He Came to Redstone to Forget His Past — Then a Dying Sheriff Whispered His Father’s Name
CHAPTER 3
Samuel ordered the outlaws to surrender their weapons.
Crowe refused.
Caleb stood beside him.
Tom stood on the other side.
And Doc Bell leaned against a post, coughing.
“Still charming,” Doc said.
Caleb looked at him.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
Doc smiled.
“I’ve been practicing.”
The Black Spurs laughed.
Crowe stepped forward.
“I don’t want trouble.”
Caleb frowned.
“You brought twenty guns.”
“I brought insurance.”
Samuel raised his badge.
“Last warning.”
Crowe’s hand moved.
Everything happened at once.
Gunfire exploded across the street.
Caleb drew.
Tom fired.
Samuel fired.
Doc moved like a dying man who had suddenly remembered he was supposed to be dangerous.
When the smoke cleared, several outlaws were dead.
Crowe had escaped.
One man remained.
A terrified outlaw named Miles.
Caleb grabbed him.
“Where’s Crowe?”
Miles spat blood.
“You’ll never stop him.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t answer to anyone.”
Miles laughed.
Then whispered:
“Not even himself.”
The outlaws fled.
The town celebrated.
But Caleb wasn’t celebrating.
He had seen something.
The Black Spurs hadn’t fought like ordinary outlaws.
They had moved like soldiers.
Trained.
Organized.
And equipped with military weapons.
Doc noticed.
“You’re thinking too much.”
Caleb looked at him.
“Those guns weren’t stolen from random soldiers.”
“No.”
“Someone supplied them.”
Doc coughed.
“Now you’re thinking.”
That night, Caleb went through the recovered weapons.
One rifle carried an engraving.
R.R.
Caleb recognized it.
Railroad Reserve.
He looked at Samuel.
“Who’s supplying Crowe?”
Samuel shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Then a scream came from outside.
They ran.
Samuel’s house was on fire.
And nailed to the door was a message:
THE MERCER FAMILY SHOULD HAVE LEFT TWENTY YEARS AGO.
