It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone over the horizon, there were no clouds to obstruct the view, and the air was crisp. But for Jack Marston, it was the same shit every day. Excluding rain. He sighed in a sad tone. It had been a month since his mother commutes suicide over his father, John, who had been killed by the Army and Federal Agents.
After getting dressed for the day, he decided to head to the bar in Blqckwater, a 'modern' town in West Elizabeth. He walked down the lonely hallway of his abandoned ranch to the front door. He stopped to look at his reflection in the window: he had a beard that had grew when he was seventeen. He had
