The night breathed around her. She could feel it like a living beast crawling and licking at her skin as she watched the trees. The breeze had picked up lightly. Light enough to stir only a few tendrils of her hair but also with enough force to stir the bones that hung from the trees in an homage to the death rattle long since past.

Sometimes it was not the howling winds or the death rattle of bones she would hear as the shadows moved across the limbs of trees so old and smoothed ash white to make it seem as if the trees had grown skeletal fingers to stretch out and claim another victim.

This was the land and life she had come to know. Passing by the grave diggers as if she herself was haunting those grounds after a hanging. Some were no longer bones but still new fresh corpses.

Mangled expressions of pain and surprise, agony and remorse with necks turned in cruel angles.

A shine, a spark glimmer caught her eyes and she reached down to the ground to palm a trinket. Death's token.

Was it an ill omen to take a talisman of the dead? Perhaps so but so far her collection had done nothing to her in a place where to them all she was a stranger.

The past she had left would not follow her here. At least she prayed not as she looked down to the dull metal pendant of pounded raven feathers and the silver of the chain spilled around her fingers like a snake coiling.

Her eyes drifted over the horizon, caught the vision of a wild horse running. She watched with wistful eyes.

Once there would have been a time she would have run after the horse in hopes of taming the equine to take him as her own, but that was a time that no longer was hers to possess.

She would never be the gunslinger or vigilante on the pale horse. There was another story for her.

Here they didn't know her as the Dove.

Here she was where she had started and where her story once had begun and now was beginning again.

Here she was the Hangman's Daughter.

Down that dirt road, miles away the rain fell in heavy tears against the bone white of the ash trees. Those thick drops of melancholy that stirred the dust into a restless gasp of clouds.

Within her room Seraphine watched the rain fall with the serene contemplation of a dreamer as her palm kissed the glass. Her gilded cage was such a lovely thing for a Dove to be found in.

Another night she stood passive, her eyes empty of emotion as she felt the laces of her bodice being undone with such patient precision. Sometimes the men were more rough and cared nothing for the ribbons. This one though he took his time.

Lace by lace as he near seemed to look upon her with near worship, almost reverence. Still there was the hiss of breath from him as she knew he would turn his eyes away from the marred imperfection of her flesh when the bodice fell away.

Her eyes were taken from the window and the rain to watch the bodice fall to her feet. Instinctively in a way that was a gesture so coy and yet innocent she lifted her hands to cover her breasts, knowing well what the man saw painted before him.

A vision of beauty marred by the kiss of fire.

The scars and memories of burn flesh that had left that polished smooth flesh in rippled ruin from shoulder to the smooth curve of her hip.

There were so many stories they would tell of how those scars came to be. Whispered low words to keep Seraphine from becoming disturbed....oh but she knew.

Seraphine would know. Knew as much even now as the man took her from the window and splayed her out for him to take in as she was placed upon the bed. The breath he drew in now was of another sort. Wanton desire as he saw the beauty there.

Vacant eyes would turn away as it all happened as it would every other night.

They would claim that sweet angel Seraphine, acting for one night as if she was something to possess and that she would belong to them only. Taking her over and over again as more and more she felt herself slipping away.

Dying inside as she closed her eyes from all that happened in repetition. Like her father had said....she was perhaps meant as the Angel of Death...

and in those hours she was ever so far away....somewhere else....wishing for it all to end.

Ben Reed was a man with a plan to take over this small, West Texas town, by force, fear, intimidation and even good old fashioned murder. What I'd heard was he was getting as much as fifty cents of every dollar that changed hands, and he lived high on his own, personal hog. He was a big man, around five foot eight, and two twenty or so, by looking at him. His hands we cracked and weathered, so I knew at one time he was a hard working man. The men at his table were dirty, unshaven, and generally unkempt. Next to Reed sat the biggest of the men, and he looked at me with his one good eye, as the other was clouded white, due to the jagged scar that ran from his chin up under his hat. "Sit down." Ben finally said, "Keep yer damned hands where I can see them." Another spit of juice from his mouth, but this time into the polished spittoon by his polished boots. "What do you want with me?" He asked as he finally leveled his gaze on me, trying to look intimidating. It was a look from a desperate man, I'd seen in cow towns from Cheyenne to Wichita. Even in sophisticated towns like New York and Atlanta, when death comes callin", men try to look brave. "Well Ben," I stared as I lowered my hand slowly to my tobacco pouch, smiling inwardly at how all the men jumped, then relaxed as I showed them the pouch and held up my other hand. "I want in on the action." I carefully rolled my cigarette, placed it to my lips, and struck a match on the table. "Well?" I asked in a breath of smoke that blew out the flame of the match. "What do you bring to me that says I should let you in?" Ben was starting to gloat. Gloating means relaxing, and that was good, cause when the boss relaxes, the men relax. "Nothing at all. I can ride a horse, I can shoot straight, and I'm handy with the iron. I would show you, but your associates have my guns." I smiled then. "Boy you are too pretty to work for me. Those fancy guns, those pearly whites, hell I don't trust you." "Barkeep, bring us a bottle of?" I stopped and looked back at the men around the card table. "None o' yall are Mother Stewart friends are ya?" The confusion on their faces showed me they were uneducated, or at least unaware of the marches taking place in bigger burgs. I turned back to the bartender who was patiently waiting, "A bottle of your best rye whiskey." The man scurried around behind the bar, and nearly ran toward us with four glasses and a tall, slender necked brown bottle. I gave the man two silver dollars and sent him on his way. "Herschel, open the bottle." Ben ordered and the man to my right didn't question, he just obeyed by pulling the cork from the bottle. "Fill the glasses." Another order and another movement from the otherwise somber looking man. I glanced his way and he smiled at me, missing his front row of teeth. "Joe, pass the glasses around." The man to my left placed my .44-30 on the table top and reached in front of me, to get the glasses, first one to Ben, then the man beside him, then Herschel, Myself, and he took the last. They listened and moved at whatever he said, and I thought Joe careless, for as he reached across me, I could have used him as a shield, to take out the other three men. I was still contemplating that as I lifted my glass in salute. "May you never loose a stirrup. May you never waste a loop. May your can stay full of syrup, an your gizzard full of Whoop!" They all looked at me like I'd spit Shakespeare, but they lifted their glasses, and emptied them down their gullets. Again, I was smiling on the inside. We had gone through about six bottles between us, and they were all showing it. I'd found I could still function while drinkin" and in fact it usually help wash out my conscience. We were all laughing and slapping cards on the table, cussing each winner, or basking in our wins, we were friends and relaxed, so I made my move. "Goodbye, Ben." I said as I stood up, and put my range coat on. "You are leaving" I thought you were going to work for me." Confusion was in his voice along with the drunken slur. "I changed my mind, you can't hold your liquor." I could see that he took that as a form of insult as his eyes narrowed. "Any man that can't hold his liquor should be a preacher or some woman's houseman." He stood up quickly, which was a bad move on his part, he staggered hard to the left, then stumbled right. "Get that sombitch!" He shouted, and Herschel with Joe close by moved toward me. From the corner of my eye, I saw the bartender going for that cannon he had hidden there as well. "Here. We. Go." I said as I felt the smile spread across my face. A flash of polished steel from my hand and Joe went down, his hands at his throat trying to stop the arterial blood flowing from the right side of his sliced neck. Herschel paused a moment, terrified by all the blood, and was reaching for his gun, the look on his face went from panic to distortion as the bullet from my .32 Derringer entered his forehead. I turned toward Ben to see the fear in his eyes, and heard the cocking of that double barrel from my left. I dropped low, picked up a chair and threw it as hard as I could toward the barman, and caught the barrels of that big 10 gauge sending buckshot spraying across the room and into a table full of chips and cards where it shredded them as well as sent them into the air. The other man who had remained silent most of the time he'd been at Ben's side was standing up and walking toward me. I knew the Derringer was spent, so I was reaching for my Banker's Special in my boot, a .38-40, when I felt the blow from his mighty fist. I never caught the man's name, but I was catching everything else he threw at me, foot, fist, elbow, and even his head. He was one of the biggest men I'd ever seen and I thought I'd seen a lot. His fists were like pie pans in size, but solid as granite, and he knew how to use them. "Mister Hollinger, meet Mister Heenan." I'd heard the name, but I'd thought the man was dead. At one time before corruption charges he was a world champion bare knuckle boxer. "Nice to meet you." I held out my hand while cradling my ribs with the other. Heenan stood there, staring at me saying nothing, before slapping my hand away and bringing his big left up aiming for my head. I brought my boot heel up fast, catching the man right in his balls. I don't care how tough a man you are, a shot to the gents, and your world goes a little darker. Heenan bent, and fell to one knee so I knew I had to work quickly. I rolled over the man's back, and threw my arm around his neck from behind locking it with my other. By this time, Ben had pulled my gun from the table top and was aiming it my way. "Let him go Mister Hollinger," He demanded. "You've made your point." I could hear the fear in his voice. Heenan grabbed at me, but with the angle of my arms he could only get the cloth of my coat and pull. I squeezed tighter, and kept the massive man in front of me to guard from any shots sent my way, and finally his body went limp and I let him fall to the floor, his face purple slowly fading to white. "You killed him?" Ben's voice was shaking as much as his hand as he stared at his bodyguard's limp body. "No, I applied enough pressure that he lost his breath and passed smooth out." I said, stepping over the massive body in front of me. I brought a hand up to wipe the blood from beneath my nose and away from my lip. "Stay back!" He warned, raising my gun toward me. "You think I keep those loaded?" I asked smiling, while moving slowly toward him, stopping only to pick up my other pistols and holster the.44-30, while sliding the other to my boot holster. I brushed off my trousers, and looked his way again while he studied the gun, drawing his own slowly. "This one is loaded!" He said as he finished the draw and fired wildly, missing me and shattering the glass somewhere behind me. He was drawing another bead on me, and my left hand drew the .44-30 came forward cocking the hammer back and firing a shot into his head and splattering the wall behind him in brain and blood. I watched for a moment as the blood ran down the wall, then another sound from behind the bar caught my attention, causing me to spin and cock the hammer back again. "Wait, Wait! I ain't got the gun!" The bartender shouted with his hands high and waving. "You were goin to shoot me with that damned thing while ago." I said, narrowing my eyes at him, and bending to pick up my .45. "You were trying to kill me." I growled as I walked toward him, my pistols in each hand. "No, No I wasn't," He stammered. "I was tryin" to help you! I am one of em that paid the gold to get you here!" "You were gonna help me by spraying me with buckshot and dimes?" I pointed both guns at him, lowering down to his chest. "How the hell is that helping?" "Please Mister, I got a wife, and child, I'don't wanna die in here." I spun the pistols and holstered them back into their spots and stared at him. My thoughts turned dark then. He mentioned a wife and child, my mind went back to my life before the damned North and South conflict. I could still see her face. I shook my head and stared at the man again. "You got my money?" I asked as I ran a hand through my blonde hair, pushing it back from my eyes. "No, but I'll get it!" He was all too excited to get away from me. "Bottle of Kentucky Redeye, one of them fine cigars, and you got ten minutes." He placed my requests on the bar, and when I put the cigar into my mouth, he even lit it for me. "Time's wastin".? I growled. He scrambled from my sight and I found myself alone in the Deadeye Dick Saloon. I pulled the cork stopper from my bottle, while puffing the cigar, then took a long, much needed drink. I walked to the piano, and pulled out the chair in front of it. Lowering down I studied the keys while cracking my knuckles. Soon, Moonlight Sonata's haunting melody filled the room.

"What do you mean she's gone?"

Josephine shot up roughly out of the chair that she was languidly draped in, that hat notched a bit to the side to give the full view of those death dark eyes as she frowned at her informant.

"Not quite sure, just found out from the Doves that some gunslinger vigilante sort came on in, painted the walls in the blood of some of the better customers at the watering hole, and then ended up playing some damn tinkered melody on the old piano. She came right on down like the music had drawn her. Course the Doves say Angel was there the entire time, watching it all. The girl has your will when it comes to seeing that sort of thing" I can only ima.."

"Don't even. You would have no idea what either of us have been put through. So don't even try."

Josephine could do nothing more then drop back in a near defeated slump. Years of Tucker watching and assisting her as her eyes and ears had him well aware that she was never defeated. Not so easily. That was why they called her the Death Valley Queen. Josephine was the royal promise of destruction with a pretty face, and more then one reason why Tucker stayed on her good side even if she played on the wrong side of the law.

Tucker knew she was bad news, knew the Cadill's were bad news from day one. Their mother had been good for nothing besides being a Dove willing to offer herself up for anything that would shiny' no matter how dull a shine, and well their father" well old money was there and you didn't mess with the Hangman. Money and power always were a hard thing to try to confront in the struggling desert town.

He watched her with those quick blue eyes as Josephine rubbed a hand across her face and sighed to herself.

"Damn it, Angel" you knew."

Despite it all and no matter the violence and disease that could burden and break the soul when it came to the life of a Dove for Seraphine it was safer. The Angel of Doves was respected and near revered amongst that old watering hole. Truth be told Josephine knew it was likely because the old boss man was just waiting for the moment that Sera would break and reveal what she knew.

Secrets in gold" they never were good secrets for an Angel to carry' especially not when the Dove was set free from her cage, rescued by some damn gunslinging fool that likely thought himself her savior because he had a hard spot for her.

With a frustrated sigh Josephine pushed herself out of the chair and straightened her hat and checked the guns at her hips as she went for the door. Tucker watched quietly before he dared to voice his thoughts.

"Where are you going?"

"To find her and set this sh*t right before this fvcker gets her killed. "

It was only a matter of time before death would come for them all

The last time she had slept under the stars had been when she was a child. Lowell Cadill had treated his two beloved daughters to a night of ghost stories and star gazing and of course the sleeping under the stars. He had laughed when the coyote song called out in the night and Seraphine had watched the dark patches of the desert with spooked eyes until she understood that haunting cry was from beast and not the boogie man. Lowell had always loved watching his daughter's gift and skill with animals. It wasn't just a horse whisperer bit that some of the wranglers and gunslingers he knew possessed but something more earthly and natural that left animals to just be drawn to her.

Sera had remembered that night like it was yesterday, her father's warm embrace and affectionate words. Everyone feared their father for the hangman and law that he was, judge and jury when it came to the wicked and sinful is what they would say, and the town people in Ruby watched his daughters with equally wary eyes. As the girls grew older they had nicknamed the pair of sisters as the Hangman's Daughter and the Death Valley Queen. Who would have known that the names would end up fitting them so well, like a second skin when the sisters came of age.

Still it was that night under the stars when Josephine was out running in the desert and probably running with the coyotes like the restless wild spirited thing she was that Lowell had taken his darling Angel in his arms and whispered his secret. He promised her that if anything ever happened he wanted to make sure that she and her sister would be well taken care of and looked after. He made her swear to never tell her mother because Lowell was smarter then he looked, wiser then he let on. He wasn't just the Hangman and the Law" no the man had a gift of self-development and security that their mother would never know about. Of course Elsa just wasn't looking for the nature of a man's mind no she was looking for her own self-preservation and a man that would dote on her and leave her to her own whims" and whims of a Dove could be wicked things for Lowell knew well that Elsa had ever had her eye on Bryant and her body was his more then he had ever offered to Lowell even as his wife" even as the mother of his two beautiful girls.

Seraphine couldn't help but awaken from those dreams in the cold morning light, shivering and shaking as she watched Will sleep before she was crawling towards him with a reluctant uncertainty of her decision to leave with him. Would she not bring Death to him' After all she was the Hangman's Daughter, the Angel of Death and Doves" and even if he was the self-proclaimed Reaper, that didn't mean he deserved this life no matter the promises he made to her. She felt it to"that bond that connection that felt like she had always known William.

Her father had died by his own noose for the greed of adultery between his wife and Bryant, and her father's secret was what had left Seraphine hunted and burned when Elsa had discovered that Lowell had come into money and that only Seraphine knew where it was. It was that greed that had left Josephine to become a true Death Valley Queen, to take the final action and make the final decision to save her sister from torment and torture by their mother's hands by taking Elsa's life.

Bryant hadn't loved Elsa but she was his. She belonged to him in the twisted greedy mind and way of a retired gunslinger that had nothing more left then a Dove and a promise for a fortune. To take and keep that away from him' well that just wouldn't do. If he couldn't have Elsa, he would make Seraphine his" and get back everything he deserved. What the world and the desert owed him after the life he had lived.

Seraphine sighed into Will's chest as she curled up against him, making no move to leave his side even when he stirred in his sleep and pulled her into his embrace as his nose was nuzzled into the crook of her neck and he breathed in the scent of her.

He made it so easy to forget?