By Enola Jones
"Get them!" James was bellowing. "Kill them!"
So, like good slaves, we ran to our horses to do our master's bidding. Some of us rode off, but some of us – me included – ended up ass-over-teakettle as our saddle cinches gave way.
James was screaming and cursing like a man who'd lost his mind. I picked myself up and saw the dandy meet up with a kid who looked barely old enough to hold a gun! The man I'd heard spouting the Bible and a darkie I mistook for a purchase rode up a moment later. They were joined by the cold hearted Larabee and a white Injun.
Now, I've always been a good one to see which way the wind was blowing. And as I watched those six ride out together, I had a feeling deep inside that James no longer owned Four Corners, and we were no longer his indentured servants.
Four Corners' future belonged to those six and any more of that ragtag band that was skulking around.
Looked like it was time to move on.
I hear tell Virginia City's Ponderosa is looking for ranch hands....
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