Zachary Hayes was the kind of man legends stuck to like dust on boots. Born and raised under open skies and raised by horses and heartbreak, he had the kind of charm that made the old women smile, the kids run after his horse, and the men nod in quiet respect when he passed. Everyone in the village knew him—the dependable cowboy with a crooked smile, calloused hands, and a voice that could settle a spooked animal or make a bar hush mid-song.