R.S. Belcher- The Six-Gun Tarot
The old man’s beard was white, like sunlight reflecting off ice. It fell almost to his knees and stood out in stark contrast to his silk robe of shimmering emerald. His eyes spilled out into the shadow, black water moving under a moonless sky. He was Chinese and the four men who ringed him all bore tattoos like Jim’s pursuer. They held hatchets in their hands, low at their sides, emerald ribbons fluttering.