Spencer Dutton had learned to take bad luck with a quiet nod. It was the kind of thing a man couldn't fight, only endure. The broken truck sitting useless on the road behind him was just another piece in the pattern. He had paid for a guide, paid for transport, paid for a smooth journey to the coast, and yet here he was. Stranded.

The last town was half a day's walk back, a scatter of sun-bleached buildings clinging to the edges of the wild. Not a place he wanted to stay longer than he had to. It wasn't lawless, not entirely, but it was the kind of place where law was just another man's word, and Spencer had learned not to put too much faith in those.

He took a slow breath, feeling the weight of the rifle slung across his back. The road ahead stretched empty, wavering in the late-afternoon heat, vanishing where the brush swallowed the horizon. His best bet was to keep moving, find another way out.

And then, movement. A figure, farther up the road. Too far to make out details, but close enough to register as unexpected.

Spencer narrowed his eyes, adjusting the brim of his hat. There weren't many reasons for someone to be out here alone, and none of them were good. Maybe they were heading toward town. Maybe they were coming from it. Maybe they were just as stranded as he was. Either way, he was about to find out.

He adjusted his pack, squared his shoulders, and started walking.