Austin Greeves hurried from the saloon, where for the past forty minutes he had been busy fielding questions and calming the noisy crowd of women and children. At the first sound of shots he made his way to the door in time to see the men congregating around the front of the hotel. The first thought that entered his mind was Miss June, waiting in his office for their private luncheon he had promised, and the fact that she may be in trouble. Pushing his way through the milling confusion of men, he scrambled up the steps, shouting at them to spread out and surround the hotel, then rushed inside, stumbling to a halt and gaping at the wreckage of the stairs and the two bodies crumpled in their deadly embrace. Austin could hear Marshal Hartman ordering Cable Royce to let the woman go and come out peacefully, followed by the squeals of a woman he knew, with a pang of fear, must be Miss June.

At the top of the stairs, Ethan grabbed the mayor in mid flight, wrestling him back against the wall. "Austin! What the hell do you think you're doin'?"

"Miss June! He's got Miss June in there." The mayor's words came out in a burst of short, panic-stricken explosions.

"I know, I know." Bragg was having trouble restraining the older man. "He's threatening to kill her if we go in— hold on Austin, settle down."

With uncharacteristic determination, the mayor broke free from Ethan's grasp and blundered down the hall, shoving Tyron aside and charging into the shattered doorway, freezing at the sight of Miss June bent over the end of the bed, her captor struggling to spread her legs apart while holding the knife to her neck. Beyond the appalling scene, Austin saw Wesley standing in the open window with his gun aimed at Royce. "Shoot him! Shoot him now!"

Royce looked around in surprise, seeing the immediate danger and with lightening reflexes, he pushed himself away from the woman, flinging the knife across the room and reaching for his holster. Austin flinched and turned instinctively, catching the blade high on the back of his arm. With a howl of pain he fell back through the door and crashed to the floor beside Tyrone's feet. Stunned by the sudden turn of events, Wesley tried to track Royce across the room, firing off a thunderous round that blew a huge chunk of plaster from the wall behind him. In an instant, Royce went into a crouch and began blazing away at his attacker, sending Wesley crashing down on the fire escape amid a shower of glass and wood splinters.

One shot had opened a gouge in his cheek, and he winced as he dragged himself to a sitting position just in time to see Royce pulling himself onto the roof of the hotel. Automatically, he fired at the retreating figure, pleased to see his bullet catch Royce's boot as it disappeared onto the roof. Staggering to his feet, Wesley charged up the steps in pursuit, ignoring the angry shouts of Tyrone and Bragg who were both squeezed into the room's window. Royce dragged his shattered foot across the roof, cursing his luck and the warm squish of blood that was gathering inside his boot. Down in the street he heard the excited shouts of the men as they followed his flight across the top of the building. Wesley peered over the edge of the roof, listening to the sheriff, who had hurried down to the street, shouting commands and trying to get control of the mob. Below him, Tyrone was scrambling up the steps, yelling at him to stay put. He could see Royce frantically hobbling back and forth at the far edge of the roof, looking for a way to escape and he gritted his teeth, summoning his nerve to give chase.

"I warned you Torrance," Tyrone growled, crawling up beside Wesley and grabbing his arm, "this vigilante revenge stuff just makes you another bad guy, and bad guys are my business."

"And I told you I don't care. That son-of-a-bitch slaughtered my family and I'm gonna make him pay." Wesley shoved Tyrone's hand away and the two men glared at one another. "I hit him in the foot, so I don't think he'll be getting' too far."

Tyrone squeezed past Wesley and stole a peek over the edge of the roof. Royce was about ten feet from the edge, his belt was pulled tight around his thigh for a tourniquet and he was testing his weight on the shattered foot. Before Wesley could react, Tyrone leaped up onto the roof and shouted at Royce to freeze. Royce spun around and both men fired at once.

The roar of gunfire was deafening and when Wesley heard the crunch of something falling, he peeked over the edge to see Tyrone writhing on the roof, a fountain of blood spurting from his upper leg. Royce was doing a stiff legged hop toward the far edge, and as Wesley scampered onto the roof, he let out a yell, launching himself across the narrow alley to the top of the barber shop building. Wesley knelt beside Tyrone, pressing his hand into the spitting wound.

"I'll call down for help. Hang on Marshal." He hurried to the front of the roof and hollered down to the crowd to send the doctor up to the roof then he turned, and without hesitation, bolted across to the edge, leaping blindly for the roof of the barber shop.

Royce was curled against the back wall of the roof, his face screwed up in pain, and a puddle of blood gathering about his ruined boot. He watched as the man's body flailed through the air and land hard on the roof boards with a loud grunt. Royce's gun lay about ten feet away where it had fallen when he landed and he eyed it hungrily, unable to drag his racked body over to retrieve it. Wesley rolled slowly onto his back panting hard.

The wind had been knocked out of him and his head spun from the impact with the roof. He turned his face toward Royce, studying the fierce expression of a dangerous but helpless animal, and gradually lifted himself to a kneeling position. Royce watched the man calmly reload his gun, spinning the chamber and cocking the hammer. He gave his captor a wicked, sneering, grin, and relaxed back against the wall, knowing his string had run out.

"Without that lucky shot you'd be dead now." He chided, indicating his foot.

Wordlessly, Wesley stood and walked shakily to stand over his quarry, a dizzying montage of images spinning before his eyes. Gwen and Mark, as he had found them at the cabin; the Dunstans and Gershwin Tate and the ravaged body of the woman he and Tyler had found. He sucked in his breath and glowered at the man's smirk. "Before I blow your head off, I want you to know that it was my wife and son you butchered at that cabin in Golden Sky."

Royce nodded, putting a hand up to his face. "She was a tough bitch. Slammed me with an iron skillet and broke a tooth. I was so mad I shot her before I could have any fun with her." He shifted his body against the wall, leering at Wesley. "Had some fun after though . . . with her and that brat of a kid." Wesley took a step forward, his face scarlet with anger, and his finger white against the trigger of his gun. "Kid was pretty gritty though. Gotta admit that. Spit at me when I slipped that knife blade into his gut."

"YOU BASTARD!" Wesley lashed out with his boot, catching Royce squarely between the legs. Royce groaned aloud, folding over and clutching his crotch, a bubble of saliva spilling over his chin and onto the roof with a splatter. The sound of someone calling from the hotel roof reached Wesley's ears, but his attention was riveted on the moaning, slimy beast in front of him. He leaned over, holding the muzzle of the gun over top of Royce's protective hand. "I'm gonna start here so's you know that for all the women you raped, your prick was the first to pay the price."

"Torrance! Torrance, don't do it! We want him alive." Bragg was stunting back and forth at the edge of the hotel roof trying to keep Royce in his sight.

Wesley looked back over his shoulder, squinting in the sunlight. "Not a chance Bragg. He's gonna pay for my fam—"

Royce's reaction was so swift Wesley did not even turn back before his gun was snatched from his hand. He stumbled sideways in surprise, seeing Royce bring the barrel up in line with his face.

"We'll see now which prick pays the price." A cackling snort sent another spray of spittle down the front of his shirt. Wesley's eyes grew wide as the roar of gunfire boomed in his ears, under the mid day sun.