"Thanks, Lucas. See you in the morning."

"Have a good night."

Grabbing his rifle and carpetbag on the way, Lucas left the livery and headed to the hotel. He was greeted by a rather short man standing behind the counter.

"Stage shore got in late, didn't it?"

"Wheel cracked; we had to take it nice and slow."

"I expect you be looking for a room?"

"If you have one available."

"Just sign right here, please."

Lucas did as he was asked, the clerk looking over the signature when he finished. "…Ah, so you're Lucas McCain."

"…You sound like you've been expecting me."

"In a sense. This telegram has been sitting here for two days, waiting for you."

Lucas thanked the man as he took the key and telegram; a smile settling on his face as he read the wire. "…Where is your telegraph office?"

"Three doors down. Though I wouldn't expect Hank to be open at this hour."

"What time does it open?"

"Usually around five-thirty or so. Depends on what time the rooster decides to crow."

"Thanks." Lucas made his way down a hall, stopping mid-stride as a voice called his name.

"Mr. McCain?"

Looking up, he saw one of the stage passengers approaching him. "Oh, hello, Miss Evans."

"Do you think we'll be leaving on time tomorrow morning?"

"So long as all the passengers are there. We got that bad wheel replaced and checked everything else over for good measure."

"Do these things happen often?"

"It's not uncommon. Though I will say I'm surprised a wheel that new gave way. The driver said they replaced it just a few weeks ago."

"Well, I certainly hope this is the end of our troubles for this trip."

"I'm sure it will be. Have a good night, Miss Evans."

Lucas retired to his room, letting out a heavy sigh as he sat down on the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. A smile crossed the father's face as he again thought on the telegram. His son would be a more than welcome sight after three long weeks of travel.

After stopping at the telegraph office the following morning, Lucas made his way to the stage depot and began helping the driver secure the luggage. Ten minutes past six, Miss Evans stuck her head out of the coach window and called to the driver.

"Mr. Smith, just when are we going to be leaving?"

"Soon, ma'am. We'll give Mr. Ririe just a few more minutes."

"I'll go back in and see what's taking so long," Lucas offered.

"Sounds good."

Lucas jumped down from the wagon before making his way to the hotel and asking the clerk if he had seen their missing passenger.

"Mr. Ririe? Why, he checked out nearly an hour ago. Got a horse from the livery and rode out of town."

"…He didn't leave word for the stage?"

"Hardly said two words to me. People these days just don't got any respect."

"…Thank you." Returning to the stagecoach, Lucas informed the driver that Mr. Ririe had left town. "…I reckon we don't have any obligation to wait."

"Obligation?" The man laughed as he slapped the reins. "Our obligation expired at six o'clock, sharp!"

It was a hot, dusty few hours as the stage bounced across the countryside. Shortly after ten, the horses were brought to a stop to give the animals and passengers a break. Lucas jumped down from his seat and opened the door, allowing Mr. Jenkins out before assisting the women down from the coach.

"Don't stray too far," Mr. Smith hollered. "We'll only be stopped for-"

Three gunshots suddenly rang out across the land, interrupting the driver. Lucas ushered the passengers behind a boulder as he tried to find the source of the gunfire. Another shot forced Lucas behind the rock, but gave away their assailant's position.

"Will, up there." Lucas pointed to a ledge in the distance. "You cover me; I'm going to try to get the drop on him."

The driver nodded in agreement, firing a steady stream of bullets as Lucas circled back behind their attacker's hiding place. The exchange of gunfire lasted for several minutes until Lucas was finally in position.

"Alright, Ririe. Drop the gun and put your hands where I can see them."

Without hesitation, the man did as he was told and slowly turned around.

"Kick the gun away."

Again, the man complied.

"…Just what are you trying to pull? You know as well as anyone that the stage isn't carrying anything valuable."

"I'll tell you exactly what he's trying to pull!"

Both men turned to see the young woman walking up beside them.

"Miss Evans, please return to the stage," Lucas asked.

"I knew my father gave in too easily! I should have known he would try something like this!"

"Too easily?!" Ririe boomed. "You fought him tooth and nail to get this far!"

"And I'm not going back, either!"

"Now hold on just a minute," Lucas declared. "Just what is going on here?"

"What's going on here, Mr. McCain, is that my father doesn't understand that we live in a free country where a woman is free to marry whomever she wants! For three years I tried waiting for his blessing, but enough is enough!"

"Free as long as she's of age," Ririe retorted. "You ain't eighteen yet!"

Lucas looked at the woman in surprise, having supposed her to be several years older.

"I will be when I walk into that courthouse tomorrow morning!"

"You held up a stage to stop a marriage?" Lucas incredulously asked. "Do you have any idea what trouble you've gotten yourself into?"

"It'd be worth it to keep her from marrying that good-for-nothin' Silas Dorn! He don't deserve her!"

"Fracis, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, I don't love you and I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man left on earth! I am going to get married tomorrow, and there is nothing you or my father can do to stop me!"

"Please, Mr. McCain, talk some sense into her!"

"Between the two of you, I'd say the one trying to hold up a stage needs sense talked into him. The lady is right; there's nothing you can do to stop her. …Though I will say, Miss Evans, that when a father withholds his blessing, he's usually got a good reason."

"Good reason? My father hasn't had good reason for ten years! It disappeared right along with his sobriety!"

"Just 'cause your father drinks every once in a while don't mean he ain't got good reason," Ririe declared. "Priscilla, why don't you just-"

"That's Miss Evans- soon to be Mrs. Dorn- to you!"

"Please, just think about this a little while longer before-"

"I think three years is ample time! Wouldn't you agree, Mr. McCain?"

"I wouldn't know. But what I do know is that if you want to get to Rogers on time, we best get back down to the stage."

"Well what about him?"

"He will get the pleasure of riding with the luggage. Let's go."

The rest of the day was uneventful, the stage arriving in Rogers shortly after six. A sad smile crossed Lucas's face as he watched Miss Evans and Mr. Dorn reunite. It brought back so many memories of Margaret and the first few years of their marriage.

Much later that evening, Lucas found himself in the hotel lobby as Priscilla said goodnight to her intended. He waited a few moments before approaching the young woman.

"Miss Evans?"

"Oh, Mr. McCain, hello."

"I see there are still wedding bells in the plans for tomorrow?"

The young lady nodded, her cheeks turning a darker shade of crimson.

"…I don't mean to interfere or tell you that what you are doing is right or wrong. I simply want to say that you must be very certain of what you are about to do. If there is even the slightest doubt in your mind, you may want to reconsider."

"Thank you, Mr. McCain, but any doubt disappeared from my mind two years ago."

"May I ask what happened?"

"Three years ago, Silas approached my father about his intentions. Hesitant because of our ages and Silas's family, my father said he wanted Silas to work for him over the course of that following year. He promised that if Silas stuck to his work and proved himself of good character, he would give his full blessing and give Silas double his wages. But just a few weeks before that year was up, someone stole one of my father's horses. Silas was blamed and never received any of his wages. I overheard my father and Francis talking; the whole thing was a ruse to get rid of him. Thankfully there wasn't enough falsified evidence for the judge to order a hanging. Silas had to work to pay back double what that silly mare was worth. And it certainly wasn't easy to find someone who would give him work after what my father accused him of. But he paid the fee in full, and saved up just enough money for the two of us to start a life together. He could have just as easily run off to California or New York and never have to bother with my family again. But he stayed, and that's why I don't have a single doubt about getting married tomorrow."

Lucas smiled, nodding in understanding. "Well then, Miss Evans, I wish the two of you the best of luck."

"Thank you, but it's not luck we need."

"No… I reckon you don't."

"Mrs. Moore, I don't understand this."

Hannah wiped her hands on a towel as she made her way across the kitchen and took a seat at the table.

"Let's see… what do we have here?"

"It's this sub… sub… subertractation."

"Subtraction," she corrected.

"Yeah, that. Pa's explained the bigger numbers to me before, but I don't understand…" The boy's voice trailed off as he heard horses riding into the yard.

Hannah stood and made her way to the window, suddenly closing the curtains and running back to the table. She grabbed the boy by the shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. "Mark, I need you to listen and not argue; I don't have time to explain." The woman began leading him toward the sink as she went on, pulling back the curtain that covered the exposed pipe. "I want you to sit under there and not make a sound. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, you stay put and don't you dare come out! Do you understand me?"

The boy nodded, crawling underneath the sink. Hannah replaced the curtain before rushing back to the table and grabbing the schoolbooks, cramming them inside a drawer just as the kitchen door burst open.

"Hello, Hannah."

The woman turned around, fear, anger, and dread all shadowing her face. "…What are you doing here?"

"I came to collect what's mine."

"I… I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" The man stepped forward, closing the gap between them as he grabbed her by the arms. "Where is he?!"

"…Who?"

"WHERE'S MY SON?!"

Holding back tears of pain, Hannah began shaking as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "…He… he's… he's dead."

"LIAR!" The man suddenly pulled back, striking her across the cheek before throwing the woman to the ground. He reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking Hannah to her feet. "WHERE IS HE?!"

Tears streamed down the woman's face as she stared into his cold, vicious eyes. "He's dead, Paul. Dead! Buried right beside the parents you never cared to see! The parents you killed with heartache and grief!"

"HE'S NOT DEAD!" The man again grabbed her by the arms, violently shaking the woman before throwing her across the room.

"Paul, please! He's gone! Nothing you do will-" Hannah was interrupted by her own scream as the man drove his boot into her ribs.

"HE ISN'T DEAD!" he screamed, continuing his assault. "TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

"Please," Hannah desperately cried. "On the hill; he's b-buried on the hill!"

"NO!"

"I'm telling you the truth! He died four-"

"PAUL!"

The beating suddenly stopped, both looking up to see a woman standing in the doorway.

"He's dead! Can't you see that?! Leave her alone!"

"He can't be dead!"

"Look," Hannah cried. "Up the hill; you can see his marker!"

The other woman stepped forward and grabbed Paul's arm, leading him to the doorway. "Look at it! Beating her isn't going to change anything! He's dead and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"No…" Paul slowly turned around, pointing at Hannah. "You… you killed him!"

"No, Paul!"

"YOU KILLED HIM!" The man ran forward, again hauling Hannah to her feet and throwing into the wall.

"Paul, stop it!"

"Stay out of this, Tessa!" he yelled, pushing her away.

"Please," Hannah begged. "He got sick; there wasn't anything I could do; I-"

The man reached down, his fingers wrapping around her throat. Hannah grabbed at his hands as she struggled to breathe; her body suddenly being thrown to the floor one last time. She gasped for breath, unaware of the gun being cocked.

"Paul, don't do this! Enough people have died already!"

"Not yet."

"Someone will hear! We need to leave, now!"

"NOT YET!"

"PAUL, NO!"

The sound of six gunshots ripped through the land. Their echoes slowly dissipated, leaving a deathly silence behind.

"…Now. Now we can go."