The dirt road narrows as the corn rises higher, swallowing the last hint of highway behind. Porch lights flicker on ahead, one by one, though no wind moves the air. The church bell rings once — low, hollow, deliberate. Somewhere in the field, a lantern glow drifts between the stalks, then disappears. And from the porch of the saloon, yellow eyes lift in unison as a lone engine dies at the edge of town.