Chapter Two Three Seconds in Hope

Behind the bar, the owner tightened his grip on a polishing rag. Jack removed his hat and knocked dust from the brim. "Coffee," he said. "If anybody here still remembers how to make it." The owner looked at Jack's gun, then at a man sitting in the corner. At that table sat a large man in a buckskin coat, his black hat pulled low. Silver buckles shone on his boots. Two revolvers crossed at his hips. A deck of cards and an untouched glass of whiskey lay before him. Caleb Rusk. The best gun in Hope Town. Some said he had killed seven men in Kansas. Others said eleven. Others said Rusk never counted bodies, only the money paid for them. Jack saw him. He also saw the black cloth tied around Rusk's hatband. Titan's man.