The door of the cabin slammed open and four cowboys rushed inside. Last through the door, one of them collapsed, clutching his stomach. The youngest of them struck a match and lit the single candle on the wooden table at the cabin’s center.

“It doesn’t make sense,” said the bearded man. He drew his revolver and looked anxiously out the window.

“Drew, get over here and help us,” said the short guy.

Drew holstered his iron and helped lift his wounded friend into a chair then grabbed the short man’s collar, “You said there weren’t gonna be any authorities there, Isaiah,” Drew’s tone grew threatening. “Didn’t you say that?”

Isaiah pushed Drew back and straightened his coat. “I said they weren’t supposed to be there,” he said.

“Ephraim’s gonna bleed out, if you two are quite done,” said the third man. He ripped off a piece of fabric from his shirt and pressed it on the wound.

“I don’t get it,” Drew scratched his beard. “The plan was all laid out. What could have gone wrong?” His eyes lingered on Isaiah. “You have any theories, Jimmy?”

“I-I don’t know,” said Jimmy as the color drained from his face. The young man held the rag, keeping pressure on his wounded friend. “Honestly, I don’t care at this point. Ephraim’s gonna die if we can’t stop this bleeding.” He pulled the candlestick closer.

“You know what I think?” asked Drew. “I think we’re betrayed. I think someone in this room informed on us.” The room was silent. Eyes shifted from one to another. “I suggest we all take a seat around the table and talk this out before temper gets the best of us.” One by one, they all took seats. Ephraim pulled his handkerchief from around his neck and pressed to his wound, nodding to Jimmy who removed his bloody hand and sat.

“Who would gain the most from ratting us out?” asked Drew.

“Someone with something to gain,” said Isaiah, turning to Jimmy. “Perhaps someone in debt from a gambling problem.”

“Don’t look at me,” Jimmy said defensively. “I ain’t the rat! Y’all are the only family I got.” He looked at Ephraim, “Maybe someone who spends all their money on opium and women.”

Ephraim’s face, pale in the candlelight, contorted. “Fuck...you,” he said between heavy breaths. “Drew’s...greedy...takes...money...where...found.”

The eyes turned to Drew, who sat unreactive to the accusation. “You ever ask Isaiah about his brother, the US Marshal?”

“Listen you piece of shit, I ain’t talked to my brother in ten years!” Isaiah shouted. He fumbled for more words.

“There’s one way to sort this out,” said Drew and blew out the candle. The hammer of his pistol was cocked before it even left his holster. He could hear everyone else drawing their iron. Gunshots rang out, bullets crossed the table, and the room was lit briefly by muzzle flashes. Bodies fell over on the floorboards, then it was silent.

The door of the cabin opened, and Drew stumbled out grabbing his chest, wheezing with each breath. He dropped to his knees and coughed up blood. In the pale moonlight, ten men approached with weapons drawn. When Drew looked up, he saw the glint of a tin badge. “I got them,” he said. “The bodies are...inside.” He coughed and spat on the ground. “I’m collecting the bounty on all three of ‘em.”

The sheriff and his posse stood looking down at the bleeding man. “That’s the thing,” said the lawman, you gotta be alive to collect a reward. Drew looked up at a revolver. He saw a quick flash as the .45 slug broke his forehead and made the back of his skull a crater. “Greedy bastard,” muttered the sheriff.