Her eyes closed and Hope knew that they would not open again. Hope had just watched his mother die.

Slowly, he got to his feet and walked out of the darkened room—walked out of the home entirely and stood on the dirty ground outside. Above him, the sky was a light grey and the sun shone far too brightly—as it always had, as it always would. The neighbouring homes were empty, the residents with his mother. Without looking back, he mounted the one horse that remained and ordered it to walk on and leave the former town of Salvation for the elements and the vultures to devour. There was nothing here that lived, but somewhere, his brother was alive and well. His older brother, Liberty, had left two days gone in search of another town that would have a doctor who could help those who had started to perish so recently.

Liberty had not returned, and now Hope had no other option but to find him.

He ventured across barren landscapes and saw nothing but gigantic mountains in the distance. When the sun began to set and the grey sky began to turn as black as fire smoke, he set up camp and lay beneath the fading stars.

Hope slept badly, as he always had and he always would. His dreams showed him great eagles of metal that dropped destructive fires across the land. Gangs with countless members wore attire that helped them become one with their surroundings. These boys were cowards—hiding like chameleons against whatever they stood against—but they were also deadly. No man had a chance against these men of death.

He rose before dawn and continued with his journey. As the sun reached the highest point in the sky, he approached a town that had sprung up in the middle of nowhere. The town was named Gifford's Pass and it had a comfortable population of 300. The residents glanced at him in passing but not one would utter a word. In the heart of the town there stood a wooden cross, the bizarre decoration blackened from flames now extinguished.

The sheriff dashed out of the jail house which stood just moments away, and Hope guessed correctly that somebody must have alerted the lawman of this unexpected visitor. Sheriff Rodes was tall and looked unusually fat for a man of his size.

'You!' Rodes called as he stopped where he stood and pulled his iron from the holster at his side. Now the residents were willing to stop and observe the stranger with ease. After all, the sheriff had him bang in his sight. 'What you doing here?'

Hope went to answer him and realised that he had breathed in a little too much dust already. He swallowed twice before answering, 'I'm just looking for my brother. Maybe you could help me some?'

'Oh, I'll help you,' Rodes smiled. 'You carrying a weapon?'

'No.'

'So if I search you, I won't find a gun or a knife on you?'

'I'm unarmed, Sheriff.'

'Well, get down off that horse and come over here. You are under arrest.'

'For what?'

'Don't make me get my deputy, boy. Deputy is young. Nervous kind—pulls back the trigger if the wind changes. So if I was you, I'd get down off that horse and come over to me.'

Hope had no other option but to do as he was told. He found himself in a holding cell that he had to share with a large family of cockroaches. In the cell beside him slept a thin man of unkempt hair who wore filthy rags. Wearily, Hope gave a sigh as he sat back against the wall. He had no idea to whether the sheriff was still in the next room or if he had gone home for the night. He even wished that the young deputy (who had been sleeping in an old chair when the sheriff had brought him on in) would soon wake and come to check if they had another lodger.

'Some hospitality, right?' the dishevelled man within the next cell asked as he remained on the floor, eyes closed. Hope wondered if he was talking in his sleep until he opened his eyes and sat up, offering a smile that showed the few teeth that remained in his mouth. 'I'm Jesse. Who are you?'

'Hope.'

'Hope? You part Indian?'

'No.'

'Well, you keep giving that answer or they'll kill you. Sheriff Rodes bring you on in here for entering the town unannounced?'

'Yeah.'

'That happens. Don't expect a trial, Hope. This is all down to the sheriff and that is not a good thing—believe me!'

'Well, what are you in here for?'

'I was a printer. Used to print stories and even papers that documented what had happened in the town. When I mentioned how a little stolen money taken from fugitives had gone missing, old Rodes gave me a hiding and tossed me in here. That was at least a year ago.'

'Town mayor not got involved?'

'Mayor David?' Jesse laughed. 'Even he has to do as Rodes says. Nobody will say it, but we all know that the Crimson Lead Boys dance to the sheriff's tune and that is why they can do as they please.'

'The Crimson Lead Boys?'

'Wanted in numerous towns but nobody is dumb enough to follow 'em back here! Say,' he laughed, 'why were you dumb enough to ride into Gifford's Pass?'

'Looking for somebody.'

'Girl?'

'My brother.'

'Yeah? What's his name?'

'Liberty.'

Jesse grew a mischievous smile, looked at Hope with the eyes of a lunatic and started to laugh.

'His name isn't that funny.'

'It's not that! He was in the very cell that you're in up until last night!'

'Really? They let him go?'

'I'm sorry,' Jesse laughed. 'They killed him. Nailed him to a cross and set it alight!'

The words repeated themselves over and over in Hope's mind as he stared at the laughing madman. When he could take no more, he ran to the bars and tried desperately to take hold of Jesse but found him to be out of reach. Despite this, he continued to grab at the air just beyond the bars that kept the two apart.

'Son of a bitch!' Hope snarled.

'I'm sorry,' Jesse chuckled. 'He seemed a good boy. But some smart remark that he made got old Rodes hot under the collar. Next minute, he's free to leave but he happens to run into the Crimson Lead Boys. It was them that killed him. I tell you, Hope—this whole town is corrupt. Even the air that you are breathing is corrupt.'

Hope stopped scratching at the air, took a step back and dropped his hands to his side. 'You speak to Liberty?'

'Sure did.'

'What about?'

'How shit this town is, for one. And he told me he needed help.'

'He say why?'

'Something to do with Salvation.'

Hope gave a faint nod and sat back against the far wall. The one thing that he knew he wanted for certain was a cigarette. Everything else was a million miles away from him. Thoughts buried thoughts until he had no way of hearing a single, clear word.

'You can eat the cockroaches,' Jesse shrugged. 'I used to but they got smart and moved into that cell. Now I'm going to die of hunger. Be careful how you sleep,' he added. 'They get the chance—they'll lay eggs all over you.'

* * *

Hope was usually alert at all times, so it came as a surprise to him when he realised that he had fallen into sleep. In fact, he only knew that he had departed from the waking world when he noticed his brother, Liberty, was standing in the cell with him. For a deceased person, he looked as strong and as healthy as he always had—even though his hometown of Salvation offered many forms of sickness.

'Quite the mess you're in, Hope.'

'Same mess you must have found yourself in. What'd you say that signed your death?'

'I told Sheriff Rodes that his ass was so big, I could stick my feet up it and still have room to wiggle my toes.'

'Nice,' Hope chuckled. 'You heard about Ma?'

'Yeah,' Liberty sighed. 'You come out looking for me and find out I've gone and died on you too.'

'It wasn't personal.'

'Thanks.'

Hope scratched the back of his neck, worried that a cockroach was exploring his skin. 'I ask you something?'

'Go on ahead.'

'What do you know of the Crimson Lead Boys?'

'I know that they sure enjoyed killing me!' he laughed. 'Seriously, I know that they're dangerous. Not your average bandit, neither. There's an art to their mayhem. I figure that even Satan wouldn't want them cast down to his territory.'

'Well, that's where they're headed.'

'You mean...?'

'It's what you're here for. You don't have to tell me what has to be done.'

'That's good to hear. But be careful. I mean it.'

'I heard you before. They're dangerous.'

'Whole town is dangerous, Hope. Jesse wasn't kidding any when he told you how it's so corrupt.'

'They're up against a man without a weapon to his name. They'll see that as an advantage. Advantages will make any gunslinger sloppy.'

'Fast and easy, Hope. That's how you'll have to do this. Don't let yourself get distracted.'

'I won't.'

'Good to hear. Now, be nice to Jesse,' he said. 'They'll let you free tomorrow, but that poor son of a bitch will be here until he dies—be it natural causes or a bullet.'

'It's like they say—at one point in your life, Lady Luck points a Smith and Wesson right at you.'

'Uh-huh. And this is your point, Hope. You better duck or hope for a misfire.'

* * *

When Hope returned to the everyday world, he jumped to his feet and immediately began to slap the cockroaches off of his body. Jesse slept on undisturbed and without a single roach in his cell. But Hope hunkered down, tried to stay quiet and tried not to smile too much. You see—he had returned from the land of the dreamers with all of the knowledge that he had gathered there.

The early morning went by and Rodes eventually decided to walk into the holding area, a smile of pleasure on his face. He was letting Hope go free when the sun was at its highest and the mercury was proud to continue rising.

'You follow me now, boy,' Rodes ordered as he forced the key into the lock and turned it. He opened the cell door once Hope was back on his feet, standing tall.

'You taking me to the court house?'

'No. You're free to go, but you'll be back in here if you ever return.'

Hope followed him—passing the deputy, who slept with his face pressed down against the table, and into the street outside. People walked on without stopping to look, the sky a light grey and the sun shining ridiculously bright.

'Come on,' Rodes said. 'I'll walk you to the end of town and then you're free to go where you please.'

'What about my horse?'

'It died just last night. Funny, how illness can suddenly cut them down like that.'

The two walked on and all the time, Hope pictured in his mind the charred cross that stood in the ground behind him. The people that walked by were of no interest to him until he saw her. She was seventeen if a day and beautiful—pale skin and jet-black hair. She had enchanted him without aiming to do so. In fact, she walked on without noticing him. Her companion was a man of the cloth—all black clothes with a white band running through the collar of his shirt, his face heavily weathered by the elements but his long silver hair was smooth and centre parted. The town Father. Mayhap the girl was his daughter?

'You see,' Rodes continued, oblivious to the fact that Hope was now focusing his attention upon the girl who walked ahead and with her back to him. He longed for her to turn around—just once would be a moment of glory. 'We know where we are with each other. We don't know where we are with strangers.'

'Sure,' Hope replied, his eyes on the girl.

'Start letting people on in as they please, how can the town keep her identity?'

'You're right,' Hope answered, but his sentence was not completely spoken before he spotted the man walking along the opposite side of the street to the Father and the innocence that he walked with. The stalker would look at them and look away before looking again, the same movements over and over again.

'I know I'm right! You can't have a sheriff who tends to be wrong!'

The stalker drew a revolver, took aim at the two whom he had an interest in and before Hope knew what he was doing, he snatched the gun from the holster at the sheriff's side and pulled back the hammer. Rodes found the time to loudly curse before Hope pulled back the trigger and almost immediately, the man with deadly intentions took a step back wearing a face of pain although he kept his gun on his targets. Those around Hope parted for him like the Red Sea but others just stopped and stared. Without breaking her stride, the town beauty looked over her shoulder, saw Hope, and then looked back into the direction in which she was headed.

In these short moments, Rodes managed to see the assassin and realised what was occurring. 'He's still standing, you fool!' he cried at Hope. 'Fire another shot!'

Hope fired the second shot. The left eye of the would-be killer resembled a violent volcano as it disappeared behind an eruption of blood and then the man fell back, dead. Crisis over, the people went back to their usual activities. Rodes stopped and held his hand out to Hope. 'The gun,' he said. 'Give it back.'

Rodes stood without a weapon whilst Hope held freshly fired iron. He was tempted to shoot him down there and then. But there and then was not the best time. Hope wanted to meet the Crimson Lead Boys in a way that would suit him best.

'Here you go, Sheriff,' he smiled as he held the gun for Rodes to take back without challenge.

Returning the gun to its leather holster, Rodes told Hope that he was under arrest.

'I guess I'd better follow you.'

'Twice!' laughed Jesse as Hope was returned to the vacant cell. 'What, you miss the luxuries we got here?'

'No,' Hope replied as Rodes locked the door of his cell. 'The fine conversation.'

* * *

'This boy is a killer!' Rodes hissed. Some hours after Hope had been returned to the cell—when the sun had set and the temperature had dropped—Father Marlowe P. White had arrived to say that Hope should be released from his captivity. Now, the two stood at the opposite side of the bars, debating over the fact that Hope was locked away for doing the right thing. For once, Jesse did not try and get involved in a conversation.

'This boy,' White announced passionately, 'shot down a man who was taking aim at Rose and myself.'

Rose, thought Hope. Now she has a name. A name that fits her beauty perfectly.

'Well,' Rodes declared confidently, 'I guess that this man is a vigilante. You know how I dislike those.'

'Gifford's Pass has never had a vigilante, Sheriff Rodes! In the heat of the moment, this man made a decision and I happen to believe that he chose correctly!'

'And does that make it all right? Town follows the law of the Father?'

'The town has always followed the word of God, Rodes. Even the laws that you uphold are His laws. Now, as a man, I tell you that this stranger should not be in here!'

'And as sheriff,' Rodes shrugged, 'I'm telling you that he should.'

'I see,' the Father sighed. 'The vote for town mayor is coming soon.'

'And? Randall will walk it. He always does.'

'You know how closely Randall listens to me. Wants the people to see how he still seeks advice from a man devoted to God. Do you not remember how it was me who convinced him to place that star of gold against your chest?'

Rodes shook his head in disgust, the meaning of the words sinking in. Finally, he took the keys from his pocket and opened the door to Hope's cell. 'You can get out of here,' he said with disgust. 'But I'll be keeping an eye on you.'

Hope crossed the threshold and thanked his saviour.

'And I,' White repeated, 'thank you. Now, follow me,' he said. 'I must see you well-fed and comfortable for the night.'

Jesse waited until it was only him and Rodes remaining in the room. Then he started to laugh. It was a laugh of victory and sheer amusement—a sound that would be difficult for Rodes to shake off.

'What,' Rodes snarled, 'is so funny?'

With tears streaming down his face, Jesse laughed, 'You! Big man pushed down by the Father! You don't look so big to me now!'

'His time,' Rodes said with a shrug, 'is coming. Your time,' he continued as he pulled his gun from the holster, 'is here.'

* * *

Father White took Hope to his home—a large, beautiful place overlooking a scenic prairie. Relics from around the globe caught the eyes of the youngster, especially the gleaming swords that rested above the fireplace. Before he had time to prepare, he was once again close to the girl who was too pretty for this world—her name Rose. The trio sat at a large table filled with luxurious foods as maids filled their plates before filling their glasses with wine. Seeing such a way to live, Hope regretted the fact that he had never become a church Father.

'I would like to thank you,' Rose said in a British-kissed accent—her sudden acknowledgement of Hope's presence stealing the air from his lungs. 'I dread to think of what would have happened if it was not for your actions.'

'Act of God,' White smiled as he gently patted the back of Rose's right hand. 'They say He moves in mysterious ways. I say that He moves in a clear, precise fashion!'

'It was nothing,' Hope muttered, his head lowered. 'Anybody would have done the same.'

'Modesty,' White declared, 'is an admirable thing.'

After a delicious meal and sweet drinks, it was time to retire to bed. Hope intended to leave but Father White would not hear of it and insisted that he stayed. It was Rose who led him up the stairs and to the guest bedroom—and he followed without question through the jasmine scented trail that she left in her wake. She entered the darkened room and despite the darkness, she easily found the small gas-lamp that stood on the bedside drawers. The room was soon illuminated yet left with the faint smell of sulphur.

'Once again,' Rose said as she placed the used match within a small bowl, 'I would like to thank you for saving us.'

'There's no need. I just don't understand why somebody would want to hurt you.'

Rose confessed, 'I am glad that they did—otherwise, I would never have met you. And you would have left the comfort of this town, sentenced to wander the desert.'

'A wise man once told me that exploration is good for the soul and spirit.'

'My mother said the same.'

'Where is your mother?' asked Hope. 'England?'

'She died some years ago. Pneumonia.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' Rose said with a smile. 'She said that only death can free you. I bid you a good night.'

'And I bid you the same, Miss Rose.'

She nodded and walked towards the door, stopping at the threshold to ask, 'I forgot to ask—what is your name?'

'Just Hope,' he shrugged. 'And nothing more.'

'The pleasure was mine, Hope,' she said as she closed the door.

* * *

Hope kicked off his boots and tossed his clothing to the floor before blowing out the gas-lamp and climbing into bed. He lay in the darkness and heard Father White walking up the stairs as he too went to bed. Silence followed. The howling of the wind and the calls of the coyotes could not enter this room. Liberty, however, entered the room with ease.

'Well,' he said as he stood in the moonlight—an actor standing on the stage with the spotlight dedicated to him, 'you've landed on your feet.'

'I got lucky,' Hope explained. 'Father White got me out of jail.'

'And what did his daughter do—tuck you in tightly?'

'What's your problem?'

'You told me you were going to stay focused.'

'I am.'

'Focused on the Father's girl.'

'This is a good place to stay, Liberty. Can watch the sheriff from here without trouble.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

'So why are the Crimson Lead Boys here?'

'What are you talking about?'

'They're here, Hope. They're here right now.'

Hope woke and found himself in the darkened room. He ran a hand across his face and heard something hit the outside of the window. For a moment he just stared out at the moon, but when he saw a small stone hit the pane of glass, he got to his feet and walked to the window. Looking out at the prairie, he saw a gathering of five men standing with a total of six horses. The Crimson Lead Boys had arrived.

* * *

And so, Hope found himself dressed and standing in the night air. The leader, a man named Du'Shore, took the time to introduce both him and his merry men. There was Flag, a thin man who may have been anaemic, Hughes—a man with thin teeth and weasel-like features, Grail—a bald man who was the oldest of the bunch and wore a monocle over his left eye for his own sense of fashion, and Frost—the only one of the bunch who stood with his mouth closed at all times but his eyes rarely remained static.

'And you,' Du'Shore finally announced, 'are Hope. Title as yet unknown.'

Hope placed his hand upon his hips, gently kicked at a few blades of tall grass and asked, 'Well, what's in a name? I mean—seriously?'

'Sometimes nothing but at other times, there's a hell of a lot. Look at Walt McFarlane. Alone, there's little there. But when you take into consideration how he was one of the Crimson Lead Boys, it means a lot. You, Mr. Nameless, shot him dead.'

Hope looked Du'Shore right in the eyes, without fear and without doubt. 'Man who had a gun on the Father? Yes, I shot him. I shot him right in front of the sheriff and I'd do it again.'

'And for that, I could kill you in return. Kill you in front of the sheriff and get away with it. You see—the sheriff is one of us.'

'It was Sheriff Rodes who told me to fire that second shot.'

'And I believe you, Hope. Pays to keep up appearances. You're still not safe. You remind me of another stranger who was all-talk. He went onto the cross, Hope. He went onto the cross and burned for his carelessness.'

Hope clenched his fists, told himself to stay calm or die for nothing. 'The Father,' Hope said. 'Why were you going to gun him down?'

'Thinks he has power. We are power, boy. The one and only reason why you are still standing is because we have a job tonight. It's a six-man job and we got five—thanks to you. Dangerous job. You are coming with us to take Walt's place. Maybe you'll die. If you live, you may find yourself with a share. After all, you didn't know who you were killing.'

'What if I refuse?'

'You die. But first, you have to watch Father White and his girl go up in flames. They will burn for your sins and not mine.'

Hope swallowed and then asked, 'The job. What is it?'

'Good old train robbery. You and Frost will be the ones who get onto the train and make it stop at a place where we'll be waiting. Me and the boys will storm the carriages from the end and meet you guys up front. After that, the job is over. The success all falls down on you two.'

It was an opportunity to infiltrate the dastardly Crimson Lead Boys and earn their trust. It was an opportunity that could not be missed.

'One problem,' Hope sighed.

'What is it?'

'I don't have a piece.'

Du'Shore took a recently cleaned gun from his pocket and passed it to Hope. 'Here you go, Hope. The gun Walt McFarlane was holding when you killed him.'

'You best pray it brings you better fortune!' laughed Hughes.

* * *

On horseback, Frost and Hope waited in silence at the side of the rail tracks. As soon as the locomotive was in sight and travelling in their direction, Frost turned to Hope and spoke for the first time.

'Time to ride.'

'The train is still all the way down there!'

'We just had to make sure it didn't change its route. Now, we ride on ahead. It'll run alongside us and start to overtake us. We jump on the back and run along the rooftops before surprising the driver. Soon as we see the signal fire, we pull the brakes and the rest climb aboard from the back and work their way to us. Simple but effective.'

'Run along the rooftops?' Hope shouted.

'Du'Shore said it would be dangerous,' Frost cackled. 'I'm used to it, so you'll just have to try your best! We can't get inside and have the passengers see us, otherwise they'll have their guns out by the time the others climb aboard!' With the locomotive rapidly approaching, Frost gave the command to ride onwards.

They rode side by side, Frost laughing as carriages rushed by them with countless passengers aboard who had no idea to the danger that they were in. As soon as the final carriage began to pass them by, Frost leaped towards it and took hold of a rail before pulling himself onto the rooftop. Hope jumped after him, the left side of his body crashing against the steel and feeling a harsh pain that promised to increase over time. But he clambered onto the rooftop and watched Frost, already three carriages away and running with grace. Hope could only follow and try to keep his footing.

* * *

Frost soon disappeared and as Hope struggled to reach the final carriage whilst cruel winds tried to push him to the rough ground, he spotted a fire burning in the distance. They were fast approaching their meeting point. It had been a chore to remain on the rooftops, but climbing into the final carriage through a small window as the ground rushed by below you was all the more daunting. Yet he entered the final compartment—found the driver lying in a pool of blood with a shotgun in his hands as Frost stood with one hand resting on the emergency braking lever.

'What kept you?' Frost asked as he kept his eyes on the upcoming blaze.

'You killed the driver?'

'As I was climbing in, he reached under his chair and pulled the gun out. I would have killed him either way, but I was lucky this time.'

'Yeah,' Hope said as he pulled the gun from his side and pointed it at the dead body. 'You sure were.' Frost kept his back to him and did not see what was happening.

As Hope fired a shot into the recently deceased, Frost jumped into the air with fright and angrily turned to face Hope. 'Damn!' he called. 'What're you doing?'

'Giving him a parting gift,' Hope smiled as he eased the gun back into the waistline of his trousers.

'You,' Frost laughed, 'are a good guy.'

'The best,' Hope chuckled as he knelt beside the driver and slowly pulled the shotgun free from his hands. 'You want this or can I take it?'

'Take it,' Frost chuckled with a wave of his hands. 'Take it as a memento.'

'Thanks,' said Hope. 'And you,' he continued, 'can take your share.'

The shotgun screamed—a single note with a flash of light that knocked Frost back with an admirable force. Frost fell onto his back, shivered like a man lying in the snow and opened his mouth so the blood behind his teeth could spill out and cover his chin. He was dead, no doubt about it and not a chance of changing it. With the signal fire coming closer, Hope tossed the shotgun down beside the driver and took the pistol from Frost's holster.

'No hard feelings, you son of a bitch,' Hope muttered before rushing to the window and tossing Frost's gun as far from the train as he could. As soon as the fire went by, he pulled back the lever and listened as the brakes fell into place, bringing the train to a screeching halt. If Du'Shore examined his gun, he would see a bullet was missing. If he decided to closely examine the driver, he would see that two had entered him. Desperately, Hope took a second bullet from the chamber of his weapon and pushed it deeply into his pocket.

Soon, the remaining members of the Crimson Lead Boys would climb aboard and work their way to the front. The passengers would no doubt be killed. But Hope was no hero. He could not rush to their aid and he would not risk the chance of ruining his chances of earning the trust of Du'Shore and his men.

All he could do was wait patiently and wish for the best.

* * *

On being told how Hope had entered the carriage way to see the driver shooting down Frost, Du'Shore simply looked at his fallen friend and muttered, 'A damn shame,' whilst the rest of his team stood behind him, all eyes on the fallen hero.

'Frost was a split-second too slow,' Hope sighed, sounding somewhat apologetic. 'He had pulled his gun—the thing flew by me when I was climbing in. I was fortunate enough to have dashed across the rooftops with my piece in my hand.'

'Frost always thought he was the fastest man around,' Du'Shore shrugged. 'That doesn't surprise me. But you did.'

'Me? I just got lucky.'

'Let's see if you can keep it up. Tell me, Hope—how would you like to be one of the Crimson Lead Boys?'

'Me?' gasped Hope. 'Well, I got nothing else to live for! But what about Sheriff Rodes?'

'I'll set up a meeting. On my word, he'll have no problems with you jumping onto the wagon.'

And with that, Hope was one of the Crimson Lead Boys. Revenge, it seemed, would be a lot easier than he thought.

To Be Continued...