Please… Do It Quick
He Paid One Dollar to Save Her, But Love Demanded Everything
The Silver Dollar
Red Ford had never been a town where a man could disappear.
It was too small for that.
Three streets crossed beneath a sky the color of old brass, and nearly every building seemed to know the name of every person who entered it. The blacksmith knew who owed him money. The saloon keeper knew who drank too much. The sheriff knew which men carried pistols beneath their coats.
And everyone knew Pike Lathrop.
That was why, when the wagon rolled into the center of town just after noon, people came out of the saloons, stores, and boardinghouses without needing to be called.
They heard the laughter first.
Then they saw the wagon.
Then they saw the girl.
She was kneeling on the rough wooden boards, her wrists bound behind her with a strip of leather. Her dress had once been blue, but dust and blood had turned it gray. One sleeve was torn almost to the shoulder. A dark line of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.
She kept her head lowered.
Pike Lathrop stood beside the wagon, smiling as though he had brought a prize horse to market.
“Come closer,” he called.
A few men laughed.
The girl flinched.
Pike grabbed her chin and forced her face upward.
“Let them see you.”
She closed her eyes.
That was when Elias Hart stopped walking.
He had been carrying a hammer and a bundle of fence posts across his shoulder. He was a tall, weathered man in his early thirties, with dark hair, a beard that had gone uneven from too many months of neglect, and an old injury in his right shoulder that made every movement slower than it should have been.
He had come into Red Ford to buy flour, lamp oil, and a new horseshoe nail.
He had not come looking for trouble.
But trouble had a way of finding him.
Pike turned toward the crowd.
“She belongs to whoever pays.”
Someone shouted a crude joke.
More laughter followed.
The girl's breathing became faster.
Elias watched her for several seconds.
He noticed something the others apparently did not.
She wasn't crying.
She wasn't begging the crowd.
She was trying very hard not to look afraid.
That made him angry.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she had learned that showing fear would only entertain them.
Pike raised his voice.
“Come on, gentlemen. Surely somebody has enough money to make the afternoon interesting.”
A man tossed a coin.
Pike caught it.
The girl whispered something.
Pike leaned down.
“What was that?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Please…”
The crowd became quiet.
She swallowed.
“Please… do it quick.”
Elias's fingers tightened around the hammer.
He had heard enough.
He stepped forward.
“How much?”
The laughter stopped.
Pike looked at him.
Then he laughed.
“Well, look who's feeling brave.”
Elias walked closer.
“I asked how much.”
Pike glanced at the hammer in Elias's hand.
Then at his worn boots.
Then at the patched coat.
“You don't have much.”
“I didn't ask what I had.”
Pike smiled.
“One dollar.”
Several men laughed.
Pike expected Elias to walk away.
Instead, Elias reached into his vest.
He pulled out the only silver dollar he owned.
It had been given to him by his father years before, when Elias had been seventeen and preparing to leave home.
His father had pressed it into his palm and said, A man should always keep something that reminds him where he came from.
Elias had carried it ever since.
He placed it on the wooden barrel beside Pike.
Clink.
The sound seemed louder than a gunshot.
Pike stared at the coin.
Then he laughed.
“You're serious?”
“Yes.”
Pike picked up the dollar.
“You just bought yourself a heap of trouble.”
Elias looked at the girl.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.