Chapter One

 July 1885, not far from Weir City, Kansas

The small yellow stone spun like a top as it soared across the water, only to touch down on the calm glossy surface and bounce into the air once more, then over and over many times before it finally submerged. Ian was good at skipping rocks across the pond, like most every other thing he did.
“See, do it just like that,” Ian said, giving yet another lesson to his little brother, Sawyer. Ian was fourteen and always chosen to be the pitcher whenever the kids from town scratched up a game when they weren’t underground.
“But I can’t do it like you,” Sawyer replied. At eight years old, he had no interest in throwing rocks in the water. It made no sense to him.
“Yes, ya can. Ya just gotta try.” Ian was encouraging.
“But I don’t wanna try.” Sawyer huffed and started to turn away.
“Hey, don’t be a quitter. Pa doesn’t like quitters.”
Sawyer frowned, as their father had never said anything of the sort to him before, and besides, he didn’t like the comment. “I’m not a quitter,” he said, standing his ground. “I just can’t do it.” He then watched Ian launch another rock through the air. When it stopped bouncing across the water, he added, “I’m going back.”
“Suit yourself then,” Ian replied. His tone was aloof, but when Sawyer started off, he watched his little brother walk away. “Why won’t he ever listen to me?” he asked himself.
As Sawyer drew close to the engine house, he could hear voices coming from inside, but it was not an idle conversation. It was arguing, which piqued his interest as he crept closer to the front door. He could hear his father’s best friend explode in anger. “Goddammit, John!” Lucius said. “They came here for a reason. They want your land, and they ain’t gonna stop till they get it!” Lucius was tall and muscled with broad shoulders and large rough hands. He wore a thick mustache and had twisting locks of coal-black hair. He was intimidating, and not just to Sawyer. He was always on edge, and his tone and demeanor often frightened the young child.
“They’re not coming back,” Sawyer’s dad, Johnston, replied in a calm voice. “I told ’em no, and nuthin’ else needs to be said.”
Sawyer listened to his father’s soothing tone, something he was quite used to hearing. He slid over to the window and nudged his nose above the sill, hoping for a closer look. Stretching on his tiptoes, he could see the men standing by the hoist through the dusty glass. His father was shaking his head most dramatically as Lucius spoke.
“I’ll get some of the boys, and we’ll stay here a few days. If they come back, it’ll be the last thing they do—I promise ya that.”
But Johnston insisted, “It’s not necessary. Besides, you have the new business to run.” Lucius and Johnston had owned a mine together on the edge of town. For ten long years, they’d worked side by side, but when the coal had finally run out, Johnston bought land near Cherokee to start a new mine, while Lucius opened a hardware store. He didn’t want to be a coal miner any longer.
Sawyer struggled to understand what the men were discussing, so he returned to the door and pressed his ear to the crack. His young eyes grew wide and bright when he heard Lucius erupt in a vicious and hateful barrage of foul and vulgar words.
“Ah, fuck the new business!” he said. “And fuck Jay Gould. If that son of a bitch sends anyone else out here, I’ll bury those motherfuckers myself!” Sawyer was frightened for this man, Gould, whoever he might be. He’d never heard Lucius threaten anyone before, and his heart began to race. Seconds later, he heard heavy footsteps approaching and quickly leapt away from the door. He ducked around the corner and crouched down, then leaned his back against the wall and pointed an ear in their direction. He listened as the men walked outside.
Johnston continued in his usual tone. “Look, everything’s gonna be fine. Gould will just have to figure out a different route. Anyway, I’ve got more to worry about than his agents. This place must be in operation before winter.”
“But, what if…” Lucius said, but his friend raised a hand and stopped him from saying any more. He wasn’t going to budge.
Lucius threw up his hands in disgust. “Ah, Jesus Christ, you’re pigheaded!” Then he marched hastily toward his horse. After mounting, Lucius swung the animal around and had one last thing to say. “I’ll be back tomorrow whether you like it or not. And each day after, too, until I know those sons-a-bitches are gone.” Before Johnston could say any more, Lucius hollered and spurred the animal forward, kicking up a cloud of dust from the arid soil as he rode away.
Johnston shook his head before walking back inside. Moments later, Ian arrived from the pond. Sawyer was about to tell him everything he’d overheard when his father came back outside holding a box with a long fuse hanging from one end. “Come on,” Johnston said to his elder son. “Let’s go set these charges. We’re gonna have a long day tomorrow pickin’ rocks from the shaft.”
But Ian had other plans. “Tomorrow? But me and William are goin’ fishin’ tomorrow with some other boys. I told ya!”
“What?” his father asked, then shook his head. “No, you’re not goin’ fishin’ tomorrow. We’ve got too much to do.” Johnston really did remember, after all, but the whole ordeal with the agents had him more on edge than he wanted to admit.
Ian was ready to burst. “But ya said I could go! Can’t ya find no one else?” He thought of Sawyer, but his father never made him do work like that.
“There is no one else, Ian, not till we have this place in operation. Till then, it’s just you and me. Ya know that.”
Ian stared at his father. “But it’s not fair!” he said. He was still hoping to get his way, and he could no longer leave his little brother out of it. “Why can’t Sawyer help? You never make him do nuthin’!”
Johnston was fuming inside but remained composed. Between Ian and Lucius, he often wondered which of them gave him more stress. “I can’t have this right now,” he said, chiding the boy. “Everything is riding on this. We have to get this place up and running or else—”
Ian erupted. “I don’t care about this stupid mine! You always take back your promises!” He spun around on his heels and darted back toward the pond.
Johnston was dumbstruck. He was no stranger to his son’s fiery temper, but it was rarely directed at him so openly. He didn’t know what to say, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sawyer standing at the edge of the building with obvious confusion washed over his young face. Johnston knew just what to say to his younger son. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Sawyer. I promise. Go on down to the pond with your brother. I’m gonna set these charges, and then we can all go home, OK?”
Sawyer nodded but didn’t go anywhere. Instead, he curiously watched his father walk away until something else caught his eye, a group of birds circling before the scorching sun. They were crows. Eventually, they landed on a dying branch of an old tree and watched his father too. Even at his young age, Sawyer knew what it meant. He’d heard others in town tell of the death omen before but didn’t know what to think of such things—they were so illogical. But when one of the birds suddenly twisted its head in his direction, he got scared and quickly turned away.
Sawyer hurried back down to the pond, but when he got there, Ian wouldn’t speak to him. He watched his brother trudge over to a maple tree not far away, then scurry up its tangled mess of branches, leaving him behind. He sat by the pond alone, playing in the dirt for some time, until their father came to get them both. On the ride home, none of them said a word.

***

The next day was like all the others, dry and hot with too little breeze to make any difference. A cloud of dust gently swirled as three riders raced across the desiccated prairie under the late morning sun. Lucius was in the lead. There was a steely determination in his eyes, which was nothing unusual for a man with a propensity for violence. The others had come along in case there was any trouble. They too were rough and lawless men. The riders slowed as they reached the inner sanctum of what would soon be known as the Pendleton mine. Lucius glanced from side to side, hoping to catch sight of the railroad agents, as he and his cohorts would teach them a lesson they’d never forget. He’d gone looking for the agents the night before in Weir City and the surrounding area but had not found them.
After dismounting, Lucius noticed his friend’s horse chewing grass not far away, but there was no sign of Johnston or of Ian. He told the others to spread out. He walked to the engine house and leaned inside the door, but no one was there. He then walked by the storage shed and over to a pile of framing lumber, which would soon be used to construct the new tipple once a railroad spur was brought to the mine. Lucius didn’t like the silence in the air.
“John!” Lucius shouted, then listened for a reply, but nothing came. He yelled again, only this time more loudly, “Hey, John!” but again there was only silence. He considered riding to Johnston’s house, but then remembered the man’s horse still standing in the grass. “Where the hell is he?” he asked the wind, then removed his hat, giving his scalp a chance to breathe. He ran his fingers through his wet and sweaty hair. The small breeze was dry and hot, but it still felt good. An eerie notion soon crawled inside his brain. For weeks, Johnston had blasted and removed countless tons of rock, clay, and soil from the new shaft. Lucius wasn’t a nervous man, but grew on edge as he approached the collar, then peered over its dark edge. He had no idea how far down it went. “John?” he yelled out, then listened closely.
But there was nothing.
The other men drew near the shaft.
Lucius glanced around and spotted a Davy lamp not far away. He wondered why his friend hadn’t taken the safety light down with him, if that’s where he was. He grabbed it and removed a match from his shirt pocket, which he struck against the timber on the head gear. He held the flame to the wick, allowing light to grow inside. After ordering one of the other men to fetch some rope, Lucius tied one end around the handle and slowly lowered the lamp into the abyss. It took only a few seconds before he saw the most horrible image of his life. There, sprawled along the rocks at the bottom, was his friend. He wasn’t moving, and his limbs were contorted, and for the first time in Lucius’s life, he panicked.
“John!” he screamed, and his eyes grew wide with fear. “John!” he yelled again, then quickly turned to the other men. “Go let down the cage!” But the others hadn’t a clue what to do; they weren’t coal miners. Lucius quickly pushed them in the direction of the engine house. When they got inside, he fired up the hoist and showed them what to do. Then he rushed back to the shaft, shoved the cage into position, and climbed aboard. Soon, he was lowered into the darkness.

***

Lucius didn’t send for a doctor; there was no need. He didn’t send for the family, either, as he didn’t want them to see their husband and father cast over the stones like that. Instead, he lifted his friend onto the cage and brought him to the surface. He cleaned the wounds the best he could and wrapped him in a wool blanket. He sent the others on to Weir City with a warning to say nothing. This news must come from him alone.
Afterward, Lucius laid Johnston’s body across the back of his horse, and he tied his friend’s hands and feet together. Then he climbed into the saddle of his own horse, and he slowly walked both animals to town. When he got there, it didn’t take long for onlookers to know something terrible had happened, but no one dared ask Lucius. As the horses ambled down the street, people gawked from their walkways, from their yards and porches, and from their windowsills. Several men and young boys started following behind.

***

Meanwhile, Sawyer was standing in the front room of his family home, looking at objects on the porch through the woven wire mesh in the screen door. He liked how the wire made them appear darker than they really were. He liked to study all sorts of things. At his tender age, he was blessed with an extraordinary talent for deductive reasoning.
But the wire mesh couldn’t hide what was now out on the street. Sawyer watched his godfather steer the horses into their front yard, then slowly climb down from the saddle. There was a parade of people behind him. His young mind put it together quickly. The expression worn by the older man was a melding of sadness and concern, quite uncommon for Lucius, which suggested something abnormal had occurred. The onlookers huddled on the street certainly supported this inference, as did the body draped over his father’s horse. He noticed the boots right away.
Sawyer spun around on his heels and stepped toward the kitchen. He stood in the doorway and looked up at his mother. Eliza was preparing ingredients for a stew when she noticed him there. She smiled at her darling younger boy but quickly pondered his impassive expression, which she hadn’t seen before. She set the knife on the counter and dropped the smile.
“Something’s happened to Papa,” Sawyer told her.
She stared at him. Her first thought was to scold him for saying something terrible like that, for teasing her. But then she remembered, Sawyer never teased, and he never made anything up. Eliza’s brow furrowed as she wiped her hands on a towel and tossed it aside. She looked down at the boy once more as she walked by him on her way to the screen door. As she got close, she could see a horse and rider standing just in front of the porch. She pushed forward on the small wooden frame and stepped outside.
Lucius had just lifted his foot to the first step when the door opened. He stopped and looked at Eliza; his eyes were pensive and sorrowful. He’d practiced many things to say to her along the way, words of condolence, something to ease the pain, but when he saw her, standing there, he couldn’t say any of them. Instead, he stepped down so she could see for herself.
Eliza looked at her husband’s horse, then noticed the blanket. Just like her son, she saw the boots right away. She grew apprehensive. “Lucius?” she said, pausing to look at him. But Lucius dropped his head and kept silent, knowing he couldn’t stop the pain that was about to come. Eliza’s eyes grew wide and she began to shake her head. “No,” she said, trying to make it not so. She stepped down from the porch and let out a harrowing scream.
The sound of her pain pierced Lucius’s heart.
Eliza screamed again, then threw her arms across the blanket. Her neighbor Evelyn came rushing to her side. She grabbed and pulled her in, allowing the disconsolate woman to weep into her shoulder. Eliza slumped down and convulsed in agony, but Evelyn kept a tight hold. “Come on, let’s get you inside,” she said, trying to comfort her. Eliza’s legs wobbled as she scaled the porch steps and made her way into the house.
Some onlookers began to disperse, but others lingered.
Once Eliza was inside, Lucius reached underneath the belly of Johnston’s horse and untied the feet and hands, then carefully pulled on the blanket and cradled his friend in his arms. Afterward, he turned toward the house.

***

A block away, Ian and William were walking home, laughing and joking around, excited about their morning haul. Each boy carried a bucket of fish in one hand and a pole in the other. Ian couldn’t wait to show his father but stopped in his tracks when he saw people standing in the street by his house. Then he saw Lucius carrying something onto the porch. He didn’t know what it was, but a pain took root in the pit of his stomach. He dropped his pole and bucket and started to run.
A neighbor held open the door as Lucius walked inside with Johnston. He laid him on the sofa with gentle hands. Afterward, he pulled open the blanket and revealed the face of his old friend. Eliza dropped to her knees by her husband’s side. She wept as she stared into his face, a lifetime of memories passing through her mind in an instant. The cuts and gashes in his skin couldn’t hide the kind and beautiful man she knew and loved.
Ian could hear his mother wailing as he raced through the yard. He hurdled the steps in a single bound and tore open the screen door, throwing himself inside. He was stunned to see his father lying on the couch, his mother’s head buried in his chest. He looked at Lucius, a man he idolized, someone to tell him it was all a dream. Instead, the older man couldn’t hold back. “Where the hell was ya?” he asked. His tone was coarse, almost vicious, but he felt hollow when the boy’s expression immediately collapsed into fear. The child rushed to his mother’s side and dropped to his knees. He threw an arm around her back and started to cry.
Lucius felt ashamed, as he knew if Ian had been there, two bodies would have been at the bottom of the shaft. His frustration quickly boiled over. He screamed, “Goddammit!” then turned and threw open the screen door and stormed outside. Several people on the porch fell away as the man stomped down the steps and climbed into the saddle. He tossed the reins of Johnston’s horse aside and spun his own animal around and kicked hard on its flanks. He hollered and raced out of the yard at full speed.
Lucius had a destination in mind but made one stop first: a bootlegger’s house on the outskirts of town. He walked inside and swiped a bottle from the table, then threw down some coins. Lucius didn’t need the courage inside that bottle, but it would help him inflict cruelty on those responsible, and in that moment that was all he desired.
He rode out of town as fast as he could but eventually slowed to choke back a few swigs of whiskey. A couple of miles later, he slowed even more as the gulps became more frequent. By the time he reached Pittsburg, his horse strolled along Broadway as Lucius took down the last swallow. The bottle made a hollow sound when it hit the dirt.
Though his vision was blurred, Lucius was flooded with thoughts, like the day he and Johnston met when the war began. They were young and hopeful the fighting wouldn’t last. They both had dreams of going west. He also remembered the day Johnston saved his life, and the time his friend asked him to watch over his family if anything were to happen. He was quick to agree, thinking that day would never come. But his friend’s death was no accident, nor was it a cruel twist of fate. It was done at the hands of cowardly and heartless men, all for greed, and Lucius knew exactly whom to blame. When he reached the building, through glassy and rageful eyes he stared at the hand-painted letters across the brick: Western Coal & Mining Company. It was the mining division of the rich and powerful Missouri Pacific Railroad, owned by Jayson Gould from New York City. Lucius didn’t expect to find the man anywhere within a thousand miles of Pittsburg, Kansas, but hoped his agents might still be hanging around—or if they weren’t, at least someone might know what hole they were hiding in.
Lucius climbed down from the saddle. When his boots hit the dirt, he swayed backward but steadied himself with the reins. He concentrated on the markings on the stirrup fender until his double vision corrected. A man in the walkway could see how inebriated he was and asked if he was alright. Lucius stared at him with cold, hateful eyes and said, “Mind your own fuckin’ business.” When the man shuffled away, Lucius pulled his shotgun from the scabbard with one hand, and yanked his .45 revolver from its holster with the other. Stepping forward he thought of Johnston one last time. He thought of the life the agents had taken, the pain they’d given his wife and children, and most of all, how he’d never see his friend again, thanks to those sons of bitches inside. Standing before the tall double doors, he turned his head and spat his tobacco on the walkway, then raised his boot and violently kicked them open.