"Jack Archer!"

Faceless people surrounded him as the cloak thrust over his head as soon as he dismounted his horse came undone, leaving him as vulnerable as a newborn baby in the cold. A tremble found his legs, settling into his bones as the audience of shadowed figures howled with a cheer so loud that it shook the stage on which he stood.

Jack straightened himself out, trying to adjust to such a large atmosphere. The only audience he'd ever had was the saloons in which he mesmerized with a banjo or his simple magic tricks. Now, all these figures waited, demanding something wordlessly. What if he disappointed them? This is New Orleans, not Texas.

Taking in a deep inhale, he couldn't find the scent of heavy liquor or whisky in the cramped space, nothing to weaken their judgment. Back in the west where everyone threw back a glass, even his heavy strikes at his stringed instruments and songs about his timely encounters with the devil had amazed the wayward priest.

Now?

A heavy hand connected with his shoulder, nearly sending him topping over. His gaze connected briefly with a light brown one, the kind face of the one called Skylar failing to ease off his panic. Skylar's grin grew to something between mischievous and wicked as the seconds started to pass, flicking his eyes up to the dark area nestled between the stage and the audience.

"Our judges, who be revealed at the end of your original musical performance will be judging you, Jack."

Jack's words tumbled out before he could catch himself. "How do you figure that? I just got here and now you want me to perform? What about an introduction? These good folks don't even know about me!"

His deep southern drawl seemed more apparent in the face of his fear. Eyes darting from one end of the cramped arena to the other, he could make out nothing more than the blacked out high rising windows and a few posters of who he assumed were musicians. Under each one was a signature, but not a single one rang a bell. Jack repeated each name, but he couldn't figure out how advanced this place must be to have photographs so large.

Louis Armstrong? Dolly Parton? Freddie Mercury? Whitney Houston? Kurt Cobain? The Beatles?

It was almost as if these folks were gods! His friends back home would get a kick out of this and would probably be convinced that he'd gone mad.

Skylar patted his shoulder again, bringing him back to reality. "This audience knows you better than you know yourself. They know your weaknesses and your potential, where you came from, and where you're going. Don't worry about introductions, just follow the instructions and you'll be fine."

Jack wanted to relax in that simplicity, but his years as a doctor traveling through mountains and deserts were never against the grain. Nothing in life should go without questioning.

"That knowledge is useless without my confirmation."

Skylar looked away, overriding him with instructions. "You will sing a song you wrote yourself."

"I've written quite a few."

The crowd of the faceless howl at his revelation but something about it feels so unreal as if he's stuck within a nightmare.

"Perfect." Skylar says through his microphone, another strange object Jack can't seem to wrap his head around.

"Do you have a spare banjo?" Jack looked around the stage, from red curtain to wall but not a instrument found him, just a million wires running up and down the walls.

When he turned back, Skylar was gone. Only he, the crowd, and hot beams of light creating beads of sweat down the back of his neck remained.

No banjo, just his voice.

Jack took hold of the microphone, a strike of fear running through him as it squealed. Someone in the crowd coughs as silence ensues.

"Well howdy folks, how's everyone doing tonight?" Grinning, he turned to face the mass who still remained in the deep fog. "Good, I hope. You see, old Jack here has been riding for quite some time to be punctual for you here folks. I was figuring I'd sing a love song and be done but love isn't quite the word I'd use for my situation."

A feeling of ease settled in his bones, lulling the comfort that his past as a salon entertainer brought him.

"You see, some outlaws and a sheriff gone bad had been haunting my town like rouge coyotes. I, being the good man I am did my civil duties and got rid of them but I've thinking real hard." Jack's words tumbled free with a smoothness that accompanied the Southern charm.

Hoots and hollers ensued as his buttery words change into a melody instantly, a hum floating through the air that seems to silence the cheers.

"As the sun sets on the western sky, I know, I know, I'll have to face the man with the silver badge. It shimmers and shines, a spat in the eye of the wearer's law, ones he bends to live by."

Jack's warmth and sorrow melted into his ballad, capturing him in his recalling of the past.

"I don't know if I'll see tomorrow, the law gone deranged, his badge still shimmering and shining, lost in it's meaning, strained of it's power. He'll pay for his sins, with the poison of oleander and ivy. I know, I know."