Chapter One

The Robbery

It was hot and dusty on the main street of Black Ridge, Arizona. The kid took a deep breath and dropped his last sack of feed into the wagon bed then stretched his back to work out the kinks. He was just seventeen but as lean and hard as any man working for Major Joshua Benton – and twice as smart. Despite his age, his body was hard and his hands calloused from three years of working cattle and horses. He had learned to love this work because it made him feel alive and because he’d finally found what he could only call a home. His name was Matt Logan, but most just called him “kid.”

He paused a moment to look up at the bright morning sun and knew he was a very lucky man. His reverie was broken, however, when he heard footsteps on the boardwalk.

“That’s all of them, boss,” the kid called as Major Benton stood in the doorway of the general store.

“Good job, Matt,” Benton said as he pulled on his leather gloves. “I have some business to discuss with the blacksmith then I’ll meet you back here.”

The kid lifted his hat and shaded his face from the bright sun. “If it’s all right with you, Major, I’ll wait in the saloon,” he replied. “I could use some hot coffee.”

Benton nodded then started down the street. He stopped after a few steps and turned back toward the wagon. “Be careful in there, kid,” he called. “Kate’s in one of her moods today.” Then he turned again and continued to the blacksmith shop at the end of the street.

“I’m not worried,” the kid yelled as he pulled his hat on and started for the saloon. “Kate’s got a soft spot for me.”

Benton continued on his walk, but called over his shoulder, “It’s your funeral, kid.”

Matt ignored the remark and pushed his way through the batwing doors of the Imperial Palace. “Morning, Kate,” he said to the woman cleaning glasses behind the bar.

“It’s Mrs. Carpenter to you,” Kate said heatedly. “I’m not your girl. And I’m not your sister. Remember that!”

Kate was the daughter of a ship’s captain and inherited the saloon when her father died. She took no lip from any man and ran the saloon with an iron fist and a shotgun behind the bar.

“Yes, ma’am,” the kid said contritely.

Kate’s face turned beet red. “I’m not a ma’am!” she screamed at him. “Now what do you want?”

He gave her a boyish smile and she melted–a little. “Some hot coffee, if it’s fresh,” he replied.

“It was yesterday,” Kate advised him, pointing to the stove. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“It’ll do,” he said tipping his hat to her. He walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup. He blew on the inky liquid for a few seconds to cool it then tested it with a sip. Satisfied, he settled at one of the tables facing the door. It was cool in the saloon and a good place to sit and watch the activity of the town.

“This is a place of business,” Kate told him. “I don’t suppose you’d want to buy anything.”

“Just waiting for the Major,” he said.

Kate shook her head at him. “It’s getting so a body can’t make a decent living in this town,” she muttered to herself.

The kid wasn’t listening. He’d just spied two men walking their horses slowly down the street. “Strangers,” he said, thinking it was a might late for drifters to show up in town.

Kate looked up to see the two men passing her window. “I hope they have some money to spend,” she observed. “Most strangers just pass through with empty pockets and sad tales.”

What she said was true, but there was something about these men that caught the kid’s attention. He pushed his chair back and walked over to get a better look at them. He laid his arms over the doors, and watched as the men rode their horses up to the hitch rail near the bank. They had just looped their reins over the rail when another stranger rode in from the opposite direction. None had the look of working cowhands and the kid sensed something was wrong.

He turned to Kate. “Run over to the jail and tell Sheriff Tate three strangers just rode into town,” he said.

“What?” Kate asked, confused.

He turned back to the street and saw the third stranger sitting his horse by the rail. He’d picked up the reins of the other two horses and seemed to be waiting for the two men who’d entered the bank.

Matt had a bad feeling about this. “Tell the Sheriff it looks like a bank robbery,” he told Kate. “Hurry!”

Kate knew the kid well enough to know he wasn’t joking. She asked no questions, but raced out of the saloon and across the street to the jail.

Meanwhile, the kid slipped the thong from his Colt and walked out onto the boardwalk. At the same moment Sheriff Joe Tate rushed out of his office and into the street. They stared at each other for a moment then a gunshot cracked through the early morning silence. There was no doubt it came from the bank.

“The man at the hitch rail,” the kid called to Tate. “He’s with them.”

The third stranger already had his Winchester out and was aiming it at the Sheriff‘s chest. Tate went for his gun. He thought he was facing certain death, but he was wrong.

The kid took only a second to take in the situation then palmed his Colt, aimed and fired. His bullet struck the outlaw’s Winchester near the stock as he pulled the trigger. It was just enough to deflect the bullet from a mortal shot to one that cut a deep groove in the Sheriff’s right shoulder.

The kid saw Tate fall and was suddenly filled with anger. He ran out into the street and leveled the Colt at the fleeing outlaws. All were in their saddles and had wheeled their horses for a quick escape. He raised his gun to fire, but the street was fast filling with townspeople and he decided not to chance a shot. He could only watch in frustration as the outlaws sped south in a cloud of dust. The kid holstered his gun as he ran to check on the Sheriff.

“You hit bad, Joe?” he asked as he knelt beside the wounded man.

Joe shook his head. “Just creased my shoulder,” he replied, “but I thought I was about to cash in my chips when I saw the barrel of that Winchester aimed at my heart. That was a mighty fine shot, kid.”

“More luck than skill,” the kid confessed.

“Call it what you will,” Joe said. “I owe you my life.”

The kid was never comfortable accepting praise and was glad when Major Benton and Dr. Morgan arrived. He stepped back to give them room as the street filled with people.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Dr. Morgan said after checking the wound.

Joe struggled to pull himself up against the doctor’s restraining arm. “Put a bandage on it, doc,” he said, “and let me go. I got to get a posse together and go after those thieves.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Morgan commanded. “Even after I bandage the wound it will be a week or more before you can use your arm again.”

Joe was about to protest when Ed Platt, head teller at the bank, ran up to the group. “How bad is it?” Joe asked him.

“They killed Mr. Goodman,” Ed replied breathlessly.

Goodman was owner of the bank and well-liked by the citizens of Black Ridge. News of his death brought a strained silence over the group.

“How much did they get?” Joe finally asked.

“Just about all we had,” Ed told him. “I’d guess it was a little over eleven thousand dollars.”

Once again the sheriff tried to push himself up from the dusty street. “Let me go, doc,” Joe yelled. “I got to lead a posse after those outlaws before they get away. The town needs that money.”

It was all too true, but Dr. Morgan didn’t release his hold on Joe. “You wouldn’t last a mile before you fell out of the saddle,” he said. “So unless you studied medicine in the last few minutes, we’ll be carrying you up to my office and I’ll take care of that wound.”

Joe was starting to feel a little dizzy and realized the doctor was probably right. “You’re the boss,” he said letting his body relax to the ground. Then he searched the faces in the crowd for a likely candidate. “You best take over, Major,” he finally said. “Get yourself a posse together as quick as you can and chase down those low-life killers.”

Major Benton nodded and looked up at the kid. “Round up some of the boys and meet me at the bank,” he said. “Tell them to get enough provisions for at least three days.” He turned to Ned Potter who owned the general store. “Put anything they need on my account.”

Potter nodded and headed back to his store.

“Get a move on, kid,” Benton yelled.

“Yes, sir,” he replied as he sprinted for the saloon.

“Hurry!” Benton added.

Eight riders met Major Benton in front of the bank less than ten minutes after the kid received the order. All were seasoned veterans of the Indian Wars and all knew what it meant to the town if the money was not returned. These were hard men who rode for the brand and would follow the Major wherever he led them.

Benton took a moment to survey the men he would command then swung into his saddle. “Let’s go, boys,” he said to them. “Those outlaws have a good start on us and we’ll be pushing hard to get them.”

The nine men wheeled their horses and moved off at a fast gallop. Each man knew he was putting his life on the line to save the town and not one gave it a second thought.