5 Gunmen Attacked a Wealthy Rancher at a Saloon — No One Expected What Widow’s Daughter Did Next

Chapter 7

The volley was ragged and loud, but it was effective.

Plumes of dust kicked up around the outlaws. The deep boom of Pritchard’s buffalo rifle echoed off the wooden storefronts. A bullet struck the dirt an inch from an outlaw’s boot. Another shattered a canteen on a man’s hip, sending water spraying across the street.

Nora worked the lever of her Winchester. The empty brass casing flew into the air, shining in the fading light. She fired again. She shot the hat off a man raising a repeating rifle. She worked the lever again. She shot the wooden stock of a shotgun held by a man trying to flank the barricade.

She shot to disarm. She shot to disable. She was a marshal’s daughter, and the law demanded order, not slaughter.

“Get off the street!” Vance bellowed from the dirt. He scrambled on his hands and knees behind a wooden watering trough. “Dismount! Take cover in the alleys!”

The outlaws threw themselves from their saddles. They abandoned their panicked horses and scrambled for the narrow gaps between buildings. The street emptied in seconds, leaving only dust and confused animals.

Silence slammed back down on Red Creek.

Nora dropped to one knee behind the heavy oak wheel of a barricade wagon. She reloaded her rifle, sliding fresh brass cartridges into the loading gate. Her hands were perfectly steady.

From the roof of the bank, Wheeler’s voice drifted down. “Marshal, they’re moving through the back alleys. They’re trying to flank the barricade and get to the bank basement.”

Nora’s jaw tightened. The basement. The families.

“Hold the street, Sergeant,” she shouted back. “Don’t let them cross the open road. I’ll handle the alleys.”

“You can’t fight thirty men in the dark, girl!” Wheeler yelled.

Nora looked at the silver star pinned to her chest. She felt the heavy, comforting weight of her father’s Colt on her hip.

“I’m not fighting in the dark, Sergeant,” she whispered to herself. “I’m hunting in it.”

She slipped away from the barricade, vanishing into the deep shadows between the saloon and the general store.

The sun finally vanished entirely, and the long, cold night of Red Creek began.

Nora moved through the narrow alley behind the general store. The shadows were thick and heavy. The air smelled of dry dust and fear. Three outlaws crept ahead of her, their revolvers held tight against their chests, searching for the back door to the bank.

She did not make a sound. Her boots found the soft dirt, avoiding the dry leaves and loose rocks. She remembered Wyoming. She remembered the cold nights her father had taught her to track.

The dark is not empty, Nora, Elias had said, his voice a low rumble. The dark is a blanket. Wear it.

She wore it now.

She stepped silently behind the last outlaw in line. She reversed her Winchester rifle and swung the heavy wooden stock in a tight, controlled arc. It connected with the back of the man’s head with a dull thud. He collapsed instantly, dropping into the dirt without a single cry.

The other two men spun around. They raised their guns. They saw nothing. The alley was completely empty.

“Where did he go?” one of them hissed.

Nora was already above them. She had climbed the wooden rain barrel and pulled herself onto the low roof of the general store. She lay flat against the shingles, looking down at the two men as they searched the shadows.

They never thought to look up.

She drew her father’s Colt. She aimed carefully. Bang. The bullet struck the ground between the two men, kicking up a spray of dirt.

They scattered, diving in opposite directions. One ran deeper into the alley. The other turned and fled back toward the main street.

Nora holstered the Colt. She jumped down from the roof, landing silently on the balls of her feet. She moved after the man who had run deeper into the alley.

He was heading straight for the back door of the bank.

She could not let him reach it.

She broke into a sprint. Her boots pounded against the hard-packed dirt. The outlaw heard her coming. He spun around, his revolver coming up.

Nora slid to her knees in the dust. She brought the Winchester up and fired from a kneeling position. The bullet struck the outlaw’s revolver, ripping it from his grip. He screamed and clutched his hand, stumbling backward.

She was on her feet before the echo of the shot died. She crossed the distance in three strides and drove the butt of the rifle into his stomach. He doubled over, gasping. She brought her knee up into his face. He went down and did not get up.

Three down.

She stood in the darkness, breathing steadily. The back door of the bank was ten feet away. She could hear the muffled sounds of the families inside, the crying of children, the murmured prayers of the women.

They were safe. For now.

But there were still twenty-seven men out there. And somewhere in the darkness, Garrett Vance was waiting.