The Scion Executioner

CHAPTER ONE

THE DYING SUN CAST A shadow over the fields of tall, golden grass. Theodore Morris despised traveling that far from the torch lit streets of Flat Meadows at night. He knew all too well what could lurk in the shadows.

He watched the sun fade behind the Blue Mountains, trying to ignore the grinding of the iron axles on his horse carriage. He had chosen to take the journey alone, a testament to the importance of tonight’s task.

The carriage bounced to the side, throwing him out of position. He cursed under his breath. He wasn’t sure if he was angrier at the carriage or the reason for riding in it in the first place. His thoughts were plagued with the possibilities of his own failure. The Circle frowned upon failure.

The fields of shrubs and wild grasses shifted into grassy prairies. The silhouettes of grazing cattle signaled the edge of the Bruce Brunston’s Ranch. He was getting closer. He didn’t visit Bruce often, instead preferring for his subordinates to come to him. Bruce was an outsider; although he had lived in the town long enough that most folks no longer considered him one. The overweight rancher had become quite the political ally, though Theodore was certain that Bruce coveted his own ambitions within The Circle.

Two large shadows, riders on horseback, interrupted Theodore’s thoughts. It was two of Bruce’s field hands, youngsters by the sound of them. They seemed curious about Theodore’s passing stagecoach. Theodore felt a trickle of pride at the attention. It wasn’t often that the mayor’s Carriage went out for an evening outing. They should take notice. However, he didn’t need prying eyes. He glared in their direction as they passed, hoping their curiosity waned. The two riders kicked their horses into a gallop, racing back towards town.

Theodore recognized them as the late Sheriff Cray’s boys although he couldn’t place their names. The young spawn of Dale Cray and his adopted brother were known around town as mettlesome troublemakers. That’s what happens when you grow up as the sheriff’s sons and can get away with anything. Theodore turned and spread the curtain that shielded his back window. He stared at the two brothers as they continued down the road, kicking dust as they raced. They’d better not mettle in his affairs, he thought. He could not afford the complication.

The carriage continued for several minutes more as Theodore’s mind wandered. Finally, the carriage rocked as it rolled over a particularly rough stretch of dirt road. It had turned off of the smoother dusty road and onto a rocky private path that meandered down to a meadow. They had arrived on the Whitney property. In the center of the meadow was a small, quaint, cabin. Behind it lay several acres of field, plowed into neat rows. The end of summer was upon them, and his fields seemed ready for the coming harvest.

Off to the right stood three rectangular structures constructed from large panels of glass that reflected the last rays of the sun. They were John Whitney’s greenhouses, Theodore realized, and housed his greatest works.

John Whitney was a rather old man, though not frail by any means. He considered himself a botanist, having studied and worked with plants and vegetation his entire life. His gardens and greenhouses provided vital herbs to the local health clinic. His insight was an invaluable asset to the community. But his selfish ignorance was about to cost him his life.

The carriage pulled to a halt. The horses snorted and stomped; their reins rattling against their long necks. The driver- Theodore never could remember the fellow’s name- opened the carriage door and stood beside it at attention. Theodore studied him and decided he was pleased with his perfect posture. Even in the darkness, Theodore could see the golden fabric embroidered on the gentlemen’s cuffs and collar. Theodore’s servants were tasked with wearing their best uniforms while on duty. As mayor, his help was a reflection of himself. Appearance was everything, and even more so in an election year.

Theodore adjusted his own collar and cuffs as he approached the entrance to John Whitney’s little home. He had only been there once before, albeit not for long. It was quaint living arrangements, but standard for the frontier. The house was made of thick logs. Only plain wool curtains hung in the windows, serving no fashionable purpose. How ridiculous. Another section intersected the right side of the structure giving the house additional space.

Theodore stood staring at the wooden door until his chauffeur knocked for him. The door slid slightly ajar and John Whitney peeked out outside. Theodore waved his driver away in dismissal.

Mister mayor, what do I owe the pleasure? John asked, a perplexed expression passing over his face.

Theodore gave as warm a smile as he could manage. The old goat knew exactly why he was there. The buffoon should fall to his knees and thank him for making time to bargain for his life.

I believe we have some business to discuss, Theodore said. May I come in?

It was not a request despite Theodore’s phasing of words.

For a second, Theodore thought John Whitney intended to slam the door in his face. That would have been a mistake. After a few long beats, John must have seen reason as the door opened wider. His momentary defiance irritated Theodore. How dare the man leave him out in the cooling air, waiting like some kind of servant? He was a distinguished guest and should be treated as one!

Theodore stepped into the cabin. It was just as he had expected and in some ways worse. The smell of musk tickled his nostrils. He couldn’t help but wonder when the last time his host had dusted.

A man with John Whitney’s reputation should be more established in society. He had to have accumulated vast wealth with his knowledge and skill. Yet he failed to upgrade his living arrangements, how pathetic. Theodore tried to suppress the pity and distaste that surfaced in his mind, but his efforts failed.

John walked across the room and sat in a hand-carved chair. It was wide, thick and impeccably crafted. It had to be made of fine northern mahogany. No one in Flat Meadows was skilled enough to craft such a work. Perhaps Theodore had misjudged the man before him. He had some inkling of taste.

Theodore truly took note of the man for the first time. John Whitney had certainly entered the golden days of his life. His hair was nearly completely gray and receding. His skin was wrinkled around his face, but he still had the body of a man half his age.

His forearms and biceps revealed the years of tending the land through which he had suffered. His clothes were old and worn. Holes had worn through his brown pants. Theodore found the man’s personal presentation to be perplexing.

Please have a seat, John said, pointing to one of the rickety wooden chairs across from him. Was that a challenge? Theodore studied John Whitney’s face. The man seemed sincere. No malice was visible on his face.

I’d rather stand, Theodore said with a polite smile. He had to be careful with his approach. He needed to confirm the report that John intended to betray The Circle, and then convince him to change his mind. Theodore had learned that it was easier to get what you wanted from someone if you appeared cordial in nature.

John, who is that visiting you at this time of night? If it’s another one of your friends from the south, I’ll chase him off my property myself. They can get their fix in the morning, A woman said in the other room.

There were rumors and bar talk about Whitney’s black market dealings. Apparently, medical herbs were not the only plants he grew in those greenhouses. Of course, Theodore was fairly certain of that fact anyways. His wife’s careless outburst proved that he wasn’t the only one doing business with the purported botanist.

Theodore wondered just how much she knew of her husband’s dealings. Did she know about The Circle and its plans? Theodore was fairly certain that she wasn’t a member, although even with his ranking, he wasn’t informed of the identity of all members. That is what kept everyone in the organization safe.

It’s also what kept everyone replaceable.

That must be the lovely Betty, Theodore said.

The woman stomped into the living room and stopped at the sight of him. She was younger than John but not by much. The years had been kinder to her than John. Still, gray hairs had replaced most of the natural dark on her head, although a few spots remained. Her dark eyes were small and beady which made her long, hooked nose even more obvious.

Why it’s the mayor. To what do we owe the pleasure? Betty asked. Her face blushed with embarrassment. She mouthed a silent apology to her husband.

Theodore locked eyes with John for the tiny hint of a second before answering. Yes, he confirmed to himself, cordial would be more effective. People responded to kindness more easily that force.

I do apologize for visiting at this late hour. I’m here on official town business with your husband. We need to discuss a certain arrangement that we orchestrated a while ago. It appears there may have been some setbacks that we need to discuss, Theodore returned his gaze to John.

I see, well don’t let me be a bother. You two chat and I’ll be in the back, honey, Betty said.

John nodded in confirmation without taking his eyes off of Theodore. The two continued to stare as Betty retreated back through the house. The silence lingered as Betty’s footsteps grew softer. Only when they had disappeared did John finally speak.

I know why you’re here. The news you heard is true. I’ve reconsidered my participation in The Circle’s plans. John voice was lowered to a whisper, but remained calm and steady. He was perhaps a little to calm and steady. He had expected the confrontation. His cautioning to keep his voice low indicated that he hadn’t involved Betty. Perhaps Theodore could use that to his advantage.

That is why I’ve come. John, I’m worried for your safety. You can’t just leave this organization. It’s too late to change your mind now, you’re in too deep. Theodore made sure to also keep his voice low.

I cannot continue knowing what I now know. I am all for rebellion and revolution. The good Overlord knows I hate the tyranny of the Principality as much as anyone… But I will not have a hand in the deaths of thousands, John said.

John I’ve known you since I was a child. You’ve been an asset to this town and to this community. I consider you a friend. Do not go down this path. I cannot prevent the reckoning that could come your way.

Theodore chose that moment as the perfect time to sit and get eye level with John Whitney. He took the rickety old chair John had offered him earlier and leaned forward, hoping it was strong enough to support his weight.

John paused and sighed. I appreciate your friendship, but I must listen to my conscious. I cannot one day meet the Overlord bearing that sin.

Theodore nearly laughed. He hated talking of conscience, morality, the overlord, or anything that referred to God or a higher being as an excuse for feelings of guilt. Theodore knew the truth of what John could not admit. John’s sudden conscience had nothing to do with the Overlord, and everything to do with his feeble will and weak mind.

How can you be so selfish?

Selfish? Wanting to prevent people from dying is selfish? Surprise mixed with anger flashed onto John’s face. Have you heard about the riots in the Salt Hills? Crime runs rampant in the Marshlands, but I’m sure you are aware of that due to your secret associations with their crime lords. The Frontierlands have been left to fester and survive on their own since ridding the land of the tribal nomads. All the while the Tri-Cities enjoy their lavish parties oblivious to our concerns.

How long will it before the nomads return, or we attract attention from one of the Northern Kingdoms? You are preventing the liberation and possibly the safety of millions because of a few thousand. Sometimes we must do what is right for the many even at the expense of the few, Theodore said.

I will not resort to such methods just so we can have a shot at crippling this government, even if it brings down the Prince himself, John said.

You have no choice, John. You will deliver the supply you promised, Theodore said, raising his voice. He could feel his patience wearing thin.

No, I will not! John Whitney said.

Something about the defiance in the old man’s voice and the look of silent resolve in his eyes infuriated Theodore. He was losing ground. An outcome where he convinced the old man to continue his service seemed less and less apparent.

I command you, John. I rank higher than you in all facets of life. I will see that you finish what you started, Theodore warned.

How dare you? John Whitney said. His glare towards him made Theodore wonder if the old fool would try to assault him. He was a salt of the earth type man. Violence, – despite his claims – wasn’t above his nature.

Theodore could tell he was losing John. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to strong arm him. He had to recover, pull him back in.

I will double the agreed upon price. I will pay you whatever you desire. Theodore calmed his voice. John Whitney shook his head.

What do you want John? I’ll give you deeds to lands. I’ll make you my second-in-command after the dust settles and The Circle accomplishes its goals. Theodore was close to yelling. John’s eyes flickered towards the hallway, a sign that their voices had risen to an unsafe level.

I don’t need your money, your titles, or your lands, John was known to be thick-skulled, and he was living up to that reputation. Theodore didn’t understand. He was promising John Whitney the world, yet still, he wasn’t reconsidering. There was something wrong with a man who didn’t want money or power. Perhaps smoking those herbs of his had poisoned his mind.

Then how about I offer you your life, John? You’re in too deep and know too much. They will not simply allow you to walk away, Theodore said.

The old man nodded in agreement, grimacing as he did. He seemed aware of his possible fate. How could he be so accepting?

I’ve assumed as much. I’ve heard tales of what has happened in similar situations, John said.

"I received a telegram today. They are sending an executioner. The order has already been delivered. It could be tonight, or it could be two weeks from now…but an executioner is coming. They only task them with thinning the ranks. He’s coming for you and possibly for me too if you continue down this path," Theodore said.

Theodore had never encountered an executioner. He had hoped he’d never have to until the frontier was under his command.

Rumor was that the executioners were Scions.

Theodore suppressed a shiver as he thought of the gifted persons who could exhibit superhuman and sometimes supernatural abilities. They were rare, and most were hunted and killed by Principality commandos-an elite group made up of their own kind. Men like them deserved to be hunted or tamed. It was one of the few positions with which he agreed with the laws of the land.

John’s brow had creased. His gaze was trained on the floor as he leaned back in his chair. He seemed tired all of a sudden. His gaze shifted to the wall opposite of Theodore, his mind seemed distant. Could that tidbit of information have convinced him?

Why don’t you do it? You’re of the highest rank and have the most to lose for this. You could get away with it, John asked.

As tempting as the prospect sounded at that moment, the thought of ending John’s life disgusted Theodore.

Anyone of any elevated status shouldn’t ever carry out a task themselves. Theodore didn’t even carry a gun on his person. He had hired men for that sole purpose as well as servants he trusted who might consider such a deed for a sizable fee.

Then there were the active members of The Circle within the community.

The group was a secret yet organized society, but Theodore had come to either know or at least suspect who most of the members were within the town.

It’s not protocol. Besides, Whitney, I’m not fond of the idea of losing you. You’ve been an asset to this community. Theodore was surprised at the note of sincerity in his own voice.

Maybe, deep down, he believed his words were true.

You’re a coward is what you meant to say, John said.

I beg your pardon? Theodore asked, stunned.

I appreciate the warning Mr. Mayor. Don’t worry I’m not afraid of death. I’ve lived a long and fruitful life. If I must die so others may live, that could be considered an honorable way to go. It’s better than wasting away from old age that’s for sure.

Theodore couldn’t believe it. The man was impossible! Theodore’s life could be at stake as well, yet John didn’t care. Executioners were known to be rabid dogs who acted on their own accord.

I would hope you send your wife away. I would hate for Betty to suffer for your folly. Well, I’ll just take what you have produced. Give me the batches that you’ve already raised and I will depart. Perhaps I can use them to convince the executioner to make it quick, Theodore commanded. He could possibly fit the majority of the crops in his carriage. It would be tricky delivering the plants to a secret depot, but some return on his investment was better than none. He’d just have to overlook the inconvenience.

I’ve disposed of them already. I knew someone like you would come looking. No need in risking my life if you’re still able to continue your plans, John said.

Theodore rubbed his right hand through his dark hair, pulling it as he did. He hadn’t anticipated John Whitney’s boldness. He had never believed that John would have the gall to dispose of the plants. This was a definite setback. Everything else in the other regions was nearly set. He was the only proprietor behind schedule. Everything was going wrong and right on the eve of an election.

He needed to find a way to recover soon, or he’d be the next target for the executioner.

You’ve doomed the both of us you fool, Theodore said. It took everything within him not to yell. Theodore jumped out of the chair and kicked it. It rocked and flipped over.

He could feel his blood boiling. It surged through his veins as his heart pounded in his ears. The rage was consuming him.

John Whitney stood up from his seat with deliberate care, his eyes wide. Theodore wasn’t sure if it was from shock or anger, at the moment he didn’t care.

No! That was not how a sophisticated gentleman should act.

Theodore took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. His grandfather would show strength through control, not rage. He had to exemplify his grandfather.

I’ve tried saving your life, Whitney. But for all the frustration you’ve now caused me, you deserve what you get! Theodore’s voice shook. He had to compose himself.

Theodore noticed the footsteps were returning from the back of the cottage. Betty must have heard the commotion.

I hope your death is slow. You could have had everything, but now you will become nothing, an afterthought, Theodore said. He had regained control of his voice and lowered it to just above a whisper. How pathetic!?

John Whitney looked ready to fight. For some reason, the thought amused Theodore.

Of course, he’d never subject himself to such a trivial act.

Is everything ok dear? Betty asked strolling back into the room, concern on her face. Her eyes passed from the fallen chair to the mayor.

Yes honey, I was just about to show the mayor out the door, John said.

It was a dismissal. Under normal circumstances, he would have been offended, but he found it futile to expend the energy on a man who was already marked for death.

I believed I’ve overstayed my welcome miss, Theodore said as he flashed his smile. He turned and headed for the door.

Betty, have a good night, Theodore said, before turning to John Whitney. Goodbye.

It was a final farewell to the traitor.

Both men knew what was to come; Theodore saw it in Whitney’s eyes. He exited the cottage and headed for his carriage through the darkness of night. His thoughts were filled with the potential John Whitney had forfeited. Such a waste, he thought to himself. Somehow he would find a way to take advantage of his new circumstances, he always did.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE WANTS A BABY, Alan said to Toby as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He glanced up at the sky through the forest canopy. His broad-brimmed hat shaded his eyes from the sun’s glare.

The heat had been relentless for the past several months. It was the hottest summer Alan could remember. Even the shade was barely a relief from the intensity of the sun. Still, Alan considered the canopy shadow of the forest a blessing from the overlord.

She wants a kid already? You just got married a few months ago. Toby’s response was dry, almost disinterested. Alan noticed the hint of bitterness in his voice. His brother hadn’t been the same since the wedding. Alan tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to acknowledge the growing rift between them. But as the months passed, it was becoming more difficult to avoid.

Toby wore a simple outfit today to combat the heat. A tan vest covered his bare dark skinned chest. He wore matching brown trousers. Dirt still caked his pants from the morning’s work. A large straw hat set atop his head to shield him from the sun. He chewed on a long, thin piece of straw as they rode their horses at a steady trot.

Toby unstrapped a metal canteen from his saddle, reminding Alan of how thirsty he had become. It had been a long day; most of it spent out in the fields.

The cattle had been uncooperative, an unusual trait for that particular herd. The sun was just now reaching its peak, but it had been hot since daybreak. He felt sorry for the next shift of workers, who happened to be taking over during the hottest part of the day.

Well, she’s anxious to get a family started, He finally answered. He reached for his own canteen in his saddle’s pouch.

That sounds like Old Man Jeb’s influence on her. I’m sure he can’t wait to be a grandfather, Toby said, taking several more gulps from the canteen before plugging the lid back on and storing it away.

Alan’s horse snorted as it trotted down the dirt path road that led back to Flat Meadows. They climbed a small hill and rounded a corner onto a long stretch of road. Ahead, the edge of town came into view.

About three leagues down the dirt path, various size cabins constructed from thick timbers lined both sides of the street ahead. The mayor’s Mansion towered over them all; the only structure in town that stood over three stories high. It cast a shadow on the streets that led to the town square. 

A breeze swept across the field, blowing dust into the wind. Alan closed his eyes as it caressed his skin. It was a soothing contradiction to the relentless sun. Then the moment passed and his relief had waned. He inhaled and something tickled his nostrils. There was a foul smell in the air.

Do you smell that? Alan asked.

Smell what? Toby asked. He continued to screw his straw between his lips.

Alan sniffed the air. The smell was gone, possibly just his imagination playing tricks on him. It had been a faint but familiar smell.

Nothing, Alan said after sniffing again. He was certain he had smelled something.

Did you fart again? Toby asked, his lips curling into a smile. There was the brother Alan had known since Dale had adopted him.

If this drought continues, we may end up having a dust storm, Alan said, ignoring Toby’s comment but still managing a smirk.

The farms weren’t producing and the vegetation had dried up. Even the wildflowers and most resilient of weeds were shriveling up. Alan wondered if there’d be anything to celebrate come time for the Harvest Festival.

Alan studied the sky as he wiped his brow from under his black, broad-brimmed hat. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. There would be no relief today.

I’d rather hunt wolves all day in a dust storm than have a kid right now, Toby said with a sly grin. You aren’t changing the subject on me big brother. It’s not every day I hear I’m going to be an uncle.

Was his ears playing tricks on him or was that a hint of playfulness in his brother’s voice? Perhaps he had misjudged Toby’s opinion of the prospect of him having a child.

Nothing has been determined yet. We are discussing having a baby, nothing more, Alan said. The thought of having children terrified him.

It’s just a matter of time, Toby said matter-of-factly.

Alan couldn’t help but admire his brother on the saddle. He was a natural. Toby was one of the fastest riders in town and Alan had never seen anyone more confident on a horse. Throughout their childhood, Alan had strived to match Toby’s riding skills.

They used to race through the forests overlooking Flat Meadows. With each challenge, Alan lost.

It had been like that since Dale Cray had adopted Alan into his family. He had gotten used to playing second fiddle to his dark-skinned little brother. Toby picked up everything with ease. He was a natural even with the ladies. Sometimes Alan wondered if his biological parents were as unskilled and clumsy. He had to get it from somewhere after all.

Winning Abigail’s heart had been the only time Alan had ever beaten Toby at anything. While Toby’s toned, hard body and suave demeanor may have won the hearts of many young women in Flat Meadows, the prettiest girl had chosen the below average Alan. Alan still didn’t understand what she saw in him. He was skinny and short. He wasn’t from a wealthy family, or any family for that matter. He just couldn’t comprehend it.

You are right though; this drought is dragging on too long. If this keeps up, the reservoir is going to run dry. It’s already lower than I’ve ever seen it, Toby said.

Alan frowned. The reservoir was on the other side of town, in the Old Town District. Nothing good was in the Old Town district. It was mostly abandoned as the town had migrated east of the reservoir. They had grown up in a housing district right next to the Old Town. An ancient abandoned train station was its sole redeemable landmark. Everything else was rundown and full of condemned, crumbling structures.

Why were you in the Old Town? Alan already knew the answer. Toby gave him a sheepish grin, confirming his suspicion.

You know, doing the one thing you can’t do anymore since you went and got hitched, Toby said with a chuckle.

You still go there? You aren’t sick of those girls by now? You’ve been going there for years. You might as well pick one of them to marry; they get all your money anyway, Alan said.

Is that jealousy I hear in your voice? Do you miss your favorite showgirls? If a girl like Abigail Burke had wanted to wed me, I’d probably had given up the life too. Toby gave him a wink and flashed him a toothy grin.

They rode in silence for a few moments longer as they approached the town. Alan wondered what Dale would have said about Toby’s late-night exploits. He’d always known the right thing to say to them. Toby pulled on his reigns and brought his horse to a stop. Alan did the same, sensing something plaguing Toby’s thoughts.

Hey Al, Toby said, breaking the silence. Things are different now. You’re married and trying to start a family and I understand that.

Toby bowed his head in sudden bashfulness. It was an uncomfortable topic for him.

Ever since dad died last year…well, you’re the only family I have left. We may not be blood brothers like a normal family, but that doesn’t matter to me. That means Abby is family too now. Even though I’m sure she hates me. Just promise me that as you start your new family, you won’t forget about your old one. Toby wouldn’t look him in the eyes as he finished. He was already nudging his horse forward to avoid the growing awkwardness.

Alan swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat. There it was again, another forced promise from a family member. An image of his ill father laying in his sickbed surfaced in Alan’s mind. His full gray beard – normally well-kept and trimmed – had grown wild. His hazel eyes reflected strength; even when his body was failing him. Those eyes had burned into his memory. He had stared at them as he agreed to his father’s dying wish.

A gentle cool breeze swept over his skin, distracting him from his memories and pulling him back to the present. Alan nodded to reassure his little brother.

Toby you will always be my brother, Alan said.

The breeze brought the familiar smell back into the air. Alan breathed in a deep breath. There it was, he had finally identified the scent.

Smoke, Alan stated.

Toby paused a moment. He lifted his nose into the air and sniffed. He nodded and began glancing around in search of its source. Alan scanned the tree line.

Smoke that strong in the wind would be rising into the sky.

There! Toby pointed.

Alan followed Toby’s hand. A column of smoke rose through a thicket of trees. Black smoke told him that the fire still burned. It didn’t look that far from where they were; perhaps a league past the Brunston Ranch behind them. The dry vegetation created the possibility of forest fires. The risk of danger that close to the town wasn’t good. Brunston needed to be made aware that a possible forest fire was on his doorstep. It might mean overtime on the ranch that evening, an unpleasant thought. Then again, better an extra night than extended shifted in the heat for the next week.

The echoes of a galloping horse caught Alan’s attention. The rider crested the hill from the direction of the thicket of trees. It was hard to be certain from that distance, but it appeared to be Ernest Farring. Ernest had always worked overtime so seeing him near the ranch on his day off wasn’t much of a surprise. 

He galloped towards them in haste. He didn’t slow until he was right on top of them. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths and his eyes bugged from his skull as he pointed back towards the direction he had just come. He yelled between each breath but Alan couldn’t determine what he was saying.

Calm down Ernie, what’s going on? Toby asked.

Raiders! On the Whitney Farm, Ernest gasped.

Raiders… Toby repeated. He perked up with interest.

Raiders that close to the ranch wasn’t good. Were they after the cattle?

That meant that they had to head back to the ranch for sure; just as Alan had started to think he would get out of the sun. I heard voices and screams on my perimeter sweep. I went to take a peak and found myself on the Whitney property. I saw them harassing the Whitney’s and setting fire to the greenhouses. I didn’t know what to do so I rode for the town. Someone needs to tell the sheriff! Ernest said.

Why would anyone want to hurt the gentle, old botanist and his wife? All he did was grow gardens in his greenhouses. Some would consider him strange but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Had he angered someone or was it just a chance misfortune?

How many were there? Could you tell? Toby asked.

He was getting too excited. He was planning something. Alan could sense it.

Ernest shook his head as he tried to recall. I only spotted a few – three or four – but there has to be more than that. There’s always more than that. Ernest said.

Maybe not, they targeted an elderly couple. They wouldn’t suspect them to be much of a threat. If there’s only a few of them, maybe we can hold them off until the sheriff arrives. It could save Mr. Whitney’s life, Toby said.

Ernest looked uncertain. Alan felt the same way. Toby was right, they could help save Mr. Whitney’s life, but he didn’t want to risk his own in the process. Abby wouldn’t be fond of such an idea either. These are outlaw raiders, maybe it would be better to go get the sheriff and let the lawmen handle it, Alan said.

"I know what you’re thinking Toby. It’s noble and all but don’t rush into danger. Let the law