Steele.
Storekeeper, settled and accepted. Him and his wife. Until the stranger rode into town. A hard, silent man with an old newspaper photo all crumpled up in his hip pocket. A photo that just happened to show something from his past.
That was when Steele realized that there were two kinds of past. The past a man tries to forget, that forces itself into his sweat-soaked nightmares. Memories of blood, pumping, hot, vivid red on Confederate gray. Of triumphant Rebel yells that rise horribly to bone-chilling screams.
And then there is the past you didn't know about.
Until it rears up, sudden as a diamondback and strikes to kill.