1876, Somewhere in the American Midwest

It was done. Hanelly repeated that thought over and over to himself. Finally done. Done. Done... Done. It’d seemed impossible to kill that son of a bitch, so… Hanelly smiled and looked up at the trees. Wouldn’t be any more killings now. Not ever. They'd made sure of that with a stick or three of dynamite and about two tons of rock. After what’d been done to Father o'Connell, god rest his soul… Hanelly had almost added more.

Hanelly knew he was being followed. Buncha fools hadn't even been quiet about it. He figured they'd picked up his trail somewhere in the forest and been after him since. Gotten close once or twice. Not the brightest men, but your cult types rarely were. Hanelly’d given ‘em the slip last night, but now he had to cross the plains. There’d be no hiding out there, where any damn fool could see half to the horizon with one eye.

The horse he'd brought wasn't cut out for a race. Abigail was a fine girl, but she'd been bred for pullin'. Hanelly wondered if they’d treat her well after they killed him. Even outlaws treated horses with care this far out, so she’d be fine. He gave her a scritch behind the ears and settled in for the few hours he had left in this world. Then he busied himself rolling the two remaining shotgun shells round and round in his hand. "Pair of aces." he said with a chuckle. Abigail snorted at his joke and he scowled at her. She was right though. It wasn’t enough to win at cards, it wouldn’t be enough to keep him alive.

He'd prayed when he first heard Jim's voice callin out for him. Pray the crazy bastard had come out here by himself. Then he’d heard Jeb, Jim’s nasty little brother, and figured the trip itself had used all his luck. Between that and his lack of ammo, God seemed eager to talk. "Hopefully about lettin' me in, hmm?" Abigail ignored him. She’d done a lot of that since he’d run out of carrots. The last of his tack was about gone, so he reached into the saddle hoping to find some jerky he’d missed. No such luck. “Welp, no point going out starved then huh, Abigail?”. He led her to a tree with some good shade and a view, and hopped off.

Even though he’d stopped moving, it was still near evening when they caught him. Near enough he'd started thinking the good lord had sent ‘em another direction. Maybe had another use for him. Then Jim had come over with that asshole smile of his… So, apparently not. Jim’s boys fanned out around the tree - as if the resigned man with a shotgun on his lap and a hitched horse was going anywhere.

"Evenin' Jim." Hanelly said evenly, one hand on the grip and another adjusting his torn hat in a nod. The end of the barrel rested up on his knee, aimed right at the bandit-turned-cultist.

"Sheriff..." Jim responded with all the fake warmth of a terrible actor. He ignored the gun trained on him as if it weren’t there. "What a surprise! We been lookin' for you since Minnesota.”

"That right?" Hanelly raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. Mary had probably talked, then. He’d told that boy not to trust a whore to keep secrets. Not that it’d mattered. It wouldn’t have to him at that age either. Mary’d been quite a looker.

"Of course! We heard you an' your deputies had come out this way, figured you might get lost. Might need a… a way back to the light, yeah?" Jim's metal front teeth gleamed in a wicked, satisfied smile at his own joke. "Ain't that right, boys?" Silence from the others was the only response. Hanelly guessed they'd been out here longer than expected.

Jim went into one of his pre-killin’ sermons. Talkin’ about the light an’ the lord as if he had insight into such things. Hanelly’d been still on purpose. At this point, Jim probably figured the gun was empty. Figured Hanelly would’ve ran and fought if he had bullets. A stupid mistake. Hanelly squeezed the trigger and both barrels stopped Jim’s final sermon with a loud, echoing bang.

Blissful silence reigned for a few happy seconds until another shot rang out. Hanelly couldn’t help the groan that escaped. It was all he could do to not let go of his gun. Jeb’d shot him right in the fucking knee.

“Now now, that wasn’t very neighborly.” Jeb said, calmer than you’d think for a man who’d just watched his brother’s face get blown apart. Hanelly didn’t respond. He was doing his best not to scream. Bone was visible somehow and it hurt like hell an’ a half.

“Tell us where he is Sheriff and save us all an evening.”

“Over. My… dead--” Hanelly choked the words out and was interrupted by Jeb opening fire once more. Six rounds later and the Sheriff of Santa Vista slumped hard against the oak, relaxing his grip on the gun. Jeb ran a hand through oily hair and glared at the other outlaws. The fires of hell itself shown from his eyes. “Fan out. Find the rest. The sheriff came here with twenty-seven men. They’re probably holed up somewhere.” None dissented, knowing what would happen if they did.

The outlaws whirled their horses and left the clearing. As they did, a patch of light from the setting sun shone down on the sheriff’s chest. A heartbeat later and Jeb left as well. Behind him, a slow smile spread across the dying man’s face. Hanelly’s last thoughts as his eyes closed were triumphant. He hadn’t talked, he’d taken care of Jim, and he’d sent outlaws on a wild goose chase. They could spend their lives out here and never find ‘im. Hanelly’s deputies might’ve had loose lips, but they’d died for the cause to a man. They’d done their jobs right. Evil’d never walk these lands again.