Chapter 36

• As the dying light of the sun stretched long shadows across the rugged landscape, the party finally reached the time-worn homestead of the Salton clan. The old house, its weather-beaten boards groaning under the weight of memory, sat silent but for the murmured greetings of those gathered on its creaking porch. There, beneath a sky of bruised purples and fiery oranges, Cole Grimwood reclined with an air of quiet command, flanked by his steadfast companions_ Danny, Durov, Williams, and Rhinehart_ each a weathered soul hardened by the trials of life on the frontier.
• At the sound of approaching hoofbeats, they all rose in unison, voices raised in a hearty, if rough-edged, welcome. Among the newcomers rode Ricky, whose hand waved in greeting yet whose mind was not on pleasantries alone. Instead, a melody_ a tune once whistled by Jack_ trembled at the edge of his consciousness. That silent tune brought a wry smile to his lips, a secret shared with the fading day.
• Ricky dismounted with practiced ease and strode up to Cole Grimwood. The latter, a man whose grip was as unyielding as the legend he carried, clasped Ricky’s hand firmly between his own calloused fingers. "You’re comin’ in mighty late," Grimwood growled, his voice deep and rough like gravel underfoot. "Didn’t you get the signal?"