Friday, December 21, 1928
Northwoods, Wisconsin

Sheriff Casper Yarwood peered around the giant oak tree, gaze pinned to the unsuspecting outlaw poking at his campfire in the deepening dusk. Cold air whispered of possible snow. Casper rested his palm against his pistol grip. He’d leave the weapon holstered. For now. He doubted Walter Branzon would go willingly.

Six months ago, Branzon held up the Manitowish Waters General Store. Casper had been there, could have stopped him. Should have stopped him. Except Branzon took the kind old Mrs. Holland hostage and, once he had his take, tossed Mrs. Holland at Casper. He had no choice but to catch her before she crashed into the hot wood stove.

Casper pressed his free hand into the bark of the oak, the biting pressure forcing his mind back to the present. His nose twitched against the chill. Hunting an outlaw wasn’t how he wanted to spend the weekend before Christmas. But when the rumor came into the office this afternoon that Branzon had been spotted up on the northern edge of his county, Casper left immediately to track him down.

The outlaw speared a piece of meat and rotated it over the flames. Casper dropped to a crouch, weighing Branzon’s weapon against his distraction. The man had proven his willingness to kill, even in front of a lawman. The memory of the two men who had tried to stop Branzon as he’d made his getaway forced Casper to rub his temple. With Mrs. Holland in his arms, Casper had been powerless when the pair jumped Branzon, only to receive fatal gut shots for their effort.

Lord, steady my mind. Help me bring Branzon to justice.

Peace relaxed Casper’s shoulders. He blew into his hands. Time to apprehend a murderer.

On silent feet, he crept forward. The moonless night providing cover. A wolf howled. Branzon raised his head, alert. Casper froze, scarcely breathing. Branzon shrugged and rotated his spit of meat.

Casper waited half a beat, then sprang. He took Branzon to the ground, tossed the stick and half-cooked meat away. In another moment, he had the outlaw trussed up like a calf, ready for branding.

“You’ll regret this, Yarwood,” Branzon hissed.

Casper doubted that. Never had bringing in an outlaw felt so good.