Chapter 8

• A shout erupted as the coins arced through the air. In a blink, it seemed as if a revolver had exploded into action_ a burst of sound and motion so swift that the coins became mere specks of light in a tempest. Yet, fate was capricious: one coin failed to reach its zenith, a faint "cling!" marking its defiant spiral away from the others. Two more shots blended almost in unison, sending two dollars streaking away in a blur of brilliance. As a final coin dipped perilously close to the earth, a sixth-shooter barked once more, and the fourth coin was knocked sideways, destined for the dust. In less than a heartbeat, the four shots had been fired_ a moment of sublime precision and raw, unyielding nerve.
• “That last dollar,” Jack murmured softly, his voice emerging as the first sound after the explosive silence, “didn't ring true. Counterfeit, perhaps?”
• No one seemed to catch his quiet remark, for the air erupted into a frenzy. The men scrambled like wild cattle for the scattered coins, their faces pale and determined as they dove into the dust. Each chipped coin, marked with neat, round holes, promised to settle the matter of truth_ a truth that might make a fool of the credulous or a king of the skeptical. One cowpuncher even offered ten dollars for a single relic, yet none were willing to relinquish their hard-won prize.
• When the echo of the shots faded, Jack stepped back with quiet dignity. One by one, he returned the guns to their owners, his movements measured and reverent. One man grasped his weapon carelessly in his haste, still entangled in the fervor of his pursuit, while another received his armament with the solemnity of a man who revered the art of the gun.
• “Thank you for the loan,” Jack said in a soft murmur as he handed back each piece. “And may you always find fortune with your gun.”
• “Luck?” one replied with a hearty chuckle. “I’ll oil her up and set her in a glass case at home. One day, when my grandchildren are old enough, I’ll tell them how men once did things the old-fashioned way.”
• “No thanks,” Jack replied, shaking his head with a wry smile, “I ain’t drinkin’ today.”
• Stepping back from the circle, Jack folded his arms as if to signal that he had stepped out of the fray entirely_ a silent observer now of the wild human danced unfolding before him. Suddenly, the air burst with a torrent of curses, exclamations, and shouts. Cole Grimwood and his three followers huddled together, their voices low and trembling with a mix of awe and fear.
• “My God!” whispered Ted Danny, his voice tinged with horror. “It wasn’t human! Did you see that? Did you see it?”
• “Am I blind?” Jim Case retorted, incredulous. “Imagine me, stepping up to brace that killer like he was a mere child! That’s the closest I’ve come to an undeserved grave, and I’ve had my share of close calls! ‘That last dollar didn’t ring true,’ he said when he finished. I’ve never seen such nerve!”
• “You’re wrong as hell,” Grimwood snapped, his tone ice-cold. “A woman might shoot at a target, but it takes a cold nerve to shoot at a man_ and this feller is yellow all over!”
• “Is he now?” growled Will Durov. “I’d hate to catch him off guard, so he forgets himself. He handles a common six-gun as if it were a gatling. And that last dollar_ pure lead!”
• “Alright, Danny,” Grimwood interjected, “start whenever you’re ready, and the rest of us will follow as I said. I’m leaving last_ I’ve got a little job to finish with the kid.”
• But Danny, ever vigilant, stared fixedly down the road. “I’m not leaving yet,” he declared suddenly. “Look!”
• He turned to one of the cowpunchers. “Who’s the girl riding up the road, pardner?”
• “That calico?” came the reply. “That’s Ellie Harrington_ old Joe’s gal.”
• “I like the name,” Danny remarked appreciatively. “She rides the saddle like a man!”
• Before anyone could react further, her pony spurred forward, darting off as if chasing an unseen specter in the middle of the road. In a graceful, almost balletic motion, she swayed with the sudden motion until her mount came to a abrupt halt_ the same abruptness that could break a lesser rider. Grinder lunged forward in a burst of concern, but even Ted Danny, quick as the wind, could not reach her in time.
• “Sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly as she dismounted, her eyes shining with a lively, untamed spirit. “Shall I tie your horse?” Danny offered, his tone both chivalrous and earnest.
• Her face, still flushed from the ride, brightened with a warm smile that held a hint of mischief. As she shook her head in gentle refusal, her gaze lingered on Danny’ handsome face_ a moment of silent, unspoken admiration that startled both of them. Though accustomed to overt displays of appreciation, this unselfconscious courtesy was a novel language to her.
• Turning toward Grinder, she said with an edge of incredulity, “You told my father the boys wouldn’t be wearin’ guns today.”
• Grinder, taken aback, fumbled for words. “They seem to be wearin’ them,” he admitted weakly, his eyes darting nervously around the armed circle. His gaze fell on the imposing figures of Jim Case, Will Durov, and especially Cole Grimwood_ a towering presence whose slight sneer as he watched Trillin’ Jack dominated the entire scene.
• Grinder tried to regain control of the moment, “In fact, it’d take a ten-man job to confiscate all these shootin’ irons. Just look around and see for yourself.”
• But the girl’s eyes had already seen Jack’s daring feat. “How did he come here?” she inquired softly, concern and admiration mingling in her tone.
• “Oh, Jack?” Grinder replied with a half-hearted laugh, “he’s all right. He just pulled one of the prettiest shootin’ stunts I ever laid eyes on.”
• “But he promised my father…” Ellie began, only to pause and blush furiously at the reminder of his solemn word.
• At that moment, with the tension thick as the desert dust, the day’s true test loomed_ one that would reveal the wild, untamed nature of a man both haunted and defined by his own promises. Surrounded by men armed not just with guns but with the weight of their own convictions, Jack stood at the crossroads of fate. His destiny, intricately woven with honor, courage, and a subtle hint of defiance, was about to be sealed in that moment.
• “Now, how about the guns, Mr. Grinder?” Ellie asked gently, shifting the focus back to the practical matter at hand.
• “If you want them collected and put away for a while,” offered Ted Danny with a determined glint in his cold blue eye, “I’ll see what I can do to help.”
• Her smile in return sent a ripple of warmth through Danny, a spark that lingered too long on his face, coloring his usually stoic demeanor. “Miss Harrington,” he introduced himself with a formal nod, “my name is Ted.”
• After a brief hesitation_ a clash between the refined manners of the Eastern school and the raw, instinctual spirit of the West_ she extended her hand. “I’m very glad to know you, Mr. Ted.”
• Grinder, who had been pacing restlessly as he estimated the likelihood of success in corralling the armed weapons, interjected, “Alright, stranger, if you’re going to help me gather these shootin’ irons, let’s start the roundup.”
• The group moved as one, and soon the arms were collected, stowed away like relics of a bygone era.
• When they reached Cole Grimwood, he stood apart, his eyes fixed on Danny with a cold, calculating stare. Slowly, as if in a ritual of trust and grudging respect, he drew his guns and presented them to Danny. His eyes then shifted, landing on Ellie, and in a tone as cold as winter steel he said, “Lady, I hope I ain’t the last one to congratulate you.”
• Though Ellie could not decipher the full measure of his meaning, the comment left an indelible impression, and Danny’ scowl deepened, betraying a rare moment of personal vexation. Meanwhile, Jack, ever the enigmatic figure, was swept into the welcoming chaos of the saloon by an influx of cowpunchers, leaving only Ted Danny outside with Ellie_ caught in a moment of silent connection that promised to linger long after the day’s trials had ended.