Will Barnett must confront his greatest enemy before Elko goes up in flames…
U.S. Marshal Will Barnett thought he had finally put his past to rest when he captured The Phantom, the notorious outlaw who murdered his mother. But when the Phantom escapes prison, Will is dragged into one last hunt. To save Elko from the Phantom’s wrath, he joins forces with Pauline. She is a determined rancher battling a ruthless gang trying to seize her land. Together, they uncover a terrifying truth: the Phantom’s plans are far more deadly than anyone imagined.
In the harsh and unforgiving West, justice comes at a steep price—and Will and Pauline will have to face their pasts if they hope to survive…
A Few Hours South of Pocatello, Idaho, 1850
“Son, stay close,” Will’s father said. There was an edge to his voice that Will hadn’t heard before; Pop clipped the words, spitting them out as if each one was the last and bitter dreg of chewing tobacco.
“Pop?” Will looked across at the man he idolized and adored. No matter that Josiah Barnett, U.S. Marshal for the newly ceded Idaho territory, could be difficult – even strict – at times. His father sat straight-backed in his saddle, the chestnut mare underneath him snuffing at the air suspiciously.
The blazing Idaho sun beat down mercilessly into the wide canyon that they’d entered—Will, Pop, and the several other caravans coming up behind them. Will had ridden ahead with Pop as the forward scout of their caravan, eager to do the job right and prove to his father that all his training had paid off.
“I don’t like it,” Pop whispered, staring up at the wide path ahead that followed the natural curve of the canyon. He turned to cast a look back at the caravans pulling up the rear. The walls of the canyon weren’t sheer, but they were high and speckled with ancient sage trees and other, spindly bush trees. The rocks were a deep, burnt umber that Will knew, even at eighteen, meant they must contain iron.
Pop had said that there shouldn’t be any trouble on this route, which was why he’d chosen it for them—him, Will, and Ma. It was, after all, always safer to travel in groups. And this was a route that U.S. Marshal Josiah Barnett rode regularly. It was short, only a few hours between the nearest garrison and the town of Pocatello itself, which was why the mail, bank, and personal carriages were also traveling here.
And Pops’ knowledge of the trail was probably how he knew when something was wrong.
“Will – down!” Josiah hissed, just as there was a flash of light and a thundering snarl from the bushes around them. It was the unmistakable report of gunfire. Figures leapt from the bushes and rocks around them.
“Son!” Will heard Pops gasp as he tried to turn his own horse around, slinging his rifle forward to take aim. Will caught a glimpse of a figure right ahead of him, dressed in heavy canvas poncho and kerchief, jumping up to grab the reins of his horse. Pops was similarly surrounded, but he pulled tight on his reins, forcing his horse to wheel and rear, striking out at one of the bandits threatening him.
Will tried to do the same, leaning and pulling back, but his horse wasn’t as calm or as trained as Pops’. It skittered to one side, pulling Will straight into the jumping arms of the nearest bandit as the man snatched at his belt and rifle, pulling Will towards him.
Will yelled, managing to get one good punch in before another trio of gun shots echoed out. Suddenly, he was being dragged to the floor, and his rifle was yanked from him and a revolver pressed into his cheek.
Pops! Where’s Pops? Will tried to squirm, but there was a second man kneeling on his legs. He snarled through gritted teeth, keenly aware of the barrel of the revolver pressed hard into his cheekbone. He could see the dark dirt of the canyon floor and the boots of the bandits that surrounded him. In the distance, there was another huddle of people…and the unmistakable flash of his father’s blue kerchief.
“Pops!” Will yelled.
His father was on the ground. Legs flashed by, shifting, running, and Will got a glimpse of Pops’ face. He was completely slumped over. There was an ugly red gash on his head, and his eyes were closed.
“What have you done to him? Get off him!” Will cried. He tried to struggle again, but the weight on top of him doubled down, and he was flipped onto his back by rough hands. Blinded by the sun, he blinked back tears, and then a shadow eclipsed him.
A man was looking down at him. A younger man, who couldn’t have been more than a handful of years older than him, with dark brown hair and light hazel eyes. He pulled down the deep green bandanna from the lower half of his face to reveal a flat, calculating smile.
“Who are you? Let us go!” Will snarled.
But the bandit on top of him only jammed the revolver harder into his cheek. “Should I do it, boss? Annoying little tyke anyway–” he clamored, almost eagerly.
The man standing over him was clearly the bandit leader. Will saw him reach up to scratch at his hair line, and realized with a shock that the little finger on the leader’s right hand ended at the first knuckle, and the stump of the finger was angry and red.
The leader’s eyes flashed over Will’s face, and Will saw no sign of compassion in them. To him, I’m about as significant as the pebbles beside my head.
Then the leader shrugged, shaking his head as he turned. “We know what we came for, lads,” he said, whistling to the others as he strode towards where all the carriages had stalled.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will could see that now all of the stilled vehicles were surrounded by a ring of more bandits, every one of them pointing revolvers or rifles up at the drivers. A shudder ran down his spine. This isn’t some random theft. This had been planned and thought out, with some people jumping the scouts – Will and Pops – right as the rest of the crew surrounded the carriages.
A new wave of panic tore through Will.
Mom.
As if summoned by his panic, the door to the carriage burst open, and there was his mother, her blonde hair flying free from her bun, jumping down onto the dirt as the drivers of the other carriages yelled at her to stop.
“Josiah!” she yelled, racing forwards fearlessly, heedless of the armed men.
Will didn’t see the young bandit leader react, but he heard the sharp report of the revolver.
Time slowed to a stop. One moment the bandit leader had been out of Will’s eyesight, and the next he was standing with his arm outstretched, aiming directly at the carriages, smoke rising from the barrel of his gun. Will’s eyes followed the inevitable line of fate as his mother dropped to the ground, stilled.
“NO!” he screamed, thrashing wildly. He kicked at the bandit holding him by the legs, but another one leapt on him, slamming the butt of a revolver so hard against Will’s temple that he saw stars.
Everything became a blur. They were pummeling him, landing blows on the small of his back, his ribs, his head. There were shrill screams, shouting voices, more gunshots.
Time flowed strangely, coming in fits and bursts. Will gasped through the pain. He could see that the bandits had dragged people out of the wagons, and their belongings were now scattered over the canyon floor. The door to the bank carriage had been opened.
He tried to move, but every time he did, he was kicked and the weight grew heavier on his legs and arms.
He must have blacked out. He could taste blood in his mouth; everything was hurting, and then…
It was over. There were victorious, savage hoots as the bandits jumped on the stolen carriage horses and began riding off further up the canyon as fast as their mounts could carry them.
“Mom? Pops?” Will groaned in pain, pushing himself to rise as the sounds of sobs and fearful voices echoed off the canyon walls around them. He saw Pops being helped to his feet by some of the mail staff, pushing them away as blood ran freely down the side of his head. He staggered over to his fallen wife.
Mom. They killed Mom.
Will’s mind was in a numb haze. How could this happen so suddenly? So quickly? Other friendly hands were grabbing him by the shoulders and helping him rise… but inside, it was like his heart had already stopped.
He felt cold. Not afraid, and not sad, just… terribly cold.
Not they – he. The thought was hammering in his skull, over and over, constant as a heartbeat. The one with the missing finger. He’d killed Mom.
In that moment, Will knew that whatever fate might come, he would find the man with the missing finger, and he would have his revenge.
Truckee River, Nevada, 1870
“Marshal? Sir?”
Will didn’t even bother to turn to face Garry Larkin, his young deputy. They were both crouching behind an outcrop of rocks, overlooking a small corpse with the Truckee River running through it. It was autumn, and although the tall, conical pine trees were still wearing their perennial green habit, the silver birches had turned a golden yellow, as their trunks stayed an isolated, shocking white.
It would almost be a peaceful scene, if it wasn’t for everything that had brought them here. Two weeks of hard riding; then dealing with an ambush outside the township of Silver Springs; and after that a shootout trying to stop Will’s posse from coming into Clark.
But now… down there somewhere was his quarry, and he was darn certain he was going to flush them out. He kept his eyes fixed on the mixed scrub of pine and birch down near the water’s edge.
The Phantom knew that legendary U.S. Marshal Will Barnett was onto him, and Barnett never gave up on the hunt. He always got his man.
“Marshal? It’s going to be getting late. We could move onto the Patrick railway station and head him off there. He’s bound to be making for the trains—”
Will let out a small, exasperated breath, and his twenty-year reputation was strong enough to ensure that the deputy fell immediately silent.
He knew why the young and fresh-faced deputy thought that was a better idea that holding out here in the back of beyond all night. Hell, it was even an idea that Will himself would have suggested once. Patrick was nothing more than a rail yard put in at the bright suggestion of one of the big cattle ranchers from around here, and it brought in labor and a whole lot of wealth. There were a lot of people who moved through the station, stopping off to get work as a teamster or moving on towards Reno and Virginia City if they were gripped by the silver and gold fever that seemed to possess this half of the United States.
A lot of people meant a lot of opportunities for the Phantom to disappear, hop a freight heading west or east, and end up a hundred miles away before Marshal Barnett had ever figured out what was happening.
But I’ve come too close to give up now! A flare of crimson anger burned through Will, and then disappeared in a flash. No. That was not how this was going to get done. He forced the rage down with practiced control and replaced it with the cold – the implacable, unfeeling space he’d trained himself to summon the thing that had made him such a dedicated U.S. Marshal over the last twenty years.
The Phantom was down there in that thicket. Will knew he was. He could feel it. He and his posse had driven the Phantom out of Silver Springs, and they had driven him out of Clark, too, and Will could read the signs of a panicked man. The fresh trail ahead of him was sloppy, with broken twigs and slight indentations on the mossy ground. It meant that the criminal ahead was rushed and wounded.
The Phantom. Called so because of his habit of disappearing like a ghost after a successful raid. And now he was finally on his own. The Phantom rarely held a posse together for long. He formed them seemingly overnight, arriving in a new place and gathering a group of deserters or hardened criminals expressly to get one particular job done. He would hit a mail coach or a weapons caravan and then flee, leaving his cronies behind.
He was smart, Will had to grant him that. He disbanded every posse after the job, and no one ever seemed to know his real name or much about him. Even when Will had tracked down and rounded up almost the Phantom’s entire team outside Eureka, he’d had learned that no one knew where their ringleader had come from, or where he might return to.
The only consistent detail was this: the Phantom had a mutilated little finger on his right hand.
When Will concentrated, he swore that he could almost sense the invisible, terrible thread that bonded him and the Phantom together. It was some kind of fate – or tragedy, perhaps – that told him that this was the day all his years of searching would finally come to an end.
Would I ever have become a lawman if it hadn’t been for Mom’s murder? Would he ever have forced himself to become a U.S. Marshal at a time when the country was tearing itself apart in a Civil War, if he hadn’t been so obsessed with tracking down people like this man, the kind of people who did such horrific, callous things?
Will Barnett didn’t have the answers to these questions, but he figured he probably knew the Phantom better than even the outlaw’s own crews – no, definitely better than them. He knew the outlaw’s strategies inside and out. He’d seen him pull the same tricks again and again and again across the western Territories.
“Get the others,” Will muttered to his deputy. “Head off to the far side of the copse. He’s not going to throw himself in the river, so his only route is through you—”
Or through me. But Will didn’t say that aloud. He waited as Garry looked up puzzled at the slowly graying skies with his clear, bright blue eyes, and then rose silently and padded around the edge of the rocks.
Will waited, his eyes boring into the woods as his plan started to unfold before him. The deputies, including Garry, and a younger marshal cut across the escarpment to the far side of the copse. Then, just as Will expected, they were easier to spot than one lone man. He waited until they had passed out of sight before he ducked forward, making for the next tree, and then the next boulder.
It was just like a flushing game, wasn’t it? In a strange way, Will Barnett actually respected the Phantom, in the same way one might respect the killing power of a wolf or a bear that appeared unexpectedly in the wilderness. Cornered animals were dangerous, but Will was offering the Phantom an “out.” All you have to do is deal with me and me alone, buddy. And he’d bet good money that the Phantom would take it.
Will had almost reached the edge of the trees when he heard the first crack of a twig, right near the edge of the fast-flowing river, where the bushes and weeds grew high.
No you don’t! A wave of fury rushed through Will, so strong that he almost lost his footing. You’re gonna pay for what you did to my family.
Pops was now a ruined man, his heart broken, barely able to leave his cabin…
“Hss!”
There was an intake of breath – not ahead of Will by the water’s edge, but at his right, where the trees became a thicket. Will turned around just in time to see the shape leap out at him, revolver muzzle flashing.
Deafened by the explosive shot, Will didn’t even have time to take aim before the full weight of the Phantom’s body slammed against his chest. He wasn’t in agony – the Phantom’s quickfire shot must have missed – but now he was sprawling backwards, right through the reeds and shrubs towards the frothy, fast-flowing Truckee rapids...
Will was slipping too fast. The Phantom was a heavy weight on top of him. He snarled, dropping his revolver so that he could grab the Phantom’s arms instead, and pulled the man with him.
Hitting the surface of the water was like getting kicked in the back. Suddenly, Will was freezing, and he found himself tumbling through white spray, being turned over as he was completely submerged, with the Phantom still struggling on top of him.
They struggled, and Will kicked out at the stony floor of the river as he threw himself upwards. He managed to get into a half-crouch, still waist-deep in water, breathing God’s honest air, as the Phantom squirmed and lashed out at him with every limb.
Pain ripped through one of Will’s calves and he felt himself going down, but he doubled his grip on the Phantom. He killed Mom!
Both men slammed into the water again, and the fast current of the Truckee took them once more, threatening to tear the Phantom out of Will’s death grip. Will was completely submerged. Which way is up—? He felt fists and knees and feet pummel at his chest, and his grip started to slip. The man he’d spent his whole life searching for was getting away!
The something hit Will’s back, and he suddenly stopped spinning through the water. They’d been caught be a stand of boulders in the full flow of the Truckee river.
The Phantom’s weight crashed into his chest again, and he grappled him fiercely. No. Not this time. Not ever again!
Will’s mind flooded with memories of the first day he’d set eyes on his nemesis… Mom, crumpling to the ground. The Phantom’s cool, nonchalant shrug as he gave as much passing thought to the murder as someone might give to the crushing of an ant.
Will’s fury, unleashed from its prison of cold, gave him new strength as he pulled one fist free and struck the Phantom on his cheek. Then he clamped his other hand around the bandit’s throat, forcing him down between the crevice in the river rocks under the water.
Never again. You’ll never hurt anyone ever again! Will acted out of pure emotion. He hardly knew if he intended to kill the man or just scare him, but there was a terrible rightness to the moment. My whole life has led to this. That day in the canyon. Mom…
Will had his hands around the Phantom’s neck. He felt the Phantom’s body jerking sporadically, going limp.
“Sir!”
Suddenly, Will felt like he was surfacing from his own personal river. The sounds of the outside world were breaking through. Garry and the other deputies had arrived; they were crowding around the nearest riverbank.
In a moment of clarity, Will realized what he had been about to do. No!
That wasn’t how he wanted to end this.
He hauled the Phantom out of the river and thumped him against the rock, slapping him roughly. The bandit spluttered and coughed weakly, gasping for breath as Will snatched his lapels and leaned in close. “I am no killer. Not like you. I won’t let you turn me into what you are!” he hissed into the Phantom’s ear, shaking him.
The bandit’s eyes were rolling as he gasped for air.
“Sir? Give us your hand!” Garry was shouting.
“Do you even know who I am?” Will spat coldly, staring into the Phantom’s face. But the bandit only stared back at him in confusion.
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