"So I was right," Malloy muttered, staring down at the bound woman on the floor. "You were the one who killed them."
The murmurs of the townsfolk filled the saloon, restless and hungry for answers.
"There'd been reports," Malloy went on, loud enough for all to hear. "Men disappearin' after spendin' a night with her. No proof, not till now. Good thing you caught her when you did, Cain. Lord knows how many more she'd have taken."
He patted Cain on the shoulder, then motioned to his deputies. "Take her away."
One of them hefted the unconscious woman over his shoulder and carried her out.
Malloy turned back to Cain. "Mind tellin' me what happened before all this?"
Cain nodded and walked him through the night, the scream for help, the discovery that led to the chase. As he spoke, they moved through the room, stepping past the blood, the shattered bottle, the overturned chair. Two lawmen lifted the body and carried it out for an autopsy and a burial.
Malloy crouched beside a small cabinet, opening it to find sprigs of Oleander Sage and half-empty bottles of whiskey. "Oleander Sage," he said grimly. "Poison. Looks like she got 'em drunk first, then finished the job."
Cain crossed his arms. "What'll happen to her?"
Malloy straightened up, dusting off his hands. "What else? A murderer like her, she'll swing for it."
Cain frowned. "Those men she killed, they weren't saints. But hangin' her, does that make us any better?"
Malloy's eyes narrowed. "You got somethin' to say, son?"
"I just wanna understand," Cain said carefully. "If we kill her, what makes us different from her?"
Malloy took a slow breath, the weight of years behind his stare. "Well let's say we keep her locked up. Then what? She don't repent. Maybe kills again. Maybe someone helps her escape. You think the world out here's kind enough to let monsters grow soft behind bars?"
Cain's gaze fell to the floorboards. "So you hang her 'cause it's easier."
The noise of the saloon below them went quiet.
Malloy stepped closer, his voice low but hard. "You call it easy? You think I sleep sound after signin' a death warrant? Every hangin' tears somethin' outta a man. But if we don't draw lines somewhere, this whole goddamn frontier'll rot."
They stared at each other, two men, same blood on their hands, different ghosts behind their eyes.
Malloy's shoulders sagged first. "You'll learn, son. Out here, justice ain't about right or wrong. It's about keepin' the peace long enough to see another sunrise."
He pulled a folded bill from his coat and pressed it into Cain's hand. "Fifteen dollars. The way you handled yourself tonight, I'd say you'd make a fine lawman. Just make sure you don't lose sleep over it."
He paused at the door, looking back. "Or your soul."
The sheriff left, his boots echoing through the hollow saloon.
Cain looked down at the money. He couldn't tell if it was a reward, or payment for sin.
(Money:$38.50)
...
"Teach me how to ride a horse," Cain said, standing by the corral where Amos was brushing down a chestnut mare.
The older man glanced up, frowning beneath the brim of his hat. "What's this all of a sudden?"
Cain's hands were stuffed into his pockets, dirt still on his shirt from the day's work. "Figure I'll get me a horse someday," he said. "And I ain't about to make a fool of myself when that time comes."
Amos studied him for a moment, the younger man's tone was steady, but there was something different in his eyes. That spark of youthful calm had hardened overnight.
Word of last night's incident had spread quick. Folks whispered, asked questions, but Cain gave them nothing. The air around him said all it needed to, don't ask.
Seeing a man die changes something in you. Animals, you bury and move on. People, they linger.
Amos leaned against the stall gate. "Cain," he said slowly, "you ridin' to get somewhere… or ridin' to get away?"
Cain froze halfway through unlatching the gate. He gave a faint, crooked smile. "Guess I'll find out."
Then he stepped out into the dying sun, the sky painted in bruised gold, dust rising at his boots, a man trying to learn how to move forward, even if he didn't yet know from what.
The lesson started the next morning. The sun was barely over the ridge when Amos led out two horses, his own bay gelding and a calmer gray mare for Cain.
"Her name's Mabel," Amos said, handing Cain the reins. "Gentle, but she won't let you treat her like a plow mule. Earn her trust, she'll carry you through hell itself."
Cain stroked the mare's neck, feeling the warmth of her skin under the dusted coat. "Ain't she a beauty," he muttered.
They started slow, walking circles in the sandy ring behind the barn. Amos barked instructions, patient but firm. "Sit straight. Loosen your grip. Don't pull the reins like you're fightin' her, guide her."
Cain tried, failed, tried again. Mabel snorted, unimpressed. Amos chuckled. "You're tense as a drawn bow, son. Horses feel that. They'll mirror whatever's inside you."
Cain adjusted his posture, exhaling softly. "Can't help it," he said. "Feels like I been runnin' in my head since last night."
Amos looked at him over the brim of his hat. "Still thinkin' about that night?"
Cain nodded. "Ain't about what happened. It's about… how close it was. She could've killed me. And part of me don't even know if I did the right thing, runnin' instead of fightin'."
The mare slowed, sensing his unease.
Amos clicked his tongue. "You ain't wrong for runnin'. Ain't every fight meant to be fought. Some you win by stayin' alive."
Cain frowned, still staring ahead. "Yeah, but if that's true… why do I feel like I lost somethin' anyway?"
The old man was quiet for a while. Only the soft thud of hooves filled the air.
"'Cause you did," Amos finally said. "You lost a piece of what you used to think this world was. Happens to all of us sooner or later."
Cain didn't answer, just nodded faintly. He urged Mabel forward again, this time, a little steadier.
By the time they stopped, the morning light had turned gold. Cain dismounted, sweat on his brow, dust on his boots, but his hands no longer trembled when he stroked the horse's mane.
"Not bad for a first day," Amos said with a small smile.
Cain looked at him, eyes calm but distant. "Guess I'm learnin' more than just ridin', huh?"
Amos grinned. "That's the thing about horses, boy. They teach you what kind of man you are, if you let 'em."
A few days later, Sheriff Malloy sent word for Cain to come by the gallows.
It was early morning when Cain arrived, the air thick with dust and murmurs. Half the town had gathered, men with folded arms, women clutching their shawls, children perched on crates for a better view. The gallows stood tall in the middle of the square, rough wood catching the rising sun.
The "Killer Prostitute," as folks had started calling her, was already there, wrists bound, hair matted, eyes hollow from sleepless nights. The crowd watched her like they would a caged animal.
Cain stood beside Malloy at the front, silent. He hadn't wanted to come, but Malloy's request wasn't one easily refused.
"Figured you should be here," Malloy said quietly, adjusting his hat. "You brought her in, after all. Folks'll take it as justice bein' seen through."
Cain didn't reply. His stomach felt heavy.
The sheriff stepped forward, addressing the gathered townsfolk. "People of Valentine," Malloy began, his voice cutting through the morning chill. "We stand here today to remind ourselves that evil ain't got a face, nor a name, nor a gender. Men can be monsters, and so can women. This one here took lives without reason, without mercy. And for that, the law will take hers."
The words hung in the air like smoke. A few men nodded grimly. Others stayed silent.
Cain kept his eyes on the condemned woman. She didn't cry. She didn't plead. She just looked ahead, maybe past them all, like she already knew this world had no room left for her.
Malloy turned to him slightly. "You look pale, son. Don't tell me this is the first time you've seen someone hanged."
Cain swallowed hard. "First time it's someone I met."
The sheriff studied him for a moment, then looked away. "Best get used to it if you plan on stayin' out here."
The hangman pulled the lever. A sharp crack split the silence.
The crowd gasped, then went quiet again.
Cain's breath hitched. He didn't look away, but every part of him wanted to. The image burned into his mind, the stillness after the fall, the finality of it.
Afterward, the crowd began to disperse. Malloy placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You did good that night," he said softly. "Don't let this haunt you."
Cain didn't answer. His eyes lingered on the empty noose swaying gently in the wind.
For the rest of that day, as he worked, he couldn't shake the thought, 'If justice looked like this… what did mercy look like?'
.....
A month passed since the hanging, and Valentine had fallen back into its usual rhythm, gossip fading, and the smell of whiskey drifting from Smithfield's by noon. Life went on, as it always did.
Cain did too. His routine became second nature, working the stables and the butcher's by day, hunting by night.
Bob had taught him how to craft a bow of his own, rough but reliable. At first, Cain could barely hit a rabbit five feet away. But with time and stubbornness, he learned. Soon he was stalking deer by Cumberland Falls, skinning snakes along Heartland Overflow, and returning to town before dawn with pelts and meat to sell.
A month of hunting had earned him over a hundred and fifty dollars, more than all his honest labor combined. Between that, his daily savings, and the fifteen-dollar reward Malloy had given him, Cain now had $259.50 to his name.
Enough to buy a horse.
And so, one quiet morning, he stood at Amos' stable as the old man leaned against a post, wiping his hands with a rag.
"Finally settlin' down, huh?" Amos asked, smirking as Cain pointed toward a chestnut mare in the far pen.
"Mabel," Cain said. "She's been with me since the start. Feels wrong not to make it official."
Amos chuckled. "She's a fine horse. Twenty-five dollars and she's yours, I'll even throw in a saddle for eight, and some feed for six-fifty."
Cain counted out the money without hesitation.
When the deal was done, he rested a hand on Mabel's mane. The horse snorted softly, as if recognizing her new owner.
As he led her out into the open field, the sun dipped low over Valentine. Cain swung into the saddle, not with the clumsy jerks of a beginner, but the calm ease of a man who'd learned the rhythm of the land.
He had $220 left, a horse of his own, and a long road ahead.
For the first time since waking up in this strange world, Cain didn't feel lost.
He felt ready.
"C'mon girl!" Cain grinned, leaning forward in the saddle as Mabel reared up, her front hooves striking the air before she lunged forward. Her neigh split the morning calm, and in seconds they were thundering down the main street of Valentine.
Dust swirled in their wake. Folks on the boardwalk shaded their eyes or raised their hats, watching the young man and his new horse tear through town like a bullet. A few whistled, a few cursed, but Cain only grinned wider, his hands steady on the reins.
They broke free of the last fence line and the world opened up. The hills rolled like green waves under the sun, and the wind came sharp and clean against Cain's face. Mabel ran like she'd been waiting for this moment as long as he had.
Twin Stack Pass rose ahead of them, its rocky spires jagged against the sky. Cain guided Mabel up the slope, slowing her as the terrain steepened. At the top, he pulled her to a stop. Both of them stood there, breathing hard, looking out over a country that seemed to stretch forever, forests, rivers, smoke from far-off chimneys, and the long, glinting rail line cutting through it all.
Cain let out a low whistle. This world was vast. Wild. Alive.
He stroked Mabel's neck. "You see this, girl? This ain't just some dirt-road town. This… this is a whole damn world."
For the first time since waking up here, the thought of "going home" felt like a stranger's dream.
He smiled faintly, the wind tugging at his black hat. "You know what…" he murmured, almost to himself. "I don't wanna live a normal life anymore."
Mabel snorted softly, pawing at the ground like she understood.
Cain sat straighter in the saddle, eyes on the horizon. Whatever lay ahead, bandits, lawmen, fortune, death, it was better than staying still.
"C'mon, girl," he said again, voice lower now. "Let's see what's out there."
To be continued.....
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