Renshaw had his back to him. Several Rebs were creeping past, making their way across the open ground to where their horses were saddled under the hanging branches of a cluster of trees. All around were the bodies of men, civilians, sprawled out in the dirt, each with a gunshot wound in the head… executions.
Waiting, Lester brought up his pistols and eased back the hammers.
Renshaw swung around, his eyes alive with alarm.
“Wait, Cap’n,” he said quickly.
“Traitor is the word you used,” he said, “and traitor is what you are.”
“No, it’s not—”
Lester squeezed both triggers, one after the other, the heavy calibre bullets smashing into Renshaw’s chest, throwing him backwards. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Rolling forward, Lester brought his pistols to bear on the Rebs spilling fro
