Cassidy held his hands up, and the doctors kept their pistols on him. None looked to be skilled with guns. They disarmed the bounty hunter, and he was brought to the wagon with a cage.

“Sorry, about the temporary accommodations,” Huck winced at the heavy metal, “uncouth, I know.”

After another glance about, Cassidy gritted his teeth and entered. “I’m fine, right as the rain,” he lied, and red crept up his neck. Cages always struck a dusky cord full of darker recollections.

“I’m sure you will be,” beamed Huck, “after you’re with us at the Thorncrown Hospital.” His eyes slid to the desert, and he cursed, but misfortune could be turned to one’s favor.

Cassidy looked over the scrub brush. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in a cage. During the War for Rights, he’d been captured, tortured, but at least this time there may be a comfortable bed waiting for him. Men in the glorified hole in the ground, brothers-in-arms or not, turned into rival gangs. Rebs took bets on them over who would live, die, or kill. At each other’s throats, we were less of a threat to them.

Men Broke. The mind could only suffer so much terror, so would falter under the weight of the indignities heaped upon it by life. Surrounded by cruelty, death, and blood they succumbed. Sleeping in the filth, soldiers were accompanied by dead compatriots, until the stench became too much. One of Cassidy’s fellows was younger, and struck a resemblance to his boy. They became friends, though the bounty hunter tried to pull him from melancholy ruminations. The temptation to falter was never in the bounty hunter, for he had his family.

If he’d know he’d never see them again, the thought aroused thirst. Such musings were bathed in alcohol. Better to drown such devils, so to still their tongue. Before the phantoms of the night, Cassidy had stout bourbon, until the night took him.

Some were corrupted the bounty hunter knew well, and no amount of liquor could quiet their past. Some Cassidy hunted. Salvation of incarceration kept darker impulses in check. A few could only find release in death. Like a rabid dog, they would act on the most base of desires. One cure put an end to their villainy, and the bounty hunter wondered if he was direly afflicted. Maybe, he deliberated darkly; the madness had seized him, for the insane know only their megrims and fantasies.

Back to the strange days his mind fell. Everything could be dissected by science and reason; yet, he’d seen things of peculiar nature. No matter the explanation he’d constructed around events, they reeked of half-truths or lies. A man as dangerous as Cassidy could do a lot of harm, if he should ever fall into lunacy. He feared, all the oddities mere figments, apparitions of an unbalanced mind. Better to die, knew the bounty hunter, than to allow himself to sully his honor, or disgrace the memory of Caroline his love, and his children.

Idea of his family, from wherever their souls may be, feeling shame of him stung. Cassidy forced thoughts away. Ache settled into this chest. Eyes, blue as dawn over the desert, watched the darkness pass.

Peace of land was broken by howls of wolves, yips of coyotes, but the winds growled, only to fall back to whispers. From the gloom, a peculiar smell dozed. It was full of human waste, antiseptics, and the sweat of the infirmed. Psychosis had a smell, thought Cassidy, was honeyed yet tangy. It permeated from ahead. Greasy air settled on the skin, unpleasant heaviness. Below the aromatic of the sick was the dull sweetness of physical dissolution. Even through the thick walls, the directionless laments of the patients haunted the dark. Out of the springs, waters a pleasant heat, a ground fog congealed about the grounds. Around them it gathered. Thorncrown Hospital was massive, exact size clouded.

They escorted Cassidy inside. The hospital was bigger than most towns he’d seen for a long time. Folks, who barely made it day to day, left their burdens in Thorncrown. An assortment of maladies and malaises were strapped down to the beds. Doctors kept to their patients, yet grew agitated, when any physician entered their territory. Throughout the sterile halls were bottles of Huck’s liniment, which seemed to be the primary medicine. One was set beside Cassidy, who read the bottle bemused. Cocaine was one of the ingredients, along with rattler, but Tiberiu’s special concoction was the real component. Lies, thought Cassidy, were the truth of it, but he was sick he knew. Patients about him, though moaned from deep in personal hells, seemed to be rather calm given the circumstances. Some were discharged with much fanfare from the staff; gleam in their eyes unsettled him.

“I never cared for such places,” he sighed, “but it’s better than becoming a rapid dog, which will bite anything.” A nurse, dressed two sizes too small, smiled with full red lips, shushed him gently. Someone has been eating ripe berries, mused the bounty hunter.

They arrived at an empty bed, last occupant departed earlier that day. The nurse strapped Cassidy down, assured him it was till the medicine took hold. “I love a man,” said the nurse and brushed her bosom on him, “who can hold their liquor.” She secured him as he blushed, “How sweet, you’re a gentleman too.” She looked about, “Maybe, after you’ve calmed, you’ll get a little kiss.” With a wink and a curtsy, away she strode.

“She scares me,” the boy said, “they all do.”

Cassidy turned to the lad, who despite his condition, practically thrummed. “She doesn’t seem so bad,” remarked the bounty hunter, “probably wants to set me at ease.”

Large, dark eyes considered him between wild spills of raven black hair. “I think they’re secretly monsters, Mister Bullock,” his head lowered ready for rebuke at his boldness, gripped a book tighter.

“Do I know you, kid?” he asked, and thought the boy looked a little like his son. Though a smile arouse, time in the Confederate pit returned like an icy slap.