Chapter 33

• With a steely resolve forged by countless nights on the run, he spurred his mount into a gallop over the craggy hills. The chill of early morning air mingled with the scent of dust and sweat as Grimwood pressed onward toward the stronghold of Guy Lucas. In the amber glow of the emerging day, he drew near to the sheriff’s homestead_ a humble outpost in a lawless town_ and slowed his horse to a careful trot, every muscle coiled in anticipation.
• Grimwood dismounted for a brief reconnaissance. Finding the sheriff’s house still and undisturbed, he crept closer along the low ridges and, with a practiced subtlety, began to whistle a range song. The tune, punctuated by deliberate, meaningful phrases, served as both signal and challenge_ a coded call that only those with the keenest ears might decipher. It was as if the notes carried with them the weight of destiny, urging the hidden allies of the night to answer his silent summons.
• Not long after, a square of cloth was raised in a window_ a simple, yet unequivocal signal that the plan was unfolding as intended. Content with this sign of complicity, Grimwood turned his back on the house and eased his horse onward at a measured walk. The hours that followed were a breathless countdown to chaos, and within half an hour the thunder of hooves approached from behind. At last, the plump, ever-vigilant sheriff rode up beside him, his frame jostled in the saddle as the abrupt halt startled his every nerve.