A low sound drew in the air, chill wind now icy. Cassidy paused, listened. Hungry sucking, like a man dying of thirst given water, pulled up into the air, desperate yet hateful. Gluttonous greed of the bedlam drew him, and he scaled a trench to look out on the water. Under the moon glow, shimmers of light flickered with the new rapid creek. A voracious whirlpool, beneath the bridge, had opened up to breathe in Widow Creek. In the gloom his eyes strained. Where the water swirled, he swore, a void crawled up. It was no shadow or dark thing, but a missing piece of the world, and it would be invisible, if not for the silver light. Ever higher it rose against the night, a hole in the world. Cassidy stared, mind clamored for an answer, a reason, but a ringing built up in the dark, and he stepped back.

Cassidy's boot came down, loose rock crumbled. Backward he tumbled, arms pin wheeled. A stone struck his temple, flash slashed across his vision. Ringing grew, yet all felt farther. A hand brought back a little blood. He scowled at his palm, but footfalls broke through the haze. Other steps haunted the air, hollow and flat. All about the trench, the bustle of men played out, an echo in a bottomless pit. Soldiers traded fire from a world over.

The posse of men had come in search of the bounty hunter, though the men looked for the source of the ringing. Franklin was at their front with Mason on the left and Leon at his right. Red faced, the man paused, colored drained, as eyes drifted away to the battlefield. All soon gazed about the ruins, where all of them had fought. The Grays had left parts of themselves at Santa Estrella battlegrounds.

"We don't want you here," Franklin barked, but his gaze shifted past the bounty hunter. Loathed to step near the old battleground, he'd come for the widow's sake.

Cassidy's grin was stony, yet he winced against the ringing, "I need no man's permission to do as I please."

"Are you hunting for the Deputy's killer or the gold?" Franklin said. He'd chased men away from the widow's house.

"There is no gold," Cassidy heard whispers of gunfire, and waited for the cannons. "The only treasure Joseph left was his wedding ring."

Franklin shrugged, though the rest glanced at each other.

Leon's face turned a dangerous shade of red, "You mean my brother—"

Mason put a hand on his shoulder, "Your brother, he died protecting the town. The animals left nothing, but his shredded clothes." Words a Southern aristocratic smooth; he turned to the bounty hunter, "The Widow would never say anything to a Northern Aggressor."

Cassidy shrugged, grin now granite, "Go ahead and search for the gold; I don't care what a spoiled slaver does."

"You should leave," Franklin jabbed the bounty hunter's chest.

"Jody did say Joseph was concerned," he looked at the former Grays, "that some of your people planned to steal that gold. During a battle," eyes blue as dawn over the desert returned to Franklin, "that would be a great time to rob your own."

The others behind the one armed man looked to Mason, who stepped towards the bounty hunter. "We never caught the men that savaged Jody," he purred. "Mister Cassidy Bullock, didn't you serve in the Union?" He put a hand on Franklin's beefy shoulder, "Willard Boyd, he happens to die, just before the Blue comes. Those men, who hurt the Widow, they were after the gold."

Franklin, stilled, looked at Mason, Leon, and then the others, "Jody never said anything about what they wanted."

Mason looked at the Cassidy and then to the one armed man, "The Widow was sweet on you, even when Joseph was alive. Thought maybe she'd tell you something, given time," he laughed, "no one could every pry anything out of her." Often, when he was in charge of slave women, he had a way of making them talk.

Franklin turned to him, blinked, "Do you know who killed Joseph?" He studied his face chest tightened, but shook his head, "I don't understand." He'd grown up with Joe, and for his accursed luck, he'd found Jody first. Loyal was he; never would he come between a man, who he regarded as a brother, and his lover.

"We were losing," he waved away the question, "and General Lance Van Lear must have seen it coming. Why would he want so much gold?" he asked, for he'd seen the chest of freshly minted treasure. "He retreated back to Hemlock Hurst, lives as a king!" he looked at the others, their ragged clothing. He tugged at his wore shirt, "What did we get, Franklin?!" He looked at the one armed man in the eyes, as others agreed, "Broken promises, homes burned, and to be conquered, shackled to our conquerors!"

"I don't care your slaves revolted," Franklin grew pale. "I wanted State's Rights."

"State's Rights," he repeated, "a man only has rights if he has gold or guns: he is a master or a slave." He was no longer a master, so was a slave, and it was unbearable.

Leon smiled, but rested a hand on his gun, "We all fought, but what happened after, it wasn't right!" Fingers moved along the revolver's handle, smile fixed, but sweat rolled down from his brow. Images of northern women and children tied to poles played behind his eyes, which were quickly bathed in flames.

Mason smiled, though his eyes hardened, "We can all go talk to the Widow, and maybe, you can convince her to talk. But, first, I'll need your gun, friend."

Again, the ringing assailed Cassidy, but all felt the shrill pulse. Chatter of titanic teeth clattered in a deep rasp, grind of rotted bones. The Grays staggered under the assault, and the bounty hunter pulled Franklin away. Roll of cannons' thunder crushed Widow Creek, echo whirled through trenches. Report of guns pierced the dark. Over flesh arctic air burned. Marrow bitten air, desiccated and gritty, passed through the lips with every breath, and set like a stone in the stomach. Up from disturbed slumber, dead Grays rose. Ragged clothes filled with spirits. Guns filled hands of the soldiers, who returned to fight the Battle of Santa Estrella once more. Damnation cursed them for the bloodshed, so the unburied men were trapped. Bitter curses echoed from raw throats. Mason and Leon yelled for the others to give chase, yet their eyes turned to dead friends, veil between life and death gone. All had strove to forget that day, which the dead reenacted, slaves to the past.