Yesterday

People knew he had demons.

He never spoke of them and people learned quickly he did not like being asked about them. They saw him in town occasionally, riding his soot coloured gelding, with steely blue eyes always looking ahead but somehow aware of everything around him. At first appearance, he looked no older than twenty-five. He was tall, lean; handsome to a fault but could never be considered pretty, with a coldness that kept people away. Those who were the recipients of his high-powered gaze were often unsettled by what they saw. He had old eyes.

They knew Chris Larabee was dangerous. They just did not know why.

Only one person in town knew him with any intimacy and that was a young farm hand at the Blesdoe Ranch. Their personalities contrasted like night and day. Buck Wilmington was loud, confident to the point of arrogance and had a reputation as ladies' man as most of the local girls could attest. When Buck was with Chris, the differences between them seemed more pronounced. Yet the friendship was constant, its roots deep and strong.

Unlike Buck, Chris was not loud. He rarely spoke but when he did, he was always polite. He tipped his hat to the ladies and did not indulge in hard carousing. When he was not with Buck Wilmington, he was usually hidden in a darkened corner of the saloon, drinking alone. Women gossiped behind his back, intrigued by what he was. Some approached him, but he showed little interest. In turn, men viewed him caution. Although he had yet to draw a weapon on any of them, he was believed to be a gunslinger. He just had the look about him.

Nevertheless, a year after his first appearance in town, Chris remained as much a mystery. They did not know how he earned his living but noticed he was never without money, even if his income was modest. Thus, it was a complete surprise to the townsfolk when it became known that Chris Larabee had taken a job as a ranch hand at the sprawling Westbrook property called Haven. He never seemed the type to work on a farm, even one as large as the Westbrook homestead. However, James Westbrook was known to pay his men well. For someone who might be considering settling down, it was a good a point as any to establish more permanent roots.


Chris Larabee watched the family closely.

There were seven of them. James Westbrook who ran the town likes he ran his property, his wife Eloise, two daughters Lucy and Rebecca and three sons, Isaac, Timothy and Damien who also lived on the homestead. Although he was one of only a small number of workers on the ranch, Chris was careful to stay out of sight. The other ranch hands did not like him much but that suited Chris fine. He was not there to make friends. He kept a close eye on the family, watching their movements like a cat studying the mouse before attack, committing everything to memory. If he should fail when he finally made his move, it was not going to be due to any lack of preparation.

Although he was careful to study all of them, it was only Damien Westbrook who had Chris' undivided attention. The youngest of the entire clan, Damien was in ownership of a mean streak known to most of the young women in town. The more respectable ones would not speak of the abuses they received at his hands, but Chris kept his ears open and knew the look of those who had suffered. Damien liked his sex rough and did not discriminate on whom he chose as his partner once the desire took him.

Every now and then a working girl would turn up dead, battered to death. Sheriff Barlow who was bought and paid for by James Westbrook paid it little mind. There was not even the formality of an investigation. No one in town had any doubt as to the identity of perpetrator of the crime but it was not wise to make mention of it. Those foolish enough to protest, usually an outraged father or relative, wound up dead.

Had Damien chose to keep his activities within the sphere of his father's influence, it was entirely possible he could have continued his sadistic pleasures for years to come. In Crest Falls where James Westbrook ruled supreme, Damien was safely protected from the law. Threats or monetary gifts to the victims or their families usually put an end to any recrimination after Damien's excesses. But it was only a matter of time there would be a victim Westbrook could not buy or threaten into submission.

Bitter Creek was more than a day's ride from Crest Falls and it was a large town with a duly appointed Sheriff who took the law just as seriously as the safety of its citizenry. When the daughter of the local postmaster was raped and murdered after a dance, those present at the function identified Damien as her escort for most of the evening. He had been in Bitter Creek to see about buying a new horse and decided to stay for a few days. By the time the girl's body had been discovered, Damien had wisely returned to the safety of Crest Falls but this time old man Westbrook's influence could not pacify the girl's enraged family. Warrants were issued, and Sheriff Allen journeyed to Crest Falls to arrest the boy.

He never returned.

Since then, numerous lawmen were sent out to retrieve the boy and to date, none of them succeeded. James Westbrook allowed no one to take his son and the men he employed to protect the boy, made it a certainty. The warrant on Damien Westbrook was left outstanding. With each fresh attempt and eventual failure to apprehend him, the bounty on the boy's head rose steadily. A thousand dollars was not a king's ransom for a bounty, but it could buy a nice parcel of land somewhere.

It was a bounty Chris Larabee intended to collect.

Chris spent a month on the Westbrook homestead, waiting like a coiled serpent for the perfect time to make Damien accountable for what he had done. There were other reasons at work for his motivation, the least of it being money. He had personal reasons that included a self-righteous moral code wishing to see justice done. He was never more dangerous when he believed in something.


Christmas Eve was a time of celebration for everyone in the Haven. Most of the workers on the property whether they were ranch hands or hired guns, had gone to town to enjoy the holiday or were with their families. Chris Larabee had no such obligations to fulfil having become estranged with what family he had left, long ago. After a month of working the cattle and all the other duties that made up a ranch hand's lot, Chris was finally ready to take his leave of Haven.

As he strode towards the main house leading his horse behind him, he could hear the happy voices singing carols within its walls. For a moment, he imagined the presents being exchange under a gaily, coloured Christmas tree. He crushed the sentiment it engendered, reminding himself what he was here to do. He had chosen tonight for specific reasons. The hired guns protecting Damien Westbrook had ridden to Crest Falls an hour ago. Chris did not expect to see them before morning.

As one of Westbrook's employees, he could move about freely without suspicion. In fact, he could come and go as he pleased, as he would tonight. If all went well, he and Damien would be out of the territory before Westbrook could alert his men.

Chris tethered the animal to the horse rail in front of the house and proceeded up the steps. Stepping onto the porch, Chris circled the large house, taking note of where everyone was. He wished the entire family was not present but knew it could not be helped. It was now or never. Another factor giving him cause for concern was the house was a double-storey building and he knew his reconnaissance was not full-proof since he could not observe if anyone was up there.

Rounding the building, he heard the singing grow louder and arrived at a set of open doors. Peering through it, Chris saw Eloise Westbrook at the piano, her children sing Christmas carols around her singing Christmas carols. The scene almost gave Chris pause but the bounty hunter forced it away because there were other families who would be grieving instead of celebrating because of Damien.

He drew both guns from his gun belt and cocked the weapons into readiness. Without hesitating further, Chris stepped through the door calmly, like any visitor making an unexpected appearance.

"Good evening." He greeted.

The first one to react was Eloise. She screamed in fright as she saw the stranger before them. Damien jumped out of his chair and Chris only had to shift the barrel of his gun slightly for the boy to know that it was wiser to remain seated. The others reacted with similar hastiness until the barrels they are staring down, told them different. Only James Westbrook, seated on what looked his favourite chair smoking a pipe, was unperturbed by the sudden interruption

"Larabee? What is this about?"

The old man was calm, not wanting his family hurt, Chris thought. Good, that was a valuable bargaining commodity.

"Your boy." Chris said simply. "I'm taking him in."

"No!" Eloise squealed as her eyes darted toward her youngest. Damien Westbrook glowered at Chris in black hatred.

"Shut up and get over here." His eyes met Damien's with enough threat in his voice to ensure that Damien obeyed. Obviously, his bravery only showed itself when he was using his fists on women. With an equal, Damien was not so forward. "Now." Chris repeated.

"You're not taking him." Timothy Westbrook declared imperiously. "We'll kill you first."

"This is not a negotiation." Chris reminded them. "Your boy has an outstanding warrant for his arrest and price on his head. I am bringing him in. Dead or alive is up to you." He looked at James because James was the only one who could decide how this went.

"I took you in, you son of a bitch!" James snarled angrily, rising from his chair. "I gave you a job!"

"And I appreciate it which is why I won't kill the lot of you unlike some other hunters have wanted to do."

Damien walked towards him slowly and as he advanced, Chris could see Timothy's hand moving out of sight.

"Your hands!" Chris cried out, but it was too late and the whole thing went to hell.

Later, he would replay the incident in his mind, wondering if he could have done things differently. Timothy Westbrook would pull out a six shooter and Chris would fire without thinking twice. The bullet would slam into the chest of the middle Westbrook son amidst the terrified screaming of his mother and sisters. In rage, Damien would charge him, and Chris would fire the other gun in he was holding, aiming for the boy's knee. The bullet stuck bone and Damien went down with a cry of pain. Even before Timothy hit the ground, Chris knew he had killed the man

James Westbrook, horrified by seeing both sons shot, would lunge at Chris. The man was older and heavier, but Chris reflexes were fast even for a young man. He sidestepped the charging rancher who went through the doors with a crash. During this time, Isaac Westbrook produced a rifle and took aim while Chris was distracted with the father. Chris dropped to his knees as buckshot flew overhead, knocking his hat from his head. He fired again, needing only one shot.

The shot blew out the back of Isaac Westbrook's skull. Blood and grey matter splattered across the wallpaper with its dainty yellow flowers. The screaming was almost high pitched now and did not come simply from Eloise. Chris turned around when he realised that James had not risen from where he fell. In his charge, the old man had fallen off the porch and was lying on the dirt ground, without moving at all. Slowly, Chris approached him, wondering if the man was playing possum and would attempt a surprise attack. Chris prodded the man's still body with his boot and saw no movement. For a moment, he was puzzled until he turned Westbrook over and saw the unusual angle of his neck.

It was broken. James Westbrook was dead.

Chris regarded the man's dead form and swore under his breath. He never intended killing Westbrook or his sons. He had only wanted to bring in a rapist and a murder, not become one himself. He knew he acted in self-defence but to the women crying in that house, whose lives would never be same again and whose Christmases from this point on, would be a memory of loss, Chris knew he would always be a murderer.


The ride to Bitter Creek was fast and furious. Knowing that he had only a matter of hours before Westbrook's men came after him, Chris slung the injured body of Damien Westbrook on the back of his horse and sped out of Crest Falls on full gallop. Despite the urgency of the situation and his ability to stay focussed on any situation, he found his mind unable to forget the scene he left in the Westbrook home. He never meant for the others to die. In fact, he had not wanted any of the Westbrooks to be harmed. The sounds of Eloise's tears echoed in his mind no matter how far away he was from Crest Falls.

They were half way to Bitter Creek when Damien Westbrook finally overcame his injuries enough to speak. "You bastard!" He cried in a half sob. "You killed my father and my brothers!"

Chris blinked slowly, the words stung him more than they should have. Normally, words rarely affected him but today was not an ordinary day. What transpired at the boy's home justified Chris' guilt.

"I didn't want it to go down that way."

"You didn't want?" Damien fairly screamed. His arms were tied, and his leg throbbed in agony. Chris treated the wound enough so that he could make the journey to Bitter Creek. Once Damien was in custody, Chris was certain he would get the attention of the local doctor. In any case, his injuries made him easier to handle and now, Chris did not need the aggravation. He felt bad enough about happened.

"I'm sorry," Chris found himself saying. "I meant to take you without harming your family."

"I still got money," Damien started blathering now it was apparent that no rescue was forthcoming. The darkness behind them offered no sounds of hooves beating down in pursuit. Instead, the plains behind them were silent with the stillness of night. Even the stars seemed to have disappeared behind the canopy of grey clouds. It did not seem like it was Christmas at all. The realisation that he might be facing a hangman's noose brought out his fear. "I can pay you double the reward for me."

Chris snorted in disgust, but he was hardly surprised. He almost expected Damien to begin pleading for his life once he became aware of his situation. "This ain't about money."

"What else is there but the money?" Damien shouted in rising desperation. "Isn't that what all you bounty hunters want?"

It was not much restitution but considering Chris had just killed the man's brothers and his father, he was at least deserving of truth regarding why Chris Larabee sought him out. In the distance, Bitter Creek's lights flickered like a beacon of calling to them.

"Do you know who Alice Sullivan is?"

"Who?" Damien demanded, feeling the pain in his shattered knee more acutely than ever.

"I guess they all look the same when you're tearing them to pieces with your hands." Chris said coldly. "Alice Sullivan used to live in Crest Falls. She was the daughter of Jeb Sullivan, the boot maker. Do you remember her now?"

Damien searched his memory. There had been so many women; so many faces begging for mercy as his fists did the talking. Just thinking about how they had whimpered and cried drove any thought of remorse over the events of some hours ago. "I don't remember her."

"She remembered you. She remembered how you raped her and then beat her so bad that her own kin could barely recognise her. She remembered right until the time she killed herself a few weeks later."

Damien knew nothing of the woman in question. The bounty hunter was right; they did look alike when he was enjoying himself. It made no difference whether their hair was blonde or brunettes, blue eyes or green. How they made him feel was all he cared about.

"She was going to marry a friend of mine." Chris continued. "I ain't got many friends but I sure as hell wasn't about to let him ride on up to your father's ranch to try and kill you. Your dad would have put him down long before he even laid eyes on you. So, I made my friend a promise, I told him I'd take care of it myself. So, you're going to Bitter Creek to stand trial for what you done and maybe, just maybe my friend will be able to sleep at nights again."

Damien said nothing for a moment, digesting the information Chris provided. When he finally spoke, there was no trace of the previous fear in his voice. Instead, he answered with a sneer.

"He may be able to sleep nights again, but you won't. You better pray they kill me, Larabee because you'll never be able to stop looking over your shoulder. I'll get you, one way or another, I'll destroy you."

"You can try." Chris replied unperturbed. Threats were nothing new to him.

He was still screaming those words when Chris rode away from the jailhouse, a day later.