Prologue

Cort watched her ride away and fingered the sheriff's badge in his hand. The town of Redemption was in ruins. Shocked onlookers peered at him from the shattered remnants of buildings. The doctor and a few others were checking the prone bodies that littered the ground. Suddenly Cort made a decision. He needed to think. Calling to the young blind boy who always seemed to see more than the sighted, he asked for a horse. A horse was provided - no one wished to cross the new sheriff.

He rode out to the graveyard and knelt awhile before some of the graves. Too many people there had died because of him in one way or another. Browsing round through names long forgotten, adding to the burden of his guilt, one name stood out. He hadn't thought of this young man in what, fifteen years?

In loving memory of our dear son, Jebediah McDougall born December 5th 1847 died, aged 21, defending his sister's honour, June 22nd 1868.

In the Lord's own house shall I dwell forever.

Cort grimaced as the memory of long ago pricked at his already guilt-ridden conscience. The first man he ever shot.  Kneeling down, he buried his head in his hands and let the tears flow down; tears that he had never shed over all the years, except inside. Of everything wrong he had ever done, the worst was what he had wreaked upon the McDougall family, whose whole world he had torn apart. A fifteen-year old boy with no conscience is a fearsome thing. There is nothing in this world more capable of evil than a corrupted child.

Running to his horse, wincing at the pain from his swollen fingers and the deep rope burns to his wrists, he mounted and set out across the llano. Reaching the place he was aiming for, he jumped down and sat on a rock overlooking a shallow creek. For a long time, he remained there dreaming, lost in memories of a far distant past. All at once he sank to his knees and felt across the surface of the stone until he found it. Clearing the wild grass that was sprouting over it, he brushed until he uncovered the legend. It was a crudely wrought heart with two initials inside: CC.

Cort smiled sadly at the childish scrawl and thought of a pretty little girl, Clara, and a boy who had used her so abominably. But that mark had been made on an earlier day, an innocent afternoon when they had still been simply friends. He owed a lot of people a lot of things but it had all begun here. The first evil. His mind was made up. He was no more a gunslinger. He had never really been a priest. He was a man with blood on his hands and guilt on his conscience. Only one road was left to him to take. He would pay back the town he had helped to destroy and replace it with one to be proud of.

A year later

Hope Johnson stepped down from the stage and gazed at the little town. Her brother, Chance, jumped out and caught the baggage that was thrown down from the roof piling it up on the side of the wooden walkway. They looked about them and asked a young boy who was sitting on the stoop outside the sheriff's office, polishing an impressive array of gun ware. He looked to be of a similar age to Chance but  wore tinted glasses and appeared to be blind. "Excuse me, son. I'm looking for the boarding house," asked Miss Johnson.

The boy stopped and looked from one to the other; it was curious. Was he blind or could he see? "Boarding house? No boarding house in this town. They got rooms at the saloon but..." His voice trailed off. He obviously didn't regard them as the kind of folk who would take a chamber in a bordello. Hope's voice, a cultured Eastern accent, must have betrayed her.

"Oh dear! Do you know of anyone with a room to let?" She asked her voice registering concern...

The boy stopped and thought. "Try the General Mercantile.  Maybe they can help. The Caseys have been here for years. They know everybody's business."

The boy resumed his task with loving devotion, polishing up the already oiled and gleaming guns and rifles. Hope noticed Chance's eyes enlarging at the sight of the weapons and tried to disguise the distaste she felt at his natural curiosity. He was fifteen and bound to be interested in such things- boys always were. But the idea that bringing him out West might one day result in him wearing a gun belt filled her with dismay.

She thanked the young boy and pulled Chance away to fetch the luggage and meet her at the store. Crossing the street, she entered the shop, heard the tinkle of a bell and addressed the lady behind the counter.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. My name's Hope Johnson and I've just arrived in town. My brother and I require some rooms but there appears to be no boarding house or hotel. A young blind boy said you might know of something..."

"Billy? You talked to Billy Jo? My name's Emily Casey, honey.  Not much of anything here yet. We're being built from the ground up! This town's not really ready for visitors, I'm afraid. We had a little trouble last year and are still rebuilding. But we've got a spare room upstairs. Be no trouble to let you have that for awhile. Could use the extra cash. What's your business in Redemption?"

"We're not passing through. I've rented one of the shops on the front." Hope indicated a new row of premises across the road. "I'm hoping to start up soon, but my furniture and equipment won't arrive for a few days, so we need somewhere until then."

"Oh my, what wonderful news...Frank, Frank...come out here and meet our new neighbour!" A tall balding man emerged from the rear of the shop. Hands were shaken and introductions made.

"So what kind of business? And what brings you here to the middle of nowhere?"

Hope smiled. "I was curious about the town. You're quite famous, you know? Back East they love the stories of the Wild West. What happened here last year is already becoming a bit of a legend! I'm a newspaper woman and a writer.  When I heard about the attempts to rebuild and make a decent place for good people, I had an idea to start a newspaper and maybe also write the truth about what happened."

"A newspaper! Glory be! And you want to write about us? Immortalise us in print! I'd be delighted to be of assistance in any way I could!" Emily Casey was beside herself with joy. This could only bode well. Their town was beginning to be known for something other than gunslingers and violence.

"And I am eternally in your debt for the offer of a room." The two women smiled and a bond was formed.

Cort rode back into town. For several days he had been visiting outlying properties, checking on homesteaders and listening to their concerns. There wasn't much he could do to make them feel better - they were always going to be prey for raids across the border or marauding outlaws- but his presence made them at least feel that someone was looking out for them.

He surveyed the streets of Redemption with a pride that was hard not to feel. It was a different town from the one to which he had been dragged like a dog last year and in whose streets he had laid for days in filth and his own squalor. Now there were decent people with ordinary lives. He had done his best to remove the violent element and rebuild. But the town still attracted trouble and Cort knew that he himself was half of the problem.

His reputation as a gunslinger and quick draw had been exaggerated in cheap dime novels- fools regularly made their way to the town to call him out. Most had backed down, a few he had injured but one or two had died. Cort tried but there was a limit to how much provocation he would take- his instinct for self-preservation was still as keen as ever.

He had been away this time for five days and already things had changed in his absence. One of the new empty properties had been leased - there was a sign writer lettering the legend above the door. Stopping his horse and leaning forward, he read:

REDEMPTION HERALD.    Proprietor:  H. Johnson.

"Hey, Abe, what's all this about?"

"Hey, sheriff! Look see! We have a newspaper! Equipment's arriving any day. Ain't that something?" Abe Wilson shouted over from his job with the brush. He was a general handyman who could just about do anything needed. A year ago he had been riding shotgun with the late lamented John Herod. Now he was married to Edie May, an ex-whore, with a baby on the way and an honourable trade. Cort always felt a sense of satisfaction when he saw him. Not all bad men were bad.

Cort grinned and wiped the sweat from his head. "Newspaper?" This town was going places. At that moment, the door opened and a woman eased herself past the sign-writer to the walkway outside. She looked as though she had been cleaning. Her hair was tied up in a scarf, with wisps of brown curls escaping, and she had a wide apron over her dress, her sleeves rolled up to reveal soft white arms, slender and sprinkled with freckles.

"Good day, ma'am. You must be Mrs. Johnson." Cort addressed her from his horse.

The woman stopped dead and stared, a pallor stealing over her skin fair beneath the sun- freckled prettiness. Her deep blue eyes widened and her full mouth gaped. Cort and Wilson both looked surprised. Her reaction was difficult to explain.

"Er...yes...that's right. And may I know your name, sir?" Hope stammered out a response as she continued to stare at the man on the horse.

Cort smiled, trying to put her at ease. He sometimes had an effect on woman that he did not always wish to convey but this was rather more extreme than he had ever seen before. "Beg pardon, ma'am. I'm the sheriff. Name's Cort. Mighty pleased to see you and your husband here. Town needs a lot of things. Newspaper's one of them."

Hope blushed slightly, struggling for composure. "Actually there is no Mr. Johnson...except, I suppose, for my brother, Chance. I'm not married. I am the proprietor of the newspaper. Pleased to meet you, sheriff." She nodded and hurried past to cross the street in the direction of the General Mercantile.

"Reckon you made another conquest there, Cort! She nearly dropped her bloomers at the sight of you!" Abe cackled to himself.

Cort shook his head and grinned. "You make sure you talk nice and polite around a lady like Miss Johnson, you hear?" He turned his horse towards the livery stables. She had given him such a look - hard not to notice. It had been a while since he'd turned a woman's head.  Too long. He thought he had forgotten how.

Hope sat in the upstairs parlour over the shop and took tea with Emily Casey. She had her little notebook open and proceeded with the interview.

"So, you say that this John Herod was a very dangerous man..."

"Oh yes, he was a bad man. Not much better than an outlaw really but he was educated and very clever. He ruled this town like his own kingdom. Nothing took place here without his by-your-leave. He attracted bad hats from all over to his gang- some of the best sharp shooters in the West..."

"...Including, I believe, your present sheriff?" Hope asked innocently enough but with a sudden intense spark of interest on her face.

"Cort? Well, Cort was always a little different. You must understand he was just an orphan boy when Herod found him. He knew nothing better. Herod was kind to him - I'll bet it was the first affection the child had ever had..."

"Where did he come from?" Hope interrupted rather abruptly.

"No one knows. He never talks about his past. Maybe he doesn't even know. He was mighty young when he turned up here. Maybe twelve or so."

"What's his real name?"

"Don't rightly know. Everyone just called him Cort."

"Herod was the fastest gun then?" Hope jotted a few comments down as Emily babbled on.

"No...it was always Cort. Leastways once he grew up. Killed his first man at fifteen out there on the street below. Fast as you like. Never even turned a hair. It was frightening to watch it in one so young. After that, he changed. He became a very dangerous young man and did some real bad things. But he was always polite and didn't seem to take pleasure in intimidatin' folk like Herod and the others did. I can't say I ever disliked him or feared him, although I knew he was dangerous and without any morality. I can't explain it- there was something good about him. It sounds crazy. Frank always said I was a little in love with him, like all the women, but I was right. Look at him now! He is such a fine man. It's such a shame..."

"Shame?" Hope asked curiously.

"He needs a woman. He's always alone. A fine young man like that." Emily shook her head and gave a knowing look.

"He has no woman?" Hope replied, somewhat surprised. She had imagined a man like that would have some fancy piece tucked away somewhere.

"Well... Frank says he goes to the whorehouse once in a while but he seems to try not to. He's no regular.  But he's bound to have the need. He's a man. Not that I should discuss such things with an unmarried woman like yourself but..." and she lowered her voice... "men cannot help themselves. They have to spend their seed. It's nature's law." She blushed slightly but chuckled behind her hand; Hope merely nodded, her face impassive.

"You say he did bad things? Tell me what you know of him when he was a gunslinger..." Hope continued.

Emily stopped and thought. "There was one time when I realised what he was truly capable of. It was about ten years ago, I remember because my Ena was still a baby..."

...Cort rode in from the desert on a hot dry afternoon when a burning wind was blowing in off the llano. He had been in El Paso collecting some money owing to Herod from the sale of some land - the partner had needed a little ' persuading' to cough up. He was tired and dirty, hadn't washed in days and was looking forward to a soak in the bathhouse, a shave and a good feed. And then to the Pigeon's Nest for a drink, a game of cards and a whore.

As he rode through the quiet dusty streets, most folk shuttering up their rooms from the afternoon heat, he saw a young woman crossing ahead of him. She caught his attention. Unlike most of the women in that town, she was neither a frumpy homesteader nor a well- fucked whore. This woman was a looker.

She was dressed in a dark blue dress that shimmered in the sunlight as if it was made of metal dipped in midnight. He reckoned it was silk or satin or some such expensive fabric. Her hair was dark red, piled up in curls and trailing down her back. He wondered what the fuck she was doing in this town.

He slowed down and rested on the pommel of his horse as she entered the Western Union office. A few minutes later, she came out and returned across the street to the boarding house. Cort continued to observe her progress. As she gained the wooden walkway she looked back and their eyes locked.

"Ma'am." Cort addressed her with a slight nod of his head as he lounged under the shade on a wooden stool, his feet up on the rail, blocking her path.

She looked him up and down, an overt gaze. "Who are you?"

"My name's Cort." He replied, smiling lazily at her.

The woman observed him and licked her upper lip. "I'm Katy Kelly. And you're the most promising specimen I have yet seen in this sorry town. Pleased to meet you."

"Ma'am?" Cort  was momentarily taken aback by her forward approach.

"I was en route from Phoenix to Houston and I had what you might call a 'difference of opinion' with a gentleman friend with whom I was travelling. He left me here, flat broke and without transport. I am waiting for some money to arrive from ...well, let's just say from another friend. Meanwhile I am stuck in this shithole. You a local?"

Cort shrugged. "Guess so."

"Join me for dinner. And pay. I'm a bit short." Cort grinned. This woman was something else. He looked into her flashing emerald eyes and observed the tilt of her dainty chin.

"My pleasure, Ma'am. Once I get cleaned up, I'll come calling. I been too long on the trail."

Katy smiled at him, a secret knowing smile. "Don't get too clean there, boy. I might just want to get dirty with you!"  He started at her words and wondered if he had heard them right. But before he could respond, she turned on her heel and headed for the door of her hotel. Cort rested back on his seat and grinned. Tonight was going to be better than he'd expected.

A few hours later, Cort was there in his best black suit, all bibbed and tuckered, his hair trimmed and brushed, his beard shaved. He attracted a few admiring glances from respectable ladies as he paced the lobby but was largely indifferent to their presence. A habit of a lifetime automatically read the set up of an entire room, sensitive to any source of potential danger, but he had already dismissed everybody there. Nothing but fat salesmen and a few families passing through.

Katy Kelly observed her dinner companion from the upper gallery before he was aware of her. She smiled inwardly at him. He was quite a specimen- far more so than she had imagined when she had seen him, dusty and unkempt in the street that afternoon. It was rare to find such a man anywhere, even more so in a dead end Arizona one-horse town. Cort was of average height, powerfully built, but with slim hips and well shaped legs. Thick chestnut hair flopped over his face, a strong face, not pretty but compelling, square-jawed and manly, prominent nose and unusually soft mouth. But the startling feature was his sea-green eyes, light chips of glass against his weathered tan. He was a man to make a woman remember she was a woman and forget she was a lady. It was a pity that she had to turn him in but, what the hell? No harm in enjoying herself first now, was there?

Gliding down the stairs she watched him as he leaned back in the chair against the wall, his right leg crossed over his left, playing with his hat as he waited. For a moment she thought she would steal up on him unobserved but she should have known better than that if his reputation for reflexes was correct. One minute he was seemingly relaxed and far away, the next he was on his feet and facing her, an impenetrable look on his face, as he lazily slid his eyes over her figure. Katy saw he took his time and made no attempt to hide his interest or his overt gaze. She knew what he would demand in return for dinner and she was looking forward to it even as she hated him. Men. All the damn same. Want to own a piece of you- don't matter if you are wife, mother or whore. Somehow that thought made it easier for her to play this game.

"Why, good evening, Ma'am. You are looking pretty as a picture tonight," Cort said the charming words but his eyes spoke of darker emotions, more basic needs.  Katy knew she looked good. Dark emerald velvet, tipping slightly off her shoulder, enough to reveal the whole white perfection of her neck and a hint of the pleasures below, snugly outlined in the close-fitting bodice. Her red curls were piled high and tumbling, gems shone at her ears and her neck. Everything about her was pert and confident, ripe and knowing.

"Why thank you, sir! And may I say, you certainly look fine when you brush the dust of the desert off you." He smiled, a smile of a man who knows exactly how he looks and needs no confirmation of it. He stepped back and ushered her to the dining room.

They dined. Fine food- or what passed for it in that town- red wine and polite conversation. Katy was surprised at his ability to talk on subjects of which she would have imagined a western gunslinger to be ignorant; he was clearly a man who read what he could. Quite fascinating. She was spurred to ask him more questions than she should have.

"So, you work for the sheriff? I find it hard to believe he pays enough for you to wine and dine fine ladies."

Cort took a sip of his wine and whirled it round the glass. "It pays enough," he answered evasively.

"You sure you don't have a little side line? Rumour has it around the town that you're a quick draw," Katy said, teasing and tossing back her head.

"That what they say?" It was all he said. He wouldn't expand. Katy poured him a cup of coffee to go with the brandy that the waiter had brought. He lit a cigar and observed her through the smoke. "I don't think you ought to smoke that at the table. People are dining," Katy observed.

"I'm not. If they don't like it, why don't they say so?" Cort looked around and other diners looked away. Katy noticed the fear in the eyes of those who saw him; she also realised that it amused him- he enjoyed his power. A big fish in a little pond, Katy thought. He wouldn't last a minute in a city like New York, where she had grown up. He was an innocent abroad, whatever his veneer of sophistication.

"What's your first name?" Katy tried to open up another pathway to this man.

"Cort."

"Thought that was your surname."

"It is."

"Everybody has a Christian name."

"That so?" He grinned and flicked ash across his plate. "You ask a lot of questions. Let me ask one of you. This guy you were with- the one who abandoned you so pitifully. What was he to you? You some kind of fancy whore? What do they call them...a courtesan? Gives herself to the highest bidder?"

Katy drew in her breath. The polite charm had disappeared and Cort was appraising her with a cold stare. "I am not a whore. He promised to marry me. I was cruelly treated."

Cort laughed. "Yeah, breach of promise. But you still fuck for money, darlin'. Name of your game. Time to earn your fee home, not to mention this swanky dinner I just paid for. Man likes to know that his investment pays off. You understand?"

He didn't wait for her answer. Standing in one silent and swift motion, he grabbed her arm and escorted her out, half dragging; her feet barely touching the ground and a subdued hush descending on the diners. Up the stairs he pulled her, gruffly asking 'Room?' She gasped out the number and he kicked the door open. Once inside all the rules changed. He threw her forward and slammed the door.

"Time to fuck, darlin'"

Katy rubbed at her wrists and tried to compose herself. "What do you think you're doing?" 

He didn't reply, merely advancing on her and swirling her round to set to work on the tiny buttons that ran down the bodice of her gown." Let's see if you live up to the promise." His hands pulled the dress down, leaving her in her silk drawers and camisole. These he made swift work of, ripping off one and dragging down the other. When she was naked he pulled her to him and sat down on a chair, taking a long slow look. "Just what I like to see. White flesh, big tits and a smooth little rump. Turn round and let Cort see all that's on offer."

"You're a brute. You know I'll give you what you want. Why do you have to be so rough?" she protested vainly.

"Maybe I like rough?" He ripped at his own clothes, stripping without any ceremony and throwing each item on the floor. Katy backed away as he advanced, trembling but aroused; what she had observed in him dressed, was magnified by the sight of him naked. Broad and muscular, lightly haired and golden brown, sporting a cock the like she had rarely if ever seen. A magnificent specimen of man. Even as scared as she was, her desire to touch, taste and feel him was strong.

And then he changed again, as quickly as before. Cort simply picked her up and carried her to the bed where he lay her down gently and fell in beside her. With an unexpected tenderness, he stroked her body, bent down to kiss her breasts, parted her thighs and placed a soft kiss on her nether lips before returning to her mouth, his tongue tasting of her, and then kissed her deeply; the kiss of a man to a woman, not the passing crudity of a cheap cowboy to a whore. Her wonder about this man grew with each act of passion.

He rolled away and touched himself, pulling her hand to cover him, shivering slightly as she gripped and worked him skilfully. His cock was splendid- thick and long, rising from a cushion of chestnut hair, from dark balls, hard and heavy. Katy longed to smell and taste his maleness. He was clean too- rare enough even in city gents, almost unheard of for a man from these western borders, many of whom didn't bathe more than a few times a year.

This time she surprised him. Sliding down his body, she kissed his dripping purple head and took him in her mouth, cleverly swallowing him down and manipulating his scrotum, driving him to moan in pleasure. He'd had plenty of whores suck his dick but Miss Kelly seemed to know things that other women didn't. He let her play him, his hands winding round her curls and dragging them from the holding ribbon until he was covered by a thick veil of dark red.

With a grunt he pulled himself from her and tossed her back, his knee jamming her legs wide open as he plunged down. One hard thrust and he hilted. Katy screamed with shock and pain at his assault; he hushed her, talked to her like he was calming a frightened animal. Her body adjusted to his girth and he began to ride her, slowly at first, but sensing the moment when her breathing grew halting and her body tightened round him, the thick cream of her arousal oozing. He knew the signs.

Rising up above her, he pulled her legs round his  hips and looked down on her as he began to thrust deeper and deeper, faster and faster, grunting heavily at his efforts, sweat dripping from his chest, his left hand ramming into her hips to keep her in place and his right mauling her full breasts. Katy arched beneath his assault, lost in her pleasure, her white neck bared, her mouth open and gasping, her body helpless, open to him in every way.

With a shuddering groan, he threw his head back, sinews taut and beautiful tanned body slick with sweat as he came in waves of release. It had been too long since he had spilled his seed and the last few times had been on his hand or a painted whore. Miss Kelly was the sort of fragrant woman he rarely got to touch but he knew he deserved. Cort slumped on her, unconcerned about her discomfort at his weight, merely wanting to feel the soft flesh of a woman under his nakedness again, even if it was for a short while only.

"Cort, Cort...I can't breathe..." she gasped. He eased and moved away to lie at her side, still stroking her breasts and playing with the dark red curls between her legs, the wet trickle of his come giving him the welcome sensation of possession. He had left his mark on this woman. Often he wondered how many bastards he had fathered over the years. Must be a fair number- he'd started young. The first cunt he'd ever fucked. First time, too. He smiled dreamily at the member of his younger self. A little kid with nothing and he'd showed them all. He'd show Miss Kelly, too.

"Enjoy that, honey?" Cort rolled back and stretched, wiping his cock on the edges of her discarded petticoat.

"Mmmm," Katy murmured watching his large hands touch himself and longing for more of this rough cowboy. Pity how it had to end- but she could waste a few days here first. Just then she noticed he had swung his legs off the bed and was striding to his clothes. His naked back was a sight to see, his body rippling with muscle, his frame thick set but honed. He was a formidable man. Turning to Katy he began to dress, thrusting his legs into the tight pants and slowly fastening up, but not before she had looked longingly at his heavy genitals.

"Don't go, Cort...stay! Sleep here...more of that where it came from, sweet man. Anything you want. You got it..." She rose naked from the bed and strutted over to him, her face and body flush with her coming. He watched her as he buttoned up his shirt, fastened his tie and sat down to put on his boots and socks. Katy stood before him, tempting and seductive. He could smell himself off her and the sweet scent of her cunt, rich with pungent cream. For an instant his head swam, before he regained himself and stood up.

Reaching for his jacket, putting it on, he pulled out a piece of paper from his inside pocket. "I'm afraid not, Miss Kelly. I'm arresting you. In the name of the law in this town."

Before she could register what he had said, he had her hands behind her back and held her to him as she read the poster:

WANTED. Katherine Kelly aged 27. Native of New York. Red haired, medium height, well dressed. Sometimes uses the name of Catherine Carey. Former actress, wanted in three states for extortion from gentlemen, bank fraud and obtaining goods by deception.

It was accompanied by a sketch of her. Katy's eyes widened. "I didn't do anything to you! Let me go!" she struggled in vain. There was no way she would escape his grip.

"Not yet. But you was about to. You're after me, honey. There's bounty on my head in some parts. There are people who want me dead. They can't get me so they sent a woman. But the sheriff's one step ahead, honey. You crossed the wrong man, day you tried to set me up..."

"I had no choice!" Katy protested. "I owed some men. They made me! Look, let me go and I'll disappear. Please!"

Cort dragged her to the door, screaming and crying. "My clothes! Let me dress!" He took no notice. Kicking open the door, he pulled her with him, down the stairs, through the hotel, out of the main door, along the main street, people coming to doors and windows to see the cause of the screaming and hollering: Cort the gunslinger dragging a naked woman along the street to the jailhouse, her legs barely touching the floor.

At the sheriff's office, Cort burst through and flung her onto the wooden floor. "All yours, boys," he muttered and walked back out to the saloon. Her frightened cries did not touch his heart. Little bitch had set him up. Like they all do if you don't show 'em who's boss. Herod had warned him that afternoon. But he'd had his fun first.

"...And so the poor woman was dragged up the street without a stitch of clothing and thrown in jail. You could hear her screams all night long. Those animals. They took turns." Emily shook her head at the memory. "He just strode off to the saloon and drank all night. Didn't turn a hair. Had her first and then turned the dogs loose on her."

Hope scribbled down the story on her notepad. "Why? Why did he treat her like that?" She asked, horrified by the dreadful tale.

Emily shrugged. "Herod ruled the town. She was no better than she should have been- a small time fraudster. Seems she thought she could play Cort and get him over the town limits, hand him over and earn the bounty. But you don't mess with men like Herod and his gang."

"What happened to her?" Hope asked uncertainly. 

"They cleaned her up and handed her to the circuit judge. He didn't dare argue. She got sent down. Last we heard. So, Cort was a bad man in those days. Real bad. Heartless and cruel. No better than Herod. You have to admire how he's reformed and turned himself into the man he is today. Not many people can do that. Inside of him there is a fountain of good - I don't know how he found it but he has changed from a sinner to a saint. Repaid all the debts."

Hope closed her notebook and sipped at her tea. "I wonder if Miss Kelly would agree with you? Or the widows of all the men he killed? But I thank you, Emily. This was most helpful. You have no idea how such details are invaluable to an author."

She smiled and they spent the rest of the time in idle small talk. But Hope's thoughts were far away. She would tell the real story of this man whom the popular press had made into some noble hero. Making great legendary figures out of selfish, evil lowlifes who prey upon the weak and foolish might serve as journalism in some quarters but Hope Johnson had a mind to blow a hole right through that kind of naïve glorification of the west as a noble wilderness, peopled with warriors. She would tell the story as it really was- in all its dirt and cruelty.