Chapter Two Three Seconds in Hope

He was fast. His right hand rolled outward, and his left hand moved for the second gun. The buckskin coat opened at the elbow. Silver flashed. But Jack was faster. Not reckless fast. War fast. He had learned to read shoulders under cannon fire, learned to read wind from a charging saddle, learned to read killing intent from a breath in the dark. Before Rusk's muzzle fully rose, Jack's Colt fired. The first shot broke the base of Rusk's right thumb. The second shot smashed the hammer off the left revolver. The third shot punched dust in front of Rusk's boot, spraying stone chips across his cheek. Three shots joined into one roll of thunder. Rusk froze.