Look around you. I have 40 men. You have what? Yourself and three women? Four people defending their home are worth more than 40 hired guns.
Jake replied, "Home? " Morrison laughed ugly and harsh. "This isn't their home. They're nothing but trash I should have dealt with months ago, just like their [ __ ] mother. " The shot came from the house. Catherine, mild, gentle, Catherine, putting a bullet into the ground inches from Morrison's horse. The animal reared, nearly unseating him.
"The next one goes through your heart," Catherine called out, her voice still. Don't you dare speak of our mother. Morrison fought to control his mount, face purple with rage. You just signed your death warrant, girl. Get off my land, Jake said quietly.
Now, while you still can, Morrison stared at him for a long moment, then wheeled his horse around. 1 hour, Sullivan. 1 hour to reconsider. After that, we're coming, and I'll burn this place to the ground with all of you in it. As Morrison's group retreated, Jake heard horses approaching from the other direction.
His heart lifted as Judge Watson appeared, but fell again when he saw only six men with him. "Six men against 40. It's not much," the judge said apologetically as they dismounted. But these are good men. Tom Bradley, Jim Hawkins, the Coulson brothers, Paul Martinez, and young Billy Chen from the telegraph office.
Jake knew them all by reputation. Honest men, but not gunfighters. Still, they'd come. That counted for something. Obliged to you all, Jake said.
Though I can't promise you'll survive this. Tom Bradley, a gray-bearded farmer, spat tobacco juice. Morrison's been bleeding us dry for years. Time. Someone stood up to him.
They had less than an hour to prepare. Jake positioned the new arrivals strategically. The Coulson brothers in the barn with Rose. Bradley and Hawkins at the side windows. Martinez on the roof of the house with a buffalo rifle.
Billy Chen, barely 18 and trembling, he stationed with extra ammunition, tasked with keeping everyone supplied. Jake, Margaret pulled him aside. This isn't enough. We need to run now while Morrison's waiting. No more running, Jake said firmly.
We make our stand, she searched his face, then nodded slowly. Then we make it count. She surprised him by stretching up to kiss his cheek. You're a good man, Jake Sullivan. My sister chose well.
The hour passed too quickly. As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky blood-red, Morrison's force began to move. They spread out, encircling the ranch, cutting off any escape. "Remember," Jake called out to the defenders. "Make every shot count.