A Prayer for Justice (Preview)

Chapter One

“All I’m saying is that there’s nothing particularly dead about a door nail!” 

The words floated from among the trees, and not long after they were heard, two men appeared. They held four dead rabbits, already skinned and ready for the fire. Their argument continued, however, revealing their minds weren’t at all on the food. 

“When was the last time you saw a nail of any kind that was alive?” Bert asked Gordon, who promptly shook his head. 

“That’s not my point! Wouldn’t it make more sense to say someone was dead as a coffin nail or something? Why refer to a door?” 

“With all the noise you two are making, we’re all going to be deader than anything,” Randy, the leader of the group, interrupted. “Lower your voices.” 

“Sorry, boss,” 

“Yeah, sorry.” 

Both men looked contrite as they spoke to Randy, but Boone noticed the look of disdain they gave each other. 

“Hey, get those rabbits cooking,” Randy directed their cook. “And you two dunces can start bringing water for the horses.” 

He turned from the gang’s cook back to the two who had just brought in the rabbits, and they promptly begged him to let them wait until after dinner. 

“It’s been a long, hot day already, boss,” Bert pleaded. “Can’t we water them after dinner? 

“It’s only going to take a few minutes to cook up them rabbits,” Gordon added. “We’ll get the water right after.” 

“So long as you both shut up then,” Randy said as he walked around the campfire and sat next to Boone. 

Boone Granger, for his own part, leaned back against a saddle with his long, lanky legs propped up on another saddle in front of him. He smoked lazily, listening to the argument between Bert and Gordon as he watched the smoke curl mystically from the tip of the cigar. 

Like Randy, he didn’t busy himself with the work around the campsite. He was unofficially the second-in-command of the five-man posse, and Randy always divided the work among the other three. 

Boone had grown accustomed to his status, though he wasn’t a lazy man by any means. Instead, he preserved his energy, as Randy would say, for the times he’d really need it. 

As he sat silently, however, his mind drifted back to that afternoon. 

It wasn’t the first stagecoach robbery he’d been part of by any means. But it hadn’t gone well, and that bothered him. Though all of the men in their little gang had survived without injury, the robbery had gone wrong, and only one other person from the stagecoach had survived. 

Boone understood that killing went hand in hand with the lifestyle he’d chosen to live, but he’d never gotten used to that aspect of things. Randy seemed to notice. 

“How are you doing?” he asked as he pulled out his own cigar. 

“I’m alright,” Boone replied, speaking around the cigar in his mouth. 

“You sure about that?” Randy pressed. “Seems to me you’re being quiet this evening. I’d sure rather listen to what you have to say than those two.” 

He nodded toward Gordon and Bert, who had both fallen silent, but they were too busy with securing the rabbits to skewers to pay any attention. 

“I’m sorry about today,” Boone said simply. 

“Sorry?” Randy asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Randy was twelve years older than Boone, closer to Boone’s father’s age than his, and there were plenty of times when Randy was not only Boone’s closest friend, but also a father figure. 

“The driver,” Boone said with a shake of his head. “I couldn’t kill him. I wanted to. I had every intention, but for some reason, seeing the way he was riding off like that, I just couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger.” 

“It’s a lot different shooting a man in the back than in the chest,” Randy said simply. “I won’t fault you for that.” 

“Just makes me wonder if I really belong in this gang,” Boone said. “I chose this life to get away from my father, but it seems even now I can’t shake him entirely.” 

“Your father is a good man,” Randy said. “Sure, he’s preachy, but that goes with being the reverend, doesn’t it?” 

Randy laughed at his own statement, but it was short-lived when Boone didn’t join in. 

“My father can disappear for all I care,” Boone said bitterly. “I don’t at all care what he’d have to say about today. I’m more worried about the fact that man got away from us.” 

He knew what he said conflicted with his actions. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill the man during the robbery, but now that it was all over, he wished he had. The man had ridden off in the direction of town, which meant he could very well be getting the authorities. 

Randy and Boone’s preacher father were friends, but he didn’t want there to be any kind of confusion over why he felt the way he did. It had nothing to do with the morality of his decision or whether his father would approve. He wanted nothing to do with his father’s life. 

Boone wanted freedom. 

Randy, however, simply chuckled at his response. 

“The Western Union is a large company,” he said. “You know as well as I do that they run a tight schedule. Once that stagecoach doesn’t show up this afternoon, they’re going to come looking.” 

Boone nodded. What Randy said was true, but he was still nervous. It would be one thing if the stagecoach simply hadn’t reached town on time, but to have a survivor able to say where and when the robbery took place changed the situation. 

Still, if Randy wasn’t too worried about it, then Boone wasn’t going to let himself ruminate, either. He trusted Randy with his life, and even if he wasn’t happy that he’d not been able to shoot the driver, he could let it go if Randy did. 

“Here,” Randy said as he handed Boone his flask. “Why don’t you take a few swigs and celebrate? We made a lot of money today, and that’s something worth drinking over.” 

Boone did as his friend recommended, and it wasn’t long before the warmth of the whiskey spread from his stomach to the rest of his body. Though the other three men kept their voices down, they chatted and laughed as they cooked the rabbits. 

Boone knew Randy didn’t mind if the other men were enjoying themselves, so long as they weren’t making enough noise to attract attention. However, they were gathered not far from the base of the Rocky Mountains, and Boone worried their voices would carry farther than they intended. Still, he trusted that Randy would take care of it, so he focused on relaxing. 

“I want a completely different life than Pa,” he announced, and Randy gave him an inquisitive look. 

“Where did that come from?” 

“Just thinking about him and what he’d have to say about my day today, or what I’m doing right now, even,” Boone said, gesturing with his whiskey. His father, being a reverend, never drank. Never smoked or visited saloons. He certainly never would shoot at anyone or rob them, either. 

“I embraced this life to get away from him and everything he does,” Boone continued. “And I really don’t have any intention of going back.” 

“Well, it’s easy to feel that way when you’re young,” Randy said. 

For the first time in a long time, Boone felt annoyed with his older friend. Whenever Randy said things like that, it reminded Boone of his father. But then, Randy continued. 

“Look at me,” he said. “I’m not going to be in this much longer.” 

Boone wasn’t able to hide his surprise. “What are you talking about? This is your posse, your gang. You can’t walk away from this.” 

“Sure I can,” Randy said. “Molly just gave birth to my first child, Boone. I don’t want to continue in this life and miss out on being a father.” 

Boone winced internally. On the one hand, he couldn’t blame his friend for feeling that way. On the other hand, he didn’t like the thought of being an outlaw without Randy by his side. He looked up to Randy, and the thought of losing his mentor was akin to losing himself. 

“You’re going to find a pretty lady one of these days,” Randy continued. “And when that happens, mark my words, you won’t want to stay in this life.” 

Boone shook his head. He didn’t want to openly argue with Randy. Not in front of the other men, especially. But he had questions. 

What would happen to the gang if Randy left? Would that leave him to be the new leader? Was he even equipped to be a leader of an operation such as this? Randy maintained his leadership role by constantly staying on top of the other men. 

Boone was far more reserved. He wasn’t afraid of conflict, but he certainly didn’t instigate it, either. His mind went back to the fact he hadn’t been able to shoot that driver. How could he possibly take on the role of being the gang’s leader when he wasn’t able to take another man’s life on a mere principle?

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine the life I’m living is going to lead me to meeting anyone special enough to get me out of it.” 

“You never know,” Randy said with a dismissive shrug. “I never thought that, either, but then Molly just so happened to cross my path. Then, with the birth of our son, Jesse, that’s enough for me. I’m ready to go home.” 

Boone nodded, even if he still didn’t fully understand why Randy had decided to get out of the lifestyle. He respected Randy’s desire to go home and raise his son, even if it was difficult to hear. 

Once the rabbits had finished cooking, the cook portioned out the meat before passing the tin plates around to the other men. Boone thanked him as he sat back once again, devouring the meal. Rabbit wasn’t his favorite dish, but the cook did have a knack for making it taste good. 

The whiskey also helped liven the meal, even if it was rather bland. 

The rest of the men fell silent as everyone ate, though Boone’s mind was still on the conversation between him and Randy. He wished Randy would talk about it more, though he didn’t know what there was for his friend to say that would make him feel any better. He was already feeling as though he’d lost Randy, even if nothing had changed yet. 

The other three men continued whatever conversation they’d been having as everyone finished their plates, then Bert rose and walked away from the camp. He was likely going to get the buckets to water the horses, Boone figured, and Randy quickly barked at Gordon to hurry up and help. 

“You both got sent to do that. Don’t leave it for him, you lazy!” Randy snapped. 

The cook smirked as he gathered the tin plates. “Why don’t you bring me a bucket back, too, and I’ll get these dishes washed up?” 

Gordon muttered, rising and brushing the front of his clothes. He shook his head as he set off in the same direction as Bert, though he’d scarcely disappeared from view when he suddenly came rushing back into camp. 

“He’s dead! He’s dead!” he blurted as he crashed through the brush next to camp.

“What in tarnation are you talking about?” Randy demanded, flying to his feet. 

Boone, tall and lanky, scrambled to get up as well. He yanked his custom Colt revolvers from his holsters as he did, aiming behind Gordon. 

Before Gordon had the chance to explain, three lawmen appeared behind him. Their guns were raised, and one of them was covered in blood. Boone deduced in a heartbeat that the man must have managed to sneak up behind Bert and either stab him in the back or slit his throat. 

Since no one had heard anything in the camp, it was more likely that Bert’s throat had been cut. 

There was no time to think or react to that grim fact, as the three men opened fire on the four men remaining in the camp. 

“Take cover and kill these bastards!” Randy ordered. 

All four of the men did as they were told, diving behind the fallen log on the opposite side of the camp from their assailants or stepping behind nearby trees. 

Boone heard Gordon cry out in pain, telling him that the man had been struck by one of the bullets. However, when Gordon continued to shoot back, Boone knew the shot hadn’t been lethal. At least, not in the moment. 

“Get your head down, you fool!” Randy shouted to him. 

Boone did as he was told, ducking and whipping around so his back was to the log. He kept his head lower than the top of the fallen trunk, using the wood as a shield the best he could. He turned to shout something to Randy, but in that moment, his worst fear came true. 

Randy grunted in a way Boone hadn’t ever heard before. He pitched forward, coughing blood as he did. He landed on his hands and knees, but there was a look of fierce determination on his face. 

Boone realized two more lawmen had come from the other side of camp, surrounding them. One of those men had shot Randy square in the back, and Boone promptly returned fire, killing the man instantly. 

It was a lot different shooting someone when he was being attacked rather than shooting a fleeing man in the back, and he tried not to think about it. Randy didn’t hesitate. Even with a bullet in his back, he still managed to use his gun. He killed the second man who was behind him, then he rose back to his feet. 

It then became clear to Boone that the bullet had passed through Randy entirely, the exit wound showing that the bullet was high enough to have struck his lung. 

Boone lunged forward, grabbing Randy by the collar of his shirt before pulling him to the ground behind the log. 

Two of their men were still locked in a shootout with the other three assailants. Well, two assailants, Boone realized. 

Once he turned his attention back to them, he saw that one of the lawmen had been killed. They were still shooting back, one of them managing to kill Gordon. Boone ignored the pain that ran through him and took aim once again. 

Before he pulled the trigger, Randy killed the man. Boone cried out when a searing pain ran through his thigh. He looked down, realizing his leg had been exposed in his effort to keep Randy safe. 

The bullet had only grazed his leg, but he was already bleeding. 

“You’ve got to pull back,” Randy said. 

“What are you talking about?” Boone asked. “We’ve almost got them!”

The cook managed to kill one of the remaining men before he was shot and killed himself. Though it still left Randy and Boone against the one lawman, Randy was fading fast. He was losing a lot of blood, and when another bullet hit him in the shoulder, he cried out once again. 

In a fit of rage, Boone whipped around the opposite side of the log. He had to crawl over the cook’s fallen body, but he didn’t let himself think about that in the moment. His mind was on saving Randy, and that was all there was to it. Randy had to get home. He knew how much his friend wanted to be a father. 

Though it pained him to think he would lose Randy in the process, Boone couldn’t lose him to death. It would be bad enough not being able to ride with him anymore because he’d chosen to settle down, but to not be able to speak to him at all would be hell on earth for Boone. 

He shot with a fury, emptying both guns in the direction of the last lawman. He couldn’t see the man among the trees, but he knew he’d hit his mark when the shooting suddenly stopped. The man must have been killed, or at least injured to the point he wasn’t able to shoot back any longer. 

Boone whipped back around, rushing to where Randy was gasping on the ground. 

“You have to get out of here,” Randy said again. “Now.” 

“They’re dead,” Boone assured him. “All of them.” 

“Our men, too?” 

“Yes,” Boone said, letting the bitterness show in his tone. “They fought well, but they’re gone.” 

Randy swore under his breath, and Boone tried not to think that the attack had been his fault. Perhaps the man who had gotten away from them that afternoon had gone to the authorities and brought the men down on the camp. 

“There’ll be more of them,” Randy announced. “There’s no way they only sent five men after the gang. No way.” 

“Then let’s get you patched up and we’ll move,” Boone insisted. He started to rise, but Randy grabbed his arm. 

He felt how weak his friend was, and he knew Randy didn’t have much time left. It was clear Randy, too, knew he was dying. 

“Don’t waste time with me,” he said. “You have to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you.” 

“You don’t have a choice,” Randy gasped. “Please, give me my last rites and go.” 

“What? I can’t do that,” Boone cried, unable to comprehend what his friend was asking.

“You know what they are,” Randy pleaded. A thin line of blood spilled from the side of his mouth and ran down his cheek. His skin was pale, and he fought to take each breath. “I’m a dying man, and it’s my dying wish.” 

It was nearly impossible for Boone to look at his friend in that condition. He’d never walk out on his dying friend, but he hated to see Randy fading in such a way. It had been only minutes since he’d been shot, yet he was already just a shell of the man he’d been half an hour before. 

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Boone shot back, his voice cracking as he spoke. His throat ached and tears welled up in his eyes, though he refused to let them spill onto his cheeks. “I’m no preacher.” 

It was a poor excuse, he knew, and he wasn’t surprised when Randy refused to accept his answer. 

“You’re the son of a preacher man, that’s good enough for me,” Randy said. His eyes were wild and unfocused, and it seemed he had to force himself to look directly into Boone’s face. Randy took a forced breath before he gasped, “Please.” 

Boone sighed. He didn’t want to do what was asked of him, but he also couldn’t deny a dying man his last wish. Especially when that man was Randy Ward. 

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.” 

With tears choking him, he barely made it through reciting the dying man’s last rites. As he spoke, Randy closed his eyes, lying back on the grass with his mouth pressed in a firm line. Boone wasn’t sure when his friend passed away exactly, but he knew by the time he had finished speaking, Randy was gone. 

“Oh, Randy,” he sobbed. “Don’t leave me. I need you!” 

But he already knew it was no use. He had to quickly gather what he could and saddle one of the horses. There would most certainly be more men coming, and if they caught him, they’d kill him. 

It was time to move.

 

Chapter Two

Twenty Years Later

“Come on, just keep putting one foot in front of the other. That’s it. You’re going to make it.”

A sharp pain ran through his side, and with an agonized cry, Jesse Ward fell to his knees. His hand flew to his side, but as soon as his fingers brushed the wound, he drew in a quick gasp. 

Jesse pulled his fingers away and looked at his hand. His fingers were red with blood, but it was difficult to determine whether it was fresh blood or old blood from his shirt. 

He looked down, drawing in short, painful breaths as he did. He should fix the makeshift bandage he’d tied around his waist, but just as he started to fight with the knots securing the fabric in place, a gunshot rang out, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. 

“Come on, Jesse. Not here. There’s some trees up ahead, and you’ll be fine. Just keep going.” 

He spoke out loud as he forced himself back onto his feet. It helped hearing the words spoken, even if he was the one saying them. Just hearing that he was going to be okay gave him the strength to keep fighting when he really wanted to lie down and give up. 

He’d taken a bullet in his abdomen. Not quite his chest, as he’d been struck just below his ribcage, though he wasn’t exactly hit in his stomach, either. At least, he hoped the bullet had missed his stomach. Men rarely lived after being shot in the stomach, and that scared him. 

There was a time in his young life when he’d wanted to be a doctor. As a much younger boy, he had often prided himself telling his mother that he was going to grow up to become a lawyer or a doctor, and he would take care of her. He’d had high ambitions during the first ten years of his life, but things had changed. 

As he continued to stumble forward, he wondered how the day would have been different if he’d done what he’d promised his mother he’d do. If he was a doctor, he would be able to stitch himself up and give himself the medication he needed to stop the immense pain. 

But if he had grown up to become a doctor, then the odds were that he wouldn’t have wound up shot in the abdomen in the first place. Sure, plenty of innocent people wound up shot for one reason or another, but Jesse certainly couldn’t claim to be an innocent man. 

Even though he’d taken the bullet for a noble cause, that didn’t change the fact that his lifestyle was the sole reason he’d been put in the position in the first place. Excuses or not, Jesse was an outlaw. 

But he had to survive. Not just because he had a strong will to live, but because the love of his life was out there, and she was in trouble. He tried not to think of the things she might be going through in that moment. The worries drove him nearly mad with rage. 

The anger helped him in the sense it filled him with the strength to keep going. His body wanted to give up and die, but his mind refused to give in to the despair. Jesse was faced with a second problem, however, when it came to his anger. He found it difficult to think clearly when he was enraged. 

Instead, he would act on instinct, and in the moment, he had to focus. He was shot, he was bleeding, and for all he knew, his organs had been injured. He didn’t know where he was, only that there was a town up ahead. 

A town meant a doctor, and he was in desperate need of medical attention. If he lost focus, he wouldn’t be able to get to the town in time, and he’d die. Then his love would die as well. 

Jesse was faced with another problem. 

He didn’t know whether that gunshot was someone coming for him or someone out hunting. He was in the wilderness of Wyoming, so one was just as likely as the other. He was certain he’d lost the men who were after him, but there was no telling how long the gang would pursue him in their attempt to end his life. 

As an outlaw, he was even more targeted than someone innocent who happened to get caught in a robbery. There were men out there who wanted him dead simply because of what he might tell the law if he were to get it in his head to go to them. And with his efforts to get out of the outlaw lifestyle, any of the men from his past would have good reason to assume he might go to the law. 

“Stop thinking that way, Jesse,” he said out loud as he stumbled for the tree line once more. “You don’t know if they’re after you, and even if they are, it won’t matter if they don’t catch up. Just keep moving, and you’ll get help.” 

With a newfound surge of adrenaline rushing through his veins, Jesse pressed on. He stepped into the trees, deliberately taking a path that wasn’t easy to follow. Anyone chasing him would assume in his condition that he would take the easiest route, but that could very well lead to him being caught. 

He pushed through the trees, only stopping briefly when he reached a small clearing. Paranoid as he was, Jesse found it difficult to calm down as he frantically fought with the knots keeping the shirt wrapped around his waist. 

When he finally untied them, he unwrapped the bloody shirt and flipped it the opposite direction, placing the less bloody portion of the cloth against his body before he tied it securely back in place. His hands shook as he worked, and Jesse fought against a rising panic. 

In the back of his mind, he knew he was running out of time. He had to hurry, or he was going to die out there. Panic would be a death sentence, as that would prevent him from keeping himself together long enough to find the help he so desperately needed. 

With his new bandage secured, he pushed forward. He was lightheaded and dizzy, but he took the time to orient himself enough to continue heading south. 

It was morning, a Sunday morning. For the first time in years, the sound of a ringing church bell sent a shiver of joy down his spine. It had been quite some time since he’d been inside the four walls of a church, but if he was close enough to hear the bell, then he was getting close to town. 

He let go of the thin trunk he’d been using to support himself, and he shuddered when he saw the smear of blood his hand left. With a glance behind him, Jesse realized he’d left a decent blood trail, showing whoever might be after him exactly where he’d gone. 

“You don’t know someone is after you,” he muttered to himself. 

It was a lie, of course. He had a good feeling there was. Still, telling himself whatever he had to in order to survive was his top priority, even if he was lying. 

He reached the top of the small hill he’d been climbing, annoyed that he’d had to rely so heavily on the trees and saplings to get himself to the top. Try as he might, he had nothing to clean his hands with, forcing him to leave behind evidence that he had gone that way. 

Jesse decided not to worry about it. Looking down the hill, he saw the small town directly in front of him. The church bell was much louder now that he was at the top of the hill, and there were a variety of houses in view as well. 

Jesse figured he was an awful sight, but he didn’t care. He’d start with the house closest to him and move on to the next if he wasn’t able to find help there. With church starting, there was a chance the occupants of any of the houses might be already farther into town, but Jesse refused to let that discourage him. 

He’d come that far with the bullet in his side. What was a little farther? His body had wanted to give up long before that moment, and Jesse had refused to give in. He wasn’t about to change his mind now. 

His life was hanging in the balance, and he refused to give up. He had a feeling that the town in front of him was Pine Bend, but he could figure out that detail later. At the end of the day, the name of the town didn’t matter. 

If it was a town, then it had a doctor. And that was all he needed.