“I’ve been talking to angels,” gasped Tabitha, on the edge of swoon. Outward she raised her arms, as a saint touched by gods. Forearms held old scars from cuts, though some were new. Across a perfect, dove-white body, she had cut into lovely, delicate skin. Far from in pain, all the agonies of her heart were gone. So egregious were the wounds, Cassidy marveled she still stood. Confused by his horror, she smiled wider to reassure him. “My sins have been lifted,” Tabitha said, “Abaddon has assured me!”

“Oh GOD,” he pushed through numb terror, “free me, so I can save you! Please, don’t listen to Obadiah, please!” Cassidy roared, tore at the bars.

“It is okay,” she spoke in a soothing tone reserved for a child, who had awakened from a nightmare. “I’ll fly away, upon wings of heavenly grace.”

Tears blurred his eyes, “I can stop this!”

“No,” she shook her head, “we’ve made our decision.” With this dark proclamation, the door to the jailhouse closed.

On into the night Cassidy screamed, worked at steel bars, or tried to reach his revolver. Eventually, after his voice failed, he struggled on in silence. Never did he slow. Hope, delicate yet ephemeral, hardened his resolve that he could rescue Tabitha. Exhaustion gnawed at him, eyes grew heavy, but he forced himself to find an escape.

The sun peeked over the far ridge, but silence had ruled the night for hours. Joyous screams had rose to a sky splitting roar, but died to nothing. Still Cassidy worked at the bars in hope of a way free. He leaned against them, stared at his boots.

Click, the door opened to the cell. For a moment, he stared at the lock in stupefaction. He dashed to the gun belt to strap on the deadly iron. Still loaded, a stony grin drew lips into a snarl of pure rage. So deep in his fury, Cassidy tore through the door. “Obadiah,” cursed the bounty hunter, “where are you?”

Azure eyes filled with the horrors of Sulky Hills’ town square. Cassidy staggered nearly toppled, back in the jailhouse. All of the townsfolk had been slaughtered, bodies amongst the ruins. Rotted houses had fallen. They had impaled themselves, unless too young, weak, or infirmed. Worse was their horrified relief. Blasphemy disease tore down all that stood; yet, the stakes held firm. Trees fell. A flock of birds, unfortunate enough to roost in decayed tree took flight, but fell dead to the earth. Like Mother’s Scar, the earth already began to sink.

Horrors assaulted the bounty hunter at every turn. “Tabitha,” he breathed, fury turned to terror. Before him, the Covenant Tree stood, and Cassidy realized the source of the night’s toil. Black leaves were stripped to lie as a black pool about the foot of the ancient oak. Every member of the ruling houses of Sulky Hills were impaled on sharpened branches and boughs. Though Arnold and Griswold hung with their family, the bounty hunter could see bruises about their throats, death by strangulation. At the tree’s heart an iron nail pierced the core. Upon it Dermot’s scarf wrapped around Theodore’s neck, and he swung gently in still air.

At the foot of the tree, Tabitha was still and very pale. Cassidy ran to her, but he denied his eyes. Cold flesh held no life. Terrible relief of a martyr blessed angelic features. He cursed himself, swore an oath.

Strike of hooves was low on soured earth. Cassidy turned. Where the false preacher had waited for the bounty hunter upon arrival, he now sat upon the horse. Back to Cassidy, he stopped. Muddy eye peered back, and a smile was carved into his face. Cassidy drew the revolver, but felt instincts scream trap. Murderous hand pointed the weapon. Tabitha’s face formed, and the bounty hunter knew they had chosen to do Obadiah’s bidding. Sting of shame shook his hand, for he had never shot a man in the back.

His mind flew back to the Langston family, as the barrel of the revolver settled on Obadiah’s back. The bounty hunter had left the false preacher with the Deputy, while the Sheriff was out. Later, he had heard the fate of the men. After Cassidy’s departure, they had spent hours together. The Deputy opened the cell, and then went to the Sheriff. He had shot the other, until no one could recognize the Sheriff. Afterward, he went home to kill his wife.

The bounty hunter returned a day later, when the story had reached him. The Sheriff and the Deputy’s wife had an affair. Obadiah had used this secret; Cassidy was sure he used it to his advantaged. The Deputy had swung, false preacher gone.

Obadiah had used sins against the sinner. In the end, Cassidy knew, the townsfolk had chosen their fate like the Langston family. Although he could not recall thumbing back the hammer, he relaxed it. The false preacher’s smile fell into a sneer. Obadiah wants me to shoot him in the back, he lowered the wheel gun. Whatever the reason, he refused to give him what he wanted. All cruel cheer finally left the false preacher’s mien. The bounty hunter swore to find out the devil preacher’s nature and plot someday.

Away from Obadiah Cassidy turned. Picking up discarded clothes, he dressed Tabitha. The false preacher was gone, when he finally turned back. Alone, except for his horse, which still waited for him, he looked at her. Obadiah would be back. “I could not save you,” he whispered, “I could have never have saved you. A trap, it was all a trap.” Beyond the spoiled town he would bury her; at least, he could do that for her. “I’m leaving,” confessed Cassidy. He would put Sulky Hills to his back and ride north, flee Tabitha’s sad eyes and hope of redemption.

“Why did Obadiah want me to shoot him in the back?” he asked the dawn. Just to break my code, a dark voice answered cryptically.