The Siege
The desert winds brought the marshal to town.
He rode out of the wilderness, his duster flapping like black wings, his hat concealing his face except for the scraggly growth across his chin. A pearl-handled Colt rested in the holster at his hip, and he seemed more shadow than man in his black clothes. Like all great things signaling a shift in the world, he arrived unnoticed by anyone, barely visible through the dust storm.
Kris Jensen only wanted a drink and a night with an accommodating saloo... [Read More...]