Chapter Twenty Three

Jack's heart pounded erratically in her ears as she pumped the bicycle pedals as fast as she could. She had to stop this madness before one more person died because of the Slates' greed. She would confront them with everything she knew about their nefarious dealings and threaten to expose them to the entire town. She would beg Margaret to see their infamy. She would shoot them between the eyes if she had to--except her shotgun was at home. Drat.

"Jack, stop!" Donovan's voice sounded in her ears and she could almost hear his frantic footsteps as he raced after her.

She turned behind her and caught sight of him between errant wisps of her blonde hair. He tore after her up the road, arms flailing and chest heaving with exertion.

"This is...reckless, dangerous! You can't, Jack!"

But Jack could. That's what Donovan didn't understand, or at least refused to say. Jack could take care of herself, and taking care of herself meant taking care of Donovan as well. In the course of the past month, Donovan had become a part of Jack and she would sooner saw off her own leg than lose him.

I have to, Donovan. I have to try to save us before this grows any worse.

She had seen the effects of the Slate brothers' greed and vengeance, and it had to stop. She would confront them. Hot breath expelled itself from Jack's lungs in short, greedy gasps and her hands grew slick on the plastic handlebars. Night was falling and the road before her was illuminated by the waning carmine of the sunset and the luminescent glow of the moon. The wheat and corn and bean fields waved when a cool wind washed over them and Jack forced the bicycle to go faster, the muscles in her legs burning.

The Slate brothers were staying with Margaret Hunt. Margaret was focused on destroying Jack, and the Slate brothers wanted Donovan dead. Perhaps I should stop and fetch Titus--but no. There was no time for the sheriff, and she was growing tired. She would make it to the Hunt house on the edge of town, but not into Irvington.

What's your plan, Jack? She asked herself as she pedalled. But no plan arose out of the knowledge that she had to do something. Perhaps her bluff at exposing their treachery would work, but her confidence was fading. Would something as insignificant as the judgment of a small town deter them from their goal? Unlikely.

Perhaps the only thing Jack's confrontation would accomplish was to put a face on the serpent that had stolen so much from Donovan.

Warm candlelight gleamed at Jack over the next rise and she realized she was nearly there. The Hunt house. Jack's heart quailed with fear. She had nothing with which to defend herself--no gun, no knife, no back up. They could kill her now and get her out of the way. But Jack's time for conjuring a better plan was up. She had been spotted.

"Who goes there?" a low, growling voice called as Jack slowed her approach.

One of the Slate brothers was keeping watch over the house. "I'm here to talk to you," Jack said, dismounting and walking her bike closer to the house in case she needed to make a quick exit.

The man rose from his seat on the crooked front porch that was collapsing in on itself, a rifle in one hand and a jar of whiskey in the other. "Who are you?" he said, gesturing towards her with the jar, liquid slopping over the edge. "And what are you doing here?"

Perhaps his drunkenness will keep him from shooting straight. Jack's confidence surged and she stepped to the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips.

"I'm Jack Harrison. I think you've heard of me."

Jack could now see the man better, the moonlight highlighting his sharp features. His hair was almost black and untrimmed below his ears, his nose, jaw, and cheekbones sharp and gawky. His eyes were deepset, hollow, and dark, reminding of her of an abused horse or a lost dog gone feral. Perhaps in another light the man could have been considered handsome in a sharp, dangerous kind of way, but in the moonlight he was nothing short of monstrous.

He laughed when Jack said her name and spit tobacco on the porch through dirty teeth. "So you're old Donovan's white harlot, are you?"

The words set Jack's blood to boiling and she lifted her chin, eyes dancing angrily. "And you're one of the men responsible for the death of his brother."

The man ran his tongue over his teeth for a long minute. "So Donny's been feeding you his lies, has he? That he's some innocent victim caught up in this whole thing? Did he tell you about Lester, my brother, who's dead because of him?"

"He's dead because of what he did, and what you're doing to the Powhatan people!" Jack yelled, her hands in fists at her sides.

"What made a white old maid like you an Injun' sympathizer?"

"What made you a barbaric, asinine bonehead?" Jack returned before she could stop herself.

Do you want to get yourself filled with buckshot? She tried to calm her temper, but it was too late. The man jeered at her as the front door to the house swung open and the other brother appeared.

"Clyde, what's all the ruckus? I thought I told you to shoot anyone who showed up here."

The other Slate brother standing in the door struck a chill through Jack. He resembled the first, Clyde, in appearance, but his eyes were shrewder, his features more handsome, and his hands steady. Jack knew he could shoot her dead on this very spot if he wanted to.

"This is Donovan's woman, Max. I think she's here to yell at us," Clyde said, stepping out of the way and leaning against the shaky post of the door.

Margaret appeared behind Max, her hair fixed and her eyes haunting. She saw Jack and laughed. "Not old Jack Harrison. What are you doing in these parts? Didn't you learn to mind well enough alone the last time you came here?"

"Roy's death isn't my fault, and you know it, Margaret! You shouldn't be consorting with this type of man. They're murderers, and you can't listen to a word they say!" Jack cried, hoping the girl could hear her through the calloused layers of pain and hurt.

"Get back inside, Margaret," Max said, shoving her behind him and closing the door with a decided bang. "Now, tell me the meaning of this, Miss Harrison." He over-pronounced her name and Jack felt a shiver go down her backbone. "Why are you here disturbing us on this perfectly good night?"

Jack was struck by the helplessness of her position. What could she possibly do or say to them that would scare them off? Max Slate was smart and determined, Jack observed as she watched him remove a double barrel pistol from the waistband of his pants and turn it over in his hands, and he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. What could she possibly do? Something. She had to do something.

"You both seem to think that Donovan's an easy target," Jack said, scrambling for words as she spoke. "That no one will notice if you kill him, that no one will suspect you or try to stop you. But you're wrong."

Clyde started to cackle but Max stopped him with a hand, stepping closer to Jack with his hands on his hips. "Miss Harrison, meaning no offense," he murmured in his low, sinister voice, "but if you tell me that you're the one that's going to stop us, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop myself from laughing at you, and it ain't right to laugh at a lady." Clyde chortled behind him, sloshing another shot of whiskey.

"If I had that rifle, you might be singing a different tune," Jack said, motioning to the rifle.

Max raised his eyebrows. "But you seem to have come unarmed."

"I did. Because I'm not the only one. Donovan has friends and there are people in this town who care more about justice than money or race. There are people in this town who will listen when we share our side of the story."

"And just what story is that, Miss Harrison? Because as far as I'm concerned, the only story that matters is the one recorded by the government of our fine state, saying that Kitchi Donovan has been convicted of murder in the first degree and sentenced to death."

"Then why isn't he dead?" Jack spat back. "And why didn't you go straight to the sheriff with your warrant for his arrest? Because it's all a hoax to get his land. You killed his brother, you sent his nephew to die in the war, and you've even threatened his defenseless sister-in-law. First for land, and then for revenge. This is the story we'll tell. You can spread your lies and gossip, and we'll tell the truth."

If Jack had hoped that Max would be threatened or scared by her words, he wasn't. In fact, he just smiled at her, leaning against the opposing post. "And just who do you think's gonna believe a spinster and an Indian as compared to two reputable, rich white businessmen?"

Jack faltered. The Bookers, the Benjamins, Sheriff Fletcher--there were a few who would believe them, but would it be enough?

She lifted her chin. "People who can look past the surface and see the depths of your filthy black hearts. My brother-in-law is the mayor," Jack bluffed, "and who won't tolerate this kind of unlawfulness."

"Mayor Walker, you mean? He's actually been quite cooperative," Max said, the growing smile indicating just how much he enjoyed toying with her.

"What do you want, Slate?" Jack finally said, wondering if perhaps she could learn something about them before his patience ran out. "You have acres and acres of land and I'm sure you're rich, richer than I can imagine. Why does someone like Donovan, poor and unimportant, why does he matter to you?"

"Have you ever lost someone close to you, Miss Harrison?"

Jack had lost both her parents, Roy, and nearly Christina. She understood loss more deeply than a man like Max Slate could understand. She said nothing.

"Because I have. I lost my brother because of your beau. Shot dead, through the heart. Maybe that's something you could forgive, but I can't do that." Max's eyes grew darker and the moonlight glinted off of the black pupils. "Donovan deserves death--he deserves worse than death, and that's what we're going to give him. He needs to suffer as we suffered."

Max walked closer to her, descending the stairs and approaching her. Jack stiffened in fear at the murderous gleam in his eyes. His patience had run out.

"Donovan needs to know what it feels like to lose someone he loves." He took a step closer, flexing his large hands. "Perhaps you've provided me with the perfect solution, Miss Harrison, and we can leave your little town behind sooner than we expected."

Jack saw him roll back on his heels and she bolted as he rushed towards her, but her boot caught on a rock and she started to fall. Max caught her arm and pulled her towards him with more strength than she expected. She landed against his chest, his arm over her neck crushing her windpipe. She gasped for a breath, blinking harshly. Noise rung in her ears from the pressure as Max drug her backwards.

"He'll pay," the man hissed in her ear. "He'll pay when he sees you dead because of him."

Jack scuffed her heels in the dirt, legs flailing as she tried to find purchase on the ground. She tried to cry out for help, but the words came out in choking gasps. Then she saw it--light. Two electric lights coming towards them, and the roar of a familiar engine.

Donovan was coming.

Lots of excitement in this chapter and Jack doing what Jack does best--being brave and reckless all at once! How will Jack get out of this mess? Let me know in the comments!