Arianna Quincy hurried into the mercantile, a scribbled list clutched in her hand. She had two goals—purchase the needed items, and talk her way into a job and a new life. Taking a moment to gather her courage, she wandered over to the colorful bolts of cloth and picked up a pretty calico.
“Awright everybody, just stay calm, and keep your hands up where I can see ’em. You, shopkeeper, open that till, and be quick about it!”
She spotted a man brandishing a Colt, and her eyes riveted on his face. A filthy hat was pulled low on his head, and a bandana covered his mouth. She stepped back.
“Lady,” he said. “I mean it. Hands up and don’t move.”
She raised her trembling arms, still holding the cloth. Panic coursed through her veins, and a lump lodged in her throat. What in heaven’s name...?
He swung his attention back to her cousin Billy behind the counter and motioned with his gun. “Hurry it up, I ain’t got all day. Just stuff the money in this here bag.”
Billy’s mouth turned down but did as he was told. He placed the bills and coins in the canvas sack. “Uh, mister, you should know this store belongs to the former sheriff and his wife, and they aren’t gonna take kindly to this.”
“Shut up, kid. Hand over some of that there coffee and tobacco.”
At the soft step behind her, Arianna swung her gaze to the left. A tall stranger grasping a shovel glared at her. His eyes demanded she stay silent. He mouthed, “I’m the new deputy. Drop the bolt.” His finger went to his lips.
Her face blazed. She was no fool. She wouldn’t cry out like a child.
Again he mouthed, “Drop it. Now.”
