I knew the man holding the gun

—the very same leader of the Pinkerton crew from outside Elkhart.

He wore a bowler hat this time, casting shadows over the hard features of his face and made the light play funny over the jagged scar running up his left cheek. And now that he was all dressed in fine leathers, half-hiding a bandolier and at least four six-shooters, he cut a more intimidating figure than when his business was flapping in the wind for all to see.

"You," he said. "They told me you died."

"Who's they?" I replied.

He took a puff of a cigarette and blew a large cloud. "Wrong, apparently. You here after the bounty like everybody else?"

"Just traveling through. Heard there was a party."

The Pink rolled his eyes.

"Saw your crew down by the bank," I said. "Is this really the time to be transferring more money here?"

"Boss's orders. Had us empty every vault he's got left in the region and bring it all to Revelation. Those bastards try to hit another sorry town, they'll find only dust. Even left notes for 'em."

"Fine strategy," I said. "Now they only gotta hit here. Wanna set a table for them, too?"

The Pink snorted. "Let 'em. Between the bounty dogs, Dufaux's men, and mine, there's enough gunpowder in Revelation to blow the whole place sky-high.”

His eye flitted toward a wagon inside the property. It was mostly filled with tables and chairs, but the parts of a shiny, new Gatling gun sat underneath it all, just itching to be mounted up.

"Let's hope it don't come to that," I said. I hopped down from Timp's back, watching close as the man trained his weapon on me. "If we're gonna keep on meeting like this, you got a name, or should I keep thinking of you as the Naked-Pink-Who-Ain’t-Pink?"

"Why not?" he said. "I've been thinking about you as Asshole-Who-Left-Us-Naked-on-a-Cliff."

I laughed and extended my hand through the bars.

"James Crowley," I told him.

"Cecil, Cecil Jackson." He spun his pistol left, right, up, down, made a big show of it as he lowered it into his holster. I could tell now that he was all dressed up that Cecil Jackson was a man who'd killed before. Now, I wondered if he took joy in it. Must be a certain kind of man attracted to the life of a hired gun.

He merely stared at my hand. I hated that kind of bravado, like shaking my hand was some exhausting task. I reeled it in, realizing he was just that guy.

"Now, I'll ask again, what do you want?” he asked. “This here's private property."

"I need to speak with Mr. Dufaux."

"You and everybody else. He ain't taking uninvited guests right now. He’s busy preparing the house. So why don't you head back down, enjoy the festivities and spend a little green.”

He turned to walk away. Another part of his little show.

"You know, I wish I could. But I ain't in the mood for games."

He stopped like I knew he world, turned back, and said, “Do whatever you like. Just not here."

"You wanna be the one to tell your boss you turned away a man who knows secrets about the outlaws who've been hitting his banks?" I reached into my satchel and Cecil’s fingers wrapped the grip of his gun.

"Relax, friend," I said, pulling out the Frozen Trio bounty. I pressed the drawn-on side against the bars so he'd see the symbol.

"Nice doodle," he said. "Don't quit your job. Now, get."

He started to turn again.

"That bird symbol was branded on one of their backs,” I said. “It's called a 'Piasa' or… something."

"You got a fucking point?"

"A friend told me Mr. Dufaux might know more about it."

Cecil huffed, then snagged the drawing. While taking a long pull on his cigarette, he studied it closer. Then, without a word, he started off across the yard toward the mansion, drawing in hand.

"Awful polite, huh, girl?" I said to Timp.

She snorted.

"Ain't a wise man who turns away salvation!" I called out to Cecil, but he was nearly inside by then.

I waited a short while longer, unsure if he'd return. A cloud drifted over the hot sun and made all the mansion's gilded parts a whole lot less sparkly.

Then came a whistle. A couple of goons emerged from somewhere behind the wall, unlocked the gate, and dragged it open. These, for sure, weren't Pinks. Locals hired to defend Dufaux's little fiefdom. Ruffians and inbred swine.

One, face the color of dried blood, held a rifle not quite pointed at me. He waved it, and I walked Timp inside by the reins. We were escorted down a white stone path, joined on the other side by another gunman. We passed between the garden pools, fountains in their centers. Each one was carved like a bird, wings outstretched. I thought about that drawing and figured it mustn't be coincidental.

Other guards in the main house, or the stables and outhouses to the side, watched me too. Workers, all looking like they came from that poor part of town, were busy unloading party supplies.

A tanned boy with so much dark hair I couldn't see his face jogged up and took Timperina's reins. Bad idea.

"I got her," I said, but it was too late. She pitched a fit until I stepped between her and him and eased her with a hush.

"You should know better than that," I said to the kid.

The boy looked concerned, but when I stepped aside and gave her a hearty pat, Timp let him lead her away.

“She likes apples and could use a good brush," I advised.

The goons then walked me up the front porch, right to a pair of doors that seemed more fitting for a president than a glorified prospector on the frontier, but I digress.

Cecil waited for me inside, cigarette hanging from his lips and tapping his foot.

"Mr. Dufaux wants to see you," he said, a little dab of spit flipping out over his lip.

"Gathered as much," I said.

"And we'll gather from you."

He clutched the grips of both of my pistols and gave them a tug. I grimaced but let him and the others take all my armaments. This, he certainly seemed to take joy in. Stripping me of my effects, just like I'd found him.

Nothing draws ire from a proud man more than shame. I wasn't happy about losing my guns—never was—but what could these mortal thugs do against me anyway? I wasn't looking for a fight.

"You won't find a rifle on me," I said. "Apparently, someone took it off me in Elkhart. Know anything about that?"

"You think I keep track of every bit of iron I see?” Cecil asked. “Guns are guns."

"You strike me as a man who knows that ain't true."

"Yeah, well, if you lost yours, that's on you. Buy another."

I bit back the words I wanted to say. He missed the knife in my boot. Fool.

As soon as he figured I was suitably deprived of deadly force, Cecil led me inside Dufaux's grand entry hall. And grand it was.

If you were to think of the stereotypical rich man's home, you wouldn't be too far off. A gold and diamond chandelier hung in the lofty foyer with a split, curved staircase wide enough for two horses to climb side-by-side. And wouldn't you guess it, an oil painting of Dufaux presided over all of it. No wife, children, or anything like you'd often see in paintings like it. Just him, hands folded over a walking stick.

No smile. No warmth. No family. A hard man for a hard environment.

Only a few steps in, a native housekeeper took my coat to hang up. I didn't even have a chance to ask.

"I… Thank you—"

She said nothing in return, but her eyes spoke volumes, like no one ever spoke to her.

"Let's go," Cecil said, guiding me around the staircase to a corridor on the left.

We passed a body-length mirror and all I saw in it was me. I don't know if I was hoping to see Shar or not, but her absence told me I was moving in the right direction. I think. I felt a shove—hadn't noticed I'd stopped—and just like that, we were alongside a beautiful courtyard.

Pillars had vines hugging them like spiderwebs, weaving up through crisscrossed trellises. Workers milled about here too, setting up tables amidst yet more plant life that had no business thriving in these parts. All of it was perfectly organized along crossing newly mulched paths. And there, right in the center, was the same symbol I'd been chasing.

It was a small totem of sorts sitting upon a pedestal, the open-winged bird proudly positioned at the top. But now, seeing it from this vantage, it wasn't just a bird. Its wings looked sinewy, like some mythical dragon, two little spikes on the tip of each. It had what appeared to be horns or antlers, and unlike any bird I've ever seen, had long, sharp teeth. The pedestal itself was adorned with zigzagging lines of gold, giving the impression of lightning striking the tier beneath it. The style seemed authentic, nothing like Dufaux's ostentatious mansion. Nothing he'd designed.

Dale wasn't lying. The Piasa was here in Dufaux's garden for any visitor to see.

We stopped at a pair of closed doors on the western side of the courtyard.

"Sit," Cecil ordered, pointing to a suede-upholstered bench.

"I'll stand," I replied. They'd already taken my guns, but I'd hold onto my dignity.

"You'll do what you're damn told—"

The doors swung open, and out stormed a chubby little man in a single-breasted suit. His golden mustache curled neatly at the ends like little pigtails.

He stopped, face cherry-red, looked back into the room, and pointed. "You've got some nerve, Reginald!" He barked. "These outlaws are a scourge. You jeopardize the town! They could be anywhere. We should be postponing the festival until they're brought to justice.”

Smart man, whoever this was.

"Founders' Day will go on, as it always has," came an answer, rich in timbre. That authoritative, convincing voice could only belong to Dufaux. You don't get a house like this one without some of those qualities.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"You went behind my back!” Chubby shouted back.

"I own your back, Mr. Mayor. Now put on a smile, dance, and show this town that there is nothing to fret about. Just a slight hiccup."

"You…" The mayor clenched his jaw and fists, then pointed again. This time, no words came. Instead, he tore his hat off his balding head, smacked it against the wall in frustration, and stormed across the courtyard. Didn't even notice I was there.

Well, that about settled who was really in charge around here. As if anyone was confused.

"Well, come in already," Dufaux called. "I don't have all day."

I beat my escort to the punch and stepped through the threshold first. I'd expected an office of some kind. Instead, I was looking at a dining room. A mahogany table with the look of old world Italy, carvings of grapes down the legs—fine craftsmanship—stretched the length of it. China that looked so fine it might've actually been from the orient was set like he was expecting guests.

Dufaux sat at the far end, enjoying a plump, juicy steak. A wine glass was half-full of red, with another native-looking domestic standing behind him holding a carafe, ready to refill.

Come to think of it, the stable hand was probably native, too. And nearly all the houseworkers I’d seen roaming by. Important? I don’t know, but Mr. Dufaux clearly had a type and I wasn't keen on thinking he was being generous.

He was a surprisingly large man, though he wasn't obese per se. Just big. Looked like he could've been a wrestler if he'd wanted, and he certainly could crush the skull of the scrawny helper behind him. I'd place him around sixty years old.

There were many odd traits about him, but the first thing I noticed was how he chewed. It wasn't dignified, which meant he didn't come from noble stock. He chomped down like a rat, like this was his last meal, savoring every morsel rather than making a show of it. Juice streamed through the stubble on his chin, and he was in no rush to wipe it up.

Was that important too? Again, I wasn't sure. Though, men who come from little and make a lot treat losing their riches a bit different from those who've never known what it is to have nothing.

"Expecting guests?" I asked.

Dufaux wrinkled his brow in what I thought could've been a smile but his eyes remained on his dish. He swallowed his bite, then snapped his fingers.

"You awake, boy? Get our guest a glass."

The boyservant at his back shook his head as if waking from a daydream. Probably of owning a house like this for himself.

I lifted my hand. "Thank you kindly, Mr. Dufaux, but I'll pass. The stuff goes right through me." I wasn't exaggerating. Liquor of all kinds is a waste on me. Sure, I could taste it somewhat, like food, but it had none of the effects men desire from such a vice.

"Suit yourself." He snatched his own glass and downed the rest. The moment it clacked back down on the table, his boyservant started refilling it. The young man's hand trembled as he focused intently upon not spilling a drop.

Dufaux smacked his lips. Then, with an asparagus stalk in hand, he pointed and said, "Take a seat."

I obliged, finding a chair opposite him with a sea of space between us. I had to lean to the side just to see him around a centerpiece of vibrant, fresh flowers. And they weren't the local variety either.

Cecil waited against the wall by the exit. He made sure his vest was stretched open and flaunting a whole lot of iron. He blew smoke from his ci

"Cecil here says you saw something peculiar on one of the outlaws," Dufaux began.

"I did."

"Well?" Dufaux went back for another piece of steak, and I felt like reminding him that not making eye contact while talking was rude. Even Ace Ryker made a man meet him eye to eye. But Dufaux, not once yet. He might as well have been talking to a fly.

"Well, first, I heard the leader talk about you by name," I started. "Has me thinking this ain't purely a spree. That they're specifically interested in what you own."

"Them and everyone else from here to south of the border."

"I reckon you should be more concerned."

His fork screeched across the bottom of his plate. That finally got him to glare at me. "You've been through town, haven't you?" he asked. "If they come for my bank; it'll be their funeral."

"Not like you aren't sending out invitations, consolidating all your wealth in one place. It’s a taunt."

Dufaux bent forward, looking ready to scold me. Then he squinted, licked his lips, and sat back.

"He's the roughrider who showed up in Elkhart, isn't he?" he asked Cecil.

"Sure is," Cecil said. "Showed up just as it got hit. Put on quite an act. Now he's here, ready for the festival. A man who looks like a Marshal but swears he ain't. Might make another man suspect he's in on the robberies."

I laughed. "Maybe you missed the part where I shot a couple of them while you and your boys were stripped like soft newborn babes."

"You son of a—" He lunged at me.

"Cecil," Dufaux said sternly.

Cecil grunted but backed off immediately.

"Got your dogs trained good," I said. "I'll give you that much."

Dufaux ignored the comment, though I could hear Cecil fuming behind me.

"Are you an outlaw, Mr.—"

"Crowley," I finished for him. "And not for a long while."

"And not a Marshal either… right. Well, I heard you gave this Frozen Trio hell in Elkhart. Even managed to wrestle back the lockbox full of cash that’s funding the bounty on them. One Cecil here lost." He spat the last word with venom.

Cecil approached the table now, cheeks losing their color. "We got ambushed—"

"Shut your damn mouth!" Dufaux slammed his fist on the table hard enough to knock his glass over. Wine oozed across the table and onto the polished wood floor. The native boyservant immediately knelt to clean it. Dufaux waved him away like a biting fly.

"Leave it! And you." He pointed at Cecil, shirt-cuff stained red. "Don't I pay you enough not to get ambushed? So why is this stranger getting your job done for you?"

"Like I said, I think he's working with them," Cecil argued.

So, this was Cecil’s plan? Scapegoat me to get back in his employer's good graces.

"Now hold on a minute," I said.

"You here scouting?" Cecil said to me. "Those outlaws pay you off? Get you to fake your death in Elkhart so you could sneak in here?"

"Right. That's why I cut you free then?"

I noticed Dufaux snicker just a bit while we argued.

"You tell me," Cecil growled.

Dufaux pushed out his chair with a screech loud enough to shut us both up. Then he stood and paced around the table. I'd underestimated just how large he was earlier. Maybe he wasn't Yeti-sized, but the floor rumbled with his every thunderous step. His exquisite outfit—a mustard yellow waistcoat embellished with some kind of arrow pattern—stretched tight across his midsection as if no tailor could quite custom an outfit to fit.

"That it?" he said to me. "Did you come here wanting payment for chasing them out of Elkhart? Trying to steal the money directly out of my pockets, too?" He dug out some coins and let them trickle through his fingers onto the floor.

"I'm just here to claim that bounty," I half-lied. I didn't care about it, but if I got my work done, I'd certainly earn it and put it to good use.

Dufaux stopped, placed his two giant hands on the table, and stooped over. For the first time since we'd met, he looked me straight in the eyes. His were hazel, mostly brown with flecks of gold. Fitting.

I couldn't itch outside my angel’s nagging or a Nephilim getting too close, but sitting there silently while he sized me up… it made me want to. For once, I think I'd rather have been conversing with Shar.

Finally, Dufaux sucked in through his teeth.

"You aren't with them," he decided, just like that. "But if all you came here to tell me is that they might be after me, then I'm afraid Cecil here just wasted my valuable time."

Cecil shrunk back. For all his bluster and guns, and I could tell—he was afraid of Dufaux. Or maybe just afraid of losing a well-paying gig. Either way, fear is fear.

"You didn't show him the drawing?" I asked Cecil.

"What drawing?" Dufaux said.

Cecil stuttered. "I didn't think—"

"Goddammit, I don't pay you to think either! Show me."

Cecil's dark eyes shot bullets my way as he pulled the crumpled drawing from one of his back pockets and tried to smooth it. Dufaux practically broke his fingers when he grabbed it and spread it flat against the table.

His brow furrowed. "What is this?"

"A mark, branded onto the back of one of the outlaws," I said.

Dufaux scrutinized the drawing for a few long seconds. It was hard to place the emotions crossing his features. And, now that'd I'd seen the totem in the courtyard, I realized just how poor my sketching skills were. However, Dufaux recognized it, that was for certain. And there was something else. Something I'd just seen on Cecil's face and awfully mortal. Was that fear too?

"On his back, you say?" Dufaux asked.

"Shoulder blade to shoulder blade,” I said. “I showed some folks and heard you had something like it displayed here. Figured you might know what it means, and maybe I could get a leg up on these bastards."

He sighed and pocketed the drawing. To someone else, that action might have seemed mundane, but I was sure he kept it on purpose.

“Well, I don't know how it'll help you, but those were the markings of the Piasa tribe," he said.

Try as he might, the boyservant couldn't help himself. A sense of wonder stole over him at the mention of his apparent people, and he leaned forward to see the drawing, breathing down Dufaux’s neck.

“That was on his back?” he said, addressing me, I think.

"This doesn't concern you, boy," Dufaux snapped. "Out! Now!”

The boyservant stumbled but obeyed, practically running from the room.

I hesitated a minute, trying to understand Dufaux's emotions. He sat back down and continued eating.

"Tribe?" I asked, finally.

"You aren’t from around here, are you?”

I shook my head.

“They were small. Used to inhabit this region. A strong, proud people. These, here, around me.” He pointed where the boy had been standing as if he'd already forgotten he'd dismissed him. "They are what's left. When I found this wondrous place of water and gold, I traded them the riches of our people: medicines, fine wine, faith, the luxuries…"

"And in exchange?" I barely had to ask.

"Their land, of course. To mine. To build my home. Don't look at me like that. Their chief, Apenimon, was a dear friend." Dufaux let his head hang. "Then, a plague wreaked havoc on these parts, you see. Sickness like Hell itself had risen to punish them for worshipping their heathen bird god." He clenched his jaw and blinked slowly.

Was he acting, or genuinely sad?

"I was too late," he continued. "Apenimon. He was among the first to die followed by many more before we discovered a cure. Mostly the young, healthy enough to fight infection, were spared. And as you see, I try to give them a life here."

"That's awful kind of you," I remarked, knowing it was smarter to butter him up at this point than say how I really felt. I thought about the boyservant. Some life for the kid, waiting on rich men and digging their gold. Though I will say, out here in the West, there are worse ways to live.

"It's the least I can do," he said.

I smiled and nodded.

"That totem in my garden; it belonged to them,” Dufaux went on. “I keep it here in their honor. You see, it wasn't just I who brought salvation upon them. When I stumbled upon the springs, half-dead after getting lost in the hot sun, Apenimon rescued me. Fed me. Nursed me back to the man I am today… using my medicines, of course."

"Of course."

"I’ve long considered him the co-founder of this here town. And helping what’s left of them is the least I can do, isn't it?"

He took a bite of steak. It

seemed like he was being completely honest about everything until that last part. He certainly wasn't keeping the totem around to honor anybody. His house was full of trinkets and keepsakes, and that was just another one of them. It just happened to come with a sad story, give people something to talk about at his little soirées.

"You sure you saw that symbol on one of the Frozen Trio?" Cecil asked, bringing things back to the purpose of my visit.

“Silly name," Dufaux said under his breath.

I nodded. "I am."

Dufaux sighed and sat back. Just thinking about it all seemed to exhaust him.

"Perhaps someone blames you for what happened to the Piasa tribe?" I said.

Cecil seemed like he was going to say something, but Dufaux raised a hand to silence him.

"It could be," Dufaux said. "I just wish I knew why. We broke bread together, worked together, made honest trades of medicines for land and food. Thanks to me, these lands of theirs thrive, and tomorrow’s festival is as much for Apenimon as it is anyone.”

"Time has a way of corrupting memory," I said. "Or maybe one of your workers felt wronged? Ran off and…"

"Are you accusing me of mistreating my employees?" Dufaux asked, pointedly.

"Now, now," I said. "Just sounds like you're playing a little loose on the details. We all get mad from time to time."

His glare settled me. I could tell, I'd crossed a line, and men like him, who own enough land to start states of their own—they only allow themselves to be pushed so far.

Dufaux snapped his fingers, and I heard motion behind me.

"I do apologize I couldn't be more helpful, but I appreciate your resolve,” he said. “You're the only man after this bounty who came by to speak with the man footing the bill. For that, you have my respect. Bring these outlaws to justice, and you'll have full enough pockets to settle down, buy a nice ranch, and take a pretty wife."

"I don't reckon I'm suited for family life," I said.

"And on that note, we agree. Life is too short to stress about other mouths to feed." He pulled his chair back in and flicked a napkin so he could finish eating. "Now, I bid you farewell. I must hurry. I have plans to attend to."

"Right, the fair." I stood and donned my hat. "I suppose me getting an invitation to your special dinner is out of the question? Seems anyone who’s anyone will be there." Couldn't hurt to ask. The more access to Revelation I had, the better.

“You ain’t anyone,” Cecil said. I ignored him.

Dufaux smiled placatingly. "It's nothing a man of your… nature… would enjoy. Cecil will lead you out. Enjoy the festival, if you can."

"Oh, I plan to." I stood, tipped my hat and started off. Cecil tried to grab my arm to lead me, but I shook free.

On the way out, Dufaux shouted, "And send the boy back. Is

just going to let that wine soak?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. There's a fine line between running a strict house and berating. Dufaux might've not even realized he'd pushed one of his former employees far enough to rebel. To want to hit him where it hurts.

That potentially explained the Mind-drifter's motive. But what about Tomahawk-lady and the Yeti? Were they all people Dufaux had wronged over the years? One trip through his house, and I knew he was the type who made plenty of enemies on his way to the top. Even the town's mayor was no more than a patsy to him.

"What's so funny?" Cecil asked.

"Nothing at all," I said.

He nudged me hard in the back. I didn't feel it, only knew because I was propelled through the doorway, looking out upon the courtyard. And there was that totem again. Didn't seem like anything special, just an effigy.

"Mind if I get a closer look at the totem?" I asked.

"You've been here long enough."

"I'm sure your boss wouldn't mind. You heard him. He respects me."

"Respect and a bag of feed is worth a bag of feed." Cecil yanked me back into the corridor and kept me moving briskly toward the exit. The native maid handed me my coat on the way out. As she did, I noticed a decorative silver dish on a nearby table, not yet filled. I scooped it up fast, folding it within my duster so nobody would notice.

Dufaux had enough. He wouldn't miss it. But I needed more silver ammunition for my next meeting with the Yeti, and stuff like that couldn't be found in most shops. Even during a carnival.

"Horse!" Cecil shouted, giving me one last jostle out onto the porch. The mop-headed stable boy came running, Timp’s reins in hand.

"Happy hunting, Mr. Crowley," Cecil said, giving me a wave.

"If I do catch them, you want me to strip them and tie them up for you or…" I turned back to face him as I said it, but by the time I got around, he slammed the door shut. I guess I could've been kinder. His pride was wounded, same as mine would've been. Hell, same as it was. The Yeti had slowed me down worse than anyone had in a long time.

But it was good to light a fire under Cecil. I didn't know much, but I was certain that at some point soon, the Frozen Trio was gonna hit Revelation Springs with everything they had. All Dufaux's magnificent wealth was in one vault for them now.

A wily gambit for both sides. A lot can happen when you're asleep in a coffin for half a week.

Revelation Springs was a tinderbox.