Marshal Justice Sterling's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Marshal Justice Sterling had one witness to a murder, and she would not say a word. He rode into Firestone at dawn to find the man who shot the old marshal dead in the street. Two months buried now, and the trail had gone cold. Sterling wore white from hat to boots, a gold star pinned over his heart. He meant to see the killer stand trial in the town courthouse, not die in an alley. But justice needed a name, and only one person had seen the shooting. He tied his pinto to the rail outside the laundry. The black-and-white horse stood easy, saddle worn smooth from long roads. Inside, a girl no older than twelve stirred a steaming tub. Steam curled up and stuck her hair to her cheeks. She had washed the dead marshal's shirt the morning he was killed. She had watched the whole thing through the window. "I know you saw it," Sterling said. He kept his voice low. "I won't let him near you." The girl gripped her stirring paddle white-knuckled. "He knows my face," she said. "He looked right at me. If I talk, he'll come back." Sterling knelt so their eyes met. He set his star on the wet counter between them. "You see this? A man wore it before me. He tried to bring that same killer in. Now he's in the ground. I aim to finish what he started. But I can't do it blind." She stared at the star. Her lip shook. "They'll say I lied. Grown men lie all the time." "You won't be alone," he said. "I'll stand beside you every step, from that window to the witness chair." A long silence. Water dripped from her paddle. Then she leaned close and whispered a name. Sterling did not move. He knew the name. Half the county knew it. Cole Ransom, a rustler who drank at the far saloon and feared no lawman. "He rode a gray horse with a split ear," she added, faster now. "He dropped a knife. I still have it." She reached under the tub and pulled out a bone-handled blade wrapped in rag. Sterling took the knife and held it to the light. Initials cut in the handle. C.R. A killer's own mark. He stood and pinned his star back on. Now he had a name, a weapon, and a witness. But the girl had spoken the truth of it. Cole Ransom knew her face. The moment word spread that she talked, her life was worth nothing. Sterling looked out the window at the dusty street. He had his lead at last. He also had a child to keep breathing until the trial. He wrapped the knife in the rag and slid it inside his coat. Then he crossed to his pinto and swung up into the saddle. He would find Ransom before Ransom found her.