Page 22, Hard Spirits Saloons. Oases of liquor and happiness. Capable of offering a temporary reprieve from the harsh reality of Western life. Countless droughts, bad harvests, cattle rustlers, flash floods, and earlydeaths. But how much sadness could this oasis absorb? Luke could hear the music. A jaunty tune played on an out-of-tune piano. Laughing and conversation. Forced revelry. The sound of people trying to forget, growing louder and louder in his ears. Until... "Dios mio," cried Hector from behind the bar. All the laughing and all the music fled from Luke's presence. The handful of those present stared silently at the bloody figure in the doorway. Silence. A silence as forced as the now forgotten happiness. Luke stood there scanning the crowd. The bright lights hurt his eyes and cast hard shadows within the room. He searched for three faces. And found one. Shakily, he raised three fingers. Then he tucked one down. Two. He tucked another. With a yelp, the man fell backwards out of his chair. Fear in his eyes. "You gotta help me," he pleaded. But the crowd merely parted as he scrambled through them towards the back door. One. Gun, page 4. Give chase, page 11. Grab a drink, page 40.