Chapter 6 Six

The evening in the saloon had deepened into a haze of low lamplight and whispered conversations, yet in one quiet corner, a conversation of a very different sort was unfolding_ a conversation that would, by its very nature, shape destinies. Ellie Harrington, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of resolve and tender uncertainty, turned to Mr. Ted as though seeking refuge from the tumult around them.

"Mr. Ted," she said softly, her voice steady despite the tremor of vulnerability beneath it, "I have a favor to ask of you. Will you do it for me?"

His response came in the form of a gentle, understanding smile_ a wordless promise that conveyed more than any uttered phrase ever could. Ellie trusted in that silent assurance, for she had never been one to let a misinterpreted gesture stand in the way of what needed to be done.

"You have noticed Jack among the crowd, haven't you?" she pressed, her tone both curious and concerned. "Trillin' Jack_ the man with the uncanny aim?"

"Yes," Mr. Ted replied, his voice calm and even, "I did see him perform some truly remarkable shooting."

Ellie's eyes shone as she continued, "It is about him I wish to speak. Mr. Ted, you see, he is unseasoned in the ways of men_ a child among warriors, naïve and vulnerable in a world so unforgiving. You seem to possess a strength, a quiet determination, that surpasses what I have seen in this place. I beg you: should trouble arise, watch over him. Protect him, if you can."

There was a pause_ a charged silence where the only sound was the faint clink of glass and the murmur of distant voices. Mr. Ted's eyes, cool and piercing, met hers. In that look was both a promise and a silent acknowledgment of the cost such a favor might demand. "If you wish it, Ellie," he said simply, "I will do all that I can."

As they walked side by side toward her waiting horse, the din of the room seemed to fade into insignificance. Suddenly, as if stirred by the intensity of her plea, Ellie halted and regarded him with unaccustomed frankness. "You are very different from the men I have known here," she confessed, her tone blending admiration with a hint of sorrow.

"I am glad," Mr. Ted answered, his voice layered with sincerity. "Glad, because if you find me different, then you shall remember me, come what may_ whether for better or for worse."

The earnestness in his words brought a gravity to the moment. Ellie, her heart pounding, studied him as he helped her mount. She found herself drawn to the raw honesty in his gaze. After a moment of shared silence, she whispered, "I would like to see you again, Mr. Ted. I would like to see you very often. Will you come to my home sometime?"

The directness of her request startled him, and for an instant his usually steady voice wavered. "I shall!" he managed to say, pausing as his hand brushed against hers. "If it is possible," he added, as if speaking not just of a promise but of fate itself.

Ellie raised her eyebrows in quiet amusement. "Is it so very difficult to do?" she teased, though beneath the playful banter lay a deeper uncertainty. Her words hung between them, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause_ the only movement the subtle shift of her eyes as they searched his for assurance.

Then, as if a spell had been broken, Mr. Ted's expression grew somber. "I am to embark on a long journey, Ellie. I cannot promise what the future holds, but if fortune allows, I shall return." With that, he let go of her hand, and she stood quietly, lost in thought and stirred by a mix of hope and foreboding. "You will not forget me?" she pleaded softly.

"I shall never forget you," came his solemn reply, and with that, she turned, mounted her horse, and rode away. For a long moment, Mr. Ted remained rooted by the door, his hand still raised as though holding onto a fleeting fragment of what might have been. Finally, seeing her wave a tender goodbye from the saddle, his eyes lowered, and he reentered the saloon with a quiet, pensive smile.

Inside the crowded room, tension simmered beneath the veneer of casual merriment. Cole Grimwood sat at a table in a darkened corner, his left hand propped against his chin as his right hand rested idly, ever ready for action. His gaze was fixed unblinkingly on Trillin' Jack, whose presence seemed almost out of place in the hardened milieu of the saloon. Grimwood's eyes, filled with an unsettling intensity, betrayed a growing desire to break the stillness that separated him from the youth.

Hearing his name called, Grimwood's rough, measured voice cut through the silence as he addressed the large man standing nearby. "What the hell? Ain't you started yet?" he demanded.

"Look here, Cole," Danny interjected cautiously, his tone laced with concern as he approached the brooding figure. "I want you to let this kid be_ if trouble comes, it won't do any of us good to stir up the devil with him."

Grimwood's eyes flashed dangerously as he turned his gaze toward Danny. "I tell you, it would please me more than anything to see that damned, fragile face of his meet the floor!" he spat, the malice in his voice unmistakable.

"Danny, I'm asking you a personal favor here!" Grimwood roared, his voice rising as his eyes gleamed with a mix of anger and something else_ a raw, unfiltered yearning for conflict.

Danny, tightening his jaw in Grimwood protest, knew better than to meet Grimwood's fury head-on. "But you haven't got another gun hidden on you, Cole? You're not planning to actually shoot him, are you?"

Grimwood's lips curled in a dark smile. "No, if I had a gun, I don't know what I'd do with it_ but I haven't a gun on me. My hands alone will be enough."

The decision was made in that instant. The time had come to send Jack out of the saloon_ a single command would suffice to send the timid youth scurrying away. Approaching Jack, whose large, lazy brown eyes watched the unfolding scene with disconcerting calm, Danny spoke in a low, urgent tone, "Jack, you need to hit for the timbers_ get on your way now, for there is danger brewing here for you!"

Jack regarded him in wonder. "Danger?" he echoed softly, his tone more puzzled than fearful.

"Danger! Get up and leave if you wish to save your hide!" Danny pressed, his voice edged with desperation.

Jack's surprise lingered, but he remained unmoved. "What's the trouble?" he asked, genuinely perplexed, as if the threat were as remote as a passing shadow.

"Friend," Danny said gravely, "if that tall man gets his hands on you, he'll break you across his knee like a rotten stick!"

Before Jack could protest further, Grimwood's voice thundered across the room, silencing all but the sound of heavy breaths and the clatter of unsettled chairs. "Hey!" he bellowed, pointing a foreboding finger in Jack's direction. "You over there!"

Danny stepped back, his heart aching with the knowledge that challenging Grimwood directly would be folly. But the promise he had made to protect Jack echoed in his mind, spurring him to act even as his limbs trembled.

"What do you want of me?" Jack asked, his tone laced with innocent curiosity despite the menacing arm that loomed before him.

"Get up when you're spoken to!" Grimwood snapped, his voice a harsh command. "Ain't you learned any manners? Git up quick!"

Jack rose with a tentative smile that seemed to mask his inner bewilderment. "Your friend sure has a queer way of talkin'," he remarked to Danny, his voice light even as a dark cloud gathered overhead.

"Don't just stand there like a fool," Grimwood roared next. "Trot over to the bar and git me a jolt of red-eye. I'm dry!"

"Sure!" Jack replied in an amiable tone, and off he trotted toward the bar. The eyes of the room shifted uneasily, a mixture of amusement and apprehension passing among the cowpunchers as they witnessed the incongruity of the scene_ Grimwood's fierce demeanor against Jack's seemingly nonchalant compliance.

At the bar, Grinder leaned in close, his voice a rapid, conspiratorial whisper. "Jack, I got a gun stashed behind the bar. Say the word, and I'll risk pullin' it on that big skunk. Then you can make your getaway. Perhaps I can hold him off until you get on Nightfall."

Jack shook his head, his astonishment barely concealed. "Why should I beat it?" he replied softly. "I'm just beginnin' to enjoy this place, and that tall feller_ he's a queer one, ain't he?" His tone was conversational, yet every word carried the weight of his own inner conflict.

Leaving Grinder to his musings, Jack collected his drink and walked back. His calm, wide-eyed expression belied a tempest beneath_ a tempest that was about to be unleashed. Moments later, as Jack placed his whisky before Grimwood, the atmosphere in the saloon shifted ominously. Grimwood's gaze, fixed and predatory, fell upon Jack as he took a measured sip.

"What in hell do you mean?" Grimwood demanded suddenly, his voice low and dangerous. "Did you only bring one glass? Are you too damn good to drink with me? Then drink by yourself, you white-livered coyote!"

In a burst of fury, Grimwood hurled the glass of whisky into Jack's face. The liquid splashed, stinging like the bite of a viper, and Jack staggered back a pace, sputtering and rubbing his eyes. For a moment, the entire saloon held its breath_ the men, mid-action, frozen in a tableau of shock and dread. Yet from the midst of the chaos, a sound emerged_ a chilling, almost otherworldly chuckle that belied all human mirth.

Grimwood's eyes widened as he saw Jack's reaction. Jack, instead of recoiling in fear or anger, began to laugh_ a low, haunting laugh that seemed to emanate from a place beyond mortal understanding. It was a laugh that was not joyous, but rather one of madness and profound inner release, a sound that chilled the blood of even the toughest men.

The laughter escalated, merging with the dissonant notes of the saloon's strained silence. In a flash, Jack sprang forward, moving with the lithe agility of a panther. Before Grimwood could react, Jack was upon him_ his hands, as if guided by some feral instinct, darting out to disarm and outmaneuver. Grimwood, his ferocity momentarily faltering, found himself locked in a tumultuous embrace with Jack. Their bodies twined together in a struggle that bore a disturbing resemblance to a macabre danced_ a violent ballet in which each movement spoke of desperate power and uncontrollable rage.

In the ensuing melee, Grimwood's massive hand shifted from its crushing grip on Jack's torso to seize his throat. But Jack, with an agility that defied expectation, countered with a vice-like grip on Grimwood's wrist, halting the crushing blow mid-air. There, in the center of the room, surrounded by onlookers whose expressions ranged from horror to disbelief, the two men were entwined in combat. Their stances, bizarrely reminiscent of dancers in a fevered waltz, belied the sheer force behind every thrust and parry.

Grimwood's eyes, usually so cold and calculating, now flickered with a raw, unbridled fury. Every ounce of his vast strength was marshaled into one final, desperate attempt to subdue his opponent. Yet, with each blow he delivered, Jack evaded with a preternatural grace_ a danced of limbs that left Grimwood's attacks falling short, as if he were striking at shadows. At times, Jack's nimble movements allowed him to dodge under Grimwood's arms, while a slight sidestep caused another blow to miss by mere fractions of an inch. For every furious strike that Grimwood rained upon him, Jack countered with four that rained upon Grimwood in return. It was a spectacle of impossible speed and strength_ a confrontation that seemed to defy the very laws of nature.

Grimwood's mind reeled in disbelief. Had he been struck by a mere child, he wondered bitterly, for the precision of his blows should have easily laid him low. Yet Jack's unpredictable movements continued to frustrate him. As Grimwood's assault grew ever more frantic, his face contorted between rage and dawning horror. Then, in a moment that would forever be etched in the memory of those present, Grimwood's arm, swollen with the fury of combat, swept out in a desperate arc, and for an instant, the world stood still.

Locked in a crushing embrace, Grimwood's right arm found its way to Jack's throat_ a vice of iron that promised to crush the very spirit from his foe. The pressure was relentless; it grew with a quiet inevitability until Grimwood felt as though his very bones might shatter beneath the strain. His breath came in ragged gasps, his blood pounding like a drum of impending doom. Yet amid the cacophony of pain and struggle, Jack's laughter persisted_ a maddening, unearthly sound that filled the room with its inhuman cadence.

Then, in a sudden burst of desperate strength born of primal fear and shame, Grimwood tore himself away. But Jack, seizing the opening, struck with two powerful blows that connected with Grimwood's face. The force of the impact was such that Grimwood's eyes widened in shock as he saw the stretched, muted expressions of those around him_ faces contorted in disbelief, frozen in the moment of violence.

In the aftermath, Grimwood roared_ a sound of triumph and utter despair. His hand, outstretched in an attempt to reclaim control, caught hold of Jack's shirt. In that fleeting instant, the two were locked together, their struggle reaching a fever pitch. The room fell into an eerie silence as the battle ground seemed to pause, leaving only the sound of labored breaths and the relentless, unsettling echo of Jack's laughter.

Then, with a final surge of animalistic power, Grimwood attempted one last crushing grip on Jack's throat. But Jack's resistance was relentless, his hand coiling tighter around Grimwood's wrist, and in the ensuing struggle, Grimwood's strength ebbed away like water slipping through clenched fingers. With a desperate, anguished cry, Grimwood flung himself backward, coming into possession of a heavy chair. With a crack that resonated like a death knell, the chair struck Jack squarely on the head, sending him reeling to the floor with a resounding thud.

As Jack lay dazed, his eyes fluttering between shock and bitter defeat, the room slowly began to stir. Grinder and Ted Danny rushed to Jack's side, kneeling beside him as the chaotic scene subsided. In that surreal moment, as the dust of combat settled on the worn wooden floorboards, the saloon's patrons dared to breathe once more_ each heart pounding with the raw, unspoken realization that something elemental, something terrifying, had been unleashed within those walls.