Kate heard the kid coming on the dead run screaming her name a full minute before he nearly ripped off the city hall screen door. "Miz Jackson, Miz Jackson, you gotta come quick. Three men jes' robbed the train station . . . murdered Mr. Miller. Yer husband done been shot, too!"

Katherine Jackson, mayor of Shade Gap, Texas had been elected in the Fall elections on the same day, her husband, Rufus, had been elected county constable. She crashed out the door into the beautiful April morning and ran headlong the city block from city hall to the San Francisco elevated rail station at the far end of town.

Several bystanders had gathered. Doc Ferguson, kneeling over her husband looked up. Fiftyish with thinning gray hair, he said, "Flesh wound, Kate. Through and through round in his left calf. Hurts like hell, but I'll get him over to my office and property clean the wound. He'll be dancin' the polka by Saturday night."

Kate knelt by her slender husband. "Rufus Jackson, I tried to tell you, you were a better preacher than a lawman." She dissolved in tears. "Who . . . why . . . ?"

"Three men, Kate, robbed Mr. Miller and shot him dead. And they grabbed Mr. Miller's little boy. I got one of 'um." He pointed to a dead man lying on his back in a widening pool of blood on a far corner of the platform. Doc Ferguson drafted several men to help carry Rufus to a waiting wagon. Kate walked over to where a crowd had gathered over the man.

"Why rob the rail station? Would they have any cash?" she asked.

The town banker said, "Between cash to make change for tickets and to operate the telegraph office, they might have had a hundred dollars. No theft is too small for some thieves."

The deceased was mid-twenties, slender, with sandy hair which blended into a thin, sandy beard. His half-closed blue eyes were fixed in the distant stare of eternity far above.

"Anybody know him?" Kate raised her voice. A round of muffled "no's" circulated. She did learn that of the two who had fled, one was a husky man of forty with black hair, riding a black gelding His companion was a youth of less than twenty with sandy hair and no hat. Witnesses insisted the hatless youth had taken no part in the crime. She figured the younger man was related to the dead man lying at her feet. "Well, the constable is down. We need men for a posse."

Receiving not a single volunteer for posse duty, she said, "Well by God, I'll go myself." As she started the walk back to city hall where her brindle mare was stabled, her sister, Rosemary Smith pulled up in a spring wagon. Kate mounted the wagon and pointed to city hall.

Rose was ten years younger than Kate. Tall and attractive, she supported herself by keeping books of several businesses in the community. Rose's husband had run off with a saloon woman from Dallas several months earlier. In the distorted customs of the nineteenth century, numerous town people had insisted Rose was somehow at fault. The whole issue had bizarrely sullied Rose's reputation in the area.

Kate ran the morning disaster past Rose, then asked, "Sis, when your dearly beloved husband skipped town, he didn't happen to leave any firearm behind?"

"About the only thing he didn't steal . . . big old .12 gauge. Sorta rusty. You thinkin' these killers might come back?"

"Rose, we're going after these animals. We start by a quick stop at my house. I'll ride Sandy, my brindle mare. We have that black mare, Coalyard, you can ride. Remember, she's gentle and easy to handle."

Kate began expressing reasons why she was not capable of chasing killers, but Kate ignored her.

From Kate's house, they gathered a water bag and a well-maintained L.C. Smith .12 gauge double barreled shotgun with four shells. From a bedroom drawer, Kate produced a Colt .31 caliber pocket revolver, loaded with five rounds with six or eight spare cartridges. Rufus had bought it for her as protection at city hall

In full defense mode, Rose was mortified when Kate found two pairs of men's bibbed overalls. "Pull 'um on, Rose, we can't ride in these long skirts."

"Kate, my reputation is bad enough in town. Wearing men's pants isn't gonna help." At Kate's insistence, she slid into the men's garments. Kate tossed a partial loaf of fresh baked bread in a tote bag which she tied on Sandy's saddle horn.

They rode over to Rose's small bungalow where they found a rusty, but apparently functional, Colt double barrel .12 gauge shotgun loaded with two shells. A quick search disclosed no additional ammunition.

Rose remarked sarcastically, "A little rust kept him from keeping it along with everything else I owned."

"Rose, I don't know enough about guns to know if my two spares will fit that gun. Guess you're limited to only puttin' one round each in these bastards."

"Kate, language."

Within a half hour since the boy had run screaming to city hall, the strange procession rode northwest. Inadequately armed, unfamiliar with guns, and although neither had ever remotely considered that one day they would take up arms against another human, they rode with determination. They bypassed the county seat town of Paris, Texas, to intersect the well-traveled road that paralleled the Frisco Railway tracks north across the Red River into the Choctaw Nation—widely called Oklahoma.

In a half hour, they reached the river which was low for the time of year. The rail bridge was carrying a heavy load of travelers on foot that morning, but burdened with horses, Kate and Rose had to ford. Kate plunged Sandy into the slow-moving current. Rose followed on Coalyard. The water was shallow enough that both horses managed to walk most of the way across.

Kate began asking southbound travelers if they'd seen two men carrying a small boy. Witnesses confirmed they were on the right trail.

"Rose, this bunch don't sound like they're from the Nations. Odds are good they'll veer off to the northeast into Arkansas to join up with some of that riff raff that clusters along those bottoms south of De Queen." Without saying anything to Rose, she began watching the weed choked roadside for blood or other signs that a man had ridden off trail to slit little Johnny's throat.

In fifteen minutes, they came to an east west trail crossing the northbound route. Kate reined in several times to ask travelers coming west on the narrow right of way if they'd seen the men and boy. Several described the group. Kate and Rose were not far behind.

"Rose, we were right. We're going to Arkansas." They stopped by a small bubbling creek, watered the horses, downed a few bites of bread, then pushed on. The trail was crude and barely wide enough to accommodate a wagon. Rutted with gulleys and streams, the corners of most cuts in the ground were roughly rounded off by passing traffic. Travel was still difficult.

For an hour, they pushed east, several times squeezing into the brush to yield to a wagon or a larger glut of travelers. Most people, in the custom of the day, declined to comment regarding who they'd seen, but enough identified the burly man holding a child in front of his saddle and his youthful sidekick to tell they were still behind the party—by Kate's calculation, less than a half hour.

A quiet peal of thunder drifted in from the east, although the sun remained bright. Two men on large horses rounded a bend a quarter of a mile ahead. Both stopped, watching warily.

Alarmed, Rose asked, "Do they look like a burly man, black beard and a kid, no hat?" She fished in her overalls bib to have access to the little pistol.

"No, both men around thirty, dirty white Stetsons and covered with brown trail dust."

Kate nudged Sandy forward. Rose followed.

When they met, Kate reined in and held up a hand. "Afternoon, gents, we're following a pair of men who stole my team of horses and kidnapped my baby boy. We know they can't be far ahead. Did they still have my team . . . and my God, my baby?"

The taller man said slowly, "Who the hell are y'all and why you wearin' men's britches?"

Rose blurted, "Cuz they took our day clothes. Only with God's will do we have these awful overalls. Does he have the team or little Johnny with him?"

The man said, "The boy, yes, the horses, no."

Kate said, "Time is of essence."

"Well," said the second man. "That feller with the black beard you're slow trailin' is Hank Holiday. You catch up to him and he'll kill the bof' of y'all outta hand."

Kate said, "We'll hafta be the judge of that, sir. You saying this Holiday man lives nearby?"

The second man said, "Listen, ladies, around the next bend and you're directly behind his place. To get to it proper, y'all gotta circle back a couple miles then find the front drive to the Holiday spread on the road a mile north. Y'all go pushing through the weeds back on this side and them Holiday's will commence shooting' pronto."

Kate asked, "You gonna tell them we were following them?"

The second man laughed. "Hell no, lady, we ain't about to talk to none of them Holidays a'tall."

At that, both men spurred their horses and fled to the west.

"Kate, we need to double back to De Queen and find some of them laws to help us."

"Maybe so, but first I'm gonna have a look around. We waste time lookin' for help and this bunch are most likely to murder little Johnny." She spurred Sandy on westward.

Shortly, the sky darkened, and large drops of rain began falling. They dismounted and Kate pulled a square of oilcloth from her saddle roll. She cut the square into two halves with a Barlow knife, made a slit at the center of each piece and quickly manufactured a makeshift rain poncho. "My hair's still gonna get wet," Rose said as she slipped her head through the center opening.

"Just wear it so you can get that old shotgun outta the scabbard," Kate said. She pointed to a damaged spot in the thick roadside weeds. "Men on horses pushed through here. We'll follow a short distance and try to see what's going on."

"Kate, I don't wanna get shot here."

"Me neither, but we gotta look. We encounter anyone, we just say your pack mule broke loose and ran in here."

Several yards into the brush, at Kate's direction, they tied the horses to a sapling. Kate whispered, "Fresh horse droppings, broken weeds, and tracks of two horses. At least two men on horseback came through here not long ago. Walk quietly. Remember, to fire your shotgun, you gotta pull the hammers back until they catch. You only have two shots. Walk behind me and do not shoot me in the butt."

As Rose nodded, the rainfall increased, and the bark of a small dog drifted through the thicket.

"Kate, no way I can shoot a dog."

"If it saves Johnny, allow me." Kate pushed through the brush. Rose followed fearfully. Ahead of them, a small black and white spotted dog appeared, giving a soft yip or two, then disappearing.

"Rose, you wouldn't have any of that bread in your overalls, by chance?"

Rose found a fist sized chunk. Kate tore it into fours and clicked her tongue. The dog reappeared, watching warily. Kate coaxed for several minutes before it came closer and took a piece from her hand.

"Rose, I think we have a new friend." Rose moved forward. The dog trotted ahead.

In a hundred feet, the outline of a lean-to structure appeared in the rain. Closed on two sides, it was used as a horse stable. A poorly maintained fence ran from each side of the shabby structure to the ends of a small shack, forming a fenced in corral. The dog circled to one side, popped through a missing board, then scrambled back out.

"Rose, hang back. I'm gonna squeeze through that opening. Somebody's been home long enough to build a fire in that shack. Smell it?"

When she rounded the stable, she saw the inside of the building facing the corral and shack was open, allowing anyone who happened to look out of the cabin window to see anyone or anything in the building. In the limited light inside the stable, she counted four horses, including a black gelding and a white mare. The mare hovered thirstily over a small horse tank. Slipping through the loose board where the dog had entered, she climbed inside and strained to see any activity across the corral at the cabin.

Then, she realized with paralyzing horror, that not six feet away, a very large man was brushing the black gelding. She tried to swing her shotgun around, but he was quicker. He bear hugged her to the floor. "Well, by damn, looky whut God sent me. You one fine lookin' little heifer. Whutchou doing in my horse barn?" He smelled like a sick animal.

Double her weight, he fell atop her, ripping at her clothing.

"Rose," she grunted.

He managed to rip loose one of the galluses off her overalls. The small pistol fell against her hand in the mud. She managed to get a grip on it. It was single action, requiring the hammer to be pulled back and cocked to fire it. She was surprised and elated that she managed to cock the pistol with one hand. The little pop of the gun, muffled by the large man's bulk and the sound of rain pounding the flat roof made little sound. Her chance aim had found a sweet spot. The man collapsed, his full weight crushing her.

Kate quickly began to suffocate. Increased struggling only exhausted her further. From beneath her load, she heard the hollow sound as if a stick had struck a dead tree.

Rose raised her shotgun for a second blow. "He's dead, Rose," Kate gasped. "Help me roll him off me."

As the dead weight rolled off, the small dog approached and barked furiously and fiercely at the man's body. "Somebody's been mean to the pup, Rose. I guess that's Hank Holiday. Whoever, he's one stinking dude."

Rose gave Kate an up and down, appraising her thorough coating of mud and horse droppings from the floor.

"My God, Kate, we killed him."

"I killed him, Rose. If they happen to look over here across the corral, they can see us. Try to stand behind a horse as best you can."

Rose slid behind the white mare. "Now what?"

"I'm considering walking across that corral and knocking on the door. Tell 'um we're lost."

"Kate, we just killed one of them. They're gonna be angry."

"Rose, they have four horses. I'd wager three have regular riders, and the fourth is a spare. I'd say that minus the one dead in the stable, there are two more men in the shack. One would be the kid who rode the white mare up here from Shade Gap."

The door of the shack burst open and a hatless, fair-haired young man stepped out. "Uncle Hank," he called out. "I got bacon started. Come eat." He waited, then repeated his call. Then he trotted across the corral toward the stable.

As he stepped under the roof out of the rain, Kate stepped out from her horse shelter and pointed her shotgun at his mid-section. "Walk on in here, young fella and stay out of the light. Make a move or call to your partner in the cabin and I'll cut you in half. Move now, damn you."

He hesitantly stepped into the shadow of the barn. "Don't shoot, lady. Wh . . . who are you?" A handsome young man, his eyes were deep blue—and terrified.

"Head of the posse from Shade Gap. We got twenty more laws coming through the brush behind us."

"Whut is Shade Gap?"

"Town where you murdered the Frisco Railroad clerk and shot our constable this morning."

"Lady, I ain't did that. I rode all night from Dallas with my uncle and brother. Uncle Hank tol' us to stop and he went in and robbed that train station. Didn't see him shoot nobody, but they was plenty of gunfire. My brother dismounted to see what was goin' on. A man wearin' a badge run up, killed my only brother, then Uncle Hank done for him. Hank insisted on kidnapping some little kid for protection against anybody pursuing us, and we rode all day to get here. How'd you women find us?"

"God's will," Kate replied.

"Where's Uncle Hank?"

Kate looked about. Hank Holliday's body was nearly impossible to see in a corner of the barn. "He lit out. He's runnin' through that brush south of this falling down barn. Looks like he abandoned y'all."

"He wouldn't a . . . "

"Is the boy inside . . . little Johnny, that Holiday kidnapped?"

"Yeah, waitin' for some bacon."

"Who else is in the cabin?"

"Uh, my uncle Frederick. And we ain't hurt that kid."

Kate waved her shotgun. "We're walking up there. You knock and tell Uncle Frederick that Hank is sick down at the barn. Soon as you knock, step clear of the door. Put your hands at your side and march, boy."

"Uncle Hank?" the youth called out, voice quavering.

Kate waved the shotgun again. "He's out of ear shot by now, kid. What's your name?"

"Uh, Mason Francis Holiday . . . ma'am. Please don't shoot me."

"You shoot the Railroad man . . . or the constable?"

"Dunno if the docs can tell, but both them men was shot by Uncle with a handgun . . . a .45. Only weapon I had was a little single shot .22 rifle. I ain't shot nobody lady, hand to God."

"How old are you?"

"Un, fourteen, ma'am. Be fifteen next month." He looked uneasily at her shotgun and started toward the shack.

Kate turned back to Rose. "Don't believe he's our shooter."

Rose nodded.

As they stepped onto the rickety porch stoop of the cabin, the dog hopped up and began barking at the door.

"She's a stray," Mason whispered. "Uncle Hank's gonna shoot her this afternoon."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Kate said softly. "Knock, then move."

Mason knocked on the door. Uncle Frederick, irritated at the dog, yanked the door open, brandishing a double-barreled shotgun. He saw Rose first and whirled the gun toward her. Kate let fly with both barrels, the force blowing the man to the floor at room center.

Mason started to run. Rose leveled her weapon. "Run, young man, and I will shoot." Kate dug her pistol out of her pocket.

"Mason, you run and there's somebody else in here, I won't miss at this distance."

Mason turned back. "Only the baby, ma'am."

Kate crossed the room and retrieved little Johnny. "Rose, bring Mason in here."

"Rose, I figure we have about an hour's daylight left. We eat that bacon cookin' over there and get going, we should find our horses and make the main trail by dark. The rain has stopped."

"What about uncle . . . ?" Mason asked.

"We'll send someone back," Kate replied.

"Whut about me?" Mason asked.

Kate said, "Back to Shade Gap where I'm of a mind they'll hang you straight away."

Mason said he didn't want any supper.

After eating, they saddled Mason's white mare and with him leading the animal and carrying Johnny, they began the trek through the brush. The little dog ran frequently ahead and easily found their horses still tethered to a sapling.

They broke onto the main trail well past sunset. Kat reined up and pulled Rose aside. "Rose, we haul this kid back to Shade Gap and they'll hang him for sure . . . like you just said."

Rose looked at her questioningly.

"If he rode away, surely life has a better use for him than a rope."

"Kate . . . what are you thinking?"

"I have a plan and it doesn't include hanging a fourteen year old kid who I think committed no crime." She called out to Mason." Give me Johnny, Mason, and ride away. You have any family at all."

"My mama's sister has a place up thirty miles north of De Queen."

She eyed him sternly. "Look, we're gonna send back a pack of laws. They catch you at or on Uncle Hank's place, you'll hang. No way you can sneak back, understand? Come anywhere close to Shade Gap, they hang you sure as Sunday."

"This mean you ain't gonna hang me?"

"We're not, but them laws will, so stay gone from here."

She dug in her pockets and handed him the small pistol and a silver dollar. "Young man alone might need these. Now git."

Mason quickly disappeared in the gathering darkness.

Rose asked, "What are we gonna tell folks in Shade Gap?"

"Some of that bunch should have joined our posse. When we get home, I'll do the talking. Keep it shut."

Slowed by muddy terrain and darkness, it was mid-morning when the procession arrived back in Shade Gap. A crowd quickly gathered in front of city hall. Injured constable Rufus Jackson hobbled out on a crutch. Kate whispered again, "Quiet, Rose." Then, "Good people of Shade Gap, by none of you joining the pursuit, you'll share our burden of never knowing the identity of the killers. By God's will, we found little Johnny sitting on the side of the road yesterday at sundown. Here he is, alive, well, and full of spirit."

Hans Waggoner, the town undertaker, jeered, "Lady lawmen, how we gonna know you didn't steal the cash from the rail station robbery?"

"Well, Waggoner, if you'd gotten off your cowardly backside and helped chase the bandits, you wouldn't have to ask stupid questions."

Waggoner tried to speak again, but was interrupted by a tall, husky young man in a business suit who pushed through the crowd. Kate recognized him: Wilson Busch, an attorney who had joined a local law firm a month earlier. He spoke in a deep voice. "Any more of that talk and I'll see that these two brave ladies file a lawsuit for slander big enough nobody can handle it. That includes you, too, sir." He glared at the undertaker.

The crowd quickly thinned. Several people approached and congratulated Rose and Kate on their intrepid pursuit.

Rose, still not fully agreeable to deceiving townspeople, said, "Kate, we've deceived our friends."

"Deceived? Friends? The nasty gossips who've spoken ill of your husband abandoning you? The monster who planned the attack, then shot Mr. Miller, then kidnapped little Johnny, then committed God knows what other atrocities, is dead. We could have hauled him back tied on a horse's back and maybe these "Friends" would have hung his body, I suppose."

Rose nodded.

Kate continued, "Young Mason lost his brother, and we've agreed he had no part. That Uncle Frederick tried and failed to murder the both of us is certainly no stain upon us for defending ourselves. Months will pass before anyone musters the courage to go poking around Hank Holiday's spread. Do you think anyone is going to care about what they find? We left the three horses we didn't use, untethered. They'll wander off and surely find a better home than that falling down lean to."

"Well, Kate, I don't think Mason will show up again."

Kate smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours. "And I betcha we don't find hide nor hair of him either, sister."

Rose stepped away to visit with a friend. Lawyer Busch approached Kate. She said, "Well, Mr. Busch, thanks for the support."

"Needed doing. I'm new here, but I already know Waggoner as a damned fool . . . pardon my language."

"No problem, sir. Just thanks again."

He said, visibly uncomfortable. "Madam Mayor, a sensitive question if I may?"

"Speak . . . please."

"Your sister is a very comely and vivacious lady. To be blunt, I wonder if she might be interested in having dinner with me at the Parisian Room in the Hotel Texas one evening soon?"

"You're aware she's gotten some nasty comments because her useless husband left town with a city woman not long ago?"

"Yes, and was reluctant to speak to her."

"Well, Mr. Busch, you need to ask her, not me. She's standing twenty feet away there." She gestured. "She's been up all-night chasing murderers, and is soaking wet, but I bet she'll visit with you."

Rose and Busch were married four months later, any fructus from her husband's behavior quickly disappearing. Kate never saw or heard from Mason Holiday again.