The Matriarch's Mercy

Martha sat in the crevice of the mountain, the shade a rare treat on her days in the summer sun. She loaded her rifle slowly, her eyes scanning for the wagon set to roll down this valley any minute now. Once they did, she would find her and her gang rich enough to live in the laps of luxury for at least a month. She could smell the gun powder that one of her men had set up from here, strong in the slight breeze. She hoped it wouldn't drift down when the time came. Over the high rocks of the ridge above, Colton aimed his rifle down at the valley, ready to shoot the moment things went wrong. What a partner to have!

"Ma?"

Martha sighed, turning to see the newest member of their gang. He was a sweet enough kid, but when it came to heists like these, he always seemed to struggle. "Yes, Brooks? You're supposed to be at your post."

"I know, but I'm just not sure about this."

"Not sure about this? Sweetie…" Martha set down her rifle and grabbed Brooks' hands. He was still a child, no more than 16, and he still had so much life ahead of him. She almost felt bad. "I know it's scary, but once we get this done, we won't have to do it again for a long time."

"Promise?"

Martha nodded. "Promise. Then we can all go out and drink! And maybe find you a girl, huh?"

"Really?" Brooks' eyes lit up, and Martha laughed.

"Really, now get to your-"

"Graves!" Colton shouted, pointing to the wagon that was just moving into view.

Martha jumped up and grabbed her rifle, nearly dropping it in her adrenaline spike. Cursing, she threw a hand up to give the signal, and less than a second later, the smell of gunpowder blended with smell of smoke, to large rocks above tilting as the explosion rocked them off of their pedestals. The horses below reared, and Brooks let out his best version of a warcry as he ran down the mountain path. Not that it was necessary-the other five meant to block the back of the wagon had done the right thing and stayed at their posts. She grinned as the horses halted to a stop and the man in the passenger seat held his shotgun shakily, looking at the sudden flurry of bandits just waiting for the word.

With a simple whistle from Martha, Colton sent out a single shot. The bullet hit its mark no problem, digging itself into the wood between the driver and his outer passenger. The passenger, jumped, firing a bullet into the sky as he dropped the shotgun. Brooks grabbed it and aimed it at the driver and passanger, a growl on his face. Martha strolled down the path, slipping her rifle in its holster and and pulling out her pistol instead. One did have a reputation to keep, after all. As she left the mountainside and entered the valley, the driver paled.

"Hello, boys! Welcome to the party!" She announced in a sing-song tone, a grin on her face as her signature grey hat shielded her vision. "As I'm sure you've figured out by now, you are being robbed! Now, we don't plan on doing anything particularly harmful to you, but we are called the 'Desperate Dozen' for a reason. The faster you follow our demands, the faster-"

She froze, mouth agape, as she turned and saw her soon-to-be victims. The driver stared at her with the same eyes as most, except they had something else mixed with the fear…disappointment. And disappointment was something she just couldn't stand to see. Her face turned red and she aimed the pistol at the driver's forehead, the cold of the steel leaving an imprint as she pressed it tightly to his forehead. The driver didn't look away, his terrified eyes locked on her.

"Graves…" Colton's wary voice was like a guitar under water. "Careful."

Martha pulled back the hammer. "Where is he?"

"Martha-" The driver started.

"Don't waste my time!" She pushed the pistol further into his forehead until he winced. "Now, Waylon, or I swear your brains will make a nice stain for the wood."

"Waylon?" Colton's shock cut through the tidal wave of anger. "Does that mean…?"

"He's in the carriage, Martha, but please don't hurt him," Waylon pleaded. "He's the only one left!"

Martha took the pistol off of Waylon's forehead. "Too bad for the bloodline, then, to be stuck with just a leech."

She fixed the hammer and checked the ammo, making sure there were plenty left to make sure the man sitting in the carriage had enough lead in him to drag him six feet under. Colton grabbed her shoulder to try to stop her, but she shook him off without a second thought as everyone else watched. She pulled on the door and it struggled, so she slammed it in before pulling it off its hinges. And sure enough, there he was. The man who had caused her so much pain, who had destroyed every inch of her innoncence and turned her into the nightmare she was today.

The one and only Beaumont Montgomery.

He cowered as far away from the door as he could, one of the dozen blocking the other side. He clutched the small tin box that she had been so determined to get only a few minutes ago, and now she was just feeling silly not realizing what the M stood for in 'M Banking and Cattle'. His eyes were slammed shut, as if she were just some bad dream that would go away after a time. Well, the time for bad dreams was long past gone.

"Miss me, Beau?" Her voice was venom. "Get out, and hand that box to my young associate here."

He opened his eyes. "Martha, darling-"

"I won't tell you again," She gestured to Brooks as she stepped back and he did as he was told. "Get on your knees."

He faced her with wide eyes and shaky hands, the man dressed as if he were royalty and hair slicked back as if he owned the world, now disheveled and barely able to contain himself. Had she not been standing here herself, she wouldn't have believed it. What a coward, although that was never a surprise. She looked to Colton, who shoved him to the ground with a harsh thud. By the scowl on his face, it was a miracle Beaumont was still alive. She aimed her pistol right between his eyes, not an ounce of emotion in her eyes.

"This looks rather familiar, doesn't it? Except, if I remember correctly, it was the other way around," She spoke slowly, every word a distinct calculation. "I'm not unreasonable, not even to monsters like you. In fact, you can thank Waylon here for that one, as I've always been fond of him. Why shouldn't I send you to God right this second?"

Beaumont let out a fast breath. "Oh, thank you! Martha-"

"Miss Graves, to you."

Beaumont gulped. "Miss Graves, then. I know how it sounds, but I promise to you, I'm a changed man! All of those things I did to you back then? I was a child, and I wasn't wise enough to know the difference. If I had known what I'd known now, I never would've done it!"

"And what is it?"

"What is it?" He repeated.

"That you know now," Martha clarified. "What vast piece of wisdom has mended your ways?"

"Umm…well…"

Martha tilted her head slightly. "Did you get in trouble? Realized that hurting and betraying those you love is no game?"

He started to nod, but the spark igniting deep in her gaze stopped him in his tracks.

"Or, more realistically, did you learn that the one person you hurt the most got twisted into this?" She gestured to herself. "A threat that you'd one day be staring down, and there's nobody that can save you this time."

She pulled back the hammer and Beaumont flinched, but she didn't move. She stood as still as stone, watching his squinting eyes slowly open with confusion, and the look of terror as he risked a look at her face. Why had she not ended him right then and there? She supposed this was the look she wanted to see. She wanted him to look just as she did all those years ago, frightened for his life and unsure if everything he had to give was enough for him to survive. She was excited to watch that terror turn to dread as he realized it wasn't, just as she did. The only difference? She wouldn't be foolish enough to give him a chance at escape.

But now, as she stared down at him, all she could see was herself. That child, so filled with hope and love and light. It was her, begging for another chance and dumbfounded about how she fell into that situation so fast. And, in the exact same situation, she could never do such a thing to herself. She sighed and lowered her pistol, settling it back into its holster. Colton opened his mouth in surprise, Waylon let out a happy shout, and Beaumont let himself break down in sobs. Her ears clogged as she looked away, fighting the tears threatening to spill.

"Brooks, do you have the box?" She asked through a choke.

"I do, Ma," He tapped on the box under his arm. "Shall I take care of these scum?"

Martha shook her head. "Let them go."

"What?" One of the others, Wyatt, spoke up. "But what about the sheriffs? They'll be on our-"

"They've learned their lesson," Martha snapped. "We have what we need. Let them go, and let's ride."

Without another word, the Desperate Dozen split up to return to their horses. The members of the wagon, and the only survivors of the dangerous Ma' Graves, were frozen with fear. Martha adjust her hat and stood up a little straighter, fighting the urge to fall apart herself. She wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks angrily, Colton at her heels. He looked around to make sure none of the gang was close before wrapping an arm around shoulder. Throwing her pride aside, she leaned into it as they weaved their way back up the path.

"Now! Shoot them!"

"Master Beau, you can't be serious!" Waylon cried.

"On the contrary, I've never been more serious in my life. Nobody makes a fool out of me!" Beaumont pulled a rifle out of the carriage and threw it into the passenger's arms just as Martha turned around. "Especially her! Now, shoot the whore!"

She didn't think the shot would come close…not with Beaumont's cheapness. Turns out he did learn something, after all. Colton shoved Martha out of the way, the bullet whizzing just above her head through the brim of her hat. She stayed there in the dust, frozen at the betrayal yet again. Oh, how she should've known better! The passenger aimed again, and all she could do was stare. Colton, on the other hand, felt no such fear. A minute later, the passenger's head was disfigured, the metallic smell of blood strong even from the path.

"Waylon was kind, yes?" Colton asked.

"Yes."

Beaumont barely grasped the rifle before he fell limp, the crimson shooting in a fountain from the back of his skull. Waylon let out a choked sob as Colton swept Martha up in his arms, her eyes glued to the scene. She hated the man with every passion of her being, and yet, seeing his corpse there, a large part of her wanted nothing more than to grieve.

"I've been waiting to do that," Colton looked patted her up and down with his hands as he held her. "Did they get you? Are you hurt?"

Martha took a deep breath and smiled, the grief turning to relief. "It would take a lot more than that to take me down. Let's go home, Colton."

"As you wish, Molly. Let's go home."