Greene still hadn?t answered her question. ?Pardon my insistence, but did you see Glenn with the gun and did you find the gun that killed the family?? The other sole hit the floor and Madison dragged her boots back towards herself under the table. Knees pressed up hard below the wood. If she had to turn table she would. Her eyes flashed with warning. ?Then, I?d like you to be frank with me, about what you?re asking for.?

She didn?t like any of this. Felt as wrong as it had at the Fox and Fowl as she lay Michael back on the hotel floor and followed Glenn?s hustle out of there. Justice was rarely found in a station, that she had learned the hard way, that she had learned when they told her her husband was dead. She should have known then. And maybe she had. Maybe it was what gathered her into her clothes a dark morning to leave for the road. Familiarity electrified her skin. If the Sheriff was a snake he?d spill his true face soon enough. This was all just poker. She only prayed that down the hall the Outlaw wouldn?t lose his cool before Greene divulged enough to get her a little closer to sussing out the story.

?Bring it in!? he called out, leaning back and turning to look at the door. A moment later it was shoved open and one of the men who had captured Glenn and Madison came in with one of Glenn?s Dragoon in hand. He set it down in front of the Sheriff who reached forward to snatch it up, waving the man away with the barrel of the gun. When the door closed he pointed it at Madison and smirked.

?I?m holdin? it in my hand, ma?am. This here?s the gun he used to kill his kin and all we need outta him is a confession of guilt and this will be wrapped up nice,? he flicked the cylinder out with a snap of his wrist and a little neat finger work, it was empty. He slapped it back into place and set the gun down between them. ?Glenn?s a murderer, ma?am. No doubt about it. Know about Cossol, know about that shootin? up in Lofton and about a dozen other cases where he?s shown up, some folks get shot and then he runs off.?

?His guilt ain?t in question here. We got him and it?s just a matter of time before he gets himself hung. It?s you I?m concerned about.?


He?d gone and raised the gunslinger?s hackles. At her best, she was loyal and kind, at her worst, she was dangerous and wild. Though, some would say, she was best when she was the latter. Aiming a gun at her, Greene made his first mistake. Now, she saw threat. Knees continued their balance of the table underside - any more force and she could lift it from the floor - less than an inch, but it was something to drive She stared at the gun without any of the contempt she served him as it was placed down. Regarded it the way one would an old friend. ?Don?t need to be concerned about me.? She folded her arms on the table. Teeth showed in a slow smile. ?You have a colt that says it?s his gun, but no witness to say he did it. Frankie might have taken the gun to his family and then himself. That may be why Glenn went running; he didn?t want to be next. This here?s the West, things are often desperate, you should know. It?s enough reason for a cause, even if it?s a bad one. Let?s say Frankie had some bones that were going to get picked, or hell, maybe, maybe Frankie went mad.? His was a flawed theory, riddled with bullet holes. ?Words may try a man, so I beg your pardon, but words can?t hang him.? Her eyes promised Greene they would not.

Table rocked forward, Madison with it as she poured force to turn it. Quick she leapt, grabbing the sliding gun as it ran down the surface of the avalanching furniture. Madison stepped over the Lawbringer to whip the gun hard across his forehead as he came at her. Dragoon split Greene?s brow. His face bloodied, the Lawman collapsed to his knees and fell back with a groan right before her. She bent, a hand cradling the back of his head as he laid down. It was a whispered sentence, hot with anger. ?Douglas and his guilt are mine.?

Approaching steps volleyed down the hall. He gave her a weak blink and what could have passed for a frown. Fury and impatience telegraphed through her, enunciated the lines of her body as she slipped her hand away and stood. Stiff, poised, ready. The unloaded gun raised and held beside her cheek, barrel-up and wet with the Lawman?s blood. Looked like Madison Rye lost her cool first, lost it with her fear. She counted down beneath her breath. Come to me.

Greene was barely able to yelp in surprise before the lights went out and his world went black. He slumped against the wall, a trickle of blood creeping down his face. It wasn't the yelp that got the other lawmen's attention so much as the sound of the table being overturned, it reverberated loudly through the small station where little enough noise was made on a daily basis that one out of place sound was enough to make the hair stand on end.

Two men approached, one with his Griswold drawn and the other with a hand on his Colt Peacemaker. The door was tugged open and the Griswold toting man took a step into the room with his gun raised high, aiming at Madison.

"The hell you think you're doin' you crazy bitch?" he asked, pulling the hammer back with his thumb. "You put that piece down and get back in that corner over there or I'll put a bullet 'tween your eyes."

Madison narrowed eyes on the two and lowered the gun, holding it face-forward. Her intimation carried with it that she?d gone and loaded the colt. It was true insofar that she always kept a spare pair of bullets on her at all times, a hangover from her old life, so it was not far from possible in that station but indeed it was a bluff. This was all just poker. It occurred to her as she stared the men down that none of this need happen if she?d been a little quicker to defend herself when Glenn Douglas first broke into Charlie?s. She?d been so unprepared, so relaxed that night, that she?d gone with his game until something rolled inside her and she knew she had to give something back. So she had, and he?d still won. But what if she?d turned on him in the hall, tried what she?d tried with the Sheriff just now? She shook it all off and kept those momentary tangents of thought from her mind. Something to think on later. She had taken to Glenn quicker than she had to defending her bar. It said a lot of things she wasn?t comfortable with. Said a lot about just what that man had over her. Had she let him in too far already?

?What do you think you?re doin? you crazy bitch??

Grip teased the hammer. ?I always carry spares, you forgot to check my shoes.? She tried for two steps out and away towards the hall. The men kept their guns trained on her. They weren?t sure whether to believe her, but judging by Greene slumped down the wall, they could not game that she was lying. She?d proven volatile in less than the fifteen minutes Greene had had her in the room and yes, they?d not checked her shoes. ?Now, be gents, and show me to the outlaw.? Gun waved towards the wall, telling them to get moving. Her smile could melt a man. Even when she had a gun aimed at your guts. It was the one she wore in the WANTED bill sitting in one of their files, only difference was the name she?d given Greene. Annie Rue.

Both men eyed her with no small amount of uncertainty and disdain. Fear flashed briefly in the lead man?s eyes and he stepped away from her, lifting that gun up and slowly easing the hammer back down. ?You think you?re gonna make it out of here alive?? he asked with a sneer as the other man took a step back as well. They both studied her for a long moment and then the lead one once again spoke and flashed her a cruel grin.

"Your friend's back this way, ma'am," he gestured behind him down the hall. "But you ain't goin' nowhere until you put that gun down, y'hear?"

Meanwhile, the man who still had his gun drawn was aiming right at Madison. Unlike his partner his face betrayed no sign of his thoughts. His arm was held steady, the hammer cocked back and ready to fire.

She couldn?t trust they?d lead her anywhere she wanted to go, however the Outlaw was in the building and she?d find him soon enough; whether or not the Lawmen showed her there. Eyes moved between them. At the first one?s question she rolled a shoulder. She?d made her peace with dying already. This wasn?t about her. It was the startling need to keep Douglas alive.

If the first was backing down it only gave her one gun to deal with for a time and by the looks of it, Peacemaker wasn?t having any of it. ?Gents, this town isn?t any place you want to stay. Let my friend and I go, and go with us aways. You?re not any better and we?re not any worse. We are all sworn by the Gun, only difference is the side we?re standing on.? She kept hers raised to shadow her words, and lowered it back to her side a heartbeat later. ?We?ve all got too much guilt to make that difference matter.? ?I don?t want more blood. You won?t want the blood of a dead woman on this floor.?

Madison nodded in the direction Griswold?s owner had anticipated. ?From the looks of it, neither of you two need anymore guilt.?
?Show me the way.?

Tension hung in the air. The man in the lead looked over his shoulder at his partner and that was his first mistake. His second was looking away. The Peacemaker changed directions and in the blink of an eye his skull opened with a nice, red hole in the back of it where the loud bang coming from a gun had sent a bullet into his brain. Before the man could fall the killer caught him by the belt and stole his Griswold and then brought it to bear as he pulled the trigger on the Peacemaker a second time, shooting poor old Dillion Greene right in the heart.

?I know that piece ain?t loaded,? he told Madison as he aimed both guns at her. ?So you best start makin? peace with yer maker, ma?am. Yer not long for this world.?

He pulled the hammers of both guns back and took a step forward. ?You and that damned Douglas put a real hitch in things, but it ain?t nothin? a few bullets can?t handle.?


As the hard sound of the shots died away in the ear, Madison flinched against the wall she fell to in response to the draw of the gun at the two others, now deceased, in the room. She blinked rapidly at the killer, her head shaking side to side. ?Who the heck are you?? she all but gasped out at him, still confronted. The dying man who had held onto the Griswold made a death rattle but Green lay silent. She didn?t look at either of them. Her eyes were fixed on the one who had the upper hand. A deep breath was taken. ?Why Glenn? Why me??


"Goodbye," his fingers began the squeeze on the triggers. Two shots were fired, one from each gun, but both went awry and impacted slugs into the wall on either side of her. A link of chain had appeared around the man's neck and it was linked to some strips of iron that were clasped around Glenn's wrists. He tugged hard and twisted to cut off the bastard's air and in a fit of panic, the crooked lawman dropped his guns and clawed at his throat to try and get a breath in. Griswold and Peacemaker filled both of her hands as she dived for them both and came up fuming. The barrels were something for the Lawmen to take a gander at while Glenn asphyxiated the crook. A wink fired from one gunslinger to another. She tore a kick into the Lawman's side, hard enough to have the man sputter what air he was sucking back.

"Know him, Glenn?", she asked over the man's wheezes and empty cries. Relief vivid on her face.

The man grunted pitifully at the kick to his side and slumped after just a few more minutes of suffering under Glenn's not-so-gentle care. He passed out and Glenn let him fall, dropping to a knee and rummaging through his pockets for the key to his bindings without casting a glance up at Madison. "Nah...don't think so," he peered long and hard at the lawman. "Too young, if he's from York he was just a boy when I left. Ain't no matter, he'll tell us everythin' we need him to, won'cha, lawman?" he sneered at the unconscious man as he sat back on his heels and fumbled with the key to the cuffs. "Station's empty, but them gunshots are likely to draw some attention so we best get goin' real quick if we don't wanna invite more trouble on ourselves."

"You seen my other gun?"

She didn't let go the ones in her hands, and simply nodded over to the gun gone skidding near the corrupted table. Gaze shifted back to the dead men and over to their killer, before arching back around to Glenn. "You okay? She remained by the door, in solid agreement that getting was better than staying. She could feel that tension snapping in her stomach again. Could feel it walking her spine. "I'll head outside to try and round us a ride" and off she went down the hall, leading with her guns.

"M'alright," he stood and looked her in the eye for a moment and was satisfied that she was fine, too. Then he stepped past her and he picked up his discarded Dragoon. That was one...but he still needed the second. As he turned and leaned down to cuff the unconscious lawman he spotted his belt on a table outside the room where Madison's interrogations had taken place. He reached over and put it into place around his hips. The second Dragoon was there in its oiled leather holster. He put the first away and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Underfoot, the lawman groaned and so Glenn kicked him in the ribs and then hoisted him up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes to carry him off after Madison. Front and side, the street was empty. Tufts of dirt whirred, the wind caught in them, had them rustling in an otherwise desolate town. Likely, as in Lofton, ruckus had made what few were closest hide. Still, Madison turned on the spot 360, guns raised and eyes all over. She sniffed the wind. Smoke. A brow arched and she looked back to Glenn. "Can you smell that?" She was moving around side, further than the porch allowed view, and to the stable. Two horses, tied and spooked, awaited. The smell was getting stronger.

?That's Hell come a'callin', Madison Rye," Glenn replied as he came out to join her, rounding the station to drop the unconscious man with little care so he could saddle the horses. "See if you can't find some rope while I get the horses ready, gonna need somethin' to hold our guest down while we ride." She watched Glenn curiously as boots drew her back into the stable. In the dark, she turned away and headed for shelves. Brooms, rakes, sacks of oat, some brushes. The only thing even resembling rope were old, weathered reigns. They would do. Pulling the leather snake pit towards her, she unspooled two decent twines and threw them over her shoulder with a grunt and headed back out. The street was filling with that smell, stronger and richer. Early autumn or Glenn's promised hell. Seeing one horse prepared, she dumped the first set of rope at her feet and threw the other over the bay's back. "Can you help me lift him up? Grab his shoulders, I'll get his legs", she was bending down. Blood from one of the dead had dried into a jean leg, splattered the sleeve of her blouse. "What is this about Hell?" she asked, gathering the man's weight.

Around them, the world was clouding.

"This man had somethin' to do with killing my brother," he replied as he bent down to help her lift the subject of their conversation up from the ground and hoist him over the back of a horse. "It's likely that he's somehow managed to contact whoever started this mess and that they're on their way now. Don't think they expected me to be here, figured they were pretty clever, usin' the long lost brother routine as a scapegoat to get away with murder."

Madison?s hands smacked together as she wiped them off the dust and grime and she headed back to the next set of reins, to throw them over the man and loop under the horse. Not an easy process, with a horse who'd rather run, but with a little soothing the bay was quelled. For the time being. "I'm sorry about your brother.....", she'd been waiting to say it. Blue eyes cast his a look. "Any idea of why they gunned the whole family down?" For a second, she even thought about Hexx and whether it was an act of theirs, but it couldn't be. She had to forget about them now. There were other evils out there, ones her time from the road had forced out of her head, that and her determination to be somebody new. Tightening the makeshift harness about the killer, Madison stepped over to Glenn and took his shoulder with a hand, squeezed tight. Smoke and wind tossed hair in her eyes. But nothing could get in the way of the faint smile. "I'm going to look out for you. I?m going to help."

It was no consolation for the horror of loss, and the grief that would come, even for a man like Glenn. Hell, grief, all the same, one of a kind.
"Witnesses, most like. Loose ends. Maybe they were just plain bad," he shrugged and turned to saddle the other horse. Comfort wasn't something he needed at the moment. It wasn't something he wanted, so he didn't respond to it. It was a slowly rising fire in his gut that demanded his attention, it as the burn of anger and the need for vengeance that drove him as he mounted the horse with the killer tied around the back and looked down at her. "Mount up, Madison. Hell's nearly here."

By the time the moon had risen and fallen again and the sun took its place in the sky once more Glenn had put miles and hours of distance between him and that little house on the hill with Madison and Maida and the two dead men riddled with bullet holes and wrapped in old sheets and rope. He didn?t stop riding and he had no destination in mind until he gazed up at the sun again and found himself blinded by its light. That?s when it hit him, something he?d forgotten from his lessons during boyhood: the sun was a star like all the others. He laughed quietly at the wind as the horse beneath him wheezed and shuddered and gasped for breath, its pale coat sleek with sweat and its muscles pained from the hard ride. Glenn granted the beast a moment of mercy as he dismounted and pointed a gun at its head when it toppled over and landed heavily in the dirt and dust. The gunshot echoed across the rolling hills and scared the carrion crows who were hiding in the brush and the bleached branches of an old tree that stood pale against the backdrop of a sky that was a darkening shade of blue. Clouds were rolling overhead and drifting to block out the sun, his sun. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and thunder rolled and the ground shook under his feet.

He gathered what he could from the saddlebags and stuffed them into a pack that he slung over his shoulder, replaced the spent bullet in the cylinder of his Dragoon and he turned away and started walking back toward York. He wasn?t sure how many miles out he was or if he was even heading in the right direction, but he figured walking would be better than standing and waiting for the sun to take his life away and the crows to pick his eyes out when they returned to feast on the meal of horseflesh he left for them on that dusty hill. Another bolt of lightning raced across the sky and was chased by the loud boom that made his ears ring and they brought with them a downpour of cold rain that washed over and drenched the gunslinger to the bone. He ducked his head against the wind that came roaring over the countryside and marched along, envying his dead brother for that one moment as he lay nice and safe and dead in his grave, no longer worrying about the world that had tried so desperately to erase the Douglas family from existence.

Glenn was forced to make camp against the thick trunk of a tree that stretched wide enough to block some of the wind and less of the rain. He huddled up under a blanket and stared at the world as it began to flood with muddy puddles of water. Some ran red from the dirt and dust of the land and he thought about the man he?d killed and the woman he?d shot afterwards on a night not so different from this one and wondered if that was really when he went bad or if it had happened when he first left York all those years ago and got into trouble with some men in the neighboring town.

?Don?t mean sh*t,? he muttered under his breath as though trying to avoid being overheard by that howling wind and beating rain that deafened his ears to the world. ?Went bad and it don?t matter when.?

Least I can do is see that Frankie?s killer is brought to justice.

If he ever did one good thing in this world, Glenn Douglas would make sure that it was in his family?s name.

---

When he came to York again a handful of days later Glenn found it in a state of mourning. A crowd had gathered at the graveyard east of the town and there the unfortunate Dillon Green, former sheriff of York was being laid to rest. Glenn stood at the back of the crowd and he stood out in the sea of black gowns and veils and suits and hats with his white shirt stained from mud and blood and his jeans and boots just as dirty and crusted with filth. A woman looked disdainfully at him until she saw the look in his eyes, the way those blues shone as though holding back a flow of tears but burned with the fury of a promise. It wasn?t just about Frankie and it wasn?t just about clearing his name. Dillon Greene was a man Glenn remembered from childhood, always a bit foolish but always honest and more worthy of that badge than most. Glenn killed him in the end, he brought death back to York.

Someone else noticed him, too. A man walked up wearing a black suit and he looked just like all the others in mourning save the badge pinned to his chest. His hand was on his gun and his brown eyes watched Glenn?s with suspicion. He spat at the ground at Glenn?s feet.

?What kinda fool are you, mister?? he asked the gunslinger. ?Got some nerve, comin? into town, shootin? our sheriff and deputy and runnin? off with one of the others. Where?s Eli? You kill him, too??

?Yes sir I did,? Glenn replied. ?I shot Eli six times in the chest.?

The new sheriff cursed and drew his gun. ?Hands behind your back, Douglas.?

Glenn obliged.

?You got it wrong, sheriff. Eli killed Mister Greene and Eli killed your other friend, too. And he had somethin? to do with the man who killed my brother and his family.?

Glenn let his pack fall to the ground. The crowd had turned its eyes on Glenn. Some were whispering, some were hollering insults at him and the old woman from before spat at his feet. Glenn shook his head. ?You ain?t gonna arrest me, sheriff. I can?t let that happen until my brother?s killer is brought to justice. Go out to the house on the hill. The one past Mannet Point? Your Eli?s in a grave over there behind the shed next to the poor bastard who lived there before. He?s dead, too. He had a daughter with him, we found them like that and she took her to safety.?

One by one the sheriff removed Glenn?s guns. ?Who?s she? That woman you came into town with??

?That?s her. She?s off to Rhy?Din by now. You won?t catch her and you don?t need to. Takin? the girl to a clinic.?

The sheriff put his gun away and pushed at Glenn?s shoulder. ?Turn around, gunslinger,? he said as he pulled out his cuffs. Glenn obliged and he felt the cold metal as it snapped around his wrists and bound him. Arrested twice in one week. That was a new low for Glenn Douglas, who had escaped worse fates more often than once.

?Arrestin? me won?t change anythin?, sheriff,? Glenn continued, drawling without a care in the world. ?Your old sheriff?s still dead and my brother?s murderer is still out there and lockin? me up is only gonna let him get farther away. Trail?s already gone cold but if there?s even a chance of findin? him, I?ll take it.?

The sheriff shoved at Glenn?s shoulder again. ?Stop talkin? and start walkin?, Douglas. You aint? goin nowhere for a long time.?

?Nothin? on this earth will stop me, sheriff. Not you. Not your law. Not those bullets in that gun and not these cuffs.?

Glenn smirked over his shoulder at him. ?Nothin?.?


---

The sheriff, who had later been identified as a man named Jackson, had seen to it that Glenn Douglas was kept under a better guard than his previous visit to York?s jailhouse. His cell was a small cube of a place with cracked concrete walls and rows of rusted iron bars. A dirty little cot hung from one wall and he spent most of his first day sitting there with his hands and feet bound by chains. They weren?t taking chances with him. A guard had been posted outside the cell at all times and it was a young man with barely any fuzz on his face who kept looking at Glenn like he was hoping the outlaw would try and escape so he could shoot him down and be the town hero. Glenn wouldn?t give in to that boy?s fantasy, he was too young to be killing people just yet.

The outlaw had expected interrogation the moment he arrived but the sheriff just let him sit and wallow in his self pity and his anger and Glenn hated that more than anything else. He?d grown used to lawmen yelling at him, calling him scum and threatening to hang him in the middle of town for all the world to see. He had never been ignored by one before and it stung his pride and tried his patience more than anything else he could remember. He was left to think because there wasn?t anything else that could be done. He shifted restlessly in his cot and the chains rattled and clinked and the guard grunted something about being quiet but Glenn wasn?t listening. His mind wandered toward home.

First he imagined that old house as it was when he was a boy sitting out watching stars. It was always warm, always friendly. His Pa? would sit out front with a glass in his hand and his feet kicked out on the rail and his hat over his eyes even though the moon was out and the light wasn?t too bright. His Mother would wander from room to room, tidying up and chiding her children and humming in between complaints and Glenn would always be outside and looking up at the sky with his baby sister next to him like they were the only two people in the world. Then he remembered leaving and how shaky his hands had been when he saddled the horse and how he?d almost stopped and gone back up to his room and crawled into his bed.

Between then and now he?d shot and killed more men and women than he?d ever save. He?d robbed people of their every dollar and left them to starve and it was more than likely that many died and that it was his fault. He never felt one way or the other about his crimes, they weren?t something he committed because of some carnal desire for a thrill and because of necessity. Glenn wasn?t an idiot and he could have landed any number of decent paying, honest jobs if he really wanted to. He never thought about killing the people he killed before it happened and he never weighed his options.

He?d just pull the trigger.

The time in that cell made him think about a lot of things and including the act of thinking itself. He wasn?t sure why he was having such thoughts and he wasn?t sure if it was regret or just speculation. He didn?t think he felt particularly bad about his murders and robberies and he didn?t feel particularly good about them, either. It was like going to work and back again. Like clocking in and out, just another day at the office.

In that cell Glenn Douglas chuckled.

?Thought I told you to be quiet?? the young guard snapped.

?Thought you did,? Glenn replied. ?Wasn?t sure if I heard you right.?

?Well, y?did. Now shut it.?

?Yessir.?