Jagged lightning speared through the black clouds that were stampeding their way across the face of the moon, flickering torches that kept the darkness at bay. Sheriff Tom Gage stumbled as he stepped out of the Silver Lady Saloon to make his evening rounds. Righting himself, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed. He'd worked too hard to gain a position of trust in this town to lose it because of a few drinks.

The wind picked up, spewing out dust devils and riding them hard down the street in front of him. But it was the creak of saddle leather and the clink of a bridle that caught Tom's ear and drew his gaze toward the horse and rider easing their way into town.

Frank Martin sat tall in the saddle, hat pulled low over his eyes. Lightning shimmered on the horizon as he reined in his horse. Dismounting, he turned to face the sheriff.

"Howdy, Tom," he said.

"Frank."

"I didn't expect a welcoming committee."

"There ain't no welcome here for you."

"That a fact?" A stray moonbeam flashed on the silver star pinned to Tom's vest. Frank nodded towards the badge. "Well, that'll make things easier for you, won't it?"

"Folks here in Rim Rock got long memories. They ain't gonna want you here."

"Hell, Tom, it ain't them you're worried about. You don't want me here because you're afraid I'll tell them what you done. That must scare the hell out of you."

"I ain't afraid of you, Frank."

Thunder rumbled down the mountains as Tom thought about it. "No, I expect not. It's the truth about that night and your part in it that's got you running scared. Ten years ago I couldn't figure why you wanted them to string me up without even the courtesy of a trial. But when you sweet-talked Sally into marriage all the pieces fell together and I knew for certain who robbed the bank and stashed the money in my saddlebags. Did you hate me that much?"

"Of course I hated you. We had the same old man, 'cept you were born up there in the high country in that big old ranch house and I was the bastard seed he planted in a squaw one drunken night out behind the saloon. He brought me out to the ranch to live, right enough, but he treated me like a hired man instead of his own son. I deserved better."

"Pa was wrong to treat you like he did, but that didn't give you the right to lay his blame on me. I never treated you like anything other than a brother."

"Yeah, the brother who didn't deserve Sally. Once you stepped between us, her old man wanted you for his son-in-law, not the bastard half-breed."

"You got her in the end though, didn't you? And with me in prison, Pa changed horses and gave you the ranch. One thing I learned in prison, Tom, is that a man don't live easy with a load of guilt strapped to his conscience. I expect yours is weighting pretty heavy right about now."

Tom's hand slipped down towards his gun.

"Ease off, Tom, I'm not here looking for revenge. I just want to go home."

"Home? You ain't got a home, nor any family waiting to welcome you back. There's nothing left for you here and I want you gone."

"All I want is a chunk of ground up on the mountain. Just a quiet place to lay my head. Ten years of my life should have paid for that much."

"I can't do that, Frank."

"Sure you can, Tom. All you've gotta do is step out of the street. Go on home to your wife and kids and let me rest in peace."

"I can't"

"Can't or won't?"

"Won't"

They faced each other, both men easing the folds of their coats behind their gun butts. Blood brothers, bitter enemies. The rain broke as their pistols flashed in the night.

Frank holstered his gun, remounted, and nudged his tired horse toward the welcoming mountains as men exploded into the street from the Silver Lady.

"What happened?"

"The sheriff's been shot."

Jess Cole, Tom's deputy, waded through the crowd shouting, "Break it up. Clear out of the way."

"I'll wager it was Frank Martin shot the sheriff," shouted someone in the crowd.

"I'll take that wager," shouted another.

"That's impossible. The sheriff got a wire from the prison warden this morning. Frank Martin's dead. He died in his cell about an hour before he was due to be released. His body's coming in on the midnight train." Jess rolled Tom's body over looking for wounds. "There's no blood here. He's not shot."

"But we heard shooting."

Jess picked up Tom's gun and checked the cylinder. "He's fired two shots, but he must've been shooting at ghosts. From the smell of whiskey, I'd guess Tom had a drink too many, fired off a couple of shots, then keeled over dead from a heart attack. Sure is strange though, both brothers dying on the same day."

-END-

Copyright © 2009 by Sandra Seamans