The sun hung low over the mesa, casting long shadows across the cracked earth as Jace traced the faded trail through the sagebrush. His boots crunched over gravel, each step a reminder of the miles behind him and the ones still ahead. The air smelled of dust and pine, sharp and dry, clinging to his skin like a second layer. He hadn’t slept in two days, but the weight of the revolver at his hip kept his eyes open. Silas Grange was out there somewhere, and Jace meant to find him before the law did.
The town of Red Rock had been a ghost town for years, its boardwalks sagging under the weight of time. Jace pushed open the creaking door of the saloon, the scent of whiskey and sweat thick in the air. A single lantern flickered above the bar, casting jagged shadows on the walls. The bartender, a man with a scar running from temple to jaw, didn’t look up from polishing a glass.
“You here for the fight?” the man asked, his voice gravelly.
Jace shook his head. “I’m here for Silas Grange.”
The bartender’s fingers stilled. He set the glass down and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “That son of a bitch’s been in the hills for weeks. You’ll be lucky to find him alive, let alone alive enough to talk.” He reached under the bar and tossed Jace a crumpled map. “This’ll get you to the ridge. But once you’re there, you’re on your own.”
Jace unfolded the map, his fingers brushing over the faded ink. The ridge was a jagged line of rock and scrub, a place where men disappeared. He rolled the map back up and tucked it into his coat. “Thanks.” He turned toward the door, but the bartender’s voice stopped him.
“You’re not the first to chase that man. None of them came back.” The words hung in the air, heavy as lead.
Jace didn’t look back. The sun was sinking, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson. He mounted his horse, the animal restless under him, and rode toward the hills. The wind howled through the pines, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. He hadn’t slept in two days, but the weight of the revolver at his hip kept his eyes open.
The ridge was colder than he expected, the air thin and biting. Jace dismounted and led his horse through a narrow pass, the rocks jagged beneath his boots. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the world turned to shadow. He lit a cigarette, the flame flickering in the dark, and took a slow drag. The taste of tobacco was bitter, but it steadied him.
Then he heard it—a low growl, like a beast in the night. Jace froze, his hand drifting to his holster. The sound came again, closer this time. He crouched low, his breath shallow. A pair of eyes gleamed in the darkness, then another. Wolves. They circled, their movements slow and deliberate. Jace’s fingers tightened around the revolver. He didn’t have the strength to fight them all, but he had the will.
He fired once. The shot cracked through the silence, and the wolves scattered. Jace stood his ground, his heart hammering in his chest. The night was still again, but the tension lingered. He lit another cigarette and pressed on, the cold seeping into his bones.
The next morning, he found the camp. Smoke curled from a small fire, and the scent of burnt meat filled the air. Jace crouched behind a boulder, his eyes scanning the area. A man sat near the fire, his back to Jace, tossing pieces of meat to a lean dog. Silas Grange. Jace’s hand went to his revolver, but he hesitated. There was something about the man that didn’t fit the stories—his posture, the way he moved.
Silas stood and stretched, his movements slow and deliberate. He glanced toward the trees, as if sensing Jace’s presence. “You can come out,” he said, his voice calm. “I know you’re there.”
Jace stepped into the clearing, his revolver raised. “You’re under arrest, Grange.”
Silas chuckled, a low sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You think I’m the villain here?” He gestured to the fire. “I’ve been running from something worse than the law.”
Jace didn’t lower his weapon. “What’s that?”
Silas turned, revealing a scar along his jawline. “A man named Hargrove. He took my family. I’ve been chasing him for years, just like you’re chasing me.”
The words hit Jace like a punch to the gut. He had always believed Silas was a cold-blooded killer, but now the truth was tangled in something deeper. “Why didn’t you come forward?”
Silas’s eyes darkened. “Because Hargrove’s got men everywhere. If I talk, they’ll kill my daughter.”
Jace’s grip on the revolver tightened. He had a choice—turn Silas in and risk his daughter’s life, or let him go and face the consequences. The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the weight of his decision.
In the end, Jace lowered his weapon. “I’ll help you,” he said. “But we do it my way.”
Silas nodded, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Then we’d better move. Hargrove’s men are close.”
They rode through the night, the stars above them a silent witness to their journey. Jace didn’t know what awaited them, but for the first time in years, he felt something other than anger. He had found a purpose beyond revenge, and in doing so, he had found himself again.
