It did not hit the house. It sailed over Eli's head and smashed against the dry-weathered wood of the barn. The explosion of flame was instant. The dry timber seasoned by decades of wind and sun, caught like paper. A wall of fire roared up the side of the structure.
"The horses! " Clara screamed. The barn doors were closed. The animals were trapped inside. Eli did not hesitate. He handed his rifle to Clara and ran toward the burning building.
"Eli, no! " Clara cried, but he was already moving. Pike laughed, a high, thin sound. He spurred his horse, trying to break through the line of townsfolk to escape. "Stop him! " the marshal shouted. But Eli was focused on the barn.
He reached the doors, the heat blistering his skin. He threw the latch and heaved the doors open, smoke billowed out, black and choking. The horses, terrified and screaming, bolted out of the inferno, nearly trampling him. Eli dove to the side, rolling in the dirt. The fire had climbed to the loft.
The roof groaned. Eli scrambled up. He looked back at the yard. Pike had not escaped. His horse had reared at the sudden roar of the fire, throwing him.
He was scrambling in the dust, trying to reach his dropped pistol. Eli walked toward him. He did not run. He walked with a terrifying, slow purpose. The heat of the burning barn was at his back, casting a long dancing shadow before him.
Pike grabbed the gun. He rolled onto his back, aiming at Eli. "Stop! " the marshal shouted, raising his rifle, but Eli was closer. He reached Pike before the man could fire. He kicked the gun out of Pike's hand.
The pistol spun away into the weeds. Eli reached down and grabbed Pike by the lapels of his expensive coat. He hauled the older man to his feet as if he were made of straw. Eli pulled back his fist. Every instinct in his blood, every memory of his father's rage, screamed at him to strike, to smash this man's face until it was nothing but ruin.
To kill the threat. Pike flinched, closing his eyes, waiting for the blow. Eli held the fist in the air. His arm trembled. The veins in his neck stood out like cords.
The fire roared behind him, consuming the labor of his life, the barn his father built. Eli looked at Pike's pathetic, fear-wisted face. He looked at the marshal. He looked at Clara, who stood on the porch, her hands pressed to her mouth. Eli lowered his hand.
He shoved Pike backward hard. Pike stumbled and fell into the dirt at the marshal's feet. "I am not you," Eli said. His voice was quiet, but in the sudden silence of the yard, everyone heard it. I do not kill for pride.