Chapter 2

• In the timeworn ranch house that had withstood the ravages of countless seasons, Old Archie Harrington sat on the worn wooden floor, his eyes clouded by memories and a pride tempered with sorrow. The gentle murmur of twilight mingled with the creaks of ancient beams_ a soft lament of the house itself-and carried the echoes of a conversation that had long been brewing beneath the surface. His daughter’s voice, imbued with an earnest, almost hymn-like urgency, had risen once again from the adjacent room, threading its way through the silence.
• "It isn’t right, Dad. I never noticed it before I left for school, but now that I’ve returned, I feel that it is shameful to treat Jack in such a dismissive way."
• Ellie’s words, as bright and impassioned as the flicker of candlelight on her golden hair, cut through the stillness. Her eyes shone like beacons of unspoken conviction, and with each animated shake of her head she punctuated her belief-a subtle defiance that belied her tender years.
• Old Harrington, his gnarled hands roughened by decades of toil, regarded her with a half-smile-a smile that hinted at both amusement and an old, secret gravity. There was in his expression the dignity borne of thousands of cattle and the era of ancestors long passed, where every wrinkle on his thin face, complemented by the dignified white goatee, spoke of a lineage caught between tradition and an unforgiving modernity.
• "It is shameful, Dad," Ellie insisted, emboldened by the silence that followed, "or you must at least tell me some reason-a real reason."
• The old man’s eyes twinkled with ironic mirth as he pondered the delicate balance of pride and tenderness. "Some reason for not letting him have a gun, is it?" he asked, his tone deceptively casual yet laden with undisclosed histories.
• "Yes, yes!" she exclaimed, her voice swelling with the fire of youth. "And a reason to treat him as if he were nothing more than an unruly child-a mere boy in a world of men!"
• "Now, Ellie, have you forgotten your manners for just a moment? It seems your emotions are running higher than the desert sun." The remark, gentle yet firm, hung in the air like a remembered parable from a time when words were weighed with consequence.
• Drawing her near and seating her upon a timeworn stool beside him, Old Harrington took both of her small hands into his calloused ones. His piercing blue eyes, awash with both melancholy and unspoken wisdom, searched her face as if expecting to catch a glimpse of some forbidden truth. “Tell me, my dear, what is it about Jack that stirs your heart so?” he inquired softly.
• Ellie’s gaze flickered away for a moment, as if burdened by secrets and memories too profound for words. “I’ve always been drawn to him, Dad. Haven’t we grown up side by side? Always as close as siblings, even if not united by blood?”
• Her father’s laugh was low and reminiscent of distant thunder. “Oh, Ellie, you speak in riddles, just a shade too fondly, perhaps too much like more than kin.”
• “What do you mean by that?” she pressed, a blush creeping over her cherubic face as her eyes widened with both hurt and defiance.
• “Aye, aye!” he repeated, his chuckle mingling with a hint of sorrow. “Before I use words that will set your cheeks aflame, let us be frank. I believe it is high time Jack embarks on his own path-a journey that may yet reveal his true nature. And how you take this truth, dear, will decide whether he stays or must depart.”
• Her face, still blushing richly, became a canvas for silent protest. “But Dad-” she began, trembling with dismay, “you wouldn’t send Jack away!”
• Before his words could settle, Ellie’s head fell against his shoulder, and a torrent of sobs erupted, mingling despair and hope in a single, poignant moment. With a tenderness that belied the hardness of his life, Old Harrington gently caressed her hair with his weathered hand, his eyes turning distant as if re-living a long-ago dream of omens and fate.
• "I might have known it all along," he muttered repetitively, his voice echoing softly, "I might have known it... if only I had seen the signs." He paused, as if the very air itself had conspired against him. "Hush now, my silly gal."
• In a beat as sudden as a spell broken, her weeping ceased, replaced by a trembling question. “Then you won’t send him away?”
• "Listen to me straight, Ellie," Old Harrington said, his tone now shifting to one of iron resolve and sorrowful clarity, “for what I am about to reveal is as strange as any fabled yarn_ a truth I have kept hidden all these years, waiting for the moment when you might perceive the reality behind Jack’s wild soul. You see, being ever so close to him has left you partly blind, enchanted by his rugged exterior-ever the adoring master of his peculiar dominion. After all, no man dares to cast aspersions upon his own trusted steed."
• Ellie’s eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and anxiety as she urged him, "Go on, Dad. I won’t interrupt."
• Old Harrington fell silent, gathering his fragmented thoughts like scattered pieces of a long-forgotten legend. "Have you ever observed a mule, Ellie?"
• "Of course!" she replied, a trace of bewilderment mingling with her steadfast nature.
• "Then you know well that although a mule’s strength rivals that of a horse, its muscles scarcely compare in size," he continued, his words measured as if weighing the very essence of a man’s worth.
• “Yes, but what does that prove?” she countered, her tone a mix of skepticism and dawning understanding.
• “It is this,” he murmured. “Jack, my dear, is built of a different substance_ light, perhaps, in frame, yet endowed with a strength that eclipses even the most formidable of men. Not in a crude, brutish sense, but in an elemental, almost mythic way that sets him apart from the common herd of mortals.”
• Ellie leaned in, her voice soft as an incantation, “And is it truly his strength, his very nature, that condemns him to separation?”
• Old Harrington’s gentle smile faltered, replaced by the furrows of deep remembrance. “It is not solely his might, nor his uncommon kinship with the wild, untamable horses and restless creatures that roam these lands. I have witnessed men, tall and proud on their hallowed steeds, pursue the wickedest broncos_ those fierce, unruly creatures that defy both rope and man’s will-yet none could command them like Jack does. He can, quite simply, set the wildest mustangs running or quell them with nothing more than the guiding touch of his hand.”
• Ellie’s eyes sparkled as she recalled distant memories. “It was magnificent-the way he subdued that beast, how defiant it seemed before succumbing to him.”
• The old rancher sighed, a sound heavy with the weight of countless years of secrets. “There is more than beauty in the display of power, my dear. There is destiny, and in the heart of that destiny lies Jack’s essence. No other man could ever tame Nightfall-the wild mustang, as they call him. And how, pray, did he come to claim that fierce creature known as Grim Fang?”
• “A mere dog, Dad,” Ellie insisted, a tone of protective certainty in her voice. “Jack says it’s a dog.”
• “Ah, but words are cheap in the language of the desert, my dear,” he murmured, leaning forward with eyes that burned as brightly as the noonday sun. “Long before Grim Fang became Jack’s fabled companion, the lone wolf had roamed these parts-the one who troubled both calves and colts. Grim Fang’s presence mirrors that very specter of wild independence. Recall, perhaps, that day when Jack discovered his so-called ‘dog’ lying in a gully-a wretched creature bearing the cruel mark of a bullet lodged deep in its shoulder. If it were truly a dog, what fate would have befallen it when struck?”
• “Maybe some brutish sheep herder had a hand in that,” Ellie offered with a hesitant shrug, “and perhaps the matter is too trivial to dwell upon.”
• “No, it is far more than a simple scrap,” Old Harrington intoned. “It only lays bare the extraordinary nature of Jack-a man apart. Wild as the untamed spirit of Nightfall, and just as solitary. Grim Fang, whether beast or wolf, would rend apart any man foolish enough to breach Jack’s realm.”
• A spark of defiant excitement warmed Ellie’s features. “Oh, Dad, imagine the marvels-if he allows me even the slightest control over that creature! I could do no wrong with him under my care!”
• Old Harrington’s gruff chuckle bore a note of exasperation as he remarked, “Maybe that is because Jack, in his quiet, mysterious way, has taken a liking to you, my dear, and has introduced you to his array of wild companions. How else can one explain that these ‘man-killers’ yield their vicious hearts and become gentle as lambs at your presence, yet remain fierce and unstoppable to all others?”
• “Yet I insist, it isn’t Jack who wields cruelty,” she retorted, her voice rising as much as her fervor. “Nightfall and Grim Fang obey me because they sense my love-my honest, unwavering admiration for their rugged beauty and unbroken strength!”
• Her father’s expression softened momentarily, yet the lines of caution and regret remained. “Ellie, let us put aside this argument for a time. Consider instead how Jack is, as I have always known him, something unequivocally different. Have you ever seen him, even for a fleeting moment, ignite with a temper so fierce that those deep, brown eyes burst forth with a yellow, blazing light-one that sends shivers down your spine, like the slithering of a venomous serpent?”
• There was a pause-a pregnant silence-while Ellie recalled a scene etched into her memory. “Yes… I remember,” she whispered, her voice trembling with recollection. “I saw him confront a rattlesnake once. Jack met it head-on, catching the creature in his bare hand after its fanged strike. And then-with a single, fateful motion-he cleaved the serpent’s head away. It was… horrifying and magnificent all at once!”
• Seizing the moment, she reached out and grasped her father’s shoulders with a fierce intensity, demanding, “Look me in the eye, Dad! Tell me plainly what you mean by all this.”
• His voice softened into a murmur of resigned truth. “You are beginning to see, aren’t you, Ellie? There is something about Jack that defies ordinary explanation-something extraordinary that sets him apart from all other men.” For a long, thoughtful moment, his eyes shimmered with the memories of battles fought in silent twilight, and his words became as gentle as a preacher’s benediction.
• “There was a day-a day I have kept hidden from you-when the wild nature of Jack revealed itself more fully than ever before.” With a cautious glance away, Ellie confided in a hushed tone, “I’ve never spoken of that day before, for fear that if the truth were known, you might do away with Grim Fang. I remember it vividly: he was gnawing on a large beef bone during one of Jack’s long, arduous trails. Hungry and unruly, he seized it with a predatory snap. I, ever impulsive, attempted to retrieve that bone. My gloved hand brushed against him-and he lashed out, pinching my wrist harshly. His ferocity was shocking, and for a moment, I quivered in terror, for I saw in his bared teeth the promise of devastation. Jack, though he witnessed nothing directly, heard the snarl and saw the angry gleam in Grim Fang's eyes. Then-oh, it was a moment of raw, unadulterated terror.”
• Overwhelmed by the swirling intensity of her emotions, Ellie buried her face in her hands, as if trying to shield herself from the unbearable force of that memory.
• “Take your time, dear,” Old Harrington murmured soothingly, his voice a gentle caress through the storm of her recollections.
• “’Fang,” Jack had called, she recalled, her voice trembling with both awe and fear, “and in that singular moment there burned an anger so fierce on his face, I felt I was in danger-a danger far beyond what any mere beast could conjure.”
• “Fang turned to him with a snarl and bared his teeth. When Jack saw that his face turned-I don't know how to say it!”
• Ellie’s voice trembled as she recounted the vivid memory; her hands tightened as though struggling to contain a turbulent storm of emotion. “In his throat there came a sound, a deep, resonant growl akin to the feral snarl of Grim Fang himself. The wild, wolfish dog was transfixed with a terror that seemed almost supernatural. Its hackles rose as if to challenge the invincible force of fate, its teeth bared in a grimace that would freeze the blood of any man who witnessed it.”
• Her words, slow and measured in their horror, painted the scene with the masterful strokes of an ancient epic. “I shouted, ‘Jack! Don’t go near him!’ but it was as though my plea had gone unheard-a plea cast into a cyclone of instinct. In that blazing instant, Jack’s lithe form sprang into action. Grim Fang met his charge with eyes that flashed with a savage, almost luminous green; in the clash that ensued, the sound of snapping teeth resounded, an echo of a ferocious struggle that took on the semblance of a duel between shadow and fury.”
• Ellie’s eyes shimmered with recollected terror, and she paused as if the very memory might come too close. “Jack swerved aside, and with a swift, inexorable grace he caught Grim Fang by the throat, driving him mercilessly into the dust. In that singular, breath-stealing moment, the combat between man and beast was transformed into a battle akin to one between a panther of unrivaled stealth and a ravenous, lone wolf-each determined, each in a fatal embrace of survival.”
• Her voice dropped to a tremulous whisper. “I couldn’t move, paralyzed by a mingling of astonishment and dread. It was not a contest of strength alone but the manifestation of something primal-a force deep within Jack that even the wild could scarcely contain. I remember his hands, firm and inexorable, slowly tightening around the beast’s throat. In that desperate struggle, Grim Fang’s fury ebbed as his wild struggles diminished, his big red tongue lolling in a silent, dying mimicry of life. And then, amidst the swirling dust and the echoes of their fierce encounter, Jack’s gaze met mine. In that moment, my terror gave way to something unexpected-an unspoken connection. Sensing my horror, he rose, lifting the lifeless weight of Grim Fang with an almost reluctant tenderness, as though he bore the burden of a secret too heavy for any mortal soul. He turned to me, his eyes full of quiet remorse, and asked if the creature had harmed me when it snapped. I was rooted to the spot, words failing me as the gravity of his concern sank deep into my heart. And then came the most disquieting chapter of that fateful confrontation: Grim Fang, though nearly spent of life, dragged his battered body towards Jack. With agonizing effort, the creature crawled to its master, its body contorting in a final act of futile devotion, and began to lick Jack’s boots as if seeking forgiveness in its last moments.”