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Chapter Five: The Bounty Men Santa Rosa was not a town. It was a knot of appetite on the edge of the waste. A few timber buildings. A stable. A well. A smithy. A store that sold whiskey and cartridges from the same counter. A small furnace that never stopped coughing black smoke. Everyone passing through claimed they were only staying for a night. Some of their bodies had been behind the hill for five years. Jack reached the trading post before dusk. He did not ride straight in. He circled to the western rise and watched through his field glass for half an hour. Two men under the porch. One in the stable. One at the well. Behind the second-floor window of the store, the curtain moved three times. Four in the open. One hidden.