The April Round-Up

April Round-up Challenge

by

Beppina

The wind carried dust through the streets of Virginia City, rattling the loose shutters and whispering trouble to anyone who cared to listen. It was the kind of wind that came before something bad or inevitable happened.

I stood just outside the Sazerac Saloon. My green jacket hung open, my hat pulled low, shielding my eyes. My hand rested just a little too comfortably on the butt of my pistol.

I hadn’t planned on being back in town for this.

The April Round-Up.

I should’ve remembered what that meant.

Behind me, the saloon doors creaked open and shut as men came and went, voices low, the laughter forced. The air stale and thick. No one relaxed during the April Round-Up. Not anymore.

I glanced down the street and let out a long, slow breath. Riders had been coming in all morning; hard men with harder eyes. Gunslingers. Drifters. Bounty hunters. Anyone with a few dollars to spend.

And a few ghosts.

“Thought I might find you out here.”

I didn’t turn right away. The voice I’d known my whole life.

“Hoss sent you?” I asked, finally glancing over my shoulder.

Sheriff Roy Coffee stepped up beside me, thumbs hooked in his belt. “Your pa’s worried. Can’t say I blame him.”

I gave a faint smirk. “Pa worries if I sneeze too loud.”

“This ain’t sneezing, boy.” Roy’s tone was firm. “You know what this is?”

I looked back toward the street before replying. “Yeah. I know.”

The April Round-Up.

It had started years ago as something innocent. A cattleman’s gathering, a chance for ranchers to settle disputes and test their skills against each other. But somewhere along the way, it had changed. Now it drew men who weren’t interested in cattle or friendly competition.

Now it drew blood.

“You could go home,” Roy offered. “Head on back to the Ponderosa. No reason you gotta be part of this.”

My jaw tightened. “It’s too late for that.”

I felt Roy’s eyes fix on me. “This about Mason Reilly?”

I couldn’t, didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

---

One-handed, I pushed through the swinging doors into the roiling hubbub of noise. The room fell silent. I was the main attraction.

Cards paused mid-hand. Glasses hovered before lips. I could feel the eyes following me across to the bar.

“Whiskey,” I placed coins on the bar.

The bartender poured without a word.

I’d just lifted the glass when a voice cut through the tension.

“Well now… if it ain’t Little Joe Cartwright.”

I didn’t need to turn. I recognised that voice just as easily as I would Roy’s.

Mason Reilly.

Slowly, I set the glass down, turned and faced him.

Mason stood near the far table, dressed head-to-toe in trail-worn leather, his guns hanging low on his hips. His face was older, harder, but the cold, evil smile hadn’t changed.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Mason said, stepping closer. “Figured you’d be hiding out at  your pa’s ranch.”

My eyes narrowed. “Funny. I figured you’d still be running.”

A ripple of anticipation spread through the room.

Mason chuckled. “Not anymore. This Round-Up? It’s mine.”

The hairs on my neck prickled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Mason said, stopping just a few feet away, his lack of bathing too obvious at this distance, “this year ain’t about cattle. It’s about settling accounts.”

My left hand drifted closer to my gun.

“You remember Tom Willis?” Mason asked.

My chest tightened, and my heart skipped a beat. Of course I did. Tom had been a ranch hand and a friend.

Tom had died in a gunfight that never should’ve happened.

“I remember,” My reply was soft and low.

Mason’s smile faded. “Good. Because I’ve been waiting a long time to even the score.”

---

Later that night, I rode out of town. I needed space, a place to think, to reflect on what had happened.

High above, the cold brightness of the moon cast long shadows across the hills. Deep, dark shadows formed under the trees. The only sound was that of the hunting owls and small creatures scuttling in the undergrowth. Quiet enough for me to remember the girl and everything that followed.

Tom Willis.

The memory flooded back.

It had been a mess of a fight. Confusing. Fast.

I remembered that Tom had drawn first, then I had fired in self-defence.

But for some unknown reason, Mason had always claimed otherwise. Claimed I’d murdered Tom.

“You still don’t know the whole story.”

I spun at the voice, my hand dropping to my gun.

A lone figure stepped out from behind a tree.

Candy Canaday.

 “Candy? What’re you doing here?”

Candy raised his hands. “Trying to keep you from making a mistake.”

I frowned. “You heard what Mason said?”

“I heard,” Candy moved into the moonlight. “And he ain’t lying about everything.”

My gut tightened. “What do you mean?”

Candy hesitated, then sighed. “Tom wasn’t himself that day. He’d been threatened.”

“By who?”

Candy met my gaze. “Mason.”

It felt like the ground had shifted.

“Mason Reilly pushed him into that fight,” Candy continued. “He knew Tom wouldn’t win. Wanted you to pull the trigger.”

 “Why?” My voice low, disbelieving.

“So he’d have a reason to come after you. Build this… vendetta.”

 “That doesn’t make any sense.” I countered, “We’ve never had much dealing with him.”

“It does if you know what Mason’s after,” Candy said. “The Ponderosa.”

I froze. Was this all about the Ponderosa? My home, my father’s dream.

“He’s been buying up land, out Carson way.” Candy went on. “Driving folks out. And you? You’re the last obstacle.”

---

By morning, the town was alive and buzzing.

The April Round-Up had officially begun.

But this year, there were none of the usual contests or any fun pastimes like the kissing booth or evening barn dance to enjoy. There was no laughter.

There was just a list of names.

And mine was at the top.

The rules were simple. Survive or die.

Men were already pairing off, settling grudges in the street. Gunshots echoed through Virginia City before the sun reached its peak. Bodies of the unfortunate losers were removed with indecent haste, while others were patched up for further fights.

I had to stay calm. Focused. I wasn’t here to play Mason’s game.

I was here to end it. Or die trying.

 It happened at sundown.

The street stood empty, save for Mason and me. The townsfolk hid behind closed doors, watching, waiting. Curtains twitched in anticipation.

I was at one end of Main Street. Mason at the other.

The wind had died, and the town held its breath.

Mason stepped forward. “Been a long time coming, Cartwright.”

 “Yeah. It has.” I flexed my fingers, my glove tight across my knuckles.

“You ready to admit what you did?” Mason asked.

I shook my head. “I’m ready to tell the truth.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed.

“You set Tom up,” My voice calm, controlled. “You pushed him into that fight. And now you’ve been using his death to justify everything you’ve done since.”

A flicker of anger crossed Mason’s face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know enough,” I replied. “This ends now.”

Time stood still. The surroundings faded into obscurity, a mere blur to one side.

My eyes focused on the killer, watching, waiting for the sign, the twitch.

Then…

Gunfire erupted and split the silence.

Two shots.

One body fell.

---

I stood, smoke still curling from my gun.

Across the street, Mason Reilly lay motionless, dead, in the dust.

 Doors were flung open, and people emerged into the now quiet street.

Roy Coffee stepped forward, eyes scanning the scene.

“You alright, son?” he asked, a hand on my shoulder.

“Uh?” I nodded, hardly believing I was alive. “Yeah.”

Roy glanced at Mason, then back at me. “Looks like it’s over.”

I holstered my gun, but my gaze lingered on the body only feet away.

“Yeah,” I repeated. “It is.”

---

The Ponderosa stretched wide and peaceful under the early morning sun. A new day had begun.

By the time I reached home, I was exhausted. I’d stayed in town overnight, too wound up to ride the twenty miles home in the dark. I’d grabbed an hour’s sleep at the International, then spent a while in the bath getting the stench of death and gunfire off my body and out of my hair. I’d set off before sunrise and hoped I would be in time for breakfast with my family.

Pa stepped out onto the porch, Hoss close behind.

“You took your time,” Hoss greeted with a grin.

I managed a small smile. “Had some business to finish.”

I could feel my father’s eyes studying me for any injuries.

 “And is it finished?” His question hung in the air.

I nodded. “Yeah, Pa. It is.”

Pa placed a hand on my shoulder with a squeeze of affection. “We’re glad you’re home.”

Together we turned and looked out over the land.

Cartwright land.

Our land.

For the first time in a long while, the wind felt calm.

And April… was just April again.

The End

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