The gunshot still echoed in Eli Dawson's ears as he hit the dirt, Roderick Bell's fine suit tearing under his grip. They rolled in the dust like animals, Bell's veneer of civility stripped away by desperation. His elbow cracked against Eli's jaw, but Eli barely felt it—adrenaline burned through him like wildfire.
Somewhere above them, the marshals shouted. Rifles cocked. The crowd roared.
Bell's fingers clawed for the derringer hidden in his vest. Eli saw the glint of metal and slammed his forehead into the bridge of Bell's nose. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed.
"You're finished," Eli snarled.
Bell spat crimson and laughed. "You think this ends with me? Silver Ridge *eats* men like you."
The derringer went off.
---
### **The Wound**
White-hot fire seared Eli's side. He staggered back, hand pressed to the blooming wetness beneath his ribs. Bell scrambled up, wild-eyed, the tiny pistol smoking in his fist—
***CRACK!***
Bell jerked like a marionette. A dark hole appeared in his temple. He crumpled without another word.
Eli turned.
Lena Reyes stood ten paces away, her revolver steady, her face a mask of cold fury. The marshals surged forward, but she didn't flinch. "He was drawing on a lawman."
Eli looked down. The sheriff's star—torn loose in the struggle—lay in the dirt beside Bell's body. He hadn't even realized he'd grabbed it.
One of the marshals whistled. "Hell of a first day on the job, Sheriff."
---
### **The Aftermath**
The doctor stitched Eli up with whiskey for anesthesia and a leather strap to bite down on. Holloway watched from the corner, sipping from his own bottle.
"You realize," the judge drawled, "that star ain't ceremonial. Means you're responsible for every drunk, thief, and gunslinger in fifty miles."
Eli groaned as the needle pulled through his flesh. "I'll resign tomorrow."
"Like hell." Lena leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. "You just got rid of the rot. Now you gotta rebuild."
Outside, the town buzzed like a kicked hive. Miners cheered in the streets. Silver Star men slunk toward the outskirts, already looking for new masters to serve. And in the shadows, older wounds waited to be uncovered—Bell's ledgers, his secrets, the bodies he'd buried.
Eli met Lena's gaze. "You sticking around to help?"
She smirked. "Somebody's gotta keep you honest, Sheriff."
---
### **The First Night**
They buried Bell at sundown in an unmarked grave. No eulogy. No mourners.
Eli stood at the edge of the cemetery as the last shovelful of dirt thumped onto the pine box. His side ached. His head throbbed. But for the first time since stepping off that train, he breathed easy.
A hand touched his elbow. Lena held out a bottle. "To fresh starts."
He took it. The whiskey burned going down, but the warmth stayed.
Somewhere in the distance, a harmonica started playing. The saloons were packed tonight—not with Bell's men, but with *their* people. Ranchers. Shopkeeps. Even old Josiah Pike, grinning as he bought rounds for the miners who'd finally gotten their pay.
Holloway clapped Eli on the shoulder. "Come on, Sheriff. Drinks are on you."
Eli laughed—then winced as his stitches pulled. "Yeah. Let's go."
They walked toward the light together.
---
**Epilogue: One Year Later**
The *Silver Ridge Ledger* headline read:
**"SHERIFF DAWSON WEDS PUBLISHER REYES IN TOWN'S FIRST CHURCH CEREMONY"**
Beneath it, a subheading:
**"Judge Holloway Officiates; No Gunfights Reported During Reception."**
The article was short. The future, long.
And somewhere beyond the ridge, a train whistle blew—carrying new souls to a town that no longer belonged to the shadows.