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It shone white and blinding, a dead sea without water. Hooves cracked through the brittle crust. The air smelled of salt and old rot. Jack had reached the middle when gunfire sounded in the distance. One shot. Then another. Not hunting. Too slow. It sounded like men making another man run. Jack drew rein, dismounted, and led both horses behind a low rise of salt crust. When he crouched, he saw two mounted men chasing a man on foot near the far end of the lake. The runner wore a gray blanket and stumbled as he fled. The riders laughed and fired at the ground around his feet. Jack's eyes went cold. He had not come west to rescue strangers. But the riders' saddles carried black iron tags. Each tag bore a small T. Titan.