Fierce Beauty Salon

THE GUNSLINGERS

Chapter One: The First Battle

The sun was bleeding red over the Montana Territory when the first shot rang out.

Marshal Hale stood alone in the middle of the dusty street, his black duster snapping in the evening wind. One hand rested loosely near the C**t at his hip. The other held a folded warrant, its edges softened by years of use.

Behind him, the town of Blackwater was silent.

Too silent.

Hale looked toward the ridge.

Four riders.

No.

Five.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Damn.”

He had spent fifteen years learning the difference between danger and trouble. Trouble announced itself. Danger waited.

The riders descended slowly, silhouettes against the dying sun.

At the front rode a man dressed in black.

Blackthorn Jack.

The name had traveled through every saloon between Deadwood and the Montana border.

A gambler.

A killer.

A man who had supposedly walked away from a hanging with nothing but a scar around his neck and a smile on his face.

Jack rode with one hand on the reins and the other resting on a silver-plated revolver. He looked less like a wanted man than a gentleman arriving late to dinner.

Beside him rode Deadwood Kane.

The Ghost.

Kane wore no badge, no colors, and no expression. His coat was gray with dust, his hat pulled low enough to hide his eyes. Nobody knew where Kane came from. Nobody knew where he went.

They only knew that when smoke appeared on the horizon, Kane was usually somewhere inside it.

The third rider carried a rifle across his saddle.

Rattlesnake Reid.

A trapper. A bounty hunter. A man who could track a wolf across bare stone and tell you how long it had been afraid.

Reid’s rifle was wrapped in oiled leather. A strip of red cloth hung from its stock.

And behind them rode two men Hale didn’t recognize.

Hale stepped forward.

“Blackthorn.”

Jack stopped his horse.

“Marshal.”

“You’re a long way from Deadwood.”

Jack smiled.

“And you’re a long way from retirement.”

“I’m not retiring.”

“That’s what men say when retirement has already started hunting them.”

Hale’s jaw tightened. He had buried three deputies that year and had no patience for men who treated death like a card game.

Kane laughed quietly.

Reid didn’t.

His eyes were fixed on the buildings behind Hale. He leaned forward in the saddle, studying the dust, the rooftops, and the church steeple.

“Where’s the girl?” Reid asked.

Hale’s expression changed.

“What girl?”

“The one they took.”

Jack glanced at Reid.

“You sure this is the town?”

Reid dismounted and crouched beside his horse. He pressed two fingers into the dirt, then rubbed the dust between them.

“Six horses came through before dawn. One was dragging something heavy. Small boot prints beside the tracks. She was alive when they crossed the creek.”

Jack’s smile faded.

“You could’ve mentioned that before we rode into a gun barrel.”

“I did.”

“No, you said, ‘Follow me.’”

“That was the important part.”

Hale slowly drew his pistol.

“Who’s they?”

A rifle cracked.

The bullet tore through the wooden sign above Hale’s head.

Then the entire town exploded.

Gunfire erupted from rooftops.

Windows shattered.

Horses screamed.

Men poured from the saloon and general store, rifles blazing.

Hale dove behind a water trough. He landed hard, rolled onto one knee, and fired at the nearest rooftop. His shot struck the rifleman’s shoulder, knocking him backward.

“Stay down!” Hale shouted.

Jack did the opposite.

He spun from his saddle, fired twice before his boots even hit the ground, and shot the guns out of two men’s hands. Then he kicked his horse loose and ducked behind a hitching post.

“Marshal,” Jack called, “you always greet visitors this warmly?”

“I save the bullets for repeat offenders!”

“Then I’m flattered.”

Jack drew a second pistol from the back of his belt. Unlike the first, it was plain, worn, and ugly.

Reid rolled beneath a wagon as bullets tore through its wheels. He did not fire immediately. Instead, he watched the shadows moving between the buildings.

“Three in the saloon,” he muttered. “Two behind the store. One in the bell tower.”

He lifted his rifle, aimed without looking over the wagon’s edge, and fired.

The bell tower gunman vanished behind the railing.

Hale looked across the street.

“Who the hell are these men?”

Jack fired another round.

“Cattle thieves.”

Reid shouted from beneath the wagon.

“Not cattle.”

Hale glanced at him.

“What?”

Reid pointed toward the church.

“Gold.”

Hale looked at the church doors. Fresh mud streaked the steps. A broken child’s ribbon lay caught beneath one of them.

His face hardened.

“Then we get the girl first.”

Jack’s voice lost its humor.

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

The church bell began ringing.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third time.

Kane disappeared.

One second he was standing beside his horse.

The next—

Nothing.

Hale saw the horse still breathing, reins hanging loose.

“Where’d he go?” Jack asked.

Reid kept his eyes on the church.

“Wherever the shooting is worst.”

Kane appeared on the roof.

He stood completely still in the smoke, one hand holding a knife, the other resting near his pistol. Three men turned toward him.

Three flashes.

Three bodies fell.

Kane calmly stepped backward into the darkness.

Jack shook his head.

“Show-off.”

Kane’s voice drifted from somewhere below.

“You’re welcome.”

A shotgun blast ripped through the wagon.

Reid grabbed the shooter’s ankle and dragged him underneath. The man fired again, but Reid caught the barrel and twisted it aside. A moment later, the gunman stopped moving.

Reid emerged with blood across his knuckles. He wiped it on the man’s coat, then looked toward the church.

“Two men inside. One woman. One child.”

Hale stared at him.

“You heard that through the gunfire?”

“I heard the child crying.”

Jack glanced at Reid’s red rifle cloth.

“Your daughter?”

Reid’s eyes went cold.

“No.”

That was all he said.

But the way he gripped the rifle told Hale there was a story buried beneath the answer, and that story had teeth.

Hale rose from behind the trough.

“Jack!”

Blackthorn looked over.

“Yeah?”

“You want to explain why half the territory is shooting at us?”

Jack leaned around the hitching post and fired into the saloon. A man screamed.

“Those men work for Silas Vane.”

Hale’s eyes narrowed.

The name was familiar. Vane owned mines, rail lines, judges, and enough hired guns to make the law feel ornamental.

“Vane’s men don’t steal cattle.”

“They don’t steal cattle,” Jack said. “They steal whatever cattle are standing on.”

Reid loaded another round.

“The gold came from Vane’s mine.”

Jack looked at him.

“How do you know?”

“Because the men carrying it were afraid.”

Jack gave him a crooked smile.

“You can tell that from tracks?”

“I can tell a lot from tracks.”

Kane stepped from the alley, silent as a shadow.

“Not enough,” he said.

Hale turned toward him.

“What does that mean?”

Kane looked at the church.

“The girl isn’t the only prisoner.”

A rifle cracked from the bell tower.

Kane moved before the sound finished. He shoved Hale aside, and the bullet tore through his coat instead of the marshal’s throat.

Hale hit the dirt, then fired toward the tower.

Kane glanced at the hole in his coat.

“That was new.”

“You’re welcome,” Hale said.

“I wasn’t thanking you.”

Jack laughed once.

“Now I like him.”

The four men moved at once.

Hale advanced down the center of the street, drawing fire away from the others. He fired with measured precision, never wasting a shot, never shooting a man who had dropped his weapon.

Jack crossed behind him, moving in a loose, dancing rhythm. He fired from the hip, spun around a bullet, and shot a rifleman through the saloon window without breaking stride.

Reid climbed onto the wagon and used the height to study the town.

“Left roof,” he called. “Behind the water barrel. Twenty yards.”

Jack fired.

“Got him.”

“Right roof. Chimney.”

Hale fired.

“Got him.”

“Man behind you.”

Kane was already there.

He caught the gunman’s wrist, bent it until the pistol fell, and whispered something no one else heard. The man went pale.

Kane released him.

The gunman ran.

Jack watched him flee.

“You let him go?”

Kane looked at the church.

“He’ll tell them we’re coming.”

Hale frowned.

“Who?”

Kane’s eyes remained fixed on the dark doorway.

“The men who took the girl.”

The church doors burst open.

A woman stumbled into the street, clutching a little girl against her chest. Behind them came a broad man in a gray coat, dragging a preacher by the collar.

The broad man held a pistol to the preacher’s head.

“Drop your guns!”

Hale raised his weapon.

Jack raised both.

Reid’s rifle settled against his shoulder.

Kane vanished again.

The broad man smiled.

“Marshal, you heard me.”

Hale studied the girl. Her face was streaked with dirt, but she was not crying. She was staring at the broad man’s hand.

At his thumb.

At the silver ring shaped like a snake.

Hale recognized it.

Vane’s enforcers wore those rings.

“Let the preacher go,” Hale said.

The man laughed.

“You’re in no position to give orders.”

Hale lowered his pistol.

Jack looked at him sharply.

“Marshal?”

Hale kept his eyes on the hostage-taker.

“You’re right.”

The broad man relaxed.

That was the mistake.

Hale dropped his pistol into the dust and kicked it forward. The man glanced down.

Jack fired.

The bullet struck the broad man’s gun hand.

Reid fired at the church bell rope, snapping it loose. The heavy bell dropped through the tower floor with a thunderous crash, shaking the building.

The woman ran.

Hale lunged for the girl.

Kane appeared behind the broad man and drove the hilt of his pistol into the man’s skull.

The preacher collapsed.

The street went silent.

Hale caught the girl and carried her behind the trough.

“Are you hurt?”

The girl shook her head.

“What’s your name?”

She looked past him toward Kane.

“Evelyn.”

Kane stood over the unconscious gunman.

“Evelyn,” he repeated.

It was the first time any of them had heard warmth in his voice.

Reid noticed.

So did Jack.

The remaining gunmen opened fire from the far end of the street.

Hale handed Evelyn to the woman.

“Stay behind me.”

He rose, fury replacing caution.

“Jack!”

Blackthorn looked over.

“Yeah?”

“You want to explain why half the territory is shooting at us?”

Jack grinned, though his eyes were hard now.

“Not particularly.”

Hale sighed.

“Fine.”

He picked up his pistol from the dust and cocked it.

“Then let’s kill them first.”

The four men stepped into the street.

Marshal Hale moved like a lawman who had finally run out of warnings.

Blackthorn Jack moved like a gambler who had just seen the winning card.

Deadwood Kane moved like death had forgotten to claim him.

Rattlesnake Reid moved like the wilderness itself had taken human shape.

Four guns.

Four purposes.

One battlefield.

The enemy opened fire.

Hale fired first, dropping the leader before he could give another order.

Jack fired second, shooting the rifle from a man’s hands and then the hat from his head.

Reid fired third, striking the lantern above the street. Darkness swallowed the enemy’s position.

And from somewhere in the smoke—

Kane fired last.

The street went silent.

When the smoke finally cleared, no one remained standing.

Except the four gunslingers.

Hale looked toward the church.

“There’s more coming.”

Reid knelt beside a set of fresh tracks.

“A lot more.”

Jack wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Good.”

Hale glared at him.

“You enjoy this?”

Jack holstered one pistol.

“No. I enjoy winning. The shooting is just how you get there.”

Kane emerged from the smoke. He held a folded piece of paper between two fingers.

Hale took it.

“What is it?”

“A list,” Kane said.

“Of what?”

“Names.”

Hale unfolded the paper.

At the top was the name Silas Vane.

Below it were the names of judges, sheriffs, mine owners, and politicians across the territory.

At the bottom was a single line:

THE FOURTH GUN MUST DIE.

Hale looked up.

“Who wrote this?”

Kane’s gaze shifted toward the ridge.

“Someone who knows us.”

Reid studied the paper.

“There are only three names crossed out.”

Jack’s smile disappeared.

“Then one of us is next.”

Far beyond the town, another gunshot echoed across the Montana hills.

Then another.

Then dozens.

Hale looked toward the horizon.

Whatever had started in Blackwater wasn’t a robbery.

It wasn’t a bounty.

It wasn’t even a war.

It was a reckoning.

Hale wanted justice.

Jack wanted the truth behind the list—and the fortune he suspected was tied to it.

Kane wanted to find the person who knew his name.

Reid wanted Evelyn safely beyond Vane’s reach, no matter how many men he had to track through the dark.

The four men standing in that street were not friends.

Not yet.

But they had chosen the same enemy.

And that was enough.

They were about to become the most feared gunslingers in the West.

THE FIRST BATTLE HAD BEGUN.