Vengeance Road Read Free Page A

Act a few years ago; notes and ledgers tracking money Pa spent over the years; a small slip of paper folded in half.
    I open it. Pa’s handwriting shines up at me.
    Â 
Kate, if you’re reading this, stop. You know where you should be. Get on Silver and ride.
    Â 
    â€œAw, Goddamn it!” I says.
    Silver starts beyond the wrecked frame of the house, ears perking. I look back at the note, now crumpled in my fist.
    If anything ever happens to me, you go see Abe in Wickenburg.
    That’s what Pa always said when I were growing up. Abe in Wickenburg. Wickenburg for Abe. Over and over till my ears were practically bleeding. So many times I had the name and place memorized before I could even pronounce ’em proper.
    â€œBut what’s gonna happen to you?” I was always asking.
    â€œThat ain’t the point,” he’d say.
    Now I’m sitting here wondering if maybe this was exactly what Pa feared—if someone were after him. For what and why I ain’t got the slightest. Heaven forbid he’d’ve explained anything to me.
    I slam the box shut. The sun’s setting and I can’t do nothing ’bout the note till tomorrow. Only a fool would ride south through the mountains at night. You’d need a light, and fire’s nothing but a beacon for the Apache.
    I grab Silver’s reins and lead her down to the barn, which the murderous bastards thankfully didn’t burn. Pa’s horse, Libby, is still standing there in front of the plow, half saddled and looking confused, and that’s when I break.
    â€™Cus this is where they found him, right here. This was where Pa’s life began to end.
    The saddle stand is on its side. There’s boot marks and gouges in the dirt, marking a struggle. A few drops of blood are now so dark, they mostly look like drying mud.
    The fog of whiskey’s long gone, and yet I unravel like a drunken fool.
    Screaming, I throw my hat ’cross the barn and rake my hands through my hair. My fingers snag on the singed and melted ends, and no matter how hard I yank, I can’t fight ’em through. I pull out my knife and hack it off. Shorter and shorter, till my hair hangs at my jaw line and I can’t feel no evidence of the fire. The bandage round my chest comes off next, and then I’m breathing easy, the tears and gasps free and fast.
    I pull blankets off the shelves for the horses, and one for myself. I unhook Libby and lead her to her stall, then curl up at the foot of Silver’s and sob. When she lies down beside me rather than sleeping upright, I know I need to pull it together. I can’t be so far gone even my horse knows I’m lost.
    I count to ten and stop crying. Just like that, I’m done.
    When I were first learning to shoot a rifle, Pa told me that nearly every battle people face is in their heads. If you think you can’t do something, you won’t. If you believe you can, it’s only a matter of time before you will.
    We’d set bottles on the fence and Pa’d tell me to shoot ’em off. Every time I did, I had to move back three paces. Lately it’s been weeks and months between a successful shot—the distance ain’t something to shrug at—but I always strike true eventually.
Always.
    But that’s physical, and physical is easy. It’s just focus and confidence. The emotional stuff, Pa warned, gets under yer skin and poisons yer mind. And I can’t stand for that. I made a promise to that sick bastard in the outhouse. If my word dies with him, it’ll be as if I never said it, and I have no intention of letting that murderous gang ride free.
    But I’ll do right by Pa, too. I’ll go see Abe. Maybe he’ll even know what Pa was spooked by and who I’m up ’gainst. Maybe I can head off informed rather than blind.
    I hunker into my blanket. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go see Abe. But I ain’t staying. Pa never made me promise to