The Mustard Seed

***Grand Prize Runner Up in the Decameron Project 2.0***

"Who goes there?"

The sound of at least nine hammers cocking back sent Cade's hands into the air. Stopping his horse just outside the campfire's glow, he answered "Cade Sinclair," while squinting past the flickering flames, unable to see anything more than ominous shadows.

A small part of him wished the sound of his name would set off a blaze of gunfire that would put him out of the misery his life had become. But a bigger portion, that had once been touched by an angel, urged him not to give up.

"Come into the light."

He did as he was told, nudging his horse forward with his knees. He hoped this was where he could stop running. Running from his past, and running from his thoughts. That he'd be accepted into this gathering. He would know within the next few minutes.

A tall man stood on the other side of the fire, his hat obscuring his face. But Cade could make out the weapon pointing at him, an exact replica of his own. This, then, must be the leader of The Brotherhood of the Damned, the group for whom he sought admittance.

A murmur of unease rumbled through the shapes huddled around the fire like so many birds of prey, their guns not wavering from their target. Him. Words manifested from the whispers.

"How did he find us?"

"If he found us, so could others."

"I say we kill him, just to be sure."

"Enough."

That word, rapped out like the slam of a door, silenced the growing sounds of discontent. Cade shot his gaze to the man standing within the light from the fire's flames. If he was the leader, he was the only one Cade needed to convince that he was worthy of becoming one of the Damned.

"How did you find us?" The speaker, although indistinct through the hazy smoke of the fire, seemed familiar to Cade. He'd remember; he always did. He had a good memory for faces. But he needed to reply to the question before he became Swiss cheese.

"I tracked you."

"Impossible." Another voice snapped from the circle of the Brotherhood. Cade sat back in his saddle, pushed his hat off his forehead with a forefinger. He smiled, though he felt no humor.

"Not for me. It's what I do best: tracking. That, and killing." He frowned now, stared at the leader, who also shifted his hat back, revealing his identity. Cade couldn't contain the gasp that escaped his throat when recognition bloomed. For the first time in a long while, he worried about his mortality.

"You're Sonny McQuade, the Fastest Gun in the West," he breathed, while a ripple of amusement spread through the listeners. The man across from Cade, a legend in his own lifetime, which was less than thirty years, bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"I see my reputation precedes me. These are my brothers—and sisters—of the Damned." He half-turned toward the circle of watchers, waving the hand without the gun at each in turn. "This is Colton Lassiter, Doc, Sal, the Undertaker, Lazarus, Phineus, Ricardo, and Mustard." He faced Cade once more. "I imagine you fancy yourself an equal to the rest of us."

Snorts of disbelief brought the rise of heat to Cade's cheeks. If only they knew his torment, they wouldn't dismiss him so readily. He opened his mouth to set them straight, but McQuade wasn't finished.

"Why do you think you belong here? What have you done that places you with gunfighters, marauders, and thieves?"

The silence following McQuade's question was absolute. A piece of wood broke apart in the fire, sending sparks up to light the darkness. But they didn't reach the black in Cade's soul.