Sheriff ◎ | Official |

Boone didn't answer. He just stood there, an old man in a faded shirt, his tin star tarnished almost black. But his eyes—those low-banked embers—caught the light just so, and the stranger saw something in them that made his laugh catch in his throat.

The stranger's hand came away from his gun. He adjusted his hat. "The governor will hear about this."

The town of Red Oak had seen one sheriff in forty years. Elias Boone took the badge when he was twenty-five, his jaw sharp as a hatchet and his eyes full of fire. Now, at sixty-five, the fire had banked to a low, steady glow, and the jaw had softened into jowls that quivered when he laughed—which wasn't often. Sheriff

Boone finished his sarsaparilla. He set the glass down with a soft click. "Because I know the governor," he said. "He wasn't a tall man. Couldn't stand to be around anyone over six feet. That fella was six-two if he was an inch. No way the governor would have pinned a star on someone he had to look up to."

Within an hour, two men had been thrown through the batwing doors, and the stranger had declared himself the new law in Red Oak. Boone didn't answer

Then the stranger laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. "You're bluffing."

"Enforce the law."

"Well, nobody told this fella."