The wind whipped tiny dust devils in the main street and the horses tied to the hitching rails scraped at the ground, whinnying in discomfort as tiny shards of gravel slapped into their faces or heavier pieces stung their rumps.
Kestler, sitting on his rocking chair smoking a large cigar, stood up and stretched himself out. ‘Storm coming,’ he said to nobody in particular.
He went to turn away and go back inside. The promise of a hot meal and a glass of bourbon in front of the fire was extremely seductive, but something made him stop. He slowly turned, half expecting to see nothing but the horses all jittery, longing to be inside a stable. Instead, he saw a man. Tall, dressed in buckskin coat and long boots, a bandana covering most of his face, the broad-brimmed straw hat fluttering so st
