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pictures for posterity, became so sick at the eerie sight, that he had to keep running outside to throw up in the street. Two of the victims, Franklin Carroll and Malcolm Watterson, had been shot simultaneously and had fallen into each other. They were both still on their knees and appeared to be embracing, with their heads drooping over each other’s shoulder.
    Daniel Ryan had a near riot on his hands when he rode into town at five minutes past one the following afternoon. Because of a torrential downpour, the journey had taken longer than expected. Sheriff Sloan met him in front of the bank, gave him thedetails, and then unlocked the door and followed him inside.
    The bodies hadn’t been removed from the lobby. If Ryan was sickened by the sight before him, he didn’t show it. He slowly walked around the scene and stared down at the dead from every possible angle. There was only one telltale sign that he was affected. His hands were in fists at his sides.
    In a strangled whisper, Sloan said, “I didn’t know if I should let the bodies be taken out or leave them alone for you to see. Did I do the right thing?”
    Before Ryan could answer him, the sheriff continued. “There was another body found in the alley next to the bank. His name was Billie, and he was the town drunk. They used a knife on him, and before I could tell the funeral men to leave him be, they carted him off and put him in the ground. I had pictures taken of these poor men, but Billie was already gone, so I didn’t get any pictures of him.”
    The stench was getting to him. Sloan held a handkerchief over his mouth and nose to block the smell. He couldn’t make himself look at his friends, but stared at the ceiling instead. “I don’t want the families of these men to see…” Sloan couldn’t go on. He gagged, spun around, and clawed at the doorknob. Ryan had to turn it for him. The sheriff ran outside, doubled over in front of the crowd that had gathered, and threw up in the street.
    Returning to his inspection, Ryan squatted down next to one of the bodies to get a closer look at a bullet he’d spotted half buried in the floorboard. He could still hear Sloan’s retching outside when the door opened again, letting in another blessed whiff of fresh air. Cole came striding inside. Ryan turned to him and waited for a reaction.
    Cole wasn’t prepared for what he saw. As though he’d just run headlong into a stone wall, he staggered back and whispered, “Ah … Lord.”
    â€œAre you going to run, or are you going to stay?” Ryan demanded.
    Cole didn’t answer. Ryan’s eyes were blazing with fury now. “Take a good look, Cole. Any of these men could have been one of your brothers. Tell me, how often do they go into a bank? Or your mother? Or your sister?” he taunted in a voice that lashed out like a whip.
    Cole shook his head and continued to stare at the two corpses on their knees leaning into one another. He couldn’t look away.
    â€œDon’t you dare tell me this isn’t your problem,” Ryan said. “I’ve made it your problem by getting you appointed marshal. Like it or not, you aren’t walking away from this. You’re going to help me catch the bastards.”
    Cole didn’t say a word. He was fighting the urge to join the sheriff outside, yet at the same time he could feel his anger fueling to a rage. No one should have to die like this. No one.
    He wouldn’t allow himself to be sick. If he turned his back on these men and ran outside, he would be committing a blasphemy. He couldn’t reason his reaction. He just knew it would be wrong for him to be repulsed by them.
    He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then slowly moved away from the door and walked around the circle of dead. Ryan watched him closely.
    Another minute passed in silence, and then Cole said, “I don’t know how many of them were in