Reaper's Fee

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Lester Peterson was a wanted man.

Although he’d gotten into his fair share of fights, Lester hadn’t used his gun for anything more than doling out flesh wounds and killing a few horses. Then again, one of those horses was the cause for some of Lester’s biggest headaches.

Back in eighty-one, Lester had needed to get out of Texas faster than his feet could carry him, and a horse was his only means of transportation into greener, northern pastures. Because of his lack of funds, Lester needed to be a little more creative when it came to getting his hands on a horse, so he stole one from a saloon outside of San Antonio. That horse had belonged to a wealthy rancher who, Lester figured, would easily see his way past the loss.

Lester was not only wrong about the rancher’s forgiving nature, but he also underestimated the rancher’s memory. A price was put on Lester’s head, which only grew every month that he wasn’t found. No matter how many other horses or how much money he would steal, Lester found himself running from that one mistake he’d made in Texas those years ago.

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