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"It's always the same.You post a man, he has to come into town to prove he's a man. You kill a man, he's got a friend or a kin, just has to come against you. And for no reason... no reason that makes any sense. And it don't matter a damn to the man already in the ground. Nobody wins." Jered Maddox

After the cattle drives of spring 1886, life in the small town of Sabbath went back to normal for the rest of the year. Sinta and Crowe got more or less regular work as Vincent Bronson´s cowboys working the herd. They also were called when required by Vernon Adams, who had started a ranch of his own. Hurd Price had started to work on his farm with his woman Laura, and also helped out sometimes.

The new hired guns, Choctaw Lee and Jack Dekker, had left behind their outlaw ways and now they rode for the Bronson clan. Their presence persuaded the cattle thieves from acting. But they were not the only men in Sabbath with a past. There was a Mexican known as “The Alacran”, who was rumored to be an outlaw and that he had killed a lawman. He kept a low profile, for now.

And in town, the local saloon and brothel owner Lucas Decroux had hired a gambler named Mayer to keep the peace. This was mostly taking the odd drunken customer to the local jail to sleep it off. Mayer also had a past, but now he was enjoying the good life in Sabbath. The local sheriff “Cotton” Ryan was more a regular customer at Lucas´ than a law enforcer. He was liked, but he preferred to step wide if the going got tough. Luckily, problems were few and far apart in the peaceful town of Sabbath. And the townsfolk wanted to keep it that way.

Sabbath was under the protection and control of the most powerful man in the region. Vincent Bronson practically owned the town, and the town was grateful for the man who many years ago had driven away the Comanche Indians to make way for the town of Sabbath to grow and prosper. He was the guardian and benefactor of Sabbath. Feared by few, loved by many. And respected by all. Vincent Bronson did not have to respond to no one. He was the law and the justice in Sabbath.

In the West, you did not inquire into a man´s past. All that mattered was here and now, and you took the measure of a man for what he was today.However, sometimes a man´s past came looking for him. Or haunting. A former companions from a life one had left behind. Or a fun night out, a celebration, a stray shot fired. An unfortunate incident with dire consequences. 

A Lawman was on his way to Sabbath. He was out for justice. Normally, Bronson could buy him. Or if he did not sell, he could buy the man above him. That was the Justice in Sabbath.

However, this time it could be different…

As the Lawman rode into town, the people of Sabbath felt the world turn beneath their feet.

The farming tools and equipment arrived a week after Hurd had come back from the cattle drive. The next months he worked tiredlessly with Laura to prepare their small farm. Potatoes, corn… The land was dry and barren, but Hurd and Laura were not going to quit that easily.

Around Midsummer day, Hurd and Laura invited Vern, Sinta and a few others to celebrate. They were struggling to make ends meet, and they could not afford preachers or flowers. But they considered themselves man and wife.

The days were long, and when night came, Hurd was usually exhausted. Laura never brought it up, but sometimes he suspected she could be yearning for something more. The feeling of not being good enough for her sometimes kept Hurd wake at night.

The summer of 1886 was one Mayer would´ve liked to last forever. Lucas´ saloon, Rosanna, the town of Sabbath. Everything was just perfect, and the recent arrival of his former outlaw compadres Choctaw and Jack Dekker did not stir any trouble for him. They even came to town a few nights to visit the other saloon, and Jack visited one of the girls at Lucas´ place. If he recognized Mayer, he did not say anything. And then there was Rosanna. The beautiful and dangerous Rosanna. They both knew they were walking on thin ice.

The former soldier had left his outlaw days behind. Sabbath was a new start for him. The first weeks and months, Jack moved in the wilderness and the surrounding terrain to get to know the area. He did visit the town with Choctaw a few nights, but not often. Bronson was not keen on having his two hired guns visiting the town. Someone could recognize them and even though the local marshal Cotton Ryan was under Mr. Bronson´s control, the cattle baron did not want to take any chances.

One of life´s funny coincidences was that “Bandit” Mayer, a former outlaw that used to ride with the Lee gang in Delaware, together with Jack and Choctaw, was not working in the local brothel. Jack visited the place, but he did not stop to talk to Mayer. That was a long time ago. Now he had started a new life.

Rosanna was working in that saloon also, as a saloon girl. That seemed a bit odd, but it seemed to be the way she had agreed with Mr. Bronson. As to Alacran, the crazy Mexican outlaw was nowhere to be seen.

Regarding Mr. Bronson´s cattle and the protection, there was very little to do at during the summer. Most of the cattle had been taken to the rail heads in several cattle drives, and the younger animals were controlled in the corrals. After August, things could get more interesting.

Choctaw Lee had made it. From a young outlaw in Delaware, he had moved up in society. Sort of. He was the Gun Hand for Mr. Bronson. So far, it had not been necessary to use his skills for any job, since the cattle was still young . But later on in the year, when the animals roamed freely in the high lands surrounding the Bronson ranch, he was sure the Mexican cattle thieves would reappear.  And Choctaw was ready! Every day he practiced with the cowboys, some of them were actually quite good with the gun. Mainly Crowe Wheelwright. Also, sometimes Choctaw went with Jack to scout the territory on horseback.

The two also visited Sabbath a few times, but Choctaw was told to keep a low profile. Jack told him that Mayer, their old acquitance from the days in Delaware, was now working at the local brothel. As gambler! Also, Rosanna was there. Alacran had disappeared, but Choctaw suspected Mr. Bronson had given the Mexican a specific task.

Crowe carried on working for Mr. Bronson in the summer of 1886. Almost every day, he practiced with his gun. Choctaw Lee was often with him at the improvised shooting range close by. Crowe considered himself to be the best shooter amongst the cowboys.

In reality, Choctaw was still considering options. His life was going in circles, nothing was happening. Maybe one day Mr. Bronson would give him a chance to show his worth. Or maybe it was time to look for other options.

That summer, Sinta got the occasional work from Mr. Bronson. She did not sleep in the bunkhouse so not to cause any problems (it was usually not allowed to have women in the bunkhouse). A small room in the outskirts of Sabbath was what she had. When she did not have any work, she often went to help Hurd with his farm, and more often Vern with his ranch.

Sinta was not a farmer, so the cowboy work with Vernon seemed more appropriate. They both attended Hurd´s and Laura´s celebration. They did not get married as such, since they did not have the money for a preacher and flowers. But after that date, they were man and woman.

ALACRAN: Mr. Bronson had sent Jose “Alacran” Luciano to blend in with the local Mexicans. There were quite a few small farms and pueblos further south, and it was easy for the former outlaw to tell a story of how he was being pursued by the law.

His goal was to locate the leaders or possible leaders of the cattle thieves that each year took their share of Mr. Bronson´s profits. That did not take long. He was even offered money to “protect” the thieves, or his share if he would participate. But he preferred to keep a low profile, he said.

What Alacran missed the most was Rosanna. Her touch, her voice, her smell… The last he knew, she was also working undercover in secret, but in the town of Sabbath. There she could see what was going on, if someone new arrived and started making questions. This was not the life he had in mind when they left San Acoma, but it was going to be temporary.

Choctaw enjoys his new life, for now. For the first time in his life he has enough money to drink, smoke and fuck. He lives in a decent house, with no leaks on the roof. He eats every day a hot meal by noon, and a good dinner. The boss is generous, if you are useful to him of course. And the cattle thieves are the best part.
He had some troubles with local thieves. Maybe they thought that Choctaw and Jack are rookies. Well, a couple of kicks in their asses proved them that they're not.
One night Choctaw was making his round, when he caught some guys. Two mexicans who were carrying guns. Choctaw gets off the horse and starts shooting in a fan fire. The closest two dies without a word. The old man, the father maybe, shoots him and Choctaw was injured in his left leg. He takes cover using a rock, reloads and kills the old man.
He picks the corpses and loads up the mules that the mexicans brought with them. And finish his round.
Bronson don't said a word. Don't need. Someone takes the corpses and makes them disappear.

Yes, that's a good life. Drink, food, women, and I am being paid for shooting people.- That's he repeats to himself every night.

He use to go to Sabbath to buy whiskey, tobacco and... the ladies, of course. Rosanna was there but he decides not talk to her, He decides to scout the area to familiarize with the place. And looking for some thieves to make shooting practice

It was one of those nights.

Hurd was lying on bed, eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling. Laura slept deeply next to him. Her breath was soft and her face serene, as if all was going well. Hurd sighed.

The room was totally silent except for the clock. It had belonged to Laura's grandmother and it was one of the few things she had taken with her when she moved with him. When Hurd saw it hanging on the bedroom wall he thought it was out of place. Their house was too modest for a clock like that, and he didn't like the constant ticking. But Laura had insisted – and there was little Hurd could do when she insisted – that it had to go there. She said it brought her memories of her childhood and helped her sleep well. Thus, Hurd now shared many nights with Laura's clock, as if it was a punishment for not being able to share them properly with Laura herself... He hated it. He could felt his nerves tensing with every tick.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried thinking of farming matters. It helped sometimes. After the harvest, Hurd was in a hopeful mood regarding the farm. It fascinated him how the arid soil his land had been just a few months ago could now look like such a healthy garden. It had been the first crop cycle and the results were far from optimal, but overall it was a success and he was more than happy with it. At least his hard work – and Laura's – had been worth the effort. They probably couldn't afford having employees, but Hurd had been on the lookout for an apprentice, as some days the work was really too much for him and took a lot of time.

The hardest part had been the plowing. Vern had lent him a mule but it was the most stubborn animal Hurd had ever seen. And, to make things worse, it had broken a leg. Since then, Hurd had been pulling the plow himself. He had been planning on asking Mr. Bronson for a couple of oxen, as a loan, but he wanted to sort out the claiming first, and he might need the boss for that. He didn't like asking for so many things. Also, he had been letting some time pass before talking to Mr. Bronson, so the dust from the Bannock incident could settle.

Hurd sighed again. Bannock... The first time he had came across Lee, Dekker and the others in town, there had been some significant looks and smiles. But he had only talked with Vern about the matter. Hurd didn't have a solid memory of it, but it wasn't merry. He had gotten way out of hand and he didn't like that. That's why he used to avoid drinking a lot. But apart from that – Vern seemed to agree – no one was making a fuss and it was a matter of time that the incident was forgotten.

Ah, Vern... The man always managed to make his worries go away. Hurd just hoped he could have him around more often, to ask him for advice and, Hell, talk with another man for a change. He missed that from the drive; working with the guys, sharing stories next to the fire... He enjoyed Laura's company, but it wasn't the same. She knew it – as it probably was the same for her. She even had told him once that she sometimes wished Hurd talked and smiled to her the way he did to Vern. It had been a heavy argument and a weird moment. He wasn't sure what to think about it and always remembered it with a cold sweat.

Hurd clenched his teeth. The ominous ticking was driving him crazy. He wondered what time it would be. Ironically enough, he couldn't see the goddamned clock. He got off bed.

Moving quietly, Hurd went to the living room. It was dark, but he'd been doing this for many nights so he knew where things were. He grabbed a match, kindled the oil lamp and opened the little cupboard where he kept his stuff. He took out the book, then left the lamp on the dinning table and sat carefully on the chair. Now, where was he...

Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it -- namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.

- Go figure... - Hurd whispered in the dark.

He could still hear the clock ticking.

My new life in Sabbath was everything I expected, everything I ever wanted.

Things were smooth: my job was easy, Lucas' saloon was a quiet place and I didn't had to face too many troublers or drunk cowboys. I had my corner, and gambling was the mayor part of my role there. Finally I could leave behind my outlaw days, live in the other side of the law, and gambling, like I always wanted. It felt great to fall asleep with a clear conscience.

Choctaw and Dekker were no trouble, but that didn't mean I wasn't afraid of them walking inside the saloon and recognizing me everyday. I didn't want anyone in Sabbath to know about the life I had before. You know, a man is what it is because its past, but everyman should be able to keep his past for himself. And my reunion with my two fellas from Ed Steins' gang days wasn't going to do any good.

The only 'problem' was Rossana. It wasn't exactñy a problem, I really loved her, and so she did, but every night I layed with her, I knew that somehow I was diggin' my own grave, and worse: hers too. I had this feeling that it was just a matter of time for troubles to grow...

Trinity rode Silverado carefully across the small stream and then he could see the highlands, and the Wolf Pass that lead to the valley were Sabbath was. It had been a long ride from San Acoma to Arizona, and at times the thought of giving up the hunt for Choctaw and Dekker had crossed his mind. Now, in the fall of 1886, over a year after the Delaware massacre, most of the Stein-Lee gang had been captured or killed. No one seemed to care about what had happened up north. This was the Shattered Frontier, the wild and uncharted territory. And Sabbath was just another God forsaken town in the middle of nowhere.

But no matter the time that had passed, Trinity felt he was on a mission. Something was pushing him on. Now, as he rode slowly towards the town, his eyes were fixed on a high wooden church at the far end of the main street. Not small and dark, but majestic and powerful.

For a moment, he felt the presence of the Almighty. Maybe, just maybe, he would find what he was looking for. Justice in Sabbath.

Trinity looked at the bottom of the empty glass, wisky's perfume was still dancing with the awfull smell of the saloon . He began to smile thinking in the past events. "Almost an entire year, and know so close..." He said, and the words sounded like the hammer of a blacksmith. Trinity looked at the empty gambling table. The last months he had played a lot of poker hands. The final score was draw, but it was a good method to forget his homocide feelings. Anger had become an usual taste, every new or a lack of news, made him felt ill. He looked through the window. It was training time. After his conversation at San Acoma he realized that Dekker and Choctaw will not be easy prey. He started a daily training...some gun shots and, more important, some winchester shots.