Chapter 22

• Evening settled like a dark omen over the desolate land, and still the outlaws remained as elusive phantoms on the horizon. As the dying light bled into night, the weary company_ Sam Riggs, Jack, and their steadfast companions steered their horses toward a modest dwelling cradled by a cluster of ancient cottonwoods. Here, in the refuge of a forgotten homestead, they resolved to rest for the night, for Riggs’s pony had borne the burden of the chase until exhaustion was etched into every sinew.
• A figure emerged from the modest house_ a weathered man of about fifty answering their summons with a nod. “Name’s Sam Daniels,” he intoned in a low, measured drawl as he guided them to the horse-shed. There was no prying in his manner, and the strangers offered no details of their own. Yet his eyes lingered with a quiet, almost reverent curiosity on the form of Nightfall, the magnificent black stallion. From every angle_ front, side, behind_ Sam’s gaze traced the muscular lines of the beast as Jack, with an intimacy born of deep kinship, methodically rubbed down Nightfall’s powerful legs. At length, Sam reached out, almost compelled by the beauty of the creature’s sinewy shoulders.
• It was then that Riggs, standing nearest, intercepted the tender gesture by seizing Sam’s extended arm and jerking it back with a practiced warning.