Hallowed Ground
“ Brady stood in the center of the street, staring after them. His own horse was saddled and ready. He wasn’t a religious man, far from it. What he was, was a careful man – and he took his job seriously. After the night he’d lived through he wasn’t about to take any chances.
Every man jack and swaddled babe in a ten mile radius of town was headed for the Deacon’s camp. There was no way in hell he could’ve protected them all, not the stragglers and the keen who raced ahead, so he’d deputized half a dozen men he grudgingly trusted and sent them around to fetch the reluctant and downright lazy. No one was to be left behind.
For the most part it was easy enough. No one wanted to miss the festivities. Nothing this close to exciting had happened around Rookwood in years, the place was buzzing with talk of last night’s gunplay and the coming revival. Suddenly there was life in Rookwood, and like everything else in this place it had a name, and its name was Danger.
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