Chapter 2: The Confrontation
The prairie stretched out in all directions, an endless sea of golden grass swaying gently in the wind. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, casting long shadows across the land as Buck Harlan rode quietly along the ridge. The soft rhythm of Midnight’s hooves on the earth was the only sound for miles around, save for the occasional call of a distant hawk. Buck’s sharp blue eyes scanned the terrain, alert for any sign of movement, any disturbance that might signal he was getting close to his quarry.
For days, he had been following the faintest of trails, tracing Abilene Crowe’s path through the desolate stretches of the West. She was smart, always careful to cover her tracks, to move swiftly from place to place. But Buck was a patient man, methodical in his approach. He had studied her, pieced together what he could from the stories people told and the scraps of information he’d gathered. He knew about the fiery determination that drove her, the loss that had hardened her heart. And he knew she was more than just a skilled gunslinger she was a survivor.
Buck wasn’t one to underestimate his targets, especially not someone like Abilene. That was why he hadn’t gone charging after her the moment he got word of her location. Instead, he had spent his time learning everything he could about her, understanding her movements, her patterns. He needed to anticipate her next move, to stay one step ahead if he was going to catch her. And now, after days of careful tracking, he was finally closing in.
He slowed Midnight to a stop at the edge of a small grove of trees, dismounting quietly. He had reached the outskirts of the Crowe homestead, or what was left of it. The place had been abandoned for months, ever since Abilene’s father had been buried in the small cemetery nearby. The house was nothing more than a weathered ruin, its windows shattered, the roof caving in from neglect. But Buck knew that even if Abilene had only stopped here for a short time, she would have left some sign of her presence.
He tethered Midnight to a low-hanging branch and began to make his way toward the house, moving with the practiced stealth of a man who had spent years hunting dangerous prey. His hand rested lightly on the butt of his revolver, ready for anything. As he approached the house, he crouched low, his eyes sweeping over the ground, searching for anything out of place. There—a patch of disturbed earth, the faint imprint of a boot heel. It was recent, too. He was getting closer.
Buck moved carefully through the wreckage of the old house, his footsteps almost silent as he stepped over broken boards and shattered glass. The place was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint creaking of the house settling in the breeze. He paused near what had once been the front door, his eyes narrowing as he studied the tracks leading away from the house and toward the old barn.
He followed the trail, his heart rate steady, his breathing controlled. As he approached the barn, he could see that the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness beckoning him inside. Buck drew his revolver, his grip firm but relaxed. He pushed the door open with the tip of his boot, slipping inside as quietly as a shadow.
The barn was dimly lit by the fading light of day, the air thick with the smell of hay and old wood. Buck’s eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, his senses heightened. He moved deeper into the barn, his gaze sweeping over the stalls and the loft above. There was no sign of Abilene, but he knew better than to let his guard down. She could be hiding anywhere, waiting to ambush him. He had to be careful.
Then, a faint rustle caught his attention. Buck froze, his ears straining to pinpoint the source of the sound. It was coming from the far corner of the barn, near a stack of old crates. He moved closer, his gun at the ready, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. He stopped a few feet away from the crates, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the edge of a boot peeking out from behind one of them.
“I know you’re there, Abilene,” Buck called out, his voice calm and steady.
“No use hidin’. Why don’t you step out nice and slow, and we can settle this without any more bloodshed.”
For a moment, there was only silence, the tension in the air almost palpable. Then, the boot moved, and Abilene emerged from behind the crates, her own revolver pointed straight at Buck. Her green eyes were cold, her face set in a determined scowl.
“I reckon we’re a bit past that, don’t you think, Buck?”
Buck didn’t lower his gun, but he didn’t raise it either. He simply stared at her, taking in the way she held herself, the steadiness of her aim. She was good—damn good. And she wasn’t about to back down.
“Maybe so,” he conceded, his tone even. “But there’s no need for this to end with one of us in the ground.”
Abilene smirked, a humorless curve of her lips.
“Funny, coming from a bounty hunter. Isn’t that what you’re here for? To drag me back to Bitter Creek and collect your blood money?”
Buck’s eyes flickered with something was it regret? Maybe.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” Abilene’s voice was laced with bitterness.
“You’re just like the rest of them. All you see is a wanted poster with a price on my head. You don’t care about why I did what I did. All you care about is getting paid.”
“You think I haven’t heard your story?” Buck replied, his voice low.
“I know what happened to your father, and I know why you killed Hank. But that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a bounty on you, and I’ve got a job to do.”
Abilene’s grip on her gun tightened, her jaw clenched.
“Then I guess we’ve got nothing left to talk about.”
With that, she fired, the sound of the shot deafening in the enclosed space. But Buck was already moving, diving to the side as the bullet whizzed past his head. He rolled behind a stack of hay bales, returning fire in a quick, controlled burst. The barn erupted into a chaotic symphony of gunfire, both of them moving with the practiced grace of seasoned fighters.
Abilene ducked behind a wooden beam, her heart pounding in her chest as she reloaded her revolver. Buck was fast, faster than she’d expected, and she knew she couldn’t afford to underestimate him. She fired off another shot, the bullet splintering the beam near Buck’s head.
“You’re good,” Buck called out, his voice carrying over the din of the gunfight. “But you’re not gonna shake me that easy.”
“Watch me,” Abilene shot back, darting out from behind the beam and firing as she moved. She needed to get out of the barn, out into the open where she could use the terrain to her advantage. But Buck was already anticipating her move, his shots driving her back toward the center of the barn.
Buck knew he had to end this quickly. He couldn’t afford to let Abilene get the upper hand, not when she was this dangerous. He had been tracking her for days, learning her patterns, her habits. He knew how she fought, how she thought. And he had set the perfect trap.
As Abilene retreated, her back to the stalls, Buck made his move. He fired off a rapid series of shots, forcing her to dive for cover behind a pile of old crates. But as she landed, the floor beneath her gave way with a loud creak, the wood splintering under her weight. Before she could react, the trap Buck had set was triggered—a hidden pitfall, cleverly concealed beneath the straw and debris.
With a gasp, Abilene fell, her gun clattering out of her hand as she tumbled into the pit. She hit the bottom hard, the wind knocked out of her, and for a moment she lay there, dazed and disoriented.
Buck was on her in an instant, his gun trained on her as he approached the edge of the pit.
“Told you it didn’t have to end this way,” he said, his voice carrying a note of finality.
Abilene glared up at him, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She was trapped, and she knew it. But she wasn’t about to beg for mercy.
“You think you’ve won, Buck? You think dragging me back to that corrupt town is gonna make things right?”
Buck didn’t answer immediately. He stared down at her, the defiant set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes that hadn’t dimmed even after all they’d been through. There was something about her something that made him hesitate, made him question whether he was really doing the right thing.
“Maybe not,” he said finally, holstering his gun.
“But it’s the only way I know how to make sense of all this. You’re comin’ with me, Abilene. Whether you like it or not.”
Abilene forced herself to sit up, wincing as she tested the weight on her injured ankle. “You think you can just haul me back to Bitter Creek and collect your bounty? You’ll be lucky if you make it halfway there without me putting a bullet in your back.”