Grace and the Guiltless

Chapter 22

“I said . . . Let. Her. Go.”

The edge to Grace’s voice was as sharp as the blade on her knife.

The man’s bleary eyes raked her body. “What you doing dressed like a blasted injun?”

“Tracking you down,” she snarled. “You killed my parents . . . my whole family. And you’re going to pay.”

His laugh was low and evil. “Ahhh,” he drawled. “Thought I recognized you. You look just like your ma.”

Grace growled, the sound boiling up from deep within. “You keep my ma out of this. Now let that girl go, or I’ll shoot.”

Slaughter sneered. “You talk big, girlie. I don’t know where you got that gun, but a little girl like you don’t know how to use a weapon like that.”

In one swift move, Grace stepped back and whipped out her revolver. “You sure about that?”

Slaughter pulled the girl in front of him, and she whimpered in fright. With his free hand, he grabbed the girl’s hair and wrenched her head back, exposing her neck. He touched the knife blade to the girl’s white skin.

Slaughter chuckled. The evil in his laugh made Grace sick. He turned his narrowed eyes toward Grace. “Drop that gun, or I’ll kill her.”

The girl turned her wide, pleading eyes toward Grace.

Daniel’s eyes would have held the same plea. A plea for mercy. A plea for someone to save him. A plea for life . . .

Sweat trickled down Grace’s forehead and stung her eyes.

He killed Daniel. And he wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.

The knife pressed closer to the girl’s pale throat.

Grace took a breath, and time seemed to stop.

She squeezed the trigger.

As if in slow motion, the bullet left the gun, heading straight toward Slaughter’s forehead like she had learned to aim at a knothole in a cottonwood.

The impact knocked him backward.

His mouth opened in shock for a second, then his arms released the girl as he crumpled to the ground.

The girl stumbled free, crying and gulping for air. “Thank . . . you. Thank . . . you.” Then, crying hysterically, her dress spattered with blood, she fled.

Grace waited for the smoke to clear. She stood over the body, gun pointed at Slaughter’s chest, waiting for him to twitch, to move, to open his eyes.

He lay still.

Grace knelt to see if he was still breathing, and as she did, an eagle feather drifted from her headband and landed on the body. She reached down to retrieve it but stopped.

Perhaps it was fitting to leave it there. Cheis had said the eagle feathers stood for honor — she was defending her family’s honor. She had six feathers: one for every member of the Guiltless Gang.

Grace vowed to pursue justice until a feather rested on each of the gang’s lifeless bodies.

She didn’t know how long she stood there before the sound of boots pounded down the alley.

“I heard a shot. Is everyone all —” The man skidded to a stop at the entrance of the stable.

Grace turned, gun still in hand, to see Reverend Byington.

He stood at the end of the alley with shock in his eyes. “Are . . . are you all right, child?”

Grace wasn’t sure. She couldn’t stop the tremors racking her body. “I — I killed him. I had to. He was going to —” She couldn’t finish.

She wanted revenge, and she got it. But the sense of triumph she expected to feel was buried under the sickness of killing another human being.

Another hand grabbed her shoulder. Grace jerked away and whirled, raising her gun again.

Joe stared at her with shocked eyes. “What . . . what have you done?”