The saloon door swung shut behind Cassidy with a heavy creak, and the sounds of the night slipped in—a soft wind rustling through the street, the distant clatter of horses' hooves as the McMiller Gang disappeared into the night. Cassidy stood in the middle of the room, his senses adjusting, his heartbeat already steadying after the chaos of the fight.
He knew the McMiller Gang was fleeing, their panic clear in every heavy bootfall and hurried breath. Charlie St. Peter was a smart one, Cassidy could tell. Smart enough to know when he was outmatched, at least.
But Cassidy wasn't chasing them—not yet.
He could hear the whispers from the saloon patrons, the murmurs of disbelief and fear. Some of them wondered how a blind man could send a seasoned gang of outlaws running with nothing more than a lever-action rifle and an air of calm. Cassidy didn't pay them any mind. He'd done this before. The awe of strangers never stuck with him. What stuck was the silence that followed, the lingering quiet after the storm.
And in that quiet, Cassidy could feel the familiar pull of fate.
The McMiller Gang was gone—for now—but they were far from safe. He could find them whenever he wanted. It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again. Cassidy didn't worry about that. There was no need to rush. His luck always found a way to bring his targets back around to him.
He slung his rifle over his shoulder, letting the soft hum of the saloon's dim life drift back into his awareness. The fight was over, but Black Hollow wasn't done with him yet. There were bounties here, criminals hiding in the shadows, debts waiting to be collected.
And Cassidy was in no hurry.
He turned his head slightly, picking up the sound of a man shifting nervously behind the bar. The bartender's mechanical arm hissed as he wiped the counter with slow, deliberate strokes. He hadn't spoken since the fight broke out, but Cassidy could hear his heavy breathing, the tension in his movements.
"You've got more than just outlaws in this town, don't you?" Cassidy said, his voice soft but firm.
The bartender froze, his grip tightening around the glass he was polishing. For a moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between them like a thread waiting to be snapped. Finally, he let out a long breath.
"We ain't had no FBE around these parts in years," the bartender said, his voice gruff. "Don't know what you're lookin' for, but Black Hollow's always been a quiet place."
Cassidy could hear the lie in the man's voice, the way it faltered just enough to betray him. Quiet wasn't the word. This place was crawling with the kind of people who stayed just out of reach of the law—until someone like Cassidy came to town.
"Got any bounties still hanging 'round?" Cassidy asked, tilting his head just slightly, his fingers tracing the worn wood of his rifle. He didn't need to see the man's reaction. He could feel it in the air.
The bartender hesitated, then set the glass down with a soft clink. "I heard tell of one or two... folks who've been layin' low, tryin' to keep off the radar."
Cassidy nodded slowly. He had a feeling. Black Hollow wasn't a big town, but it was the kind of place where trouble could fester under the surface if no one looked too closely. It wasn't just about the McMiller Gang—there were others here, smaller fish but dangerous all the same.
"Names?" Cassidy asked, his tone casual but direct.
The bartender sighed. "Word is there's a fellow named Harper down by the stables. Used to run with a gang out of Iron Mesa before the law caught up with 'em. Been hiding out here for months."
"Anyone else?" Cassidy prodded.
"A couple drifters, maybe. Nothing big." The bartender's voice was tense, reluctant.
Cassidy didn't need more details. He had enough. Harper at the stables, some drifters on the outskirts—Black Hollow had its fair share of outlaws. And he had no doubt there were more, buried deeper in the town's murky underbelly.
"Harper first," Cassidy murmured to himself, turning away from the bar. The stables were close by, and he could feel the pull guiding him once again. This was how it worked. He never rushed, never forced it. The world seemed to arrange itself for him, drawing him toward what needed to be done.
The McMiller Gang could wait. They were far, but not lost. Fate had its way of bringing everything back around, like a pendulum that swung on its own rhythm.
Cassidy stepped outside into the cool night air. The town was still and quiet, the only sounds coming from the distant rattle of a windmill and the soft murmur of horses in their pens. Black Hollow's darkened streets stretched out before him, but Cassidy felt no uncertainty. His steps were sure, his pace unhurried.
The stables were just ahead, and the faint sound of rustling straw reached his ears. Someone was inside, moving quietly, but not quietly enough. Harper.
Cassidy approached the stable doors, his hand resting loosely on the rifle at his side. He didn't pull it free. Not yet. There was no need to raise alarms before the moment came.
"Harper," Cassidy called softly as he reached the stable entrance. "I know you're in there."
The noise inside stopped immediately. Cassidy heard the slight shuffle of boots on straw, the catch of breath as the man inside froze. Harper knew the name Zodiac. Anyone running from the law did.
A long silence followed, the tension rising. Cassidy could almost hear the man's mind racing, debating between flight or fight. But Cassidy didn't need to rush. He already knew how this would play out.
"Come on out," Cassidy said. "Make it easy on yourself."
For a moment, there was no sound. Then, the creak of the stable door as it opened slightly. Harper stepped into the faint light, his eyes wide and wild, his hands raised just enough to show he wasn't armed. He was a lanky man, with greasy hair and a face that hadn't seen a good night's rest in weeks.
Cassidy tilted his head slightly, picking up the subtle vibrations in Harper's stance. He wasn't ready to give up just yet. There was a tension in his legs, the faintest hint of weight shifting toward escape.
"Don't," Cassidy warned, his voice low but steady. His hand brushed the stock of his rifle, a reminder of the power that hung between them.
Harper froze, his mouth half-open as if he were about to say something, but he knew better. Cassidy's reputation was enough to stop most men in their tracks. Zodiac didn't miss, and everyone knew that.
"I ain't lookin' for blood," Cassidy continued. "Just lookin' to collect. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Harper hesitated, his eyes flicking to the shadows beyond Cassidy, searching for an out. But Cassidy stood still, calm, his hand resting lightly on the rifle. The weight of luck hung heavy in the air, and Harper must have felt it. The fight drained from his posture as he slowly lowered his hands, his shoulders sagging in defeat.
"Smart man," Cassidy said, nodding once. He stepped forward and pulled a pair of iron cuffs from his belt, securing Harper's wrists with practiced ease.
The bounty was done. One more outlaw off the streets, one more step forward. The McMiller Gang would come later. They always would.
As Cassidy led Harper through the empty streets of Black Hollow, the quiet night folded back over the town, and fate continued to spin its endless threads.
