RETRIBUTION: - GlenMarcus (best summer reads TXT) 📗

lying on the floor, stacked one on top of the other. As Luke turned and viewed the surrounding area, he made a motioned to Doug. The deputy quickly mounted and made his way over to the stagecoach.
“Damn shame,” Doug said and he took a look inside. “Who’s the one with Emmett?”
“It’s Buck Shane. He fills in with Emmett every once in a while.”
“They weren’t carrying a strongbox on this run were they?”
“Not that I know of,” Luke replied. “Climb up top and let’s get this stage back to town.”
As Luke tethered Doug’s reins to his horn, it saddened him too think that Emmett would never get to enjoy his retirement. Going out like this was always a possibility but something you couldn’t dwell on in this line of work. It also bothered the sheriff that there were no passengers on board. “Dry runs” were very uncommon for the stage line unless they had cargo to ship. But for now, Luke knew his priority was to get back to Laramie Flatts and to keep his eyes peeled for anymore trouble. Doug snapped the reins and the coach began to move in a westerly direction with Luke close behind.
By mid-afternoon the pair had arrived back safely into town with the stage. Doug pulled it into Chamber’s livery barn, so John could tend to the team. Riding in behind, the sheriff told the deputy to go and retrieve the undertaker. John was coming out of the saloon when he saw the commotion and hurried over to his shop.
“Where’d ya find it Luke?”
“Out near Fengo Pass.”
Opening the door to the coach, Luke proceeded to take the bodies out with John’s help.
“Any signs of who done it?” John asked as he unhitched the team.
“Nope. We just found the horses wandering in a field.”
The undertaker arrived with his wagon and took the bodies as the sheriff and his deputy went back over too their office. Luke sat down at his desk and scratched out a note for his deputy to take to the telegraph operator. John entered as Doug was leaving with his task.
“So what’s the story? Reckon there was any passengers?”
"You’re full of questions that I don’t have answers for Smitty,” Luke said in a blunt, tensed tone.
“Sorry bud.”
“Aw hell, it ain’t aimed at you hoss. I just got a lot on my mind.”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot to tell ya. You had an Apache lookin’ for ya a while ago.”
“Apache?”
“Well he weren’t the full-blood, deerskin-wearin’ kind. I just seen his hat band had Apache markin’s on it.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“Nope. He was in too much of an all-fire hurry to get back to his horse down at the general store.”
It was then that Luke noticed the Bible on his desk. Picking it up, the book seemed vaguely familiar. As he opened it a piece of paper fell out and landed on the cluttered desktop. Just under the front cover was a dedication page. As the sheriff read the words written on it, a cold chill rand down his spine.
‘Given to my beloved husband Fredrick in the year of our Lord, 1849. In celebration of our son’s James’ birth. May the word of God always bring you peace and happiness.'

As Luke viewed his mother’s signature, he closed the holy book and picked up the note. Scrawled in pencil he read the words, “An eye for an eye.”

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The outlaws made camp in the foothills about five miles east of Laramie Flatts. It was an area where the great Rocky Mountains surrendered to the flatlands. The parcel was flat and slightly elevated with good views in all directions. A cave was hollowed into a hill nearby in case the group needed cover. All in all, the choice was perfect for the next stage of the plan.
All but Slim sat around the small fire as a meal was being prepared from GreyHawk's supply run. Bell gathered a plate and scooped up some beans and salt pork for Slim stationed up on the ridge.
"Tell blondie to keep both eyes peeled. By now, they've gone looking for the stage, so it won't be long." Dawson said to Bell as he was walking away from camp.
"It won't be long until what?" James asked in a shy tone.
"Well you see, your good brother is just naturally gonna come looking now and I expect it shouldn't take long to find us. And when he does, he's got a debt to pay."
"What kind of debt does my son owe you?" Fredrick responded in a stern tone.
"Well, let me put it this way preacher man. You better start praying."
Fredrick's color went a little pale as he looked at James. It was then he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

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Imprint

Text: Copyright © 2012 Glen Marcus
Publication Date: 02-26-2012

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
The Luke Wallace Series “Down these mean streets a man must go, who is not himself mean. Who is neither tarnished nor afraid." -Raymond Chandler