By sunrise, Red Valley looked like a battlefield.

Hundreds of riders stood on opposite sides of the dusty valley, rifles resting across their saddles. For three days, each side had blamed the other for the deaths of six ranchers.

Now, nobody wanted peace.

They wanted revenge.

Jack Mercer sat among the front line, watching nearly two hundred armed men across the valley. He knew that one gunshot could turn the entire valley into a graveyard.

Then a young woman suddenly rode between the two armies.

She stopped her horse and raised both hands.

“Stop!”

Jack rode toward her.

“Get off the battlefield!”

She ignored him and stared toward the northern ridge.

“Look behind you.”

Jack turned.

A massive cloud of dust was rising beyond the hills.

Hundreds of unfamiliar riders appeared over the ridge, moving toward them.

Jack’s hand tightened around his rifle.

“Who are they?”

The woman looked terrified.

“The men who started this war.”

Silence fell across the valley.

Then the first unfamiliar rider raised his rifle.

A single gunshot echoed through Red Valley.

Both armies turned toward the new enemy.

And Jack realized they had all been tricked.

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