The Reckoning of Silver Butte

Chapter One: The Stranger in Silver Butte

The wind carried a low growl that vibrated through Brisbane Hicks’ bones. It wasn’t just the wind—it was wrong.

Hicks, a seasoned rider, knew a storm was brewing. But this felt like more. A reckoning.

He tightened the reins, urging Reckoner forward through the scrubland—a stretch of withered shrubs and cracked earth under a bruised sky. The mustangs he led—bound for sale in Carson Springs—tugged at their ropes. Their ears twitched, nostrils flared, catching the scent of ozone… and fear.

The air tasted like rain and trouble.

Hicks scanned the horizon, eyes narrowed against the glare of the gathering storm. To the south, dark clouds massed like a malevolent army, their edges tinged with an eerie green glow. A storm was coming, and it promised to be fierce. But it wasn’t just the weather that unsettled him.

The air hung with unnatural stillness—a gray, expectant silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Reckoner snorted, breath misting in the cool air. Hicks reached out, patting the stallion’s neck. “Easy, boy,” he murmured. “We’ll find shelter soon.”

The storm outside was nothing compared to the one inside. The wind carried the scent of rain and blood, a familiar tang that always brought Henry’s face to the front of Hicks’s mind.

Guilt clung to him like a second shadow, heavier with every mile he put between himself and that moonlit field. He told himself this was just another sale, a simple trip with mustangs in tow. But he knew better.

He was fleeing the night Henry Callahan bled out alone—fleeing the moment he’d turned his back.

Old debts don’t stay buried.

Silver Butte rose ahead of him—weathered, sagging, and afraid.

A town waiting to die.

Or be saved.

This is the opening chapter of The Reckoning of Silver Butte.