The Lone Rider

Jacob Enright's dead men stayed dead. But their memories did not. The nightmares persisted. They always did. Knowing it was a dream did nothing to lessen its horror. Gambling, drinking, whoring and killing. It had become like second nature to the ex-lawman turned vigilante. Wanda Blackfoot had loved Jacob for as long as she could remember, but now Wanda didn't know who she was anymore, or more precisely, she didn't know what she was, without Jacob by her side acting as her touchstone. Six weeks, Jacob had said. Maybe less. He was on the road somewhere, looking for the man who had ruined it all, and she was stuck in a second-rate saloon turning second-rate tricks. If not for the cigarettes and dope, she thought she would be mad from boredom by now. Sampson Faith, a silver-tongued devil, a charmer, a thief of hearts. It betrayed his general appearance; his face, once uncommonly handsome for a young man who'd undergone many horrors, now appeared to have been carved out of granite. And a heart of stone as well, unknown to Wanda one fateful night four years ago, when she fell under his spell just long enough to send Jacob on a vengeful rampage that still continued to this day. He knew Jacob was coming for him, and he knew he would have to be well-rested to deal with him. He hadn't thought it was possible for him to be near death. Not this soon. He still had business to take care of. Sinners to punish. More whores to kill. And, God willing, he would be ready for Jacob when he arrived.