parents told her to stay well away from them, and she had obeyed out of fear. Since coming west, though, she and Ben had met a good number of black men. They seemed like regular folk to her, saints and sinners just like anyone else, and she couldn't figure out why her parents had been so scared for her. Still, she knew a black man wouldn't have much hope of justice at the hands of a white mob, and Cora found herself hoping that this Elkins was on good terms with his maker.
A voice rose above the crowd. Looking up, Cora saw a heavyset miner with a full beard and thick arms. He waved those arms at the crowd, moving his hands in exaggerated motions.
"Are we going to sit by and let that blackie go unpunished for what he done?"
"No!" the crowd roared.
"Old Hines is laid up in a doctor's bed with a cut that might end him any minute. If we don't string that nigger up for it, he'll ride out of here tomorrow without facing his music. We can't trust the marshal to do justice, so if we want it done, we got to do it our own selves."
The crowd roared again, swirling along after the big miner as he started marching toward the marshal's station. Shutters winked open at the noise, then pulled shut again as the miners passed. Trailing behind the mob, Cora saw the shutters creak open again, and she smirked. The onlookers didn't want to get involved, but they sure weren't going to miss anything, either.
As the mob approached the marshal's station, Cora could make out the solid shape of Mart Duggan standing in the doorway. She could picture his blue eyes watching them, fingers hooked through his belt loops. The mob stopped in front of the station, still chanting their victim's name.
After a few moments, the big miner stepped forward. "Marshal, you let that black boy out so we can do him proper justice." Behind him, the miners yelled and hollered their agreement, fists and bottles waving.
Duggan watched them carry on, his face calm. After they had quieted a little, he took two steps forward. The brim of his hat hid his face in shadow, but his beard glowed red in the sunlight. The marshal pulled twin peacemakers from his belt and pointed them at the crowd. In the following silence, Cora heard two distinct clicks as Duggan pulled the hammers back.
"You're welcome to try," Duggan said, his words clear in the morning air, "but I will shoot the first man that steps forward."
The miners exchanged nervous glances and shuffled their feet. The big one at the head of the group found something to stare at on his boots. Cora folded her arms across her chest and grinned. She hoped poor old Hines wasn't watching from a window somewhere, or he'd be mighty disappointed to see that none of his friends were willing to take a bullet for him.
After a tense minute, the miners began to disperse, breaking into smaller herds and ambling down the street. A few squinted at the morning sun with red eyes before deciding to go in search of a bed. The ringleader, now abandoned by his friends, stared at the barrels of Duggan's guns for a moment before turning away. He shuffled through the snowy street, unsure of where to look or where to go.
Duggan watched them all leave. Only when the street was empty did he thumb the hammers back to rest. Catching sight of Cora standing in the street, he holstered one revolver but kept the other in his hand.
"Morning, marshal," Cora called out as she approached, her buffalo coat swirling around her legs.
"Morning, Mrs Oglesby. Glad to see you've recovered." Duggan turned and walked through the station's door.
She followed him into the station. "Amazing, what a prairie oyster can do for you. Them things is truly the mercy of the good Lord for the drunkard."
"I wouldn't know," Duggan replied, annoyed that the woman was standing in his station again. At the deputy's desk, Jack Evans sat staring wide-eyed at his boss. Duggan turned his attention to him. "What's wrong
A voice rose above the crowd. Looking up, Cora saw a heavyset miner with a full beard and thick arms. He waved those arms at the crowd, moving his hands in exaggerated motions.
"Are we going to sit by and let that blackie go unpunished for what he done?"
"No!" the crowd roared.
"Old Hines is laid up in a doctor's bed with a cut that might end him any minute. If we don't string that nigger up for it, he'll ride out of here tomorrow without facing his music. We can't trust the marshal to do justice, so if we want it done, we got to do it our own selves."
The crowd roared again, swirling along after the big miner as he started marching toward the marshal's station. Shutters winked open at the noise, then pulled shut again as the miners passed. Trailing behind the mob, Cora saw the shutters creak open again, and she smirked. The onlookers didn't want to get involved, but they sure weren't going to miss anything, either.
As the mob approached the marshal's station, Cora could make out the solid shape of Mart Duggan standing in the doorway. She could picture his blue eyes watching them, fingers hooked through his belt loops. The mob stopped in front of the station, still chanting their victim's name.
After a few moments, the big miner stepped forward. "Marshal, you let that black boy out so we can do him proper justice." Behind him, the miners yelled and hollered their agreement, fists and bottles waving.
Duggan watched them carry on, his face calm. After they had quieted a little, he took two steps forward. The brim of his hat hid his face in shadow, but his beard glowed red in the sunlight. The marshal pulled twin peacemakers from his belt and pointed them at the crowd. In the following silence, Cora heard two distinct clicks as Duggan pulled the hammers back.
"You're welcome to try," Duggan said, his words clear in the morning air, "but I will shoot the first man that steps forward."
The miners exchanged nervous glances and shuffled their feet. The big one at the head of the group found something to stare at on his boots. Cora folded her arms across her chest and grinned. She hoped poor old Hines wasn't watching from a window somewhere, or he'd be mighty disappointed to see that none of his friends were willing to take a bullet for him.
After a tense minute, the miners began to disperse, breaking into smaller herds and ambling down the street. A few squinted at the morning sun with red eyes before deciding to go in search of a bed. The ringleader, now abandoned by his friends, stared at the barrels of Duggan's guns for a moment before turning away. He shuffled through the snowy street, unsure of where to look or where to go.
Duggan watched them all leave. Only when the street was empty did he thumb the hammers back to rest. Catching sight of Cora standing in the street, he holstered one revolver but kept the other in his hand.
"Morning, marshal," Cora called out as she approached, her buffalo coat swirling around her legs.
"Morning, Mrs Oglesby. Glad to see you've recovered." Duggan turned and walked through the station's door.
She followed him into the station. "Amazing, what a prairie oyster can do for you. Them things is truly the mercy of the good Lord for the drunkard."
"I wouldn't know," Duggan replied, annoyed that the woman was standing in his station again. At the deputy's desk, Jack Evans sat staring wide-eyed at his boss. Duggan turned his attention to him. "What's wrong
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