Stories
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Forced into Marriage with an "Ugly" Woman, a Man Is Stunned When He Sees Her True Beauty Revealed Beneath the Veil.

Chapter 11

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"Lobo Negro!" Harlan shouted, his booming voice echoing off the cottonwood trunks. "I told you two months ago that your time in this wash was finished!"Lobo Negro stepped forward three paces, his Winchester resting across his forearm. "This valley is not yours, Harlan. It has never been yours."Harlan let out a loud, mocking laugh, waving his hand toward the thin surveyor beside him."The Territorial Land Office in Prescott says otherwise, Chief!" Harlan barked. "I hold the master tax certificate for Section Nine! The government auctioned off the entire eastern basin three weeks ago! You've got twenty-four hours to pack your tents and drive your stock south across the river, or my boys will burn these wickiups to the ground!"Behind Harlan, twenty armed riders patted their rifle stocks, their faces tight with cheap bravado and cruel expectation.

Before Lobo Negro could answer, Maverick Cole stepped out from behind the cottonwood trees.He walked with a slow, deliberate stride, stopping right beside the chief. His right hand rested casually on his hip, inches from the wooden grip of his Colt revolver, his gray eyes cold and unyielding as he looked up at Harlan.Harlan reined his horse back an inch, his heavy eyebrows pulling together as he recognized the white cowboy."Who the hell are you?" Harlan demanded. "Some whiskey-trader hiding out with the hostiles?""My name is Maverick Cole," Maverick said, his voice quiet, flat, and carrying across the hushed yard with absolute authority.Harlan frowned, turning his head toward his skinny surveyor. "Cole? What's he talking about, Miller?"The surveyor frantically flipped through his leather folder, his fingers trembling as he pulled out a yellowed land ledger. He scanned the lines, his face turning pale as wet chalk."Major..." the surveyor whispered, leaning over his saddle horn. "Section Nine... the eastern river bend... there's a primary claim recorded in '79 under the name Maverick Cole. It carries a territorial military land warrant seal."Harlan’s red face turned an ugly, mottled purple. "That's impossible! That warrant was canceled five years ago!""It wasn't canceled," Maverick said smoothly, pulling the folded oilcloth papers from his inner coat pocket and holding them up in the bright sunlight. "It was held in trust by the Prescott land office until the survey coordinates were verified. I hold the primary military warrant for fifty acres along the eastern river bend—including the main water access."Harlan’s hand dropped toward his holstered revolver. "You're lying, cowboy! You don't own a foot of this dirt!""He doesn't own it alone," a clear, ringing voice called out from the porch.Kee-dah stepped off the wooden steps.
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