This was a random plotbunny I was thinking about after watching 3:10 to Yuma. It's a one-shot, intended to stand alone, and follows the question: What if Dan had accepted the 200 offered to him by Butterfield to walk away? I'm not quite sure about the quality of this piece, so any criticism and/or beta-type remarks are highly appreciated.

“Maybe he’s right, Pa, maybe we should go home,” William said, quietly urging his father to give up a doomed fight.

“Two hundred,” Butterfield repeated desperately. “Right here, right now, and you can walk away.” He proffered the money to Dan. The bills were trembling, shaking in his grasp.

Dan glanced at Will, about to say something, and paused, staring at his boy’s face. All the emotions were displayed for him to see: desperation, fright, pleading – all subdued and masked, but there. Dan simply let his gaze rove over Will’s face, taking in all the features, so familiar and so loved. William noticed something, searched his father’s face for a sign, but Dan turned away. He was torn inside, torn between his desire for justice and his desire to prove himself to his boy, and his desire to see Will safe, to see Alice and Mark again. To take the two hundred dollars would be so easy for him; to take that money and grab Will and run out the door and survive, leaving Wade and the vicious wrath of his gang behind. But that was where he stopped, reconsidered, fought. Wade would remain alive, free, out in the clear air and with every scheme in his cunning head practical for him to execute.

Dan glanced to Wade, stared at him without shame, recognized everything that the man stood for and recognized the evil there. Then he glanced back at William, and saw in him both of his sons, his anxious and loving wife, and recognized the consequences of his actions if he chose to die. Mark’s face, so similar to William’s, imprinted itself on his reflections.

He realized that he didn’t have a choice. The realization took a weight off his shoulders at the same time that it shackled chains around his spirit – he would do what he wanted, he would keep himself and his family alive – and how many would die at Wade’s hand because of that? There was no right answer.

Defeat and anger were apparent on his face, twisting into a wretched expression as he turned on Wade. “We’re leaving,” he said, each word almost violent in its harshness. “Butterfield’s going to guard you until we’ve got out, and when he leaves you can do whatever the hell you want. But if you come after us, we’re shooting. Ain’t got nothing to lose.”

“Alright,” Wade said, looking at Dan from under the rim of his hat. “A smart man, you are. Family’s important, Dan. You ain’t making a wrong choice.”

“I may not have made a wrong choice, Wade, but I sure as hell don’t know if I made a right one,” Dan shot back, turning away abruptly. “William, come on. Hurry.” He strode toward the door quickly, stopped only by the soft sound of Wade’s voice.

“Hey, Dan.”

“What is it, Wade?”

“Tell you what.” There was a creaking sound as Wade leaned forward intently in his chair. “If you take off these handcuffs, I’ll do something – I’ll tell the boys to let you go. You can walk out risk free.”

Dan stared at the doorjamb, considering it. Finally he shook his head. “I don’t trust you,” he said, with a heaving sigh. “We’re doing it as it is.” He glanced half over his shoulder. “Will!”

Wade leaned back with a thump, dropping his hands in his lap. “Well, your call,” he said, a smile in his voice.

Dan unlocked the door with more ferocity than necessary and wrenched it open. He checked the hallway carefully, though, before stepping out.

“Mr. Evans.”

“Butterfield?” Dan said, bringing his head back inside the room. He stopped short, staring at the two hundred dollars the man was still offering him. He almost refused it. It revolted him, the idea that he was abandoning his charge and his job, and still getting paid for it. It rankled. After a moment or two he swore under his breath and snatched the money anyway.

He and William found a room right next to the stairway and quickly went inside. Dan immediately checked the location of the windows and made sure that there were no other entrances except the main door. Once done, he helped William shove a large cabinet in front of the door. They left about two feet of space, though, so that Butterfield could squeeze through. Once he came they would barricade the door securely and wait until they were entirely certain that Wade was gone. For some reason Dan didn’t believe the outlaw would spend too much energy trying to kill them, but nervous fear still lurked in the back of his mind.

About ten seconds after they were done, Dan heard Wade’s voice, low and sultry and confident, singing out to the outlaws down below. “Alright, boys, a few of you come on up. Rest of you, stay outside and watch for ‘em.” He said something else Dan didn’t catch, it being drowned out by the whoops of the gang. At the same time Dan heard the clattering footsteps of Butterfield as he ran for the room next to the stairs. He succeeded in squeezing through the narrow space left and they rammed the door shut, throwing the cabinet against it. But it was not perfect. The cabinet had slightly wobbly legs and they had to place their backs to it to support it.

Dan heard the outlaws reach the stairs and thunder up, running to find Wade’s room. There were about three of them, he guessed. But only two went to Wade; the other had noted the door Butterfield had fled through and had stopped at the top of the stairs. There were a few decisive steps backwards, and then two loud clicks. Dan threw himself away from the cabinet, knocking William down as he did. Not a moment too soon: gunfire peppered the door, bullets blasting their way through door and cabinet to hurtle into the far wall. Butterfield, unfortunately, did not escape unscathed; he was knocked to the floor as a bullet caught his shoulder. Dan cursed something unintelligible (this was not the way it was supposed to go!) and crawled over to him, attempting to stop the profuse bleeding.

Then things went wrong. The outlaw firing at the door blew out the lock with a well-aimed shot and then threw himself against himself against it, attempting to force the door open. Then, by sheer bad luck and coincidental fate, one of the cabinet’s legs gave way, revealing rotten wood, and it tipped off balance, crashing to the floor. The door banged open and the outlaw burst in. Immediately he took aim with a shotgun and shot Butterfield dead as he sprawled on the floor. Dan had leaped away when the cabinet fell, and now, through a glaze of horror and adrenaline, he managed to get his own shotgun into position and fired, shooting the outlaw (where? he didn’t know, it was too fast) and knocking him backwards against the wall. “Run!” he roared at William, springing for the door at the same time. William rushed after him, and as his father covered every inch of the hall with a wildly waving shotgun he careened down the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. Dan followed him a second later, just missing a bullet as the other two outlaws stormed out of 

Wade’s room. It grazed his back, just under his scapula, and struck the wall to his side, leaving a splintered round hole in the wood. Dan stumbled, feeling the hot singe of burning pain and split skin, but continued, nearly falling in his fear and haste to escape. Another gun cracked and this time the bullet struck his shoulder hard, slamming him against the wall. He let out a brief cry of agony just as his legs crumpled and he rolled the rest of the way down the stairs, sprawling in a bruised heap at the bottom. The shotgun slid across the floor, stopping a good fifteen feet away. William had paused in the doorway and was looking back with an expression of horror on his face. “Run!” Dan screamed at him. William hesitated only a moment, and then he dashed to grab the shotgun, then turned and bolted.

Gasping with pain, Dan raised himself onto one elbow and twisted his neck to look back up the stairs. The first thing he saw was the gleaming, round barrel of a gun aimed at him with frightening steadiness of hand and precision. His desperate gaze flicked up to the outlaw’s face and met Charlie Prince’s eyes, narrow and focused with vengeance and deadly tranquil as he sighted with an almost melodramatic quality down the barrel at Dan’s forehead. The terrifying moment seemed to last forever, frozen, while Dan gasped in shock I’m going to die.

“Charlie!”

Prince jerked, momentarily diverted from his kill, and glanced up. “Boss,” he acknowledged. “One of them sons’a’bitches is down there. He’s still kicking. I shot ‘im in the shoulder.” He turned on Dan again, meeting his gaze unashamed, staring right into the eyes of the man he was going to kill. “Want me to kill ‘im, boss?”

Wade’s slow, smooth voice was almost pleasant in its tone. “Not yet, Charlie. Don’t waste any more bullets on them. Is it the rancher?”

Charlie nodded, his eyes still on Dan. Dan took this time to struggle into a sitting position, pushing himself against the wall. An acknowledging sigh came from Wade. “A-a-ah. I’d like to talk to him – go downstairs, Charlie.”

“Yeah, boss.” Prince started down the stairs. “Stop moving, rancher.” Dan stopped moving, slumping against the wall, and tried to conceal the climbing tension that he felt. He now knew another fear: where was William? Had the men outside caught him? What was Wade planning to do?

Wade finally appeared at the top of the stairs. “Dan!” he greeted, sauntering down the steps with an exaggerated swinging motion. “Looks like you got yourself into some trouble here.”

“Wade,” Dan said, hoarsely, “let me go. We’re going back home; ain’t bothering you any longer.”

Ben reached the bottom step. “Goodness, that’s a lot of blood,” he said softly, tilting his head to one side. “You really got yourself messed up, didn’t you.” He glanced up, scanned the room quickly, and then looked back down. “Where’s your boy, Dan?” There was a serious, steely quality to his voice that made Dan tense. He said nothing. Charlie Prince approached Wade, handing him a beautiful black gun and gun belt. There was a crucifix on the handle of the gun. Wade turned it over in his hands, admiring it, and murmured a soft, “The Hand of God.” He paused, looking past the gun down to Dan, who lying on the ground bleeding. There was a threat in that action, Dan thought, and listened to the sound of his own fearful, rasping breath. Ben Wade then nodded his thanks to Charlie, who had circled around to a convenient spot and was leaning against one wall.

By this time the rest of the outlaws had entered the hotel and were standing around, watching with curious, callous expressions. They had seen their boss deal with men before and they were expecting no different; Dan could read it in their eyes. It made his guts slide.

Wade was watching him; he smiled. “Now, Dan - you wouldn’t happen to have the key to these cuffs, would you?”

“You leave my father alone!”

Dan jerked his head to the side, along with every other man in the room. “Will!” The boy was standing in the doorway, pale as death from terror, aiming the shotgun at Wade’s chest with white knuckles and as steady of a hand as could be managed. Charlie Prince snapped a gun in his direction. There was no click; it was already cocked. “You just put that gun down, boy,” he hissed, his tone cold and focused.

Dan could say nothing. Will was going to get shot, and even if he took whatever course of action Dan demanded of him, there was no course of action that could save from two of the fastest gunslingers known. Along the wall, Wade’s men were beginning to shift, edging slowly toward Will. A few were starting to inch their hands toward their holsters.

“Get away from my father, or I’ll shoot your damn head off,” William whispered, his eyes only for Wade.

“Drop that gun. Now.” Charlie Prince had not moved at all, aware of the boy’s trembling trigger finger, but he could fire faster than Will would be able to get his thoughts together.

Wade, who had been staring at Will, looked down at Dan briefly. “You’ve got a good boy,” he said with a touch of appreciative wonder. “You oughta be proud of him.”

Dan’s eyes were wide. “Don’t hurt him, Wade,” he rasped, almost too low to be heard. “Please… don’t hurt him.”

“Move!” snarled Will, his face twisting with fear and anger. “I said get away!”

“Boss,” said Charlie Prince, who was still focused on Will, “you want me to shoot him? I can get him afore he even starts thinkin’ about firin’.”

Wade slowly pulled his gaze away from Dan, glanced slowly at Charlie. “No, Charlie. The boy’s misguided.” He looked directly at Will. “Put the gun down, boy. You’re just being foolish.”

“I don’t trust you. Move, dammit!” Will’s trembling muscles were now jerking the shotgun within a range of several inches.

The next few things happened with a blinding rapidity. One of the outlaws had been left outside to watch the horses. This outlaw had come up onto the porch and was taking a few steps toward Will. They were very delicate steps and extremely slow, like those of a deer hunter’s. He was within a few feet of Will now. Dan was watching him with extreme fear – did he intend to shoot Will in the back? But this outlaw, meeting Wade’s eyes, understood an important concept. He was right behind Will when Wade gave a slight nod, taking a small step away from Dan at the same time. Will nodded fiercely, about to order Wade away further, when the outlaw behind him looped one arm over his head, snapping a forearm around his neck, and jumped backwards, jerking Will off his feet. The boy fired, but the shot went wide, hitting the ceiling. Immediately the men leapt to the one’s assistance, wrestling the shotgun from Will’s hands and knocking him down. Will screamed, struggling and thrashing. Dan screamed something incoherent, whether a demand or a plea he didn’t 

know, and tried to struggle to his feet. But the struggle upwards was so agonizing that he couldn’t do anything except lean against the wall.

Will was swiftly subdued, picked up, and thrown into the corner next to his father. He collapsed, exhausted both mentally and physically. Suddenly Dan saw the future: both of them lined up against the wall, standing before the firing square.

As if to confirm his morbid fears, Wade rested his weight on one leg and studied them quietly, glancing between Dan and his gun at intervals. There was silence in the room – a tense and angry silence. Suddenly Wade spun around, turning to face Dan directly. The rancher flinched reflexively, but the outlaw was not threatening. “All that was unnecessary, don’t you think?” Wade said. He sighed, a strong exhalation of breath, and then quirked up the corners of his mouth in a little half-smile. “Now, Dan, you got those keys?”

Dan didn’t resist. He didn’t trust Wade, but there was nothing he could do, and any further resistance might spark violence. He reached into his coat, slowly, and withdrew the key. It glinted mockingly as he held it up, dangling from finger and thumb. Once before, he had thrown it. Now, he offered it quietly. Wade smiled at him, leaned down, and plucked it from his fingers. The cuffs – at last – dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter. It was the sound of freedom and the sound of fear simultaneously. “Thankee very much, Dan.” Wade flexed his wrists. “I was wonderin’ when I was gonna get them damn things off.” He cocked his head at Dan, still with a somewhat friendly expression on his face. “Pure curiosity – how d’y’ feel, coming all this way, everyone else dead, you been shot, and now I’m going scotch free. How’s that make you feel?”

Dan found his voice again, somewhere through the intense throbbing he was feeling in his shoulder. “Nervous. Listen, I only came on this trip for the two hundred – let me an’ my boy go. We don’t want to have anything t’ do with this any longer.” Dan glared at Wade, and then burst out, “Are you gonna kill us or not? Get the damn thing over with!”

Wade looked at him a quiet moment. “No, Dan, I ain’t gonna kill you.” He waited for that to sink in; the disbelief and wary half-hope showed on Dan’s face. “You’re a fine man, Evans,” he continued. “And I think you got enough trouble outa this. Boy,” he said, directing the words at Will, “I told your momma I’d try to get your father back in one piece, didn’t I?” William remained silent, half-resentful and not daring to say anything. “Eh, don’t be so scared.” Wade took a few steps back, twirling his gun in his fingers. “You’re walking out of here. Relax, boys. No one’s gonna get bothered by this.”

Charlie Prince, who’d been standing off to the side with an increasingly murderous expression his face, began to protest, “Boss…”

“I said, no one’s gonna be bothered,” Ben Wade repeated, his voice going quiet and shark-like. “You clear on out,” he repeated to Dan and Will. “Head back on to Bisbee.” He smiled, nodding genteelly to them. “An’ good luck to you crossing them Apache-ridden miles. I might have to drop in later to see that you’re all in one piece.”

Dan was willing to believe him, on both accounts. “Come on, Will,” he said warily, limping hesitantly away from the wall, but then with a quickening step. His shoulder burned and throbbed – it was not serious, he could tell, but it was bleeding badly. They might need to stop somewhere quickly and just bind it up before getting out of the town as fast as they could. Wade’s smile faded 

slightly as he saw Dan’s shoulder wound, but he only said, “And get that bound up, Dan. Don’t want you dropping dead anywhere.” He didn’t really care, Dan saw. It was good sport to him, but he wasn’t going to play the game any further.

As soon as he got out of the hotel he went to where the horses were picketed, selecting his and Will’s with only a quick glance back to make sure that there wasn’t a shotgun aimed at his head. But there was only Wade, standing on the porch with his men standing silently at the windows behind him – and him with one of those maddening smiles on his face.