Dance of light fell about the church. It shivered with them, as they entered the church. Abashed they stood in awe. Old, roughhewn pews had parishioners, but none moved. Clothes stuffed with straw, they were mockups of the townsfolk. Entire families were set, as if they were attending service. Chilled air rolled down from a cross like a hollow star, held by a robed angel. Its gaze promised contrition. They shifted under the eyes. Cassidy felt ice crept up his spine. Each breath drew in the taste of the desert, yet underneath, a tinge of blood stung the throat. Broken mutters whispered across the stillness.

"OUT, get out, you DEVILS," the priest screamed in a heartbroken warble that rose to a tiny whine. Around the dais, he charged, fists shaking. Knock knees, knobby and swollen, collided to send him to the ground. Blind man glasses slid over the wood. A couple of Johnathon's men laughed, and Stephon holstered his revolver in disappointment.

"Calm yourself," Johnathon commanded, though it was hopeful but resigned.

"You're VILE! YOU"RE EVIL!" he scrabbled up to his hands and knees. The priest patted the floor for the glasses, and Cassidy handed it to him. Quick, he donned them, though tears slipped out. "Why do you torment me?" he asked with a forlorn sigh.

"What is your name?" Cassidy inquired in a gentle tone.

"Anthony," he searched the eternal darkness, but the rest escaped him.

"Where is Scetes?" Johnathon asked.

"Your sins cry out to the heavens for vengeance!" the old man wailed. He stood, but fell back in Cassidy's arms. Without a second glance Johnathon turned away.

Cassidy opened his canteen, "Here, Anthony, take a drink. Maybe, you should lie down, until you settle."

He took it, sipped long with a meager sigh. Like a child, he held it to his lips, and Cassidy saw the ring with a hollow star cross. Anthony leaned forward, "Let your heart not be darkened, my son. You must step away from the darkness." He handed the canteen back, lower lip quivered, and tears squeezed out from under the blind man glasses.

"I'm afraid it is too late for that," he replied, "I'm sorry." To that the old man gently wept, and seemed to collapse inward.

"I guess we'll stay in Scetes, for the night," Johnathon said, though with a thread of annoyance.

"You've picked a special night," a sweet voice added, just beyond the church door. Raven black hair, pinned up, was a stark contrast to the pure-white dress that ran to the ground. Though delicate hands dangled, both held a candle with colored flame, one blue and one green. "Tis a festival, and a day for the spirits to rise," she smiled.

"We need lodging," Johnathon said.

"Who are you—" Anthony squirmed.

"My God," Cassidy's breathless words flew. However, the longer he looked at the beauty, the less of Caroline he saw. The men looked at him, but he turned away. No matter how much her face haunted his dreams, she was gone. One day, after Parson's Raiders danced out the last steps of their lives, God should call him home.

"I'm sorry, stranger," she said to Cassidy with gentleness. The raven haired beauty turned to Johnathon, "I'm sure the saloon has enough rooms for you and your men." She left as quickly as she'd appeared.

"You heard that," he said, eyes surveyed the room, "maybe in the sun, things will be a lot clearer."

"What about the festival?" Izzy asked, and rubbed an ample gut.

Johnathon looked at him for a long moment, "Just be able to ride in the morning, which goes for all of you."

Cassidy stepped out of the church, hard grin faltered. All the women had the same dark hair. Heck, he thought, they could all be sisters or maybe cousins. Striking a match, he withdrew a rolled cigarette. Its flame was tinged black. Shadows moved just beyond the light, but he watched out of the periphery. Whispers lingered, tugged at the ear, just below intelligibility. Tobacco caressed the air, as the tip caught fire. Out came smoke in a lazy fog, but a hand rested on his revolver. Only for an instant, a tall figure approached, though proved to be another beauty. With a tip of the hat, he averted his gaze.

Johnathon's men moved over to the saloon to get rooms for the night. Cassidy stepped out onto the porch, after renting a room. Another dark haired beauty greeted him, yet his eyes failed to meet hers. Women of the town favored his Caroline, and it tore at this heart.

One of the women in seductive dress walked past Cassidy, who tipped his hat. Of lavender was her perfume, like his late wife, and cut of the blade went deeper in the heart. Basil walked past in pursuit of the fair lady, leer less than gentlemanly. He sneered at Cassidy, who focused on his cigarette. An innocent smile was cast back at Basil, before she disappeared into the alley. Basil strutted past in pursuit.

The pace of her step was measured, unconcerned. Roll of her hips was smooth. Basil turned the corner to see her throw a grin back to him. Lust in his gaze frightened most women, which he liked. Unafraid, she waited for him, and beamed at his lustful grin.

"Dangerous to be all alone," he grinned, "especially with such a man as me around." Basil looked at her, grin now wolfish.

"Oh," she blinked eyes so innocent, "what do you mean?"

He caressed her face, dove white skin soft, "I think you remind me of my first." Spilled blood the first girl had lingered, even after all the others.

A clock chimed the hour of two, and shadows grew deep. "Do I," she said, and lovely, full lips split to her ears in a hellish grin.

Back he staggered from the woman, who laughed at his terror. A solid chest stopped his retreat. Basil turned. Lady of the night faded into the shadow, dead laugh withered. He saw the man, tall and broad, but narrow at the hips. Scarred knuckles dangled at his sides, head tilted downward. The simple clothes of a cowboy were soiled, as if they had been buried, or the man had crawled up from the earth. About his eyes were filthy bandages. On one hand he wore a ring with a hollow cross on a skull.