A Plains Gothic: The Tree, Part Eight

You son of a bitch, Anthony Dugan bellowed.

I should have known a coward like you would point a finger.

You're a swindler, Dugan, and my boy isn't right because of you and your kin, Albert shouted back.

That will be enough of that, Finn shouted them down.

We'll be asking the questions here.

Your feud is your own.

Which one of you doggons, eh? Or maybe all of you? What do you say, Samuel? I'd wager you had a hand in all of this, Finn said.

Samuel looked back, clearly unnerved when Nora turned the shotgun on him.

As I recall, you seemed sweet on Constance, always there to open a door or assist her with a package.

Nothing to say now, Finn asked.

Time to use your silver tongue, boy, Nora said.

I was courting your daughter.

That is true, Samuel said.

Just how many of our men and boys did she seduce? Charity Dempsey asked aloud.

That's enough from you.

We'll have no more questions about my daughter's virtue, Nora said.

We know that, Samuel.

You were at the front door of the saloon so often that I nearly mistook you for a wooden Indian offering me a cigar.

If you are desirous of my daughter's affection, then why did you join up with this posse? Murdering her won't win her heart, Finn asked.

Anthony Dugan shook his head as an explicit warning to his son, but Samuel looked again to Nora, who adjusted her grip on the shotgun.

She spurned me, Samuel said.

You tried to kill her because she wouldn't return your affections, boy, Nora said.

Dugans don't take to rejection, Albert Quaglin mused.