The boy slipped silently out of his window, a bare hand and feet struggling to cling to the steep wooden shingles as he tried to keep the candle in his free hand from tipping and spilling hot wax all over his knuckles. Escaping his house in the dead of night was pretty tricky, and his parents, it seemed, slept on pins and needles, the slightest noise throwing them from their bed, his father going for his gun, as if anyone would ever want to rob their home. He fell to a crouch in the small grass below, the candle safe and secure, and still lit at that. The warm, muggy air surrounded him immediately, making him feel like he was wrapped in some thick, damp blanket.

He wasn't sure why his parents kept him from meeting up with his friends at night. He was almost fourteen, and he reckoned there wasn't a person or thing in the whole state of Tennessee that could do to him anything he didn't want done. Scurrying off, he hid the glow from his candle with his hand until he was far enough away that it couldn't be seen from the windows. The boy knew those forests well, and while any other person might have been waylaid in a swamp or a creek, he wasn't, jumping over snags and roots and ducking under low-hanging limbs until he neared the cave. Putting his hand in front of the flame again, he lit it show three times, that being the sign they had all agreed upon before approaching their secret hideout.

As he got closer, however, he couldn't shake the feeling that something just wasn't right. First, no return signal came. He thought maybe he was the first person there, as there was a first time for everything his ma said, but looking around behind him he didn't see even a flicker from the candles of approaching boys. Second, it seemed to him that some unusually dark shadows were looming around the opening to the cave. Crawling through the thicket, he tried to get a better look.

Sure enough, those shadows began to move a bit, bending over a pile of something on the ground before them. As he got closer, he could actually hear something, a dull murmuring it seemed, followed by what sounded like the rattle of a rattlesnake, only it came from what should be the mouth of one of the shadows. The other figure clapped and almost immediately a flame lit up their surroundings like a campsite. At what he then saw, the boy fell back, his candle snuffed out in the damp ground.

The pile was made up of the bodies of people, children even. So his friends had been him there again. But they were lifeless now, smeared with blood turned black by the light of the fire. The two kneeling figures he couldn't make out, as they were silhouetted against the flames, and everything in his body was telling him to make a run for it, but his mind was compelled to stay and watch. A hand of one of the figures moved forward, firelight playing on the blade of a knife. As it moved through the chest of one of the boys it made a sickening sound. The boy almost vomited, but swallowed it back, afraid of making a sound.

That knife seemed to cut a circular hole and then withdrew, the other hand going forward to take its place. The boy half expected it, but the reality still jolted him, as that hand reached in and pulled a round organ from within, severing the ties of tissue and nerve with a jerk. This human heart it seemed to hold in exaltation a moment before slowly bringing it to its mouth. As it opened wide and brought it closer, the boy couldn't take any more. Turning around, he bolted back into the foliage, tripping a few times but not minding the scrapes as he picked himself up hurried along, never daring to look behind him. A shrieking laugh seemed to follow him no matter how far he ran.

Safe in his bed that night with the window shut tight and the curtains drawn shut, he reckoned he'd heed his ma's words and stay in bed for a good long time after that.

That particular kind of silence only attributed to the evening times was broken in an instant, shattered by the hearty gallops of an ol' style cowhand, a rustler, a tumbler, a gambler, and a shooter. There wasn't any denyin' it, that there was the very steed of none other than Isaac Q. Williamson. That's I-zay-ack, for you less informed peoples who dun know yer pronunce'ation. Now then, what the devil was Isaac Q. Williamson doin' out rustlin' cattle herds in the dead of the night? Why protectin' his investment on the southwestern American frontier, that's what.

Entrusted with the duties to protect quite possibly the largest herd of fresh beef this side of the Mississippi, there was talk all throughout the newly expanding frontier that soon the United States government was goin' to form some kind of steam rail or somethin' of the like in a matter of years, somethin' to make the transportation of cattle much easier and to expand the stretch of the American presence. Of course, this didn't mean nothin' to that bright-eyed brown-haired boy down in Santa Fe; Isaac's only job was herding cattle and, when the circumstances might have provided for it, rescuin' the hands of fair damsels that might've been in danger at the hands of greater evils. Or rather, that's what he'd like to believe. He hadn't touched a damsel yet, but read enough about 'em. Sure 'nough, some day he figured he'd get his chance. He only done fired that pistol at his side but once or twice. Otherwise, the cattle just seemed to follow at the sight of his very presence.

Bringin' that charger's pace to a calm trot, those brown eyes started tracin' the horizon line, pickin' up the sight of sunrise soon comin' up over the hilltops. He remembered clear as crystal what Luis had told him. You keep up on that horizon line and don't you lose site of that herd for even an instant. That was a good two years ago now, when the boy found the job, but the words still rang in his head and he didn't think they'd ever leave. He always watched that horizon and never took away from it.

And to the boy's rather astounded surprise, this morning the horizon would yield somethin' a bit different. Eyes squinted as the clopping of a steadfast gallop seemed to be approaching from that horizon line. Outlined by the risin' sun ascending behind it, the steed was finally sighted, a figure lowered down atop its backside with what Isaac assumed to be nothin' less than fire in their eyes. The shape was odd for a ranch-hand. Of course you'd find the slender ones every now and then, but more often than not, to work as a solid cowboy, one needed to be a bit more on the well-built side of things, just in case. But for the way that newcomer was handlin' that horse, you'd never be able to tell the diff'rence.

And none of this stopped the fact that they were chargin' down that hillside like they had fire burnin' a trail behind 'em, steed and master, rushin' Isaac's assigned herd like they had all intents and reason to make away with it. But such a thing wasn't gonna be happenin' on that cowboy's watch. Giving a firm whip of the reigns and an audible "Yah!" into the dawn-colored sky, Isaac Q. Williamson took his steed and rushed, hand quickly yankin' out that pistol from one side and that round of rope from the other, grippin' both tightly in one hand. He called to the figure who dashed from side to side and seemed to think stoppin' wasn't such a thing in their interests.

"I'm not so sure what you're out there doin', but I suggest pullin' yaw horse to a stop 'cause you ain't got no business with this herd!"

Despite his call, the approacher kept on approachin', ridin' with abandon straight towards the front of the herd which already began rumblin' and rustlin' about, more so out of fear from Isaac's forward charge than that of the stranger. But it wasn't worth the risk, there was no doubts about that, and so Isaac handled that lariat like a true southwestern vaquero, tossin' it skywards for a moment and with a quick flick, throwin' it down to simultaneously loop that rider and his steed and yank 'em down to earth. With a quick jerk, the loop tightened and Isaac stepped cautiously off his charger to approach the captured folk. That was a kind of horse he ain't never seen before, enough to already pique his interest beyond just deliverin' that villain to his maker.

With a sudden kick of his spurs upwards, he just about knocked that cowboy hat off that stranger into next week. But as the dawn light kept comin' over that horizon and shone itself upon that unfamiliar face, it would be Isaac who received the most surprise. For sittin' there before those big brown eyes was nothin' less than a woman.

That Carolina sun beat down on the white-washed walls of the Big House, drawin' the eyes from the surrounding fields every now and again to take in its splendor and long for the cool retreat it offered. But wishin' was wishin', and it wouldn't get the work done no faster, so those eyes went right back to their chores every time. They wouldn't find no relief from that sun before it set or their chores were done, whichever one came first, and then that relief wouldn't be found in a place like the White Hall House, but in their own quarters behind their own rough wooden shingles.

The White Man, which was their own nickname for old Massuh Cain, as he most always dressed hisself in white, and had white hair an' all that, watched them from the shelter beneath the porch overhang, one leg crossed over the other and a very congenial smile on his face. He sympathised with them, they was sure, but there warn't anything he could do about it, this being the nature of the world and all. No, they labored for Massuh Cain and didn't raise no ruckus because he did make it easy on them and treated them right, and they was mighty thankful for that.

About that time, Cain's attendant, that old trained slave he called Cuff, come out and give the Massuh some lemonade, it being a hot day and all and Massuh Cain bein' a man of gathering years. "Thank you, Cuff, most graciously," he says, and put the glass on the little table 'side him. "You read the news yet, have yuh?"

Cuff, he shook his head and sorta smiled before answerin'. "You know's well as I I can't read, massuh." Cain smiled hisself, that knowin' glow in his eye that he get on the occasion that he's in full knowledge of an issue he been pretendin' not to be.

"Four boys down in Mississippi been killed in a most heinous fashion," he continued, takin' a sip from the lemonade. "Hearts ripped clean out of 'em and nowhere to be found. Been done in the dead of night, at that. Up and down that river it seems people are up in arms, callin' for inquiries and lynchin's an' all that."

"Sound like witches, suh," Cuff muttered, leaning against the railing and seemin' to ponder over the issue.

"How many times do I have to tell you," Massuh Cain admonished lightly, "there ain't no sich thing as witches. All superstition that is. No, this is the work of a normal man, though maybe normal ain't exactly the word for what he is. Still, this sounds frightenin'ly familiar to something I encountered out west durin' the war."

"You think it the Messicans, suh?" asked Cuff, leanin' forward all interested-like.

"No, not the Mexicans, it ain't their fashion at all," Cain shook his head. "No, you nevermind now, and go on and make sure all them in the fields is gettin' water. I don't need nobody passin' out due to the heat, there's work to be done."

"Yes, massuh," his attendant says before goin' back indoors to get the water jugs and no doubt rest up a bit in the cool before he launched back into the heat of the fields. He been spoiled somethin' awful, that Cuff.

Old Massuh Cain, he just keep on sittin' there thinkin' to hisself, and by and by a smile come to his face again, as it seem he hit upon somethin' he'd been searchin' for there in that big, full mind o' his. He called for Cuff again in a big hurry, as he now had some business to ten' to.

Still silence overtook the desert that lay in the Utah territory as even the tumble weeds refused to dance along the rocky ground. The noon sun beat down on the desolate desert below stealing whatever moisture it could making even the cactus' that day look a little dry. Only insects were crawling, but they were more scenery than anything else. The land was quiet, lonely, and barren at least for a moment...

A chilling scream echoed though the barren desert and certainly anyone would be able to hear it from miles away. The only problem is that miles away was more desert, tumble weeds, insects, and cactus'. Hell even if there was one lonely soul or even a group of lonely souls close enough to hear the scream they would never get there in time to save him. Angel knew that and hell Billy should have too, but he was in something they called denial. Shaking her head a few strands of the woman's dark, reddish-brown, burgundy hair slipped out of the black ribbon that pulled it back.

“Billy...” A sigh escaped Angel's dark red lips before a dark brown, long cigar was inserted in place of the air. Taking a long drag the woman stood up looking over the man that was lying on the ground in his own blood. Angel listened as the man screamed out again this time for help. His pain filled voice echoed through the desert making it sound all the more hopeless. Lifting her gaze from the man Angel looked around the flat desert as her blue eyes searched for anyone, any figures around them. Pulling the cigar out of her mouth the woman shook her head sadly looking down at her victim, “Sorry Billy...but...no ones coming.” She tilted her head to the other side going to wipe off some of Billy's blood off her chin with her thumb, “Want me to help you Billy? I can scream too if you want...”

The man just whimpered and sobbed letting his head fall back against the hard ground. Angel turned around going to shout herself, “HELLO! ANYONE THERE! BILLY HERE IS REAL LONELY AND NEEDS-” Her shouting was interrupted though by an even louder scream from the man which made Angel snicker quietly. The laughter only lasted a moment before she went dead silent and listened to the area around them. Quickly turning around she ran over to Billy and put a hand over his mouth. “Hush you! I heard someone!” She watched as the man's big brown eyes went wide and he tried to bite her hand longing for freedom. Pathetic...he was still clinging to hope. She put a finger over her lips, “Shhh...listen...listen...I thought-” Angel paused listening to the absolute silence that surrounded their little world. Smirking evilly she pulled her hand away from his mouth, “Nope...just my imagination...you can scream now again if you like.”

Billy yanked his body upwards screaming at the woman, “Your horrid bitch! I'll get you! Sam will get you! He'll fuck you stupid bitch face with a knife!” Angel didn't bother saying a word to Billy at least yet. The man was just in pain and didn't know what else to do. He couldn't move because she had staked his hands and feet with rail road spikes into the ground. Billy of course was also naked, and his stomach was skinless. She had it tacked to a rock so it could dry out in the sun. Yes, she was literally tanning his hide which was sickly hilarious. Listening to him scream at her some more Angel turned around going to kick some dirt at an open grave, “You shouldn't cuss with you're little girl around Billy..” She looked down in the hole at the little bundle that was wrapped up below and lying at the bottom. “She didn't make half the fuss you're making...” Turning around Angel caught the glaring eyes of the man. Alright, so in reality she was lying about killing his daughter, but he didn't need to know that.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as Angel walked back over to the man going to kneel next to him in the dirt, “Now Billy...” She paused pulling out a long hunting knife, “You have...nice cheeks...I think they would help me make me a nice purse.” The man violently turned his head and twisted his body once more putting up a fight. This only made Angel sigh as she popped the cigar back in her mouth before reaching out to grab his chin forcefully as she scolded him, “If you keep moving them I'll just miss and stab your God damn ugly face!” Sliding the sharp edge of the blade into the man's face Angel did her best to separate his skin from his muscle while Billy screamed out again and still he got no reply save for Angel who had starting humming...