Chapter 1 - The Man in the Mirror
Gabe Mercer drove Nalin into the table hard enough to scatter cards, coins, and two glasses of whiskey.
Her hip struck the oak edge.
Pain flashed white through her side.
Then she hit the sawdust-covered floor.
The Silver Dollar Saloon did not become silent.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Men kept breathing.
Someone near the piano laughed nervously.
A dealer gathered his cards as though nothing had happened.
Nobody stepped forward.
Gabe stood above Nalin, broad enough to block the amber light from the oil lamps.
“Still too proud to beg?”
Nalin wiped blood from her split lower lip.
She looked up at him.
Then spat dust onto his boot.
Pike Mercer cursed.
He caught her wrist and hauled her upright.
Her scraped palm dragged over the floorboards, leaving a narrow red streak behind.
Nalin twisted.
Pike tightened his grip.
His brother Harlan lifted a half-empty whiskey bottle.
“Maybe she needs another drink.”
He poured it over Nalin’s shoulder.
Whiskey soaked into her buckskin dress.
The watching men laughed more loudly now.
Not because anything was funny.
Because frightened people sometimes laughed when they wanted violent men to know they were not choosing sides.
Nalin understood that kind of cowardice.
She had seen it in army camps.
Trading posts.
Ranch kitchens.
Sheriff’s offices.
Different walls.
Same silence.
Pike jerked at the fringe of her dress.
Nalin turned sharply and drove her elbow into his ribs.
Pike grunted.
His grip loosened.
For one satisfying second, he could not breathe.
Then Gabe backhanded her.
The impact threw Nalin sideways into a chair.
Wood cracked.
She caught herself with one hand.
A red mark spread across her cheekbone.
Gabe stepped closer.
“You hit one of us again—”
The swinging doors creaked.
Everyone stopped.
Harsh Arizona sunlight burned through the entrance.
A man stood inside it.
Dusty hat.
Weathered face.
Faded earth-colored poncho.
Two worn Colt revolvers low on his hips.
Cade Thorn.
Nobody announced him.
Nobody needed to.
In Dry Creek, his name had arrived before he did.
Cade walked across the sawdust.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
His spurs seemed louder than the piano had been.
He did not look directly at Gabe.
Or Pike.
Or Harlan.
He reached the bar.
Placed one silver coin on the wood.
The bartender swallowed.
“Whiskey?”
Cade nodded.
Behind him, Gabe seized Nalin by the hair near the back of her head and dragged her upright.
Cade watched through the dirty mirror behind the bottles.
The bartender poured with a shaking hand.
Cade lifted the glass.
“Let her go.”
Gabe stared at Cade’s reflection.
Then released Nalin.
For half a second.
He shoved her toward the wall.
“Mind your business.”
Cade took one sip.
“You just made it my business.”
Gabe came fast.
For a man his size, he moved surprisingly well.
He threw a right hand meant to end the argument.
Cade shifted one step.
Gabe’s fist slammed into the bar.
Wood cracked.
Cade drove a short punch under Gabe’s ribs.
Gabe folded slightly.
Not enough.
He grabbed Cade’s poncho and smashed him backward against the bar.
Bottles jumped.
One fell.
Glass exploded beside Cade’s shoulder.
A shard opened a thin line along his cheek.
Cade touched the blood.
Looked at his thumb.
Then at Gabe.
“Bad choice.”
Pike drew.
Harlan grabbed a chair.
The chair swung.
Cade ducked.
It smashed through the mirror.
Glass rained across the bar.
Cade kicked the chair from Harlan’s hands.
Nalin snatched up the neck of the broken whiskey bottle.
Not charging.
Not panicking.
Waiting.
Gabe drew the ivory-gripped Peacemaker from his holster.
Pike had his gun out now.
Harlan reached for his.
Three weapons.
One man.
Pike smiled.
“You’re dead, old man.”
Cade pushed his poncho aside.
Both Colts appeared.
“Then don’t miss.”
Gabe fired first.
The Peacemaker bucked.
A bottle exploded behind Cade.
Cade’s right Colt cleared leather.
His revolver cracked.
Gabe screamed.
The bullet struck his gun hand.
The ivory-gripped weapon spun away.
Pike fired.
Cade turned, but not fast enough.
Fire tore across his upper arm.
His poncho ripped.
Blood began soaking the sleeve beneath.
His face tightened.
No magical recovery.
No indifference.
Pain changed the way he moved.
Cade fired.
Pike took the bullet through the shoulder and crashed backward across a card table.
Cards and coins burst into the air.
Harlan fired wildly.
The piano boomed as the bullet buried itself in polished wood.
The player disappeared beneath the instrument.
Harlan charged before Cade could realign his revolver.
They collided.
Cade hit the support post hard.
His left Colt fell from his hand and spun beneath a table.
Gabe lunged back into the fight holding the broken bottle.
Nalin saw him first.
“Cade!”
He turned.
Gabe drove the jagged glass toward his face.
Cade caught his wrist.
Their arms shook.
The broken edge stopped inches from Cade’s eye.
Gabe pushed.
Cade’s wounded arm trembled.
Then Cade drove his forehead into Gabe’s nose.
Gabe staggered.
Blood ran over his mouth.
Cade swept his leg.
The giant ranch hand fell across a table.
It collapsed beneath him.
Harlan lifted his revolver again.
Nalin swung the broken chair leg into his forearm.
His gun dropped.
Cade seized Harlan by his shirt and drove him against the wall.
Once.
Hard.
Harlan sagged.
Cade released him.
Silence returned.
Real silence this time.
Nalin stood breathing hard.
Cade’s arm bled steadily beneath his torn poncho.
Gabe groaned among the shattered table boards.
Pike clutched his shoulder.
Harlan remained against the wall.
Then Cade noticed a folded piece of paper protruding from Gabe’s coat.
He pulled it free.
Unfolded it.
A crude sketch of Nalin stared back.
Below it were six words.
CADE THORN — EXPECTED IN DRY CREEK TODAY.
Cade’s eyes moved slowly around the room.
Something had changed.
The frightened gamblers were no longer frightened.
Three men near the back stood straighter.
Another near the stairs quietly closed the front shutters.
The bartender stepped away from Cade.
Cade looked at Nalin.
“This wasn’t a bar fight.”
“No.”
Her breathing steadied.
“They needed you to draw first.”
Behind Cade—
click-clack.
A shotgun cocked.
Cade looked toward the broken mirror.
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In one surviving triangle of glass, he saw the barrel pointed at his spine.
And the man holding it was wearing a sheriff’s badge.
