Jack Marston is at a low point in his life. His family is dead, Beecher's Hope is in ruins, and he has nothing left to live for. Most days he spends so drunk he can barely remember anything, he kills and robs people at will, and there isn't an ounce...
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"Fuck," Jack cursed as the figures on the rise reined their horses to the side and made for the front gate. They'd noticed that Jack had seen them, and they intended to start their attack now.
"Fordham!" he shouted, slamming open the barn doors.
"Christ, Jack, what's wrong?!" asked Fordham in alarm. It appeared he'd just pulled his antelope from his horse's back and was preparing to carry it into the house.
"Drop the carcass and grab your gun," Jack ordered. "We got company."
"Mario?" Fordham guessed, immediately dumping the thing to the ground and reaching for his rifle from the holster on his horse's saddle.
"Looks like it," Jack grunted. "There were at least eight men on horseback that I counted, and they know I know they're here. I think you and I are gonna be fighting our way out of this barn."
"Where's Vivian?" Fordham asked, his eyes wide with fright. "Is she safe?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah. She's inside with the rest of the girls. They all got guns, and I think they're ready for a fight."
"I swear that bunch of women will outlive us all. The whole lot of them are as tough as nails."
"Tell me about it," Jack grunted. "You ready?"
Fordham nodded. "Of course. I'll fight for you until my last breath, kid. It's the least I can do, since I can never repay what I did to your father."
Jack stopped for a moment and thought. Fordham was willing to die for him just to make amends for what happened to Pa. If Jack really thought about it, though, it wasn't really Fordham's fault. He just blamed himself for the sins of Edgar Ross, and Jack had been unwilling to forgive him out of sheer bitterness. Fordham, for all his faults, was not a bad man. He was certainly a better one than both Jack and Pa combined, and this whole time, Jack had been using him as a scapegoat for his anger and depression. Fordham gave him something to hate, but it wasn't his fault. Not really.
He sighed and turned to the man. "Fordham, I forgive you," he said in a quiet but strong voice.
"What?"
"There's a chance we might die today, and I just want you to know that I forgive you for all that business with my father. You're a good man, nothing like Edgar Ross, and you've done right by me and Eva. I forgive you."
Fordham paused, nodding slightly with his lower lip protruding a bit as though he were dumbfounded. "I... Thanks, Jack."
"Uh huh," Jack replied.
A clattering of hooves outside the barn tore Jack's attention away from the moment, and he sighed in annoyance. They'd taken too long on emotional things, and now the riders were outside, blocking them in the barn, just as the Army had trapped Pa all those years ago. Ordinarily, Jack would have been an anxious wreck at the idea of a memory so triggering, but as it was, he thought he finally understood Pa's serene attitude that day perfectly.
