Chapter Two Three Seconds in Hope

"You have no money, no land, no employees. You have one gun." Jack stepped closer. Sheriff Harlan tightened his hand on his pistol. Jack ignored the sheriff and looked only at Crowe. "Then you'd better pray I never get more than one." For the first time, Crowe's eye twitched. Jack turned and walked toward the horse trough. The crowd opened a path for him. It was not respect, not yet. It was fear, shock, and the frontier's instinctive judgment of strength. The saloon keeper hurried after him with a paper parcel. "Mr. Walker." Jack stopped. The man offered the parcel. Inside were hard bread, salt pork, and a small pouch of coffee beans. "On me." Jack looked at him.