The Thirteenth Knot by A.C. Turner

The rope had thirteen knots and thirteen ghosts when it slithered off the gallows that moonless night. Marshal Thompson found it coiled around banker Kessler's neck at dawn—same Kessler who'd foreclosed on widow farms while stuffing his coffers. No suspects. No witnesses. Just justice served dry as desert.

"Damn thing's got a taste for guilt," Thompson muttered, following the hemp trail through Perdition's dust. It found cattle rustler Barnes next, then crooked Judge Morrison. Each dawn brought another corpse, another debt paid.

Thompson touched his neck nervously, remembering the Paiute family last winter. Behind him, thirteen voices whispered his name.