He stepped forward into the circle, boots grinding in the dirt. The noise dimmed as heads turned. His revolver hung at his hip, worn from years of use. He didn't boast, didn't speak to the sheriff or the crowd. He just unholstered the weapon, checked the chamber once with practice calm, and leveled it at the apple.
The street went silent. Ayoka held her breath, her knees weak, but locked in place. She thought of running, but there was nowhere to go. She stared straight ahead, certain the bullet would split her skull. She thought of her family, lost years ago, of the tribe that had cast her out when hunger and sickness drove her to steal.
Shame mixed with terror, and she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. Clint's eyes narrowed. He shut out the crowd, shut out the jeers, focused only on the apple. His finger rested light on the trigger. In his chest, he felt the old familiar calm, the same steadiness he had used as a scout when his survival depended on one clean shot.
He didn't want a prize. He only wanted to end this farce without spilling her blood. The gun cracked, sharp as thunder. The apple exploded, both halves tumbling to the dirt. The echo carried down the street, then silence for a heartbeat.
No one moved. Then the crowd erupted. Cheers, curses, laughter, shouts of disbelief. The sheriff slapped his knee, grinning wide. She's yours, Morgan.
By right of the shot, she's yours. The men around him hooted and clapped. Clint lowered the revolver, slid it back into his holster. He walked straight to the woman. She flinched when his hand went to his belt, thinking he meant to grab her, but he only drew his knife.
With one quick slice, he cut through the ropes at her wrists. The cord fell, leaving angry red marks across her skin. She flexed her hands once, almost in disbelief. Clint didn't look at the sheriff or the crowd. He placed a hand on her arm, steady, but not rough.
Come on, he said quietly. Ayoka blinked at him, not fully understanding, but her legs carried her forward when he began to move. The crowd shouted after them, some mocking, some angry, a few laughing at the idea of Clint dragging home an Indian woman. None of them stopped him. Clint's heart thudded heavy as they passed the last building at the edge of town.
He knew he had just made himself a target. Men didn't forget when you embarrassed them in front of their neighbors. Still, he didn't turn back. He only walked. The woman keeping pace beside him, her steps uneven, but determined.