Wyatt's finger moved to the trigger guard. Not inside yet, but close. Harlo raised a hand, still grinning. Easy, Davis. No need to get hasty.
I'm trying to be reasonable here. He turned back to Wyatt. How about this? You hand over the girl, we pay you for your trouble. Say $50.
That's more than fair for a few weeks of room and board. "She's not for sale." "Everything's for sale, friend. Just a matter of price." "I'm not your friend," Wyatt said.
And the price for her is more than you got. Now turn around and ride out before this gets ugly. Harlo's smile finally faded. "You're making a mistake, old man. There's six of us and one of you."
"Two." Ayla's voice rang out from inside the cabin, clear and strong, despite the tremor underneath. The barrel of the Winchester appeared in the window, aimed squarely at Harlo's chest. Harlo's eyes flicked toward the window, then back to Wyatt. "Two, then.
Still bad odds." "Maybe," Wyatt said. "But I'll make sure you're the first to go down. That a bet you want to take?" The yard went silent except for the wind and the nervous stamping of horses.
Wyatt watched Harlo's face, watched the calculation happening behind his eyes. Men like him were used to people backing down, used to getting their way through intimidation and numbers, but every now and then they ran into someone who wouldn't fold, someone too stubborn or too principled or just too tired to care about the consequences. Wyatt was all three. "You know what your problem is, Mercer?" Harlo said finally.
You think you're some kind of hero standing up for the weak, protecting the helpless. But all you're doing is prolonging the inevitable. She's coming with us today, tomorrow, next week. Doesn't matter. We'll keep coming back until we get what we want.
"Then I guess you'll keep getting disappointed," Wyatt said. Cade shifted in his saddle, his hand drifting toward his pistol. "Let me put a bullet in him, Harlo. We're wasting time." "You draw that gun," Wyatt said, his eyes locked on Cade, "and you better make sure the first shot kills me.
Because if it doesn't, I'll put you in the ground before you get off a second." Cade's hand froze. Harlo laughed, but it sounded forced. "You got brass. I'll give you that.
But brass won't stop six bullets." "Won't have to stop six," Wyatt said. "Just one. Yours." The standoff stretched out, seconds bleeding into minutes.
Wyatt's arms were starting to ache from holding the rifle ready, but he didn't lower it, didn't even blink. He could feel sweat trickling down his spine despite the cold. Could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Behind him, through the open door, he heard Ayla's breathing quick and shallow. "This is your last chance," Harlo said.
"Walk away. Let us take what's ours, and we'll forget this ever happened." "No? You're willing to die for some woman you barely know?" "I'm willing to die for what's right," Wyatt said.