Two men huddled alongside their fire. Wind-driven sleet stung their faces.

“Down your coffee. We’d better get movin’ before this storm hits.”

“Knew we should’ve stayed in Texarkana,” Quinn Mason complained.

“Never mind bellyachin’,” Texas Ranger Jim Corey ordered. “If you hadn’t robbed that bank, we wouldn’t be in this fix.”

“Never figured you’d follow me into Arkansas,” Mason muttered.

“A Ranger never quits a trail.”

“Reckon I learned that. You think you’ll get me back to Fort Worth?”

“Give me any trouble and you’ll find out,” Corey promised. He headed to where his pinto gelding, Sultana, and Mason’s bay were tied.

“Mornin’, boy,” Corey called to his pinto. Corey gave him a biscuit, then scratched his ears. Sultana nuzzled his shoulder.

Watching his handcuffed prisoner, the Ranger saddled and bridled both horses.

“Get mounted,” he ordered.

“Yessir,” Mason shrugged. “You sure we shouldn’t ride this norther out here?” he questioned.

A trumpet blast signaled the time was near. Swords crossed, creating an archway up the center aisle. Michael and Gabriel acknowledged each other with a nod; their eyes sparkled.

Michael called for his forces while Gabriel summoned his. Row after row of warriors gathered, lining the halls in gold and white raiment, countenances filled with expectancy.

The King was coming.

Gabriel raised his horn, prepared to announce the King’s arrival. Sound exploded from the bell like no other, producing music unmatched in beauty by any—except the King. As though on cue, the expansive acacia doors swung inward.

The King had arrived.

Unimaginable radiance shone from His being. Invading shadows fled at His entrance. Members of the court and those on the fringe ducked low, covering their faces. He passed through the throng. Reaching His throne, He turned, took His scepter in hand, and beckoned for His attendants to arise.

A child turned to Michael, his eyes wide with wonder. “How much longer?”