Chapter 16

• Dust clung to Sam Riggs’s hat and coat as he rode steadily north across the hills. The landscape, painted in the long shadows of dusk, stretched out like an endless tapestry of rugged determination. His face, pallid and almost ghostly in its sickly grey, betrayed the toll of a long ride; his jet-black hair, meticulously groomed as if it were an eighteenth-century wig, lent him an air of timeless precision. Behind him lay countless miles of hardship, each one etched into his soul, yet the loyal cattle pony, its head hanging heavy with fatigue, trotted on with quiet perseverance. Now, on a highland overlooking the light yellow-green expanse of willows in the bottom lands, Riggs paused. He swung a leg over the horn of his saddle with a practiced ease, dismounted, and rolled a cigarette between his calloused fingers. As he inhaled deep, his eyes narrowed, scanning the trembling canopy of trees that stretched in every direction. Somewhere among those willows lay the hidden camp of Cole Grimwood_ a gathering so vast that it might have concealed an entire army of outlaw riders.
• Though weariness tugged at him, Riggs’s heart was not one to yield to despair. The rugged rangers of the hills and plains were taught from their earliest days the virtues of patience and vigilance. With calm resolve, he surveyed the yellow-green forest. In the west, the low sun hung like a wounded ember, its light turning the horizon to a blood-tinged crimson, while its rays twisted into a clumsy ellipse along the far edges. With the steady gait of a dog-trot, Riggs urged his pony down the slope, the rhythmic beat of hoof against earth echoing softly against the hushed whispers of the willows.
• Just as he neared the fringe of the trees, a sound_ faint, almost otherworldly_ caught his ear. He halted abruptly, throwing his head back as if to clear his thoughts. At first, it was merely a subtle whistling that could have been mistaken for the breeze caressing the slender branches. Yet, even the gentlest wind in that stilled night could not produce such a melody. For five long minutes, Riggs sat in silent vigil, every sense straining to capture the elusive sound. Then, like a secret phrase spoken in a forgotten tongue, a clear human note cut through the stillness_ a phrase of melody that stirred both melancholy and wild exultation in his soul.