Again, Obadiah turned. “Poor Theodore,” solemn words held happiness, “you have, perhaps, suffered the greatest. Through it all, Griswold’s torture and Arnold’s torment, you were with Dermot. No one loved him more, even Tabitha, who betrayed your secret.” Heartbroken words were tainted by a mean laughter, “Running away would be suicide, and if they would never accept you here, it would only be worse out there. He gave you no choice. All of Sulky Hills would know, after he left.” The false preacher’s smile grew ever wider, “His action would have murdered you, and you were justified, no righteous! The Revival of the Carnisvale will wash your hands clean; it will save all of you.” Swirls of flame bore into Theodore, “It will pull Dermot from Perdition, and you can be together, after this life is over; you’ll fly away on wings of gold and ivory.”

Obadiah’s glare of hellfire turned on all the Elders, but his smile was for the bounty hunter. “Mister Bullock is an outsider, who can never understand. If he knew your little secrets, banishment would be the least of your worries. He would see some of you in jail, and the other hanged. Nothing of redemption does he know, only the gun. No need to kill him, only jail him, and the Revival will prevail!” Eyes finally fell on Cassidy, “Seize him.”

They fell upon him, and each had the strength of those accustomed to hard labor. Bewildered by the sudden continuation of time, Cassidy felt the world grow unsteady and then snap to a solid state. “What are you?” he asked lips numb. Griswold’s hard hand covered his mouth, and Obadiah only smiled.

Though he fought and pleaded, the Elders dragged Cassidy to the simple hut. None would speak; terror drowned out all thought. Into the cell they threw him. Out into the street, they fled his questions and their shame. Obadiah stood at the door way a moment with a smile, eyes bright. To his feet Cassidy leaped, as door closed to cast him into darkness.

Slashes of light dashed across the blackness. Motes of dust drifted in the walls of brilliance. Crushed in the darkness, only the clawing stench of rot, Sulky Hills’ Blasphemy, kept him company. It slid into the nose, died upon the tongue, and decayed in the guts. Pops and snapped echoed in the jail house’s besieged wood. Onyx-black dust sifted down. Voices beyond grew, fervor underneath.

Beyond his reach, his revolver set on a chair in its holster. A sheet of sunlight glimmered across it. “The only thing that was still sturdy was the steel of the bars,” cursed Cassidy. Obadiah had set a trap, which the bounty hunter had sprung. As the crowd outside grew, he thought of the Covenant Tree, and if it was too rotted for a rope.

The exuberant tumult grew, until the sun slipped beneath the far ridge. Image of the false preacher with rope in hand and mob behind him ravaged Cassidy’s imagination. Beat of hammers and grunts peeled through the jail house’s rotted walls. Jubilant mass outside toiled with renewed vigor, so to be done as the last of the day’s light died. Night finally seized the valley to the cheer of the townsfolk.

“I’ll save her,” swore Cassidy, and thought of Tabitha. Afterwards he would return to Sulky Hills, so he could see Arnold and Theodore swing. The old man, Griswold, the bounty hunter would have locked away, until the devil took him.

The dance of torch flame flooded through, where sunlight once bled. Unsteady, it made shadows wobble and teeter. For Cassidy they performed a play, silent yet unsettling. Anything and everything lied beyond that door. Hell was coming. Myriads of painful death dwelled outside vision. What depravity had Obadiah planned for the bounty hunter? Sound, howls, was of relief, joy. Prayers rose to the heavens. Confessed were the sins, no matter how small. Sounds of simple dance resounded. Rotted fruits and vegetables were busted against the earth in celebration, but crawled into the cell with Cassidy. Townsfolk cheered, laughed, or cried in relief. All would be well, they knew. Even inside, where the stench of decay assailed the senses, the smell of livestock poured. Upon still air, rancid animals emanated a sickly miasma of gangrenous meat. He covered his mouth with a bandana, though it was fruitless.

As the crowd cheered, the smell of blood freshly spilled, breathed out. Even it held the spoiled rot of Blasphemy. Livestock died, relieved to be free. Voices raised in a mindless gibbering. Cassidy froze, listened, but began to pace again as a caged wolf. Every hellish torment played behind the eyes. Soon, choked screams began to ring out, echo about Sulky Hills. Inside the cries, there was relief. More blood joined the fray of prayers. From around the jail house, tremors of chaos rose to a cacophony of cruel laughter malignant joy, and the beat of those in the deep throes of a mad fervor.

Soon, the rapturous cries held relieved anguish. In the beginning, it had been fervent prayer, and gentle steps of those that swayed. Now, different notes played. Once, Cassidy had watched a butcher tenderize some beef with a hammer. Each wet thud echoed into the shack, and he covered his ears. Exalted pleas grew garbled. Image of Obadiah returned, though no longer held a hangman’s rope. The bounty hunter envisaged Arnold’s whip in the grip of the false preacher, who intended to show a new form of penance. “Oh God,” moaned Cassidy, “I’m in Hell!” To this, laughter arose outside, amused by his fear. “Tabitha,” he whispered, for he feared the horrors Obadiah had wrought.

As if summoned by her name, a brisk but tentative knock came. Rotted wood crackled under the furtive assault, and the door opened. Tabitha smiled, sorrow gone. To the bars dashed Cassidy, and thought her beautiful before, though now angelic. Eyes, blue as dawn over the desert, flicked down, for they were enticed by the dance of torchlight. A hand flew to his mouth, so hard was the blow, blood trickled from his nose; yet, it went unnoticed. Gaze widened; mouth worked in horror.