Hope tied his newly-given horse to a tree out in the prairie before walking the remaining distance to the home of Father White. Due to the rising of the sun, the sky was a brilliant yellow but this was merely a temporary illusion. Soon, the sky would once again be a pale shade of grey and the sun would be a blinding disc of light that hurt the eyes of anything that dared to look at it.

Silently, Hope entered the home and crept back to the room that White had welcomed him to. His head had barely touched the pillow when Liberty made his appearance.

'You have them where you want them, Hope. Rodes can't turn you down when the gang is losing members.'

'And of me?' Hope did enquire. 'I allowed them to kill every single passenger aboard that train.'

'It would have happened even if you had acted differently. It's just that you too would be dead.'

'This mission of mine,' Hope confessed, 'may be beyond me.'

Liberty smiled. It was a sly smile; the smile of a magician who has the audience where he needs them to be at a certain moment in time. 'Well,' Liberty shrugged as he reached to the left without taking his eyes from Hope, 'mayhap this will set you at ease.'

Liberty pulled the pitiful figure of Frost from thin air—the deceased bandit cowering in a desperate attempt for mercy, his eyes and lips closed tightly but all spilling thin streaks of blood. 'I found him,' explained Liberty, 'conversing with a daemon and plotting your demise. Realising the danger that you were in, I cut out his tongue to prevent him from revealing your destination and then I removed his eyes to stop him from being able to see you and point you out to the abomination. But that was not enough. To be certain that he could not even hear your voice, I removed his ears and fed them to the avatar who had listened to his words so recently.'

Hope looked at the shivering spectre and asked, 'He plotted with a daemon?'

'Yes. And there is no way you can escape such a creature. Wings are not only for the angels.'

'The people who died on the train... have you seen them?'

'No. They must remain on that train until you have avenged them. You are the avenging angel of Salvation, my brother. You will cleanse this town with fire and death.'

* * *

Hope opened his eyes and swung his feet to the ground. He had slept in his clothing, so he merely had to slip his boots back on and he was ready to venture down the stairs. His one complaint was the fact that he had no idea to what time it was and if it was late in the day, he would have to apologise to Father White for sleeping so late whilst acting as a guest. He uncovered however that White was not in the home and only Rose was there for company. He found her in the kitchen, reading a book that had clearly taken many knocks over the years.

'You're awake,' she said as she got to her feet. 'Would you like a drink of coffee and breakfast?'

'I wouldn't want to be of any trouble.'

'You are not. I was waiting for you to rise so I would have somebody to eat with. Please,' she continued, 'sit at the table.'

Hope pulled a chair out from under the table, the legs scraping at the tiled floor as he asked, 'Where is the town Father?'

'He left earlier,' answered Rose as she pulled a number of pans from various cupboards, implying that she was to make a full and hearty breakfast for the two. 'Sheriff Rodes came by this morning.'

'What did he want?'

'Oh, such dreadful news,' sighed Rose. 'Indians attacked a train that had broken down on the tracks. We had always felt certain that the route was far enough from their land in the mountains, but now we know differently.'

'Indians?' he asked. 'How can you be so sure?'

'Because Mayor David was on the train when it was attacked.'

'He was?'

'The poor man was terrified and had to hide under his seat. The blood of those who died covered the floors entirely, even soaking into his fine garments!'

This piece of information gave Hope cause for concern. Had the Mayor merely claimed to have been on the train? With an election coming, such a travesty followed by a well-planned attack against the Indians who resided in the mountains would surely give him an advantage in the polls. Or was Hope witnessing more of the corruption that graced this town? Was the Mayor in league with Rodes and The Crimson Lead Boys, so news of bloodthirsty Indians was merely an alibi? If it was the latter, he knew that Father White did not have the safety and power which he believed was his. It was more than likely that Mayor David was part of a lethal triangle, because how else could you explain that a blind eye was turned to the crimes of the local murderers?

Hope considered the grave danger that Father White and Rose were in, felt his stomach grow cold as he pictured those of sin dying at his feet. Unaware of the danger that she could be in, Rose began to cook fresh meats and eggs and managed to take Hope's mind away from his mission—for the time being, at least. It pleased him to see that she was self sufficient despite the fact a small number of employees were working their way around the house with dusters or tending to the carefully arranged flowers outside. If Rose desired, she could have any one of them prepare the coffee and breakfast, but she did not want them to do so. Once they had emptied their plates, she took a sharp knife from a drawer and began to cut segments from an apple that she had taken from a bowl of fruit, eating every individual slice.

'You eat every apple that way?' Hope asked.

'Yes. Mother always said that doing so separated man from beast.'

'Do you miss England?'

'What makes you ask?'

'I believe that you must have been educated over there. Must have spent quite a few years in the country to pick up the accent so heavily.'

'It wasn't as hot as Gifford's Pass.'

'You don't like the heat?'

'No.'

'Neither do I.'

'There's something that I would very much like to show you.'

'Yeah? What is it?'

She placed the knife and remaining core of the apple down on the table and got to her feet. 'Let me just put my shoes on,' she said. 'Then we can go.'

Alone in the room, Hope looked at the knife with interest. The blade was sharp—covered in the juice of the apple. He lifted it by the handle, realised just how light it was.

He wiped the blade clean against his trousers and then pushed the knife into his boot. It was a good weapon; so sharp and weightless.

But what if Rose noticed that it had gone missing? To reduce the chance of such an event, Hope moved the dishes and dirty cutlery from the table to give the impression that he had intended to tidy up. His ruse clearly worked.

'Don't do that,' Rose said politely as she returned to the room, now wearing high boots of spotless leather. 'The maids will tidy for us.'

'Force of habit,' he shrugged. 'Now—what did you want to show me?'

'Follow me,' she replied as she walked towards the door. He followed her out into the sun and the two walked on towards the prairie under the concerned gaze of a maid who was carefully pruning white roses that tried to touch the grey skies above them.

* * *

'Just here,' said Rose as she stopped on a square of grass that grew wildly and without restraint. Kneeling, she began to part the tall strands of vegetation with her hands.

'What am I looking at?' Hope asked as he hunkered down beside her, her soft hands stroking the green blades and making him envious of them.

But it was visible to him as soon as he had asked—a large, flat slab of black stone pressed down into the soil. The rock was old and held large strips of green discolouring. Words once engraved deeply into the stone which were now growing fainter and harder to make out read BEWARE OF THE LONG CLOAKS.

'This a tombstone of some kind?'

'I don't know,' Rose confessed. 'That's why we won't move it and the reason why we let the grass grow so high around here. We don't want to be walking all over a resting place.'

'Have you checked the town records?'

'They only go back so many years. There was a bad fire, from what I have been told.'

'Strange,' Hope said softly as he ran his fingertips across the disappearing letters. 'Just think—this old relic and there ain't anybody who knows what it means.'

'Somebody must,' said Rose as she stood. 'And one day, others will find out.'

The two walked further on and Hope realised that they would soon come across the horse that he had been given and tied to a tree. Explaining the animal could be a chore and Rose spotted it a lot sooner than he had expected.

'It's mine,' he said as they drew closer to it.

'I thought your horse had died?'

'That's what I had been told, but I'd recognise my own horse anywhere. I just don't understand what she's doing out here.'

'The Sheriff was clearly lying to you,' she said as she patted the horse on the nose. 'Rodes must have been planning to sell it on but changed his mind for whatever reason.'

'Well, I'm glad that he did.'

'Can you take me for a ride?'

'Sure,' he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. 'When?'

'How about now?'

* * *

They found a gentle stream to rest beside and climbed down from the horse, each of them sitting upon the bank and looking at the clear water.

Hope turned to face her and admitted, 'You remind me of a poem that I heard a long time ago.'

'Can I hear it?'

'Sure,' said Hope as he skipped a small stone across the stream. 'Let me just try and remember it. It was something like: I have travelled fields of green, And adored skies so blue, Know all these beauties tend to fade, When I but picture you.'

Rose smiled, blushed, then bowed her head until she had regained her control. Looking to the grey sky, she asked, 'Can you imagine blue skies? Imagine how it would look.'

'The sky is blue in my dreams.'

'Really?' she enquired with an innocent excitement. 'How does it look?'

He chose not to tell her the full details of his dreams; the birds of steel that spread destruction, the tall buildings of white stone and glass that dominated the skyline, the bandits who were hard to spot once they were close to something that was the same colour as their choice of clothing. 'In all honesty,' he smiled, 'it's almost as beautiful as you are.'

Once again, he dined with both Rose and Father White that night. She led him to his room afterwards and created a glowing flame in the stomach of the gas-lamp to chase away the darkness.

'Thank you for today,' she said. 'I had a wonderful time.'

'Thank you, Miss Rose.'

Tenderly, she took his face in her hands and felt his soft stubble against the smooth palms beneath her fingers. 'I bid you a good night, Hope,' she said before kissing him softly upon the lips and then stepping away. 'Surely it was the intentions of an angel that guided you to this town.'

'I have seen but one angel in my life, Miss Rose.'

'Angels do not keep secrets,' said Rose as she made her way out of the room. 'Sleep well.'

'And you,' he said. 'Beware of the Long Cloaks.'

* * *

'They are already near,' Liberty warned as he stood in the moonlight that night.

'I reloaded the gun earlier,' Hope said as he looked at his deceased kin.

'Does it carry six bullets?'

'Sure does. That's enough for Rodes, Du'Shore, Flag, Hughes, Grail and Mayor David.'

'Mayor David?'

'Looks like he's one of them.'

'Rodes has a Deputy. How do you know he isn't involved?'

'I don't.'

'I don't like this,' Liberty confessed. 'You don't have enough lead.'

'Sure I do. Get them all close together—I got six bullets and a knife. It can be fast and easy.'

'Can be, but it's more than likely that it won't. Never rely on your gun because it will only jam or misfire when you need it most. And Flag, despite how sickly he looks, is a sneaky son of a bitch.'

'I can have the majority of them down before they even realise what's going on. Slice open the rest as they go for their guns.'

'Take it easy. Nothing good comes out of rushed work.'

'Frost was done easily enough.'

'That's because Frost thought he was untouchable. He had speed and accuracy. With a key player down, the rest will be plenty more cautious.'

For the second night, Hope was pulled away from his dreams by the sound of stones hitting against the window. He dressed in the dark and crept down the stairs, meeting The Crimson Lead Boys out in the cold night air. They each charged their horses due south, and Hope knew that tonight would be of grave importance.

* * *

The boys all waited in a small shack out in the open air, each drinking bottles of whiskey that were stored in a single cupboard on the wall. It seemed to Hope that the only luxuries they had at hand in this meeting place were alcohol and plenty of dynamite. After much delay, Rodes finally arrived. He got straight down to business.

'I don't like you,' he said whilst pointing at Hope.

'You don't have to,' said Du'Shore as he lit a cigarette. 'But he shot Walt McFarlane clean through the eye and he gunned down the man that bettered Frost.'

'Frost had his ass sticking out of a window at the time.'

'That doesn't matter,' Du'Shore hissed before knocking back a shot of whiskey. 'You and the Big Guy sit back whilst we do all the work. I say Hope here is with The Crimson Lead Boys and he deserves the same respect you give the rest of us.'

'Fine, fine. But we're keeping low for a few days. Well, not all of us. Town believes that Indians have killed their kind.'

'And?'

'You all know how we got to... keep up appearances. So I need some Indian scalps. I need to have the townsfolk believe that justice has been served.'

'Indian scalps?' Flag repeated with a laugh. 'I thought we was running low on the red man around here since old Chief Trublood got chased back?'

'They've been in the Molee Mountains for some time, Flag. Probably breeding to get the numbers up. But that don't mean that they don't send small parties out on the hunt at night.'

Du'Shore chuckled dryly. 'I get you, Sheriff. You want us to get some for you tomorrow night, right?'

'Right. It's the only job you'll have for a while, so make the most of it.'

'You think I'm going? We're resting—I'm resting in a litter with some whores. So tell me, boys—who here has a hankering for some Indian blood. I need two volunteers.'

Grail raised his hand and Hughes declared, 'And me.'

'That's that,' announced their leader.

'Wait a minute,' growled Rodes in protest. 'Why not the new member?'

'Because he didn't volunteer, Sheriff. It was Hope's choice.'

The meeting was over shortly afterwards.

* * *

By mid-morning, Rose and Hope were once again sitting beside the stream with his horse eating at the tall grass behind them. She turned to him and asked, 'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure.'

'Where are you from?'

'A small place called Liberty,' lied Hope, and he prayed that he would never have to tell her another.

'Is it far?'

'A little.'

'What's it like?'

'Quiet. It wasn't always that way. We used to have parties and celebrations.'

'What changed?'

'Sickness came. See, the town had been founded by a number of travellers who had left a place where crops grew badly and illness was common. They named the town what they did because they believed it was a better place. But over the years, it all began to go bad.'

'That's terrible.'

'It happens a lot.'

'I know, but it doesn't make it right. Do you have any family?'

'A brother.'

'Older?'

'Yeah.'

'Where is he now?'

'Around. What about you?'

'I'm an only child.'

'It just means you got both the beauty and the intelligence.'

'You're sweet,' she giggled.

'Not always. Sometimes you do things just because you have to.'

'I know what you mean.'

* * *

When Hope wakened, the night was still dark and the room was uncomfortably cold. Liberty had not returned that evening and no stones had been tossed up at his window, but he was happy to have woken. Flag and Hughes would be travelling to the Molee Mountains that night and Hope intended to meet them there.

* * *

The Molee Mountains were perilous and not to be trusted. The hard earth climbed steeply and was littered with sharp, jagged rocks. It was odd, how something could look so beautiful until you were close enough to see all of the danger that it had to offer. Hughes wandered further and further up the narrow path alone (as Grail had been too busy serenading a lady of the night to join him), and something about the surroundings that he was exploring made it easier to see the rodent quality of his features.

'Come on, boy,' he said encouragingly as he walked ahead, guiding his stallion by the reins. There was but two reasons why he was not sitting atop of the beast. The first was down to the fact that the earth seemed likely to crumble at any second on this path, and he trusted his own footing over that of his companion. The second was that he had been told Indians would lie in wait and then shoot your horse, causing it to fall dead and trap you under it for your foes to freely eat at your skin. A silhouette stepped out ahead of him and frightened him so badly that he thought it was the soul of every man that he had killed—joining forces to create a solid form in which they could obtain their revenge.

'Who's there?' he asked as he discreetly reached for his revolver.

'It's me—Hope,' the figure replied as it took a step forward and what happened next did not ease the strong hold that fear had over the man. Hope took a single step forward and suddenly, his face was bathed in the moonlight. It was almost like he had control over the darkness that decorated the mountains.

'Damn,' Hughes chuckled. 'You sure scared me! What you doing here?'

'Du'shore came by and demanded that I met you here. Where's Grail?'

'With a whore. Du'shore must have found out and sent you to take his place.'

'Must have.'

The two simply stared at one another in utter silence until Hughes asked, 'How long you been here?'

'Long enough to explore the area. I found a group of four Reds. Rest of the tribe are some time away.'

'You did? Where?'

'Sleeping in a cave, would you believe it? Leave your horse here,' Hope said as he turned and began to walk up the mountain, 'and we can get this over with.'

'Wait a minute—where's your horse?'

'Waiting for me at the bottom. Now get going and be quiet. Your horse might make too much noise.'

'Got you,' Hughes nodded whilst he let the reins fall free from his fingers as he followed Hope. They walked on, speaking in whispers until they stopped at the mouth of a large cave—the ground within descending sharply.

'This the place?' Hughes asked in a hushed voice.

'Yeah,' Hope muttered as he pulled his gun from his pocket and pulled back the hammer. 'Have your iron ready because this has to be quick.' And with that, Hope walked into the mouth and was swallowed by the darkness.

'Damn,' whispered Hughes as he took his gun in his hand and ventured on in.

* * *

Hughes stepped into three puddles and fell on his ass a total of five times. 'Hope?' he hissed. 'Where are you?'

A bang came from the darkness and following a brief flash of light, Hughes fell down again with hot lead in his stomach. With every deep breath he took, a taste of copper troubled the back of his mouth.

'Well,' Hope said, still hidden by the shadows but his hot breath falling against Hughes's face. Hughes felt the gun being pulled from his hand as Hope added, 'I doubt that there would be a single man on the whole of God's Earth who would want to trade places with you right now!'

'You shot me!'

'I guess you're out of luck, partner. You think I'm just a man but believe me, I ain't. I don't travel alone, Hughes. A man on a white horse accompanies me, but you haven't been paying attention.'

'Frost?'

'Frost stood there with a gun in his hand and laughed as I pointed the shotgun right at him. See what happens when you believe what is said about you? You let your guard down.'

'I don't understand,' Hughes whimpered before coughing—the taste of copper becoming unbearable. 'You a bounty hunter?'

'Just a killer, Hughes. A pilgrim turned killer and nothing more.'

'Why us?'

'For all your sins and one in particular. You killed a good man on the Cross before I arrived, Hughes.'

'Oh God!' Hughes sobbed. 'I saw the resemblance when I first set my eyes on you but I ignored it!'

'And for that, you pay the price. For you, there awaits an afterlife where you will be deaf, dumb and mute because of how you lived your life.'

'You could let me go!'

'I already have.'

Hughes felt the cold barrel of his gun press against his neck... heard the hammer pulling back.

* * *

When Hope walked out of the cave, the blood across his face appeared black in the moonlight. Strolling back down the mountain path, he fired a bullet into the waiting horse in passing without stopping in his stride. He was confident that Du'Shore and his men would assume that Hughes had fallen victim to an Indian ambush. All blame would fall squarely upon Grail and bury him for the sins of his lust.

Reaching the foot of the mountain, events took an unexpected turn. A shot was fired and the sound of lead ricocheting from a nearby boulder echoed as Hope took behind a rock for cover. He raised his head and saw Rodes a hundred yards ahead, sitting on his horse as he took aim and fired another shot. Hope ducked again and as he stood to fire back, he saw the back of Rodes riding into the distance as the Sheriff raced back to Gifford's Pass.

'Shit!'

The dealer of death ran from the path and found his horse where he had left it. Desperately, he mounted the animal and urged it to run on as fast as it could possibly go. No matter how quickly he covered ground, the Sheriff did not come back into sight. Desperately, he fired into the darkness ahead but he knew that it was a useless exercise.

Rose, he thought. Rose.

His cover was blown and he was certain that his enemies would seek to hurt him by visiting those who he cared for first.