead up to the fatal day for his siblings in Nacogdoches, still haunted Dawson as the stage bumped along on the Denver Road. Taking a long draw on his cigar, the tip grew red and hot, much like the blazing heat of hate that raged in his belly. It wouldn’t be long now. The sun would be up soon and the next phase of his plan would be put into motion.


By early morning, the faint sight of a faded red stagecoach could be seen winding down the Denver road over a mile away. From his vantage point, Slim had a clear view of the approaching target, though it was still well out of range. Signaling his Indian companion below with a small mirror, GreyHawk mounted up and rode down the slope to prepare for the stage’s arrival.
With the high Rockies as a backdrop, Slim was suddenly struck with the awe of the beauty of his surroundings. Being from the south, these mountains dwarfed even the great Appalachians, where he grew up as a child.
Spring snows had capped the points like frosting on his mothers freshly baked cakes. As the silver streaked clouds brushed against the morning sky, sunlight pierced them, creating prisms of color washing the valleys below. Even the jagged formations running up the sheer faces of the cliffs had a rugged attractiveness to them as seen through the killer’s eyes.
But as quickly as Slim had been swept up in the artistry of the moment and the mountains, he regained his focus and saw that the prey had now rounded the final bend and was headed up the narrow draw towards the butte. It was time to go to work.
Emmett spat to his left and let the brown tobacco juice fly into the wind as he snapped the reins to increase the team’s speed. The incline that led up to the rise was long and somewhat steep. Topping the rise, Buck, the shotgun rider noticed something up ahead.
“Emmett, what’s that up yonder?”
Slowing the team to a trot as they approached, a horse and rider were lying in an arroyo adjacent to the road bed. Coming to a stop and setting the brake lever, Emmett got down off the stage and walked over to see what had happened to the unfortunate traveler. Quietly telling the Wallace pair to stay seated, Bell being next to the door, opened it and slipped outside unnoticed.
“Is he dead?” Buck asked loudly.
As Emmett approached the horse, the man lying beside it rolled over and exposed his cocked Colt. Before Buck could reach the double barrel, a shot rang out from his left catching him in the side. Bell watched as the rotund driver fell from the seat after being struck by his bullet; then hitting the soft ground with a thud.
James watched in horror as the driver fell, just outside his window. Turning his head and looking back toward his father, he now saw that the “Deputy Phillips” was pointing his pistol in their direction.
“What is the meaning of this?” Fredrick inquired in a confused sort of tone to Ricketts.
“Just gonna take a little detour is all, Mr. Wallace. I’d expect your best behavior if you want James here to make it out of this situation alive, comprende?”
The elder Wallace nodded as they both reclined again against the backrest of the coach. Dawson exited the stage, removed the shotgun from Buck’s seat and then walked over to where Bell was standing. GreyHawk got up and made a clicking noise with his mouth. His bay responded immediately by rolling from its side and gently standing erect on all four legs.
“That’s the damnest thing I’ve ever seen,” Emmet said in amazement, seemingly untroubled by his partner’s demise and the current situation.
“I teach him that myself. Kind of handy for today, huh?”
Being requested to drop his gun belt, Emmett removed it and let it fall.
“So what’s it gonna be fellas?” Emmett asked as he and the half breed walked over to the stagecoach.
“Well today could be your lucky day,” Ricketts said with a smile, “if you don’t do anything stupid.”
“I ain’t been around for fifty some odd years by being stupid.”
As Bell retrieved Fredrick and James from the coach, Emmett’s expression changed from controlled to concerned. In his almost ten years of driving the stage, he’d never lost a passenger to a road agent or accident. Even through a few skirmishes with assorted Indians, they’d made it out alive.
“Whatcha gonna do with my passengers?”
“That’s not your concern old man. You’re going to hop back up on that stage and drive it right into Laramie Flatts,” replied Ricketts in a harsh tone as they all gathered around.
“And if I say no?”
Cocking the Colt and placing it to Emmett’s temple, Bell said, “Then its goodbye Emmett.”
“Alright, you made ya point,” Emmett conceded as Bell lowered the weapon.
“Mr. Wallace, I’d like to have your Bible,” Ricketts requested.
“It’s in my belongings.”
Dawson motioned for GreyHawk to retrieve it from the coach. When he returned with the book, Ricketts handed it to Emmett and gave him his instructions.
“When you get to Laramie Flatts you give this to the sheriff. He’ll know what to do with it.”
Upon hearing that, Emmett realized the connection between his passengers and Luke. Not revealing the revelation, he took the Bible and climbed back up on the stage. Releasing the brake and slightly nudging the reins, the team eased forward. Looking back he saw the group turn and start to walk in the opposite direction. Reaching beneath him and sliding open a hidden compartment, Emmett’s hand found the pistol he kept hidden in case of emergencies. Cocking it and turning to draw a bead on one of the outlaws, he felt a debilitating twinge go down his side. A burning sensation overtook him as the echoes of a shot rang out from up above him. Though in severe pain, the elder driver tried once more with all his strength to turn and get off a shot. With his aim squarely on the big Indian that had deceived him, he struggled to pull the trigger. But that effort took one second too long. Slim’s second shot hit Emmett in the back and he fell onto the brake lever bringing the stagecoach to a sliding stop.
Hustling over to the stage, Dawson climbed up to where Emmett’s lifeless body was. Retrieving the Bible, he simply said, “Your lucks run out, you old fool.”

*******************

By noon, Luke was getting a bit concerned about the stage. He couldn’t remember the last time that Emmett’s stage was more than two hours late. And with the trouble that was potentially brewing, it made him twice as anxious.
“It got here yet sheriff?” Doug said as he entered the office.
“Nope and I think we better take a ride out to check on it.”
The two lawmen saddled their horses and trotted out of town headed east on the Denver road.

*******************

With some needed supplies purchased at Jacob Spivey’s general store, GreyHawk loaded the provisions on the back of his stud. Slipping into town unnoticed just after one p.m., Ricketts’ plan “B” was now in effect. While sending his bona fides, in the form of Fredrick’s Bible, to Laramie Flatts with the stage driver was the preferred method, sending one of his men in with it would now have to do.
The big Indian pulled the book from one of his saddlebags and headed towards the sheriff’s office. If possible, he was to try and leave the Bible with the note inside while no one was around. Ricketts gave specific instructions that he was to stay out of trouble and not get caught. And if GreyHawk wasn’t back in two hours, to tell the sheriff he’d better get used to being an only child.
After waiting for ten minutes of so across the street, the Indian saw no activity in the office. Opening the door and walking inside, he cautiously looked for anyone in the back. The coast was clear. Placing the Bible on desk, GreyHawk turned around and saw a man standing in the open door who surprisingly was a bit larger than him.
“Howdy mister. You looking for the sheriff?”
Taking a couple of steps towards the door, GreyHawk responded, “He in the town?”
“He ain’t around right now. Should be back in a while I reckon.”
"Me come back later then,” he said as he walked past John Chambers and out into the street.
“You want me to tell him anything for ya?” John loudly spoke as the half breed walked further away.
GreyHawk didn’t acknowledge the words and he made his way back to the hitching post in front of the general store.
Scratching his head, John watched the rider leave to the south as he walked back over towards his shop.

*******************

Luke and Doug had gone almost five miles down the Denver Road when they spotted the stage off to their right in a large field of feather reed grass. Galloping towards the coach, Luke made a hand gesture to Doug and his deputy pulled up short about fifty yards from where the stage was resting. Hopping off his horse and pulling the Winchester from its scabbard, Doug knew his boss needed him to provide cover fire in case this was a trap.
Stopping a few yards from the coach, Luke cautiously dismounted and drew his sidearm. Bending over and peering through the yellow-spoked wheels, it appeared that no one was hiding on the back side. Taking a peek inside the coach yielded only a ghastly sight.
Opening the door, the bodies of Emmett and Buck were