Part Two: Hangin' at Mount Hope

Chapter 3 - Detour of Amateurs

March 1837

Dodge, KS

Troy Family

"Push Charlotte, the baby's starting to crown."

The towering man stood behind the doctor, maintaining stern eye contact with his beloved wife. It could never be said whether his look was one of endearment or intimidation for his wife would die shortly after giving birth. She continued pushing until a tremendous cry was heard, but there was no relief.

All of the pain and strain her body was being put through did not quit. Charlotte lifted her head up. She could barely speak. Her vocal chords tensed passed ability. The mother of agony was almost blinded by her encroaching fate. Her heart was giving. Her oldest boy stood up from his chair outside. Young Ivy thought he heard his mother's call. So, he poked his head into the room quietly. The towering man knew before the doctor did... Charlotte was dying.

He threw the doctor out of the way and took his baby. After cutting the chord, Wyatt brought the baby up to Charlotte for her to see. He put the baby's red cheek against her pale one. And she said with her dying breath, "Name him Marshall."

July 1865

West Virginia Wilderness

Marshall & Ira

Marshall stood behind a tree in the middle of the woods. He scanned the ground around him, holding his buck knife in his hand, mouthing the words he repeated in his head. He deemed it clear to take a step out from the tree and immediately froze. A gunshot echoed out. His knife was blown out of his hand. Marshall held both his hands up.

"Okay!" he screamed.

Ira got up from the grassy ridge above Marshall and smiled as he glided down the hill. His modified rifle slung over his shoulder. When he reached Marshall, he was crouched over, retrieving his knife. It was not bent or broken.

"Lucky," Marshall said with Ira leaning over him.

"Luck had nothin' to do with it, Slick"

"Well, you were right," admitted Marshall.

"Oh yeah? 'bout what?"

"I lost you around the bend. By the time I got here you were just waitin' for me, weren't you?"

"You still got some stuff to learn, but I'd say you’re gettin' the hang of it-"

Ira’s face dropped and he drew his revolver towards Marshall. Marshall instinctively drew too, no hesitation, unlike the bar in Clifton Forge. But something was off. This was no training exercise. When he saw Ira's finger squeeze the trigger, Marshall leapt out of the way instead of firing his gun. An unknown force rushed past Marshall, barely missing his back. Marshall watched helplessly on the ground as a black bear charged Ira. Unfazed by Ira's bullet the bear tackled him, keeping stride.

It ran through Ira and slowed down as it prepared to turn back around for another charge. Marshall raced over to Ira and got him up. He had dropped his rifle in the skirmish. It lay still on the ground as their only means of defeating the beast.

Marshall carried Ira with his arm across his shoulders. There was no way they could make it back to the horses in time. He rolled Ira down in the brush and stood before the circumventing bear. Marshall pulled out his gun along with his knife. His hands were shaking, but full. He'll have six shots, when one had already done nothing. Each shot needed to be straight. None of which can afford to miss, or he'll pay with his life.

The bear roared and charged once again. The longer Marshall waited, the better a chance he would have at hitting his rapidly approaching target with a fatal blow. All six shots he would have to fire at once. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on his recent training.

Steady arm. Balanced wrist. Anticipate the backfire.

He unloaded all six shots face to face with the bear and was trampled, just like Ira. But as he rolled off the smelly beast, Marshall was still awake, still aware. His head began to pulse. He searched around on the floor for his knife. Blood dripped off his head onto the grass he was searching. Yards ahead, he saw Ira's sniper rifle, catching a glimmer of the sun in its scope. The bear was shook by the shots, no longer running, but licking its wounds just inches away from Ira, still unconscious on the floor.

Ira could feel its presence. His eyes opened. He turned his head over, expecting to see Marshall but found the bear instead. He did not move but continued to lay still.

Meanwhile, Marshall had recovered the rifle and was on one knee, aiming the sights on the bear. He exhaled and pulled the trigger. The bullet from the sniper broke the bear's spine and it collapsed beside Ira. He sprung up on both feet and finished the bear off with a shot to the head from his sidearm.

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They slowly made their way back to camp. Ira had cut the bear up into rations and a skin for Marshall; an award for his first victory. It was getting late. They built a fire and reminisced around it about their eventful day.

"Where are we even?" Marshall rebuked.

"You're in Mount Hope," answered an outside voice.

Ira and Marshall both drew, but when the figure came out of the shadows, it was revealed that they were matched by a kid wielding two guns.

"There's no way you can get both of us before I get you," informed Ira.

"See… Now I have to shoot you first."

Marshall looked around nervously. He recalled his fight with the bear and decided to take a deep breath. His mind cleared and he knew what to do next. Marshall put his gun away and pulled a chunk of meat off the fire.

"You're welcome to join us" he offered, "there's plenty."

The kid, now pointing both his guns at Ira, was caught off-guard by Marshall's offer. He stood still. Ira did not flinch. The kid looked down at his guns and then over at Marshall eating comfortably by the warm fire. He took one more moment’s hesitation to lick his lips. The kid holstered with a flip, a brief flare in Ira's face, and walked over.

"Ya’ll got some bear there?"

He sat next to Marshall and took a piece roasting over the fire. Ira slowly approached the fire with his gun still out. He put his foot on the log he was just sitting on and rested his revolver on his lap. He knew there was no threat here. This kid was eating like he hadn't any food for days. But still.

Marshall looked over to Ira.

"Put the gun away, Ace."

With those words, Ira curbed demeanor and holstered his weapon. "So, what's your name?"

Without letting the mouthful of charred meat stop him, he answered, "Kid Colt."

"I'm Ira, and this is Buck Troy."

"Well...Kid Colt," Marshall continued, eager to move the conversation away from his name, "how do you know this is Mount Hope?"

"It's my home."

"Can't find much food in your own home?"

"The town is my home, not the wild. My mother owns the hotel."

"Why are you out here?" asked Marshall.

"..Killed me some deputies. Didn't go over too well with the townsfolk…"

Kid Colt looked around for judgmental eyes but found none. These men were different from the other stiffs. They had their own lives, their own problems to deal with. They didn’t condemn him outright. These kinds of men were his people. Kid Colt decided to confide in them, "They're going to hang her if I don't hand myself in."

"You're mother?" verified Ira.

"She done nothin' wrong."

"...and you need our help?"

"That's what it comes down to, yeah. I can't do it alone..."

Marshall stared into the fire, "Why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why should the life of your mother be any different to us from the lives of wasted deputies?"

Kid Colt stood up. "Watch yourself now."

"Slick has a point. Ain't no man without a code. So, tell us, Colt...what's yours?"

Kid Colt took some time to gather his thoughts on the question. He decided that the only way to portray his personal code of honor was to tell them his story.

"My daddy left when I was four. I can barely remember him. He left us with nothin'. But god bless my mama, she got us by. It wasn't long until we got the hotel and became worth a damn in town. And it wasn't until I was sixteen that I found out how we got all it. The men in that town, the deputies, the shopkeepers, the sheriffs, the mayors, the husbands....the fathers...all had their way with my mama and threw money and pity at her." Colt paused a while, in the prevention of tears, and gathered his brave voice back, "I intend to pay each and every one of them back with the only metal I deal in."

“And those deputies you slaughtered in cold blood, were they a part of this merry band of local abusive donors?” asked Marshall.

“Well…” The night sky wasn’t exactly cloudy. There were enough gaps in coverage to see the stars, so it wasn’t dark enough to explain what happened to the kid’s face as he smirked, “...not all of them.”

Marshall held down a cold chill from climbing up his spine. He felt that kind of darkness before. It was the same shine of murderous intent he saw in Ira at Clifton Forge.

Ira continued when Marshall couldn’t. "When's the hangin' set for?"

"Dawn."

"If you want our help there are some things you must agree upon first," declared Ira.

"State your terms," said Kid Colt.

"We will not help you burn down a town just to save your mother,” said Ira.

"Okay.”

"And you must come with us afterward," interrupted Marshall.

"What?"

Marshall was surprised himself. Something was steering him west in an odd path, linking him with one killer after another, perhaps it was for a reason. In any case, Marshall decided to lean into it and see where fate would take him.

"We're going to Dodge and putting our past behind us along the way. There we can start fresh, as better men, and you can forget about all this,” said Marshall, “Come with us, Colt."

Kid Colt did not answer, but just looked at Marshall over the fire, and back over at Ira next to him, still standing on the log. Ira glanced over at Marshall as a reflex. After all, this kid didn't seem like trouble, he screamed it. Ira reluctantly gave way to the notion. He turned back to the kid and said, "We get in and get her out with as little harm done as possible."

"Okay. Ya’ll got me bent over a barrel here. My ego is too big for this town anyway," Colt nodded his head, "We got a deal.”

"Alright, kid, we're all your’s" Ira said, "What's the plan?"

"Well judging by the looks of the two of you, we should attack on two fronts..."

Kid Colt went on from there for practically the rest of the night. The plan was set. They managed to get a few hours sleep, before putting away their camp, and discreetly making their way into town under the fleeting night sky.