Dead Sun Rising

The rope didn't take.

That's the thing about Caius Harlow. They pulled the lever, the hemp sang its ugly song, and the world went black. He should have stayed in that noose. He should have let the vultures have his eyes and the desert have his sins. But some men are like bad pennies-or maybe they're just too mean for Hell to keep.

Seven years later, Caius is back, and he's brought a specialized kind of weather with him.
He was a Lawman once, back when the world still had a pulse. Now, he's a ghost with a brand on his neck and thirteen shadows riding at his back. They call them Harlow's Lot. They aren't heroes, and they sure as hell aren't saints; they're just the broken pieces of a frontier that forgot how to pray, carving a trail through a wasteland where the sun feels like a grudge.

Caius is looking for more than just revenge. He's looking for the man he used to be. But in a land where the dead won't stay down and the very soil seems to be dreaming of a mechanical nightmare, he might find that some legends are better off hanging from a tree.