He's worried about appearances now. This isn't just about hunting you anymore. It's about his reputation, his control. Doc Harmon nodded. Make him look weak.
Others might start standing up to him. He can't have that. The hour passed slowly. Jake stationed everyone at key positions. Margaret at the back of the house.
Rose in the barn loft with a clear view of the approaches. Catherine with Doc Harmon in the main room. Jake himself took the front where he could see Morrison's forces gathering on a ridge about a quarter-mile away. "Jesus," Doc Harmon breathed, peering through the window. "Must be 40 men at least.
38," Jake corrected, having counted twice. "Plus Morrison himself. See him there on the black stallion. " Even at this distance, Harrison Morrison cut an imposing figure, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing expensive clothes that marked him as a man of means. He sat his horse like a general surveying a battlefield. "Here they come," Rose called from the barn.
But Morrison didn't charge. Instead, a group of about 12 men peeled off, approaching slowly. They stopped just outside rifle range, and Morrison himself rode forward with two guards. Sullivan, he called out, his voice carrying clearly. I'm a reasonable man.
Let's discuss this like civilized people. Jake stepped onto the porch, rifle prominent. Nothing civilized about hunting women across the territory. They're thieves and murderers, Morrison said smoothly. They killed my foremen, stole money and horses.
The law demands justice. Whose law? Jake challenged. yours. The law you bought and paid for. Morrison's face darkened.
Careful, Sullivan. You're harboring fugitives. That makes you complicit in their crimes. Only crime I see is a man who beats women to death and calls it his right. Jake said loudly, making sure his voice carried to Morrison's men.
Tell them about Mrs. Cooper Morrison. Tell them how she died. Lies spread by desperate criminals. Morrison snarled.
Produce these women and you might survive this. Movement caught Jake's eye. Rose visible now in the barn loft window. Rifle aimed directly at Morrison. The man's guards tensed, hands moving to weapons.
I'd tell your men to keep their hands clear. Jake warned. My people are excellent shots. Morrison's eyes flicked to the barn, taking in Rose's position, then scanning for others. You can't win this, Sullivan.