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Plot: it’s too early to tell what’s going on. One twin has committed a crime, and the other doesn’t want to be blamed for it. They both disappear into ?

Characters: two twins, one guilty of a stage robbery – the other determined not to be blamed.

Grammar: good, but a couple of commas. See line by line.

Style/ Voice: readable, active style so far. Use of dialect is fine.

Setting: clear.

Overall: I’m not a fan of prologues because they raise questions; they don’t give answers. If the questions aren’t answered soon, the prologue loses all value. Suggest you shorten the title.

When the Sun Sets on Deacon, Mississippi

Prologue

Tyler placed a steady hand on the .45 revolver that rested in its leather holster. "Turn yourself in, Dylan. Do something right for once!"

He narrowed his eyes at Dylan as they stood on the rippling pasture comma encompassing the Walsh family cattle ranch. A herd of gray Longhorns grazed in the distance around the oak trees under the summer sky. Strands of midnight hair escaped Dylan's dusty cowboy hat while sweat trickled down the fugitive's suntanned cheeks.

Dylan smiled and gestured toward Tyler's pistol. "Come on, take your hand off the gun. You couldn't kill your own twin, could you? It would be like killin' yourself. Just think of all the times I took up for you, you damn coward! Get your hands dirty and take the blame for once. You're thirty-five; ain't it time to pay the fiddler?"

Tyler clenched his gun. "Not goin' to confess to a crime I didn't commit. You know I wasn't the one who robbed that stagecoach! You're the one who killed all those people!"

Dylan furrowed his brows, folded his arms, and spat on the ground . "Don't be so s***tin' self-righteous. I know you got religioncomma but spare me."

Tyler kept his hand on the Colt. "Gosh dang it, where did that gang come from?"

"Some place called Deacon. Why the hell do you care?"

"Why would people tear and bite the meat off a person's bones? Are you that disgustin'?"

"Did what I had to!"

"Shootin' those poor folks on the stagecoach was terrible enough!"

Dylan dished out a hateful stare with his icy blue eyes. "Stop your s***! Just remember, Pa left the ranch to you. I'm takin' what's mine and never turnin' myself in. I'll keep the damn money, and you'll go to jail. Better yet, you'll swing where them little birdies sing!" He pointed to the tree.

Tyler stepped forward, drew his revolver, and tested Dylan's bravado.

Dylan recoiled and stepped back. He teetered back and forth twice, then in that moment vanished. No trace of him remained behind, not even his crimson shirt, charcoal pants, or leather boots.

Tyler blinked. He studied the area to his far right. His eyes flashed past the silo and barn.

He paced around in a circle and balled up his fist. "Where'd you go? What kind of trick are you pullin'?"

The more he searched the field, the harder he breathed as he became more panicked. If I get my hands on you, I'll turn you in myself.

The sun blazed down on him as he circled the area. Leavin' just like a coward would.
He tugged the navy shirt away from his wet torso and pulled a handkerchief out of his
pocket, wiping the sweat from his forehead. How could a body disappear like that? Last
saw him here. Nothin's here but the ground. He bent down to further examine the spot.
Peering at several white small objects, he touched them. A gust of wind as strong as a tornado sucked him into a pool of blackness, nose first, tearing the breath from his lungs. The sound of bells chimed in his ears as his body fell into the darkness enveloping him. Just then, the strongest floral scents hit him, and he was certain a light in the distance grew larger.