The Final Bullet of Justice (Preview)

Chapter One

The house, as it turned out, was not a house at all.

U.S. Marshal Barrett Shaw surveyed the scene in front of him. He had been told that there was trouble with outlaws all over the territory, and he’d finally tracked the gang to their hideout just outside Carson City, Nevada.

The mayor had told him the location of the house, informing him that there were seven men holed up.

“They’re dangerous, violent fellows, so watch yourself,” the mayor had warned.

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of vermin like that,” Barrett had assured the mayor. “Like my boss said, all you have to do is tell me where the house is and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“He said you were the best,” the mayor agreed with a nod. “Although, I don’t think the day will ever come when I feel comfortable sending a man to what is very likely his death.”

The mayor had a grim look on his face and spat on the ground directly after speaking, but Barrett just smiled.

“Don’t underestimate who you are dealing with,” he replied simply. He didn’t take offense. The mayor hadn’t meant it as a personal attack on Barrett’s own abilities, but rather a stern warning..

Barrett had spent over two hours speaking with the mayor and the sheriff of Carson City, discussing his plan of action as well as the aftermath.

“There’s space in the jail,” the sheriff had told him. “For any you may bring back alive.”

“I’m not going to concern myself too much with ensuring there are survivors,” Barrett had said with a nod. “Considering the charges those men have stacked against them, anyone I bring in alive will just face the noose.”

“Which usually means they’ll fight to the death,” the sheriff agreed. “I know that. I just want you to know if there’s any survivors you bring in, we’ll be ready for them.”

“I do hope you come back yourself,” the mayor chimed in once more. “I don’t think we can emphasize enough how many we’ve lost to this gang. Clyde McGraw is one of the worst I’ve ever seen in my years as mayor.”

“I say it’s suicide,” the sheriff announced, and the mayor gave him a reproving look. The sheriff shrugged. “You’re saying so yourself, this is a bad idea.”

“I do think it’s a bad idea, but you’re not helping,” the mayor said. “We are all very grateful for what the marshals have done, and Marshal Shaw here has certainly gone even above and beyond.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s going to survive,” the sheriff said.

“You’re welcome to go with me if you think it will help,” Barrett said in a cool tone.

The sheriff laughed nervously. “I think I’ll leave outlaws of this caliber to men like you—men who are better equipped to know what they’re dealing with.”

“At least you’re right about that much,” Barrett told him. “I am better equipped to deal with this than you are, so why don’t you let me be the one to decide how I go about doing it?”

The sheriff didn’t respond, holding his hands up and setting his mouth in a firm line. Barrett returned his attention to the mayor.

“Is there anything else?”

“I don’t think there’s much else to say besides they’re violent and bloodthirsty,” the mayor replied with a shake of his head. “Just be careful.”

Barrett nodded before pulling out both of his pistols and loading them. He then loaded his rifle in full view of the mayor and sheriff both. He clicked the barrel of the gun into place, then addressed them both once more.

“I’d say I have all I need. I’ll be back by tomorrow to give you news.”

“I pray you come back before then,” the mayor said, but the sheriff just looked amused.

“I’m going to see what I’m dealing with before I get too close,” Barrett replied. “I’ve got no intention of letting them see me before I know exactly where they are.”

The mayor nodded but didn’t say anything, and the sheriff once more remained silent himself. Barrett didn’t mind. He didn’t care for idle talk, especially when there was work to be done.

He left the sheriff’s office with his head held high. He wasn’t too nervous. He had dealt with entire gangs in the past, and if he played his cards right, it was no more difficult than dealing with a single man.

The trick was doing what he’d told the mayor he planned to do. He had to get close enough to the house to figure out where everyone was before they even knew he was there.

However, once he’d gotten out to the location the sheriff had given him, he saw that the house the mayor had told him about wasn’t actually a house. It appeared to have once been a barn. The elements had done significant damage to the building, leaving it little more than a sagging roof placed over gray walls littered with holes and cracks.

It certainly didn’t give the impression that anyone was living inside, but Barrett had it on the words of both the men who’d sent him that the gang was inside.

He tied his horse to a tree well away from the building. With how many men who were said to be inside, he had a feeling it would turn violent before he got them out. He didn’t want his horse shot in the crossfire.

No sooner had he tied Thunder to a tree than he realized he wasn’t alone.

Barrett froze, listening for any sound coming from the brush around him. Though trees speckled the desert landscape, they didn’t provide much cover for anyone trying to sneak up on him. Barrett had been using sand dunes and boulders for cover more than trees.

He’d heard the sound of someone else in the area, but he didn’t know who that person was—or where that person was, either. His heart rate picked up slightly, and he forced his breathing to remain calm and shallow.

Silence.

Barrett wasn’t crazy, and he wasn’t going to simply stand and wait. If there was someone out there watching him, they’d best hope he didn’t find them.

He headed back toward the barn, ducking low to draw as little attention as possible.

“What in blue blazes?”

He gasped as the words flew from his mouth, then he clapped his hand over his face to muffle himself.

“Marshal Shaw! I’ve come to help,” Patrick Wilson, Barrett’s apprentice, enthusiastically informed him.

Barrett had to use every ounce of self-control he could muster to keep from verbally tearing into the younger man. If they weren’t in such a precarious position with the gang so close, he would have lectured Patrick right then.

But they didn’t have the time. Someone could come out of that barn at any moment. If they were seen, his chance of surviving—let alone subduing the gang—would be greatly reduced.

“I told you to stay at the hotel,” Barrett growled.

“I know, but there wasn’t anything to do, and all I could think about was the fact that you were out here all alone. Not even the sheriff wants to come after these guys!” He puffed out his chest. “And I’m ready, Marshal Shaw. I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t,” Barrett argued. “And you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Any of us could get ourselves killed any second,” he pointed out. “You’ve got to give me a chance sometime, Marshal Shaw, so why not now?”

“Because you’re not ready,” Barrett insisted.

“I’ll prove it. I’ll show you what I can do,” Patrick pleaded.

Barrett hesitated. He knew he should let the younger man have a heavier hand in what they were doing, but this wasn’t the gang for Patrick to practice on. They were ruthless, and as soon as they knew the lawmen were there, they would likely become violent.

He was just about to tell Patrick to go back to town when they were interrupted by the sound of a man shouting.

The first voice was soon joined by two others, and Barrett swore.

“Stay low.”

He moved back to his vantage point, trying to get an idea of what the men were yelling about. It sounded like they had seen something and were upset by it, but he wasn’t able to make out what they had seen. He’d been careful to keep Thunder out of the line of vision when he’d gone to tie his horse up, but then, he remembered Patrick.

Sure enough, the outlaws had spotted Patrick’s horse.

“You didn’t bother to hide your ride?” Barrett hissed.

“I didn’t think they’d be able to see her over there.” Patrick frowned.

Barrett ignored his mounting frustration as he ducked down. He heard the gunshot right before the dirt in front of him flew into the air.

The men had caught them.

“Get down!” Barrett shouted. As they’d been discovered, there was no reason to keep his voice low any longer.

More gunshots rang out, and Barrett returned fire. He was angry with Patrick for disobeying him, but he was even more frustrated with that Patrick had gotten them caught by the enemy.

Patrick was doing his best to try to return fire, but he lacked the skills and experience that Barrett himself had. Barrett also noticed how much the younger man was stepping out from behind cover and exposing himself to the gunfire, but in the chaos, there was little he could do.

He shouted at Patrick more than once to get behind something, but it seemed the boy no sooner did as he was told than stepped back out from behind whatever he’d been using as a shield.

Bullets flew through the air in all directions. The men in the gang wanted the intruders dead, and they were doing everything in their power to make that happen. Barrett did his best to move from cover to cover without showing himself too much, as he didn’t want the enemy to know it was only himself and Patrick shooting at them.

Patrick moved once again, but before Barrett could even react, a bullet passed right through Patrick’s chest.

The younger man fell to the ground, and Barrett heard himself screaming. He had never before been filled with such fury in a single moment. Patrick was more than just the young man who wanted to be just like Barrett. The boy had become like a brother to him, despite the fact that thirty-four-year-old Barrett was thirteen years’ Patrick’s senior.

“Patrick!” Barrett shouted again.

He kept glancing over toward where Patrick lay, but each time he did, nothing had changed. He began to fear that Patrick had died before he’d even hit the ground.

There were two more bandits still alive, and when Barrett killed one, the other fled. Barrett once more swore, knowing it would be impossible for him to give chase to the fleeing outlaw and tend to Patrick.

Forced to give up on the outlaw, he immediately turned and dashed across the clearing that had grown between them during the gunfight.

Patrick was lying on his back, a thin trail of blood running down his cheek. His eyes were closed, but they fluttered open when Barrett reached him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said over and over. “I should have done what you said. It’s my fault this mission failed. It’s my fault.”

“Hush,” Barrett ordered. His throat constricted. He didn’t want to listen to Patrick apologizing knowing they were the last words the boy would ever say. It was obvious Patrick wasn’t going to make it back to town, but that didn’t stop Barrett from scooping the other man over his shoulder and taking him back to Thunder.

“No, don’t,” Patrick said, his voice weak.

“What are you talking about?” Barrett demanded. “We have to get you to a doctor.”

“You know as well as I do that won’t do any good,” Patrick replied, his voice trembling. “I’m dying, Marshal Shaw.”

Barrett laid Patrick on the ground. “It’s not your fault this failed,” he told him. “I’m sorry, son. You would have made a fine marshal one day.”

His words were met with nothing more than a stony silence.

Barrett’s throat constricted once more as he fought off the emotion that rose within him. He was still angry with Patrick for not doing as he was told.

But more than that, he felt guilt creeping up his spine. It was a snake that had somehow slithered into his very being, leaving him with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Patrick was a good person. He was clumsy at times, but he had a heart of gold and had completely idolized Barrett. A day had scarcely gone by without Patrick telling Barrett he wanted to be just like him one day.

And now, that day would never come.

Barrett couldn’t ignore the guilt. He blamed himself for the fact he’d allowed Patrick to stay and fight. Sure, he’d told Patrick to go back, but he shouldn’t have let the other man stay with him once the gunfire broke out.

Barrett should have left with Patrick and come back another time.

But that was the thing about regrets. They only came after the mistake was made and there was nothing to be done to fix it. Patrick was gone, and nothing would ever bring him back. He’d had dreams bigger than the tallest mountain in Nevada, but he’d never get the chance to live any of them.

And it was all Barrett’s fault.

Chapter Two

Fifteen Years Later

The pond was warm, steaming in the early morning light.

The sun was just coming up, but the weight of the air promised an intensely hot day. Though it was almost always hot in Nevada, the summer had been a particularly heated one.

Barrett washed himself, his fingers moving gingerly over the various scars that covered his body.

He didn’t mind the scars. A lot of people stared at them, and plenty weren’t shy about asking him where they’d come from. Sometimes, they would ask about single marks on his body. Other times, they would look him over from head to toe and ask how he’d gotten so many injuries over the years.

Just the previous weekend, an old-timer had come sauntering into the saloon from the bank, elated with his latest cash collection. Barrett instantly recognized him as a miner, though he’d not intended to pay much attention to the man after an initial nod.

Despite Crimson Basin’s small size, it was the town with the largest bank in the area. Carson City’s bank was larger, of course, but that was more than two day’s ride from the foot of the mountains.

The miners wanted to bring in their bounty and get paid for it quickly. After all, the more time they carried their treasure around, the more likely it was they would be robbed.

The man sauntered over to Barrett as he sat at the bar and slapped a dollar on the counter before ordering a drink. Barrett, for his own part, kept his gaze directly ahead. He had a whiskey in hand, and he was doing his best to finish it without having to talk to anyone.

Most of the locals had learned to leave Barrett alone over the years. He didn’t mind having a reputation for being mean. It kept most people away, and that was what he’d wanted.

But the miner was different.

He looked Barrett over before picking the largest scar running down Barrett’s arm. “Bear?” he asked.

“Cutlass.”

“That so?”

“Certain as I’m sitting here.”

The miner sat next to Barrett and put his hat on the counter. He pointed to another raised scar running across the side of Barrett’s neck. “Looks like the marks of a noose there.”

“Bullet,” Barrett said. “You don’t usually walk away from a hanging.”

“Not many people do, but I’ve seen it done,” the miner announced.

Barrett doubted that was true, but he didn’t argue. The bartender brought the miner his drink, then refilled Barrett’s own glass. He sipped it without speaking, hoping to give the miner the hint he didn’t want to talk.

The miner, however, either didn’t catch the hint, or he simply didn’t care. He didn’t seem to believe Barrett’s explanation of his scars, asking about another one on Barrett’s hand, then his other arm.

“Why do you want to know?” Barrett asked gruffly. “What’s it matter where I got them?”

“I take you for a seaman,” the miner said. “A sailor. Now, there’s nothing wrong with being a sailor, but when you see a sailor who’s landlocked, you have to ask yourself, what did this man do to wind up here?”

“I’m not a sailor,” Barrett said simply. “And I’ll thank you to leave me be.”

“What are you, then?” the man asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this is the first time I’ve seen you in this here saloon, and well, let’s just say I like to know who to expect walking around town.”

Barrett took another drink of his whiskey. It was a larger drink, meant to strengthen the buzz of alcohol in his brain. He didn’t have the patience to deal with people like the miner, but he didn’t know how to get rid of the man without making a bigger scene than he wanted.

“That so?” Barrett asked. “Well, I can promise you that I’ve been here longer than you have.”

The man laughed a hacking, coughing laugh. “Then how come I’ve never seen you?”

“Because I like to be left alone,” Barrett retorted. “Most of the people in town know this and respect it, too. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do the same.”

“Not very polite to be making those threats,” the miner said.

“Do you really want to know how I’ve gotten so scarred up over the years? Killing people, that’s how.”

Barrett drained the rest of his glass before setting it back on the counter with a loud clink.

The bartender walked over to refill the drink, but Barrett declined. The other customers in the saloon glanced toward Barrett and the miner, and the entire atmosphere in the building changed. It felt cold and tense, as though the whole room was holding its breath and waiting for Barrett to make a move against the miner.

His words hung in the air, and he glared at the old man, daring him to make the first move.

“You a lawman?” the miner asked.

He clearly chose to take a friendlier approach rather than asking Barrett if he was an outlaw, and Barrett figured it was because of the attention the two of them were getting from the rest of the room. There were some faces around the place that Barrett didn’t recognize, but there were others he did.

He knew they would speak up on his behalf if need be, but he didn’t want to be defended. He simply wanted to be left alone.

“I was,” Barrett said, his tone low and gravelly. “Some say I was the most feared of all time. I think you can plainly see why.” He held out his arms to show more scars as he spoke. “There’ve been more men than I can count who’ve tried to get the best of me over the years, and none have.”

The miner’s smile faded. “What’s a marshal doing in town? You after someone.”

“Just be glad you’re not the one I’m here for,” Barrett said.

He left some money for the bartender before leaving, heading back out to his ranch. He lived two miles outside the little town, and he was happy with his solitude out there.

Still, as he bathed and looked at his scars, he wondered just what the people in town thought of him. He’d made it clear to all that he didn’t want company or friends. There were a few good people in his life he cared about, but besides them, he was fine.

He didn’t mind letting the old miner think he was still in the business. If the old man cared enough to gossip about Barrett with the bartender, then it was likely he would learn the truth about Barrett anyway. If he didn’t, Barrett didn’t much care.

The reason the man hadn’t seen him before was because he didn’t often go into town. If there was a good reason, such as getting supplies, he’d make the trip. But it was unlike him to spend time in town for the sake of it. He rarely went to the saloon, and even when he did, he wasn’t there long.

He was glad he wasn’t a marshal any longer. The guilt of Patrick’s death had proven too much for him, and he’d hung up his guns shortly after.

Barrett had felt lost for a while, leaving Nevada for a few years even. Eventually, however, he’d missed it. He’d found a run-down ranch for sale near a small town nestled at the foot of the mountains. It seemed like a quiet little place, and Barrett had the means to fix up the ranch himself.

It brought a level of purpose into his life that got him out of bed in the morning, though Barrett rarely considered himself happy. He drifted through his life, going from one day to the next with whiskey in hand. As the years passed, he found himself drinking earlier in the day, as well as increasing how much he drank each day.

It was becoming rare for him to not have a glass in hand, though he much preferred drinking alone in his house over being out at the saloon.

He’d meant it when he told the miner that he was the most feared marshal of his time, though Barrett had to admit that he had become nothing more than a man who was haunted by the past.

Barrett had spent several years building his home. It had taken some time to repair the house itself, then he’d turned his attention to the barn. The weather had permitted him to work most of the year, so it hadn’t been too long before Barrett was able to start erecting other buildings for his growing ranch.

He had chickens and pigs, and three years earlier, he’d purchased a cow. She had a calf each year, giving him milk as well as beef in the fall. He sold the meat he wasn’t able to use, enabling him to purchase the things he needed but couldn’t make himself.

Barrett had two horses, and he hoped to add sheep at some point, though he wasn’t quite sure whether he’d truly turn to sheep farming over cattle ranching. He had the land for cattle, but he wasn’t so sure he had the motivation to handle a herd on his own.

As he stepped out of the pond, his dog bounded over to him.

“There you are, Bullet,” he said. “I wondered where you ran off to.”

He’d found the dog in town the year before. No one seemed to know where the dog had come from, but Barrett didn’t care. The dog needed a home, and he could use a guard around the place. Though he wasn’t worried about being bothered by other people, there were enough wild animals in the desert that would be happy to pick off his livestock if given the chance.

Having a dog around made it a lot easier for Barrett to sleep at night, knowing Bullet would warn him if there was something outside.

The pair headed into the house. The big, yellow dog barked for joy as Barrett grabbed a bowl and dropped a few cuts of meat into it. He put it on the floor before going to the bedroom to dress for the day.

The early morning sun was still warm enough to dry him by the time he was back to the house, making it easy for him to dress, shave, and comb his hair.

Barrett leaned toward the small looking glass on the wall as he shaved. His deep-set green eyes were bright despite the fact he was tired, and he was certain he saw more gray hair in his beard than what was there before.

His black hair was streaked with gray in places, too, but Barrett didn’t think much of it. He’d not considered even trying to find a young lady to settle down with, so he didn’t much care to groom himself.

“You don’t care, do you?” he asked his dog as Bullet came into the room to find him. “Did you eat?”

The dog wagged its tail in response before bounding back toward the front door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said.

Barrett rarely made breakfast. He wasn’t often hungry in the morning, and he greatly preferred seeing to his home before he worried about eating.

Bullet knew just what they were doing, and he set the pace. Every day, Barrett and Bullet would walk the perimeter fence he had around the house. He was looking for anything that needed repairs, and checking on his animals in the process.

He would pick one of them to ride the greater perimeter. With as many acres as he had, Barrett didn’t often ride the full perimeter. However, he made certain to check the entire fence every week. He simply broke up the task into sections he could manage on a daily basis.

After putting the eggs in the house, Barrett debated his next move. He was going out to check the back fields, but that morning, it felt as though his guns were staring back at him as he got ready to leave. He’d hung his belt next to the door. It was a place he could get to the guns quickly and easily if needed, though they were out of the way most of the time.

Barrett didn’t know what had come over him or why he’d considered grabbing the guns. It had been years since he’d carried them around with him, but he’d said that he was done with that life, and he’d meant it. Yet there they were, and he had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him he might be smart to take them on the ride.

“Nonsense,” he said after a moment of debate. His dog came back to the door to see where he was, and he turned his attention to Bullet. “I don’t think we need to take these, do you? I’m pretty sure anything we come across out there we can handle just fine, you and me.”

Bullet wagged his tail in response, and Barrett gave the dog a single nod.

Crimson Basin was a small town with little crime, so it was relatively easy for Barrett to talk himself out of needing to take his guns. At the same time, he wondered what had brought that feeling out in him. He hadn’t had the impulse to take his guns with him in as long as he could remember, but something had just felt off since he’d had that conversation with that miner.

Barrett shoved the entire topic out of his mind as he grabbed his hat from its peg and walked out the door. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun was already climbing fast in the sky. He’d taken his time in the pond that morning, so he was getting a later start than he usually did.

Bullet trotted ahead of him, following the fence line with his tail held gaily in the air. Every now and then, the dog would stop and lift his nose, sniffing the breeze as it blew gently over the sandy landscape.

The heat beat down on their heads, and it wasn’t long before sweat caused Barrett’s shirt to stick to his back. He picked up the pace a bit, knowing how brutally hot the afternoon sun could be.

He had plenty of work waiting for him in the shade of the barn, so he’d hurry with the fences and get back there. Though he didn’t want to think about it, more guilt came creeping into the back of his mind as he rode his horse.

He knew he was throwing his life away, refusing to open up to or engage with anyone, but he didn’t care. It seemed his past was around every corner, ready to haunt him at a moment’s notice, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

Patrick hadn’t gotten the chance to live his dreams, after all. Patrick had been dead for fifteen years, yet there Barrett was, riding another day. It wasn’t fair, and Barrett was already thinking about grabbing some whiskey to take with him to the barn when he returned to the house.

It wasn’t fair that Patrick was gone and Barrett was still alive. It wasn’t fair that Barrett had no way to fix it, either. So, he’d do what he enjoyed doing best those days.

He’d forget.

Of course, the method he used to forget was always the same. He’d start drinking, and he’d stop when he finally passed out. It wasn’t the most ideal way to get through his days, he knew that. But then, he figured his luck could only run for so long.

One of those days, he wouldn’t wake up.