They wore long dusters and rode tall, fresh horses. At the lead was Marcus Thorne, the lawyer from Cheyenne. And beside him, wearing a badge that caught the white sunlight, was a federal marshall. But it wasn't just them. Behind the law men rode a dozen men from Red Rock, the blacksmith, the owner of the livery stable, men who had stood silent for months.
They held shotguns and hunting rifles, and their barrels were pointed at Pike's mercenaries. Drop your weapons. The marshall bellowed. His voice was like iron. By order of the United States District Court, Sheriff Miller looked at Pike.
Then at the marshall, he dropped his gun in the dirt. One by one, the hired guns lowered their rifles. They were paid to fight farmers, not feds. Pike sat on his horse, his face a mask of purple rage. He was alone in the center of the yard, stripped of his army.
Eli kicked the barricade away from the door. He threw the bolt and stepped out onto the porch, his rifle in hand. Clara followed him, stepping into the biting cold. "It is over, Pike," Eli said. Thorne rode forward, waving a sheath of papers.
Judge Athetherton signed the order this morning. Pike, your assets are frozen, pending a federal investigation into racketeering, land fraud, and murder. The witness you thought you scared off. Molly, she didn't run. She came to my office last night.
Pike looked at Thorne, then at Eli. His eyes were the eyes of a trapped wolf. Wild, yellow, and devoid of reason. You think a piece of paper stops me? Pike snarled.
I built this valley. I own this earth. He reached into his saddle bag. He didn't pull a gun. He pulled a glass bottle with a rag stuffed in the neck.
Kerosene. He struck a match on his saddle horn. If I cannot have it, Pike screamed. No one will. He hurled the bottle.
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 towns folk to escape. "Stop him! " the marshall shouted. But Eli was focused on the barn.