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Jesse Landers settled in the field, swallowed by the tall grass, watching as they celebrated their score. Lucky for him, they’d taken cover near a creek. The sound of the water would mask his movements. Word was, there were three of them, but what he saw were four gunslingers. Not really a big deal, though. That just meant he’d have to be a little cleverer with his approach.

It was getting late and the whiskey had started to take its toll. The poor fools would never know what was coming. The irony of it all was still sort of funny—robbing and then being robbed. The truth was, he didn’t feel a bit of remorse about taking from them and was somewhat amused by the whole setup.

He could tell from their staggering movements, they were near to passing out for the night—this was his chance.

“Okay, fellas, don’t try no funny business, and we’ll be all right,” he said, slowly coming out from where he’d been hiding.

The four men stood with their hands in the air. “Whoa now. I think we’ve got you outnumbered partner,” one of the robbers mumbled.

“Maybe so, but we both know who’s the better shot. Now take those guns off slowly and toss them over. One sudden move and I’ll shoot them both,” he said, holding a pistol in each hand, pointing at the fellas either side of him.

“Jesse, that you?” one of the men bellowed, his words slurred.

“I reckon it is, so don’t try me, boy. You already know I don’t miss,” Jesse said, using his foot to drag the guns closer.

“Now that we got that all cleared up. You! Send me over that flask.”

One of the gunslingers leaned over and tossed the whiskey decanter his way.

“Yours too, and yours. Once you’re done with that, I want that bag right there.” He nodded toward a sack on the ground.

“Heck, no!” one of them yelled. “We worked hard for that there and there ain’t no way we're giving you our earnings.” It was Dickens. If anyone would give him trouble, he’d be the one.

“Oh, is that what you call it? Cause I’m pretty sure that there bag is filled with money stolen from the local bank, which means you ain’t earned it, you stole it.”

The man’s brows furrowed and he sneered before kicking the dirt.

“Now pass that sack over,” he said, looking in the direction of Wes, a neighboring kid from a good family. What was he doing hanging out with a bunch of scoundrels? “Add the guns and flasks to it.”

“Umm...here ya go, Mr. Jesse.”

“I oughta—” Dickens started to speak.

“You oughta what?” Jesse cut him off, firing his weapon an inch away from the man’s foot.

“Curse you, Jesse Landers.”

“I’m just going to take this and be on my way. You boys stay right where you are and we won’t have any problems. And you, go home!” he yelled in Wes’s direction. “And if I find out you’ve been hanging with these bandits again, I’m going to make it to where you can’t walk. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jesse watched as Wes took off running, tripping over his own feet.

“You recruiting boys now, Dickens?”

“The boy needs to learn how to be a man, so I’m teaching him.”

“Ya still ain’t figured that one out yourself. You’re a chiseler who’s just a Johnny-come-lately,” Jesse said.

“These days, you ain’t nothing more than a hard case yourself.”

“You might be right, Dickens. Still, I’m going to need you boys to take off your pants, and toss them in that creek,” Jesse said, backing away slowly, still facing the men.

“I’m not gonna...”

Jesse fired his gun again, this time in the air.

“All right...all right.”

Jesse opened the bag, taking out all but two stacks of the wrapped cash and tossing the rest into the bonfire. The men winced, seeing the money go up in flames.

“Don’t...” the man barked, tossing his hat to the ground.

“Now don’t go getting your hat all dirty on my account,” Jesse said, wearing a sly grin. “One last thing...I need you boys to sing me a nice song.”

“Serious?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“But I don’t know no songs.”

“Come on now, Dickens. Your pa was a pastor so I know you know at least one song. How about ‘Amazing Grace?’”

The men turned to look at each other, then started to sing off-key.

“That’s right, boys,” Jesse said, backing away slowly. “Louder...louder,” he yelled, backing away and leaping onto his horse, before galloping off into the wind, heading for the next town.

Jesse woke up to a buzzing sound he’d soon discover was a bee, and the distant drum of hoofbeats. Combined with the pounding in his head, it was enough to make him stumble backward when he stood up. At least this time, despite the hangover, he was quickly able to identify his surroundings. He hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours before he heard the horses heading his way and looked up to see the dust clouding in the distance from the east. Quickly gathering up his goods, he rode off.

On the edge of Sugarville, Texas, he decided to ride into the next town. Dickens wouldn’t follow him there; he’d made too many enemies. With the money he’d taken, he could stay put for a few days and likely get a good night’s sleep. But first, he’d stop and grab a drink or two, to cater to his throbbing head pain.

“You, sir, look like trouble,” the booze clerk said, setting the whiskey glass in front of him before filling it to the brim.

“I reckon I’m no more trouble than the next fella around here,” Jesse said. Raising his glass, he swallowed down the whiskey in one gulp. He was sure he’d recognized him, just as all the patrons had who’d been glaring since he’d entered. But as far as he was aware, there was no bounty on his head. If he kept moving, he’d be okay.

“You know where a fella can get a nice meal and shower around these parts?”

“Well, I got some son-of-a gun stew cooking in the back. I may just get ya a nice helping. Maybe able to help ya out with that room too...that is, if you play nice. Meaning, don’t go shoot no one. Lola!” he yelled out.

Jesse nodded, tilting his hat forward. He hadn’t played nice in some time but would do just about anything for a decent meal. Plus, after traveling all day, he was looking forward to a good rest. As long as everybody minded their own business, things would be just fine.

“Here you go,” a woman came out, setting the bowl down in front of him. “Aren’t you that sheriff from Maplesville? Yeah, it’s you all right. By the way, I’m Lola,” she said, leaning over the bar, her hand on her cheek.

“I appreciate the meal,” he said, picking up the spoon and bolting down the stew, barely coming up for air. With her full bosom at eye level, Jesse thought it safe to keep his focus on the bowl in front of him—not wanting to give the wrong impression.

Standing up straight, she switched her weight from one foot to the other, putting a hand on her hip, eyeing him as he went from the stew to the bread. “Hmm...a man of very few words, but with a big appetite. Anyway, here’s the key to a spare room upstairs. Just give it back when you leave,” she said, pulling the key from her cleavage and putting it in front of him. She was just about to walk away, but stopped abruptly. “Oh, and sorry ‘bout what happened to your wife. Hope you find her soon.”

Jesse’s eyes met hers briefly before he pushed back a straggling piece of hair, taking in a mouthful of bread.

No one really knew the full story and there was no need to explain. Doing so wouldn’t make it any easier and condolences didn’t make things better. She was gone, and it was his fault. If only he’d been home, things would have turned out differently.

Maya had always been so full of life, and to have something or someone take her away, left a void in his heart. It was the very reason he’d given up his position as sheriff. With her missing and his pa’s death, he’d found himself too angry to fulfill his duties and had no desire to play fairly.

Everything was pretty quiet for a while, and he thought for a minute the day could end without any incident, until the saloon doors slammed back against the wooden walls, making even the piano player halt his tune.

Even with his back turned, Jesse knew whoever had just entered had come for him.

“We ain’t got no beef with nobody here but that man right there.”

Jesse paid no attention to the voice behind him, putting the bowl to his mouth and sipping up the rest of his stew.

“I reckon you’d better turn around, Sheriff. I’d hate to have to shoot you in the back.”

Jesse spun around slowly on the bar stool he’d been sitting on.

“I think it’ll be best if you boys just circled back and walked right out that door you came through. Come back tomorrow this time, and I’ll be gone.”

“Not without taking you down,” one of the guys called out. “You’re the reason our brother ain’t never gonna walk again. My ma ain’t stopped crying since you put a hole in him.”

“Well, now,” Jesse said, stepping from the stool and undoing his holster. “He’s alive, ain’t he? Just imagine how she’d feel if I shot you two as well.” He patted the gun on his hip.

Jesse knew these two men—the Watson brothers. He’d arrested their younger sibling Ray, some years ago for trespassing. Ray had later held one of his deputy’s hostage, trying to escape. He wouldn’t let him go, so Jesse shot him in the hip, but the bullet had come out through his back, causing permanent damage to his spine. After the incident, the family moved, deciding to uproot a few towns over. It just so happened, Jesse had roamed into their territory today. Something told him things wouldn’t end well, especially since their older brother Clemens was the town’s sheriff.

“You stop right there,” Sam Watson, the older of the two yelled.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Joe said to his brother.

“Just shut up and do what I say. Keep that gun pointed at him.”

“Now, boys, I know your ma don’t want this.”

“Stay out of this, Miss Lola,” shouted Sam, grudgingly.

If Jesse’s head wasn’t still pounding so badly, maybe he would’ve thought more about his next move. The way he saw it, there was only a small window of opportunity for him to get out of his predicament without being shot. So he drew his weapon, shooting one of the brothers in the leg and the other in the arm. As one fell to the floor, he dropped his weapon but not before the other one had fired back, hitting Jesse in the shoulder.