Prayers End—a cross between heaven and hell in Steve’s mind. He stood for a moment on the weathered boards of the depot platform. The hinged sign swung creakily in a constant wind that blew across flat, brush-studded plains. He didn’t know why he’d gotten off here, instead of riding on, going straight to Prendergast’s ranch.

It was the same thing he’d done last time, gotten off too early because there was something about the place that had drawn him. In the morose frame of mind he’d been in then, it was probably the name of the town that had grabbed his attention.

At that time the news of Ginny’s “death” was still fresh in his mind, and he’d been searching for relief from the haunting images of her that crowded his thoughts. It had been almost a relief to be confronted in the saloon where he’d gone for a drink, but it had turned out to be deadly for Jared Cady.

He had made Elizabeth a widow that day, and his lover a month later.

Striding across the platform, Steve’s boots made a loud hollow sound on the boards, a vibrating echo. The train huffed smoke into the air, belching steam and cinders like tiny red stars. Metallic groans and the heavy scrape of the baggage car door opening were followed by the snorting disapproval of his horse; stiff stalks of straw littered the tracks and ground as he persuaded the skittish horse from the car.

“Hey, mister, don’t I know you?”

Steve barely glanced at the old man. “Maybe. Maybe not…Look out…!”

The horse finally decided to leap free of the car, and would have bolted if Steve hadn’t had a tight grip on the reins. He flipped up the stirrup and tightened the cinch, then led the animal to the side of the station house. Wind whistled around the corners, a keening sound, high-pitched like a woman’s sob. The old man followed him.

“Yeah, I do know you! You’re that gunslinger feller, the one that shot up Jared Cady a few years back, ain’t ya? Yeah, you’re him all right. I niver fergit a face. It’s the eyes. A man’s eyes are what I niver fergit…and I damn sure would niver fergit your eyes, mister. Nope. Like two cold pieces of dark sky.”

He swung the old man a glance again, and the garrulous voice quavered to a halt. For an instant, he saw fear leap like flames into red-rimmed eyes.

“Last time I was here, you recommended a hotel.”

“Uh, yeah, sure…Denver House. All Jack Prendergast’s friends stay there when they come this way.”