There were days when Marshal Reid Maddox swore the heat could drive men to murder.
It was high noon in Edgewater, and the sun bore down on the plains like a branding iron. Even the dust seemed tired of moving. Maddox rode into town slow, sweat running a crooked line down the back of his neck. Ahead, just off the trail, he saw a mob gathered beneath the warped branches of a dying cottonwood. A noose hung from its lowest limb, swaying in the still air.
The man under it stood calm as judgment day.
Six men, all townsfolk, circled him—one of them Rance Porter, arms crossed, jaw tight with fury. Maddox's stomach sank.
"Step away," Maddox said as he dismounted.
"He stole my horse," Rance said. "We caught him riding her just outside town."
"And that earns him a rope?"
"He's a killer, Marshal. You can see it on his face."
"I see a man who hasn't stood trial. Untie him. Now."
Rance didn't move. "You really gonna stand between us and justice?"
"If this is justice, I want no part of it."
The men shifted uneasily. Maddox took a slow step forward, hand resting near his holster.
"I won't warn you twice."
That did it. One by one, the men backed away. The noose came down.
The stranger tugged at the rope mark on his neck, winced, and met Maddox's gaze. He looked rough—dusty boots, sunburned skin, a scar above his left brow that hadn't healed clean. But his eyes were alert. Clever.
"Name's Colt Bannon," he said. "You may've heard of me."
Maddox stared at the notched revolver someone had tossed aside. "I've heard of worse."
"I bought that horse fair and square from a trader out near Yuma. No bill of sale, but I didn't know it was stolen."
"You expect me to take your word?"
"No," Colt said. "But you might ask your lawman friends in Yuma. If they're still breathing."
"Let's find out."
Maddox brought Bannon into town and handed his gun to Deputy Caleb Rowe, who eyed the man with a flicker of recognition.
"This one trouble?"
"Only if he breathes too long."
Bannon chuckled. "That a threat or a compliment?"
"You'll know when it's over."
Maddox locked him in the cell and wired Yuma. Then he leaned against the wall, arms folded, and studied the man behind bars.
"Six years in Copper Ridge," he said. "Word is you killed twelve men."
"Only six were mine. The rest just happened to be in the way."
"That supposed to make me sleep better?"
"I'm not here to comfort you, Marshal."
That night, the telegraph clicked back. Sheriff confirmed it—Colt bought the horse legal. Maddox let him out of the cell, reluctantly.
"You're free," he said. "But not welcome."
"I'm tired," Colt replied. "Edgewater's as good a place as any to stop moving."
"I don't want you near Kit Vance. Or any other reason to lay my eyes on you again."
"No promises," Colt said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
By sundown, he was seated at a card table in the saloon, pulling in coin like the Mississippi swallowed rain. Kit watched from behind the bar, uneasy. He was too quiet. Too smooth.
Then a voice rose—a kid, maybe twenty, with a gambler's arrogance and too much silk in his shirt.
"You dealt off the bottom," the kid accused.
Colt stood slowly. "You calling me a cheat, boy?"
The kid reached. Colt reached faster.
The gunshot rang through the saloon like a thrown hammer.
The boy collapsed, a red blossom blooming on his chest. Screams scattered the poker table. Kit covered her mouth.
Maddox came through the door a breath later, eyes sharp.
"What happened?" he asked.
"He drew first," Colt said, holstering his pistol. "You can ask anybody."
One of the witnesses nodded. "Kid called him a cheater. Went for his gun."
Maddox looked down. The dead boy still clutched a card in one hand.
Kit whispered, "That was Rance Porter's nephew. Just arrived yesterday."
Maddox closed his eyes. Damn.
By the time they brought the body to the undertaker's, word had spread like wildfire. Rance Porter came storming into the street, rifle in hand.
"You let that killer walk around free, and now my nephew's dead!"
"Put the gun down, Rance."
"I told you this man would bring blood. And now I'm gonna spill his."
"You try, and I'll shoot you down where you stand."
They stared each other down. Rance's finger twitched near the trigger.
But Maddox didn't blink.
Finally, Rance lowered the rifle—but not the anger in his voice. "If you don't hang him, we will."
"Then we're all murderers."
That night, the town boiled over. A crowd gathered outside the jail. Maddox stood at the doorway, shotgun resting in the crook of his arm.
Inside, Colt sat on the cot again. Smirking.
"You should let me go," Colt said. "Let them come in and string me up. Wouldn't that make it easier?"
"You think this is a game?"
"No. I think it's inevitable."
Maddox didn't answer.
Outside, a rock shattered the front window. Then another.
"Marshal!" someone shouted. "Turn him over!"
Caleb looked at Maddox, jaw tight. "We can't hold off the whole town."
"We're not gonna try," Maddox said.
He stepped outside and raised his voice.
"You want justice?" he called. "You think this is it? Hanging a man without trial?"
The mob answered with silence.
"He drew in self-defense," Maddox continued. "You may not like him. Hell, I don't either. But the law says he walks."
Rance pushed through the crowd. "You think this town's gonna follow you after this? After you shield a killer again and again?"
Maddox stared at him. "If it means I keep the law intact, I'll stand alone."
Rance's jaw clenched. But he said nothing.
Finally, he turned away. The rest followed, slow and bitter.
Maddox stepped back inside. Caleb locked the door behind him.
Colt stood by the bars, watching the crowd retreat.
"You keep me alive, Marshal, but not for long," he said quietly. "Men like Rance don't forget."
"You got that right."
"Then why save me?"
Maddox looked at him, something cold rising in his chest.
"Because the day I decide who lives and dies based on who I like," he said, "is the day I become you."
Colt's smirk faded.
He left at dawn. No goodbye. Just dust where his horse had been.
As the sun rose over the edge of the plain, Maddox stood on the jailhouse steps, hand resting on the badge pinned to his vest.
Kit joined him, arms folded tight. "He's gone?"
"For now."
"And what about the next one?" she asked. "The next killer, the next mob?"
Maddox didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on the horizon.
"They'll come," he said. "They always do."
She touched his arm gently. "You'll burn out if you try to stand alone forever."
"I know."
She waited.
Then, softer: "So what keeps you standing?"
He looked at her then. Worn down, worn out—but still holding the line.
"The law," he said. "Even when it doesn't deserve it."