Darryl shifted in his saddle. He tried not to, as the men tended to pick up on such subtle signs of anxiety. Then they’d get spooked and do something foolish.

The plan was a simple one. Ten men meet a stage on a moonlit road. Ten rifles and pistols address the immediate concerns of dutiful guards. Ten men ride off into the night with a stagecoach filled to the brim with gold. Eight men split the stash.

But rumors and legends had Darryl himself, outlaw of outlaws, on the edge of spooked. He was just on the edge, mind you, not over it. Still, the locals were all full of talk, babbling about ‘ghosts’, men with no homes nor lives of their own. These men, supposedly, lived just as far outside the law as any criminal but seemed hell bent on killing any other outlaw.

They had no homes to burn down, no wives to ravage, and no kin to intimidate. They were not the kind of men Darryl liked to deal with. He liked things simple, and that’s what this plan, this night was going to be.