Red stared back. “What’re you…?” He licked his lips. He looked at Jack, his gaze lingering on the bruised head, the gash of open skin. “You scared him. That’s enough. He won’t ask no more questions.”

“I decide what is enough.”

“He’s my blood.”

“He is the son of a dog.”

“This is a boy who ain’t gonna tell.”

“It’s been decided.”

“I’ll go see Leland. Get ’im to talk.”

“You’ve done that already.”

Red spread his feet. “I won’t let you do it.”

The hatted man ran his gaze into Red. “You are here because I spared you. I permit your existence. You will leave matters of my organization to me.”

Red wiped his nose. The setting sun behind him blurred his figure to shadow, and the cold wind gusted through trees. His voice penetrated the air as he spoke.

“I ain’t never been a good man. I cooked, and then I turned and sold for you, and I never looked back. I’ve lied and cheated and stole my whole way through life. But I was a good brother. What Leland done—I told him not to, and I never said boo after he done it, neither. He was told! But he did what he did anyway.” Red reached up and tore the black wool from his head, revealing the old scar that jagged across his skull. “You see that? You took my head!” He stepped toward Jack through snow and looked at the others, his eyes big and wild. “This boy is my family. He’s learned now, and he won’t ask no more questions. Anyway, he’s about all I got left, and you ain’t gonna kill him.”

Red’s words were met with utter quiet.

Jack had been sinking into a black lustrous place, and when the dull light of awareness began creeping back, he could hear the men consulting in hushed voices. He sat up, aching. The goldtoothed man dropped the axe to the snow. Now he held a gun. Finger near the trigger and barrel held on Red, who raised his arms slowly.

The hatted man seemed uninterested by it all. He looked out across the frigid valley. “It’s pretty out here,” he said.

He pulled a pack of gum from inside his shirt pocket and drew out a stick and unwrapped it. He put the gum in his mouth and crouched and looked at Jack. Smell of peppermint.

“Are you afraid?”

Jack eyed him and did not truckle. “Yes.”

The hatted man nodded. “You’re brave,” he said. “Even afraid, you’re brave.”

Birds watched from the trees without chirping. The man stood.

“All right. This is the best I will do.” He regarded Jack, chewing the gum. “We let fate decide.”

Red lowered his arms a bit. “What?”

“We leave him out here. If he lives, he gets to live.”