Chapter Three The Northern Waste

But in the lamplight, it burned like fire. Jack scraped a piece of ore loose with his knife and set it in his palm. The small gold vein sat embedded in gray stone, heavier than it should have been. He smiled. It was the first real smile he had worn since coming home. The sound was low in the mine, echoing like something long chained finally breaking loose. His father had been right. A man without money owns nothing, not even his anger. But now Jack Walker had found money. Enough to buy guns, men, land, and the silence or testimony of an entire town. He closed his hand around the ore and looked into the deeper dark. "Crowe," he said softly, "you had better already be afraid."