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"I traveled all over to find him. Whenever I got someplace, he'd just been there, forever disappearing. I was starting to think he was a ghost, gone in a puff of air. But then I got news that he was going to be passing through here, on his way to open up a new mine near the coast."
"How do you know it's him?" Bernie asked curiously, knowing better than to underestimate Jack's perseverance and intelligence.
"His name's Harry Brunson. Known outlaw in almost every town all the way down to Mexico. Saw him a few towns over, harassing some painted ladies while getting drunk with some other cowboys, but couldn't get him alone. Wanted to bide my time... get him when he'd know full well who I was and why he was about to die."
Bernie's expression was impassive. He knew that Jack had devoted his life to avenging his brother's, and he didn't blame him one bit. "How can I help, Jack?" he asked, ready to provide him with whatever he needed to kill the man who'd murdered his best friend.
"I need someplace to lie down for awhile, get myself set up."
Bernie shifted uncomfortably. "Well, Jack... ain't no one livin' in your old home now. I reckon it's empty, if you want to go check it out," he sputtered, unsure of how Jack would feel about reentering the house where unspeakable horrors had taken place.
Jack didn't answer right away, a vivid flashback overtaking him. The sound of his arm being snapped in two, the searing pain making him see white. Being thrown against the wall, glass shattering all around him, cutting into his head and fingers. Brunson's cold hate, a vindictive grin on his face, as he dragged the blade of the knife across Billy's throat. Watching the life leave Billy's eyes as he silently pleaded with Jack... and then everything went black.
"Jack? You okay?" Fiona asked, a tender hand on his arm. Jack realized he'd nearly collapsed to the floor, his face ashen.
"Yeah, just tired is all," he replied, standing up and fighting off a wave of dizziness. He smiled weakly at Bernie and Fiona, both of them staring at him with concern. He wondered how much of their conversation Fiona had actually heard. Avoiding her burning gaze, he looked at Bernie.
"I'm going home," Jack heard himself say. He turned and used the exit in the back to emerge from the saloon without drawing any more attention to himself. He quickly put the pointy toe of his boot into one of the stirrups on his horse's side, mounted and rode to his house for the first time in years.
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