Graham Rowat

Now?

Savage's face slackened briefly as he spoke, then reverted to normal.

Jacob heard how weak and small his voice sounded, even though there was nothing obvious to fear.

Were these men sorcerers?

Outlaws?

Shades come up from the nether realm to haunt Halleck.

For the first time in a while, he found himself praying outside the chapel.

Jacob reached behind the bar, produced four wooden mugs, and filled them to the brim with his best ale.

Although the best ale in Halleck wouldn't be best anywhere else, he was not going to serve the murky grog that he dished out to most customers.

Not to men with guns and faces like clay apes.

Slake, Slaughter, Savage, and Sully took their ale, but they had not started drinking yet.

They just held their cups, smiling that singular idiot grin made with four mouths.

Slick laughed.

Sully, clad in white, followed.

And soon the whole group of them was laughing.

All across the bar, his other patrons had gone silent, staring and whispering as the four paid them no mind.

Those flat, muddy eyes were focused entirely on Jacob, but he couldn't bring himself to meet them.

Jacob couldn't sort out which of them had spoken, but it made no difference.

Those horses, Jacob observed with a hideous fascination accompanied by a swimming feeling in his gut, were not harnessed or anything outside.

They just stood still as statues outside the bar, bulging white eyes like glass, not blinking once despite the boiling sun and the sand whipping in the air outside.