“Mister Bullock,” he returned cheerfully, “I’m so happy to see you once again.”

“I don’t know how you done it,” spat Cassidy, “but I’ll see you in jail or swinging from yonder tree!”

“It pains me to hear you speak so,” lamented Obadiah, yet the gleam deep in his eyes danced. “I thought, maybe, after some time to reflect in the desert, you would come to accept responsibility for you failings.”

His lips split wide in a stony grin, “you are a devil.”

The man’s smile grew, “How does a man let his family die?”

“How did you do it?!” raged Cassidy. “How did you get the Langston boy to murder them?”

“I spoke with the boy at great length,” grieved the false preacher, “But alas, I did manage to secure the child’s eternal soul.”

“Sure,” he gritted teeth till jaws popped, “and I’ll stop you this time. I’ll make sure the whole village knows of your works. They’ll run you out!”

“Will they remove me, Mister Bullock?” pondered Obadiah, sparks deep in his eyes. “I’ve been ministering to them, and given them hope. Sins run deep here,” wooden teeth gleamed, “and I only wish to see these transgressions forgiven. The Revival of Carnisvale shall set them free.” Beatific smile near angelic, except for the jeering mirth underneath.

“Who is Abaddon?” Cassidy asked, for the question lingered in sleepless nights.

A flicker, only a meager flash, dashed through Obadiah’s strange muddy eyes. Almost like glass, they appeared to glisten. “Misunderstood angel, but what is it to a man such as you?” he asked, and the pleased cheer returned. “I would pray, if I was you. I would pray that Caroline perished, before Parson’s Raiders could’ve defiled her.”

“You,” snapped the bounty hunter, and a hand went to the revolver.

“What is the meaning of this” a man commanded, brow drew down. “Why have you brought a tool of the Devil into our township?”

“I go heeled everywhere,” Cassidy returned, “For my job it is a tool.”

“Then you do the work of Satan!” accused the man. “Do you plan on murdering Obadiah?!”

Cassidy gritted teeth together, so to keep fury caged. “I mean to see Obadiah in jail, for all he has done,” swore the bounty hunter.

“What, exactly, do you believe he has done?” the Elder asked with a sniff.

“He speaks of the Langston family,” lamented Obadiah with a gleam in the muddy eyes. “It was a tragedy,” he added, “terrible and sad, Mister Morgan.”

“Obadiah has spoken to us of this at great length,” he said, and was joined by two others. They were the Elders of Sulky Hills.

“AND, YOU BELIEVE HIM,” Cassidy marveled. How could no one see his gleeful hate?

“He has been ministering to us for a while, now,” eyes condemned Cassidy, “and with the Revival of Carnisvale.” Severe features were merciless; Arnold Morgan’s judgment final, and the grizzled, ancient elder nodded, but the other much younger lowered his head. “Now, whoever you are,” he said, “you are leaving.”

“Patience Mister Morgan,” the false preacher smiled at the Elders, “I’ve come to release you, but salvation is for all. You, Griswold Todd, and young Theodore Griffith welcome me.” Obadiah turned to the bounty hunter, “I hope Cassidy Bullock will stay so he may rejoice in my works.”

Arnold looked to the others, who nodded though confused, “He may stay, because you ask it, but he’ll give up that machine. It does the Devil’s work!”

Reluctant, Cassidy rested a hand on the revolver’s butt, until he saw Obadiah’s mocking grin widen. “Fine” he took off the well-oiled gun belt, leather stained dark, “I’ll make you see him for the truth!”

“Maybe, Cassidy,” Arnold waved away his words, “you should try…to learn from us, and perhaps, you’ll cleanse your filthy soul!” Away he whirled, and the other two followed in his wake.

Obadiah watched them go, and then turned to the bounty hunter, “I looked forward to meeting you once again. I do hope you enjoy our time together.” He followed the Elders of Sulky Hills.

“He already poured poison in their ears,” cursed the bounty hunter. About the quant, black town square he searched for a way forward.

At the town center, the giant oak shielded the people from the hot sun. Eyes, blue as the dawn, moved up to its boughs of darksome bark. Leaves rustled in the low wind. Air carried the low rot of wood. A plaque before it intrigued Cassidy, who moved closer. Wound upon the tree had blasted a chunk free, which had allowed the decay at its heart. Even so mortally struck, it held an impenetrable visage. Called the Covenant Tree, he read, and was the symbol of the three major families of Sulky Hills, their compact seal. They’d brought it all the way from the Old World, which Cassidy marveled, for it was a great act of devotion. The strength of their convictions was reflected in their choice of symbol. It would protect all those, who would come, and would bind them together in their convictions. Stalwart against sin, it cautioned. Pernicious was evil. The sect kept the tree, as they kept themselves, rigid devotion.

Cassidy studied the tall oak. Being Sulky Hills’ spiritual anchor, it intrigued him. Much of their identity and culture was bound to it. Stand tall; be resolute, and stalwart against evil sounded like practical advice. Seeing almost universal garb of the people, he wondered if it had become inflexible. He thought it explained their reactions to him. The bolt of lightning had struck the core exposed the heart, and its decline was slow yet inescapable. Any who neared deliberated looked away from the injury to the oak. They who dared look recoiled or shuddered, and then shook their head in negation of the truth. Cassidy searched the leaves for a way forward.

“Another stranger,” a woman said in sad contemplation, “comes to Sulky Hills. My whole life there has been none, until now, two in a single year.”