Cast of Characters:

Wyatt - young cowboy for the Bar JS ranch and narrator of this tale

John Shelton and Verne Alexander - co-owners of the Bar JS ranch

Isabell Netty - whore in the Silver Cent saloon

Pedro Martinez - gaucho who killed Wyatt's mother

Abram Askew - Governor of the Arizona Territory

Ben Cottom - vigilante

Laurel Cordova, Ernestine Eloy, and Bud Gilbert - passengers on the stagecoach bound for Fountain Hills

Hayden Kearny - engaged to Laurel Cordova


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

Ben Cottom's presence chilled me to the bone. I felt my knees grow weak. Ever since I was a tiny whippersnapper, I feared the day he'd ride back into my life where he weren't wanted. Iffen I wore a gun, I'd shoot 'im. 'Twas glad he didn't want me. I'd never left the Bar JS with him.

I knowed Cottom was my pa. We had the same name, but he didn't hold no candle in my wind. Far as I was concerned, that was Mr. Shelton. He'd always been there for me, not Ben Cottom.

"Come on over here so your pa can get a good look-see at you, boy," Cottom coaxed me, "last time I saw the likes of you, you was just a seedling starting out."

I weren't 'bout to go near him. Yes, he'd led the hunt for Pedro Martinez, the gaucho that killed my ma. He even made sure Martinez was lynched for committin' the act, though my ma weren't but the town whore before Isabell came around.

Ben Cottom had rangered with Mr. Shelton and Verne in Tucson. This was 'for their fallin' out happened in Pecos Valley and they parted ways shortly after my ma died. Mr. Shelton took me in.

Verne often told me, "Ben Cottom rode west when he shouldn't have. And, he ain't been heard from since."

No one was surprised he disappeared. Mr. Shelton never told me much about Cottom. 'Bout the most I got from Mr. Shelton when I asked him was what he wanted me to know. No more. No less.

I always knowed Cottom would return some day. News 'bout him, and his vigilante ways, circulated down the cow trails. His famed reputation with a six-shooter preceded him. Now, here he come riding up to the Bar JS with Charlie. I seed the dust puffs their mounts kicked up as they stopped in the wagon yard and drew rein.

"I swear, Cottom, like every horse you had you rode this one down to the bone," Mr. Shelton commented. He remained uneasy about the loose cannon being on his ranch, but instructed Tad to, "Give the mustang a good feed. Ain't hard to tell he ain't had one for a while."

"Much obliged, John," Cottom stated, "as I told you boys, I don't want trouble. We got enough of that in this letter from your friend Governor Abram Askew."

Cottom pulled a dispatch out of the pocket of his shirt and handed it to Mr. Shelton. A portion of the Governor's note read,

"Brutally violent, and consumed by hate, with a lust for revenge, they stalk the land in search of something to kill. A homesteading family trying to tame the land became their latest target. Desperately need your help, John. No one knows the Arizona Territory better than you and Verne. Come quick!"

Mr. Shelton noticed the Governor's signature and seal on the bottom of the dispatch.

"We're not vigilantes, Cottom," he responded.

He folded the dispatch in half and handed it back to Cottom.

"Don't have to be," Cottom replied, "I have your badges in my saddlebags. Askew's asking you to track down and bring this gang in dead or alive for 500 dollars in gold. But, it's a paradoxical choice of what is the difference between your desires and your responsibilities, John?"

"We've often stared down death before and lived to tell the story," Verne said.

One hundred and forty miles west of Pecos Valley, an enemy lurked. Concealed by a fallen tree, for three days they had seen no travelers, not even a lone Iroquois. Still, they waited.

There had been an overnight layover at Bisbee, but that was the only break the stagecoach made in its monotonous trek from Apache Junction. Uncomfortable passengers took turns staring out the window at the desert. The scenery remained unchanged. A gentle breeze sent a coolness through the heavy heat of the afternoon.

The ungraded road bounced the heavy coach along the rocky, dusty, trail. Laurel Cordova was bound for the tiny cow town of Fountain Hills twenty miles further up the road. Seated across from her was Ernestine Eloy, who operated the boarding establishment in the village. She alternated between perspiring and fanning herself from the stifling heat of the day. Occasionally, she dozed.

The horse buyer Bud Gilbert sat next to Laurel Cordova. He snuck peeks at the young woman with the slightly wide mouth. He liked how she laughed easy.

Finally, he asked her, "You staying in Fountain Hills, Miss Cordova? It's a welcoming town."

"Yes, I'm going to make my home there. Hayden Kearny and I are to marry," she responded.

The friendly smile left the trader's face. Laurel's countenance waned. Second thoughts about her engagement crept more into her mind the closer they got to Fountain Hills.

She wondered to herself, 'Was she making a mistake coming this far to marry a man she'd not seen in six months?'

Before they'd left Brewers Gap, she'd decided with her mother succumbed to the fever, she had no place else to go. Her small dowry paid for the trip. The decision had been instant, now uncertainty filled her mind.