Chapter 29

• Between the slow collapse of twilight and the encroaching dominion of darkness, Jack rode into Townvill like a restless ghost_ a man possessed by grim purpose. As he shifted in the stirrups, rising onto the balls of his feet, he stretched out his long, sinewy limbs, attuning himself to the raw power simmering beneath his skin. It was as if, before a pianist caresses every key to ensure the harmony of a somber melody, Jack was testing the mettle of his body, preparing to play his own requiem on the unforgiving stage of the West.
• At the far end of the single dusty street, two rival saloons stood facing each other like ancient sentinels of vice and ruin. Their neon signs, dulled by time and weather, flickered as if sharing a silent prophecy of impending chaos. On one side of the street loomed the modest house of Deputy Sheriff Rogers, and a short distance away, the jail_ its walls cold and implacable, as if built by a hand that knew nothing of mercy. In front of each saloon, horses were huddled in restless clusters, their eyes reflecting the ominous silence that reigned within the building, a silence that was as expectant as the calm before a violent storm.
• Slowly, deliberately, Jack eased his stallion forward, the measured clop of Nightfall’s hooves merging with the whispered secrets of the night. His eyes, hard and calculating, caught a shadow flitting near the jail_ a solitary rider emerging from darkness. He narrowed his gaze, then saw another, and yet another. Soon, at least four figures rode alongside the jail, with more hidden in the murk beyond his peripheral vision. Eight steely-eyed cattlemen, each a man handpicked by fate for this very moment, were arrayed as guardians around the cell where Ted Danny was held. Their silent vigil only deepened the foreboding tension that clung to the air like a shroud.