.45-Caliber Firebrand by Peter Brandvold Page A

then at Michelle. “What if someone came in here one night and killed your father-in-law and raped your wife and then killed her, too? What would you do about it?”
    â€œWhy, I’d send the law after them!”
    â€œOut here?”
    â€œI’d ride to the army outpost and notify the authorities. I’d send soldiers after the killers. They’d be run down, given a proper trial, and hanged!”
    â€œBy the time you got to the fort, those men would be halfway to Mexico. Your wife and father-in-law would die unavenged. And those savages would be free to wreak the same havoc on others.”
    â€œAll right, that’s enough!” ordered Michelle Trent, putting some hard steel into her voice, her face flushed with anger. “We get your point, Mr. Massey. We’re deeply sorry for what happened to your family, but you must know that civilized men do not live for revenge. Only barbarians live for revenge.”
    â€œBut men—and women—are basically barbarians,” Cuno said. “From what I’ve seen and experienced, I firmly believe we’re all savages. Some more than others. And you’re right—the West is filling up . . . with savages. They outnumber the lawmen and the folks trying to keep a leash on their own inner savage about a hundred to one. And the only way to fight savages who’ve turned their horns on you or your family is to become one yourself.”
    Trent cocked an eyebrow, fascinated. “To let yourself become who you—or we —really are. To let your true nature take over . . .”
    â€œThat’s how I see it,” Cuno said, slicing his second helping of elk.
    â€œI guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree, Mr. Massey,” Gallantly said tonelessly.
    Trent suddenly pounded his fist on the table and leaned forward, pinning his future son-in-law to his chair with a vicious stare. “He’s right, don’t you see, Jedediah? You and Michelle were both educated back East. Yes, there’s law in the East. Plenty of savages there, too, but there’s some semblance of law and order.” He shook his head slowly, darkly. “But not out here. If you two are gonna live here at the base of Old Stone Face and raise your family amongst the savages—and I want that very much; my daughter is all the family I have left—you’ve got to be ready to defend what’s yours!”
    â€œIf you think I’m going to lynch squatters and rustlers, Mr. Trent . . .”
    Cuno said, “Squatters and rustlers are the least of your worries at the moment, Gallantly.”
    Silence fell like a burial shroud. Both Michelle and her betrothed shuttled questioning frowns between Cuno and Trent, who colored slightly and tried to cover it with his wineglass.
    â€œFather said the Indians have become a nuisance, yes, but they’re not posing any real danger.”
    Serenity snorted. “Tell that to Dutch Rasmussen!”
    â€œWho’s Dutch Ras—” Michelle’s frown cut deep lines into her forehead as both she and Gallantly looked at Trent. “Father, what’s going on?”
    Trent didn’t meet his daughter’s gaze as he forked a small chunk of gravy-drenched potato into his mouth and growled sheepishly, “The freighters were attacked by a small party of bronco Utes. One took an arrow.”
    â€œThey turned him into a human pincushion, Mr. Trent,” Serenity said, slamming his own bony fist on the table. “Make no mistake!”
    Michelle jerked back in her chair, dropping her fork with a loud clang and slapping her hand to her heaving bosom. “What’s made them so angry, Father?”
    Trent looked for a moment like he had a chunk of meat caught in his windpipe. His furtive gaze flickered toward Cuno, and then he busied himself with brushing his napkin across his beard, loudly clearing his throat, and sliding his chair back from the table. “Like I told