Chapter 5

Coyote Canyon, Texas – July 1872

The midday Texas sun beat down on Buck's face as he urged his horse, over the rocky terrain. Sweat beaded on his brow, mirroring the glistening heat shimmering off the distant plains. Every few miles, Buck scanned the horizon, desperate for the sight of the familiar creek that signaled a much-needed rest stop for both him and his loyal horse. He usually wasn't alone on these Abilene trips, seeking sturdy stud horses to improve his stock back home. But with a mare about to foal, he'd opted for a solo excursion.

Suddenly, the peaceful quiet shattered. Gunshots, sharp and jarring, echoed through the forested area. His horse snorted, ears pricked, her usual calm replaced by nervous energy. Buck, his heart leaping into his throat, turned the mare sharply, urging her into a gallop toward the source of the discord.

Within minutes, a small farmhouse emerged from the trees. Smoke wisped from a chimney, a welcoming sight against the backdrop of gunfire. Buck reined his horse in, dismounting out of sight behind a thick cover of trees. His years as a pony express rider, and scout had honed his instincts. He needed a plan before charging in. A choked sob, like a whimpering puppy, pierced the tense silence. It drew Buck's gaze to a hollowed-out log, where a young girl, no older than eight, sat huddled, her face streaked with tears.

"Hey there…" Buck called softly, approaching cautiously with his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Are you alright?"

The girl, her eyes wide and bloodshot, flinched but met his gaze with a flicker of desperate hope. "Are you here to help us?" She whispered her voice barely a tremor.

"I sure am." Buck offered a reassuring smile. "What's your name?"

"Libby." She mumbled, pointing a trembling finger towards the house. "My brother and sister are there."

A knot of anger tightened in Buck's gut. Leaving his horse tethered with a pat on her neck, he ruffled Libby's hair. "You take care of my horse for me, okay? I'll be back." Then, with his trusty shotgun clutched in his hands, he crept towards the farmhouse, using the tall cornstalks as cover.

Reaching the barn, he found two figures sprawled motionless on the dusty floor – a grim testament to the violence that had unfolded moments earlier. Cautiously, he peeked around the corner, his pulse quickening. Three figures were firing from behind the porch railing. They had the remaining occupants of the house pinned down behind a makeshift barricade of hay bales.

As one of the bandits emerged from cover to get a clearer shot, Buck raised his shotgun and brought him down with a resounding boom. Two sets of startled eyes looked up from behind the hay bales. With a wave of his hand, he urged them towards the safety of the barn.

As the remaining bandits focused their fire on him, a young woman, her face pale but resolute, stumbled out from behind the hay bales, her arm wrapped around a man who leaned heavily on her for support. A gunshot grazed Buck's shoulder, momentarily searing his skin. Ignoring the pain, he used the barn wall as cover, firing back with deadly accuracy, eliminating another bandit.

"Thanks, mister!" Gasped the injured man as he slumped against a stack of hay bales.

Buck knelt beside him and quickly assessed the wound. "Just a flesh wound." He muttered more to himself than anyone else. He handed his shotgun to the woman and began reloading his pistol.

"How many more of them are there?" He inquired, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder.

"There were three or four I think." The man panted, his voice tight with pain as his sister tied a makeshift bandage around his leg.

"Do you know these men?" Buck asked.

"No." The man winced in pain. "I was in town yesterday though. The Marshal mentioned that the Juarez gang was in the area and headed towards Mexico. He was warning everyone to be on the lookout and be careful.

"Stay down," Buck instructed a plan forming in his mind. "I'm going to flush them out from behind the house."

"Honor," The man rasped, his voice weak. "Go with Libby. We can handle this."

She looked up at him with a mixture of fear and anger in her large brown eyes then turned and walked out of the barn towards the forest, shotgun in hand. She was furious at her brother. He treated her like a child. If she hadn't gone back to help him, he would most likely have been dead! Halfway to the forest edge she changed her mind, clenched her fists, she turned around. This was her home too and she wasn't going to run and hide like a child.

She was just about back to the barn when she saw one of the men creeping up behind the stranger who was helping them. She grabbed her skirt and ran as quickly as she could and called out to warn him but it was too late. Honor winced as she heard the sickening crack of his skull against the butt of the shotgun when it smashed against his forehead.

Wide-eyed she watched as the man turned towards her. Momentarily she froze. She had the shotgun in her hand, behind her skirt but she couldn't move. Then staggered when she saw the stranger plunge a knife deep into the calf of the man that stood between them. Outraged the man turned around, ignoring Honor. He pulled out his pistol and aimed at the benevolent stranger.

Without a second thought, Honor raised the shotgun and fired. The recoil nearly knocked her off her feet, but the blast sent the bandit flying backward, a spray of crimson staining the air.

She rushed to the stranger and knelt at his side. He had a bullet in his leg and a large cut across his forehead. Blood was splattered across his face. With shaky hands she tentatively touched his neck to feel his pulse, thankfully his heart was still beating. Suddenly his eyes fluttered open and his hand grabbed her wrist.

"There's still one more." He groaned.

A figure emerged from behind the farmhouse, a lone bandit, his face contorted in a mask of rage. He raised his pistol, aiming at Honor.

Buck, adrenaline surging through him, ignored the throbbing pain in his head and shoulder. With a last burst of energy, he lunged forward, grabbing the shotgun Honor had dropped. He aimed and fired. The shot echoed through the clearing, and the bandit crumpled to the ground.

Silence descended, thick and heavy. Honor stared at the fallen figure, her chest heaving. Buck, his vision blurring, lowered the shotgun, his body screaming in protest. He stumbled towards Honor, collapsing beside her on the dusty ground.