Gold Dust Widow: The Story of an Outlaw's Revenge

Chapter 2: Jasper

Three days earlier

We rode into town at midday, the thunder of our horses' hooves announcing our presence.

It was a small town, mostly populated by farmers, whores, entrepreneurs and religious zealots. As we rode in - slowly taking in the wooden buildings, the chipped paint and the bustling saloon - we were the main spectacle.

Folks watched us, some wary as there were in these parts, others confused as to why ten lawmen were suddenly filling their tiny streets.

As we trotted up to the sheriff's office, the sheriff and his deputies were waiting outside. A dog sat on the deck, dark eyes alert and watching. It bounded to its feet barking as I pulled my horse to a halt.

The sheriff was a middle-aged man. His skin was creased like brown leather, a pair of black eyes and when he lifted his hat to greet me, his balding head shone in the bright sunlight.

"Sheriff Randall Montgomery?" I asked as I slid off my horse.

The dog immediately jumped towards me. I scratched behind its ears; its fur was warm in the cold air. It gave my hand a little lick then moved through the horses, inspecting everyone.

"Yessir. And that is our faithful Ares. These here men are my deputies James Bright and young Billy La Croix. You must be the boys from up north," the sheriff reached his hand out which I shook.

"Jasper Abernathy US Marshal, my associate US Marshal Cavanaugh O'Connell, and these are my men."

Cavanaugh slid off his horse, running his fingers through his blond hair and giving the sheriff a grin as he came to stand next to me.

"Aye, I heard of you sir," the sheriff placed his hands on his hips. "Took out the whole Bob Crowe Gang last spring."

"We caught them in the mountains of Colorado," I nodded. "Foul bunch. We're currently on the trail of the Red Right Hand Gang, as you should well know."

"Yessir, they have been making a muck around these parts for the last six months. They robbed the bank down yonder two weeks ago. We got all the Wanted posters and the bounty hunters coming down, but no one has been able to bring them in. They won't come alive ya see. And they're mighty elusive. Why don't we step inside? Have you eaten?"

"Not yet," I replied, as my men began to slide off their horses. "But I am hungry."

Cavanaugh chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"Louis! You get Trekky and water and feed these fine men's horses. Lottie! We'll be needing lunch!" the sheriff bellowed and a boy scampered from inside the sheriff's office, grabbed my horse's reins and took off down the road.

I also noticed a woman from the saloon stick her head out the swinging door, make a face, and then slip back inside.

"Good kid, though, a bit slow," the sheriff informed me as he held his door open.

I slipped inside with Cavanaugh while the rest of the men made their way across the road to the saloon. The dog, Ares, stayed by my side, his nose reaching up to sniff my hands searching for food. I gave him another good scratch.

It was warm inside, I slipped my coat off and Cavanaugh and I sat down heavily in the chairs they offered. I stretched my legs out; they were sore from the hard riding. The sheriff sat behind his desk, pushing an unfinished game of chess off to the side looking a bit sheepish.

In the back, I spied a rough-looking farmer with bright red hair, and filthy clothing peering at us.

The sheriff served us a drink of whiskey each then he leaned back into his chair fiddling with his greying moustache.