deadlands - the eye · deadlands dime novel #2 independence day fiction by: matt forbeck adventure...

Deadlands Dime Novel #2

Independence DayFiction by: Matt Forbeck

Adventure by: Chris Snyder & Matt-ForbeckOriginal Idea by: Shane Lacy Hensley

Editing: Matt Forbeck & Shane Lacy HensleyProduction: Matt Forbeck &-Hal Mangold

Cover Art and Logo: Ron SpencerInterior Art: Paul Daly

Map: Jeff Lahren

Deadlands created by Shane Lacy Hensley

Pinnacle Entertainment Group, Inc.P.O. Box 10908

Blacksburg, VA 24062-0908www.peginc.com

Deadlands is a Trademark ofPinnacle Entertainment Group, Inc.

© 2002 Pinnacle Entertainment Group, Inc.All Rights Reserved.

PINNACLE ENTERTAINMENT GROUP, Inc.

TM

IndependenceDay

PrefaceWelcome to the latest installment in the ongoing saga of

Ronan Lynch. If you picked up Perdition’s Daughter, the first inour ongoing series of Dime Novels™, then you already know a lotabout Ronan, his untimely demise, and his amazing rise from hisshallow grave.

At the end of that twisted tale, Ronan was left to explore thewhys and wherefores of his second shot at life. Since then, a lotof miles have passed beneath his horse’s hooves, and Ronan’shad many an adventure worthy of the telling.

He’s also struggled with the dark forces animating his corpse.Most times, he’s won hands down, but other times it hasn’t beenso easy. There are gaps in his memory, and for one reason or an-other, there are a lot of people out there willing to fill the spacesin his rotting brain with lead.

Soon enough, Ronan saw the wisdom of putting Denver in histrail dust. He’s wandered up and down the country, and just be-fore this tale begins, he’s wandered his way into Kansas, rightback where he was at the start of Perdition’s Daughter.

As the Chinese proverb goes, Ronan’s been cursed with an in-teresting life. We’ll get around to telling most all of his storysooner or later, but for now we’re going to draw back the curtainand show you just how your favorite undead character spent thecentennial celebration of the country he once fought for and hassince fallen out of favor with.

We’re talking some serious fireworks.

Independence Day

Chapter OneThe dead man rode into Dodge on a pale horse.The trail dust clung to his clammy flesh in the hot summer

night. He wriggled restlessly in his saddle, more out of habit thanstiffness. The wind blew hot out of the west, a breeze straightout of Hell, herding the horse and its heavy load into the Kansascowtown.

The cadaver’s horse clip-clopped through the streets, slowly butsurely carrying him into the heart of town. Working his way pastthe rail yards and the pens full of softly lowing cattle, the corpseneared a pool of light and sound in the otherwise quiet night. Awry smile creased a face weathered by things worse than windand rain.

As the deceased rider reached the saloon, the tones of amistuned piano drifted toward his ears. He slowly raised his sal-low face, exposing his dark eyes to the gaslights burning withinthe place. A freshly painted sign swung over the door on a pairof rusty chains. It read “Dog-Eye’s Saloon” in blood-red script.

The dead man dismounted smoothly, showing no strain fromhis many days on the trail. He tied his horse to the wooden railoutside the boardwalk running in front of the saloon, lest theskittish beast take the opportunity to leave him for good. Then hestrode up to the building and knocked open its bat-wing doors.

As he sauntered into the brightly lit room, he reached up todoff his hat and then thought better of it. He walked up to thegleaming bar, sat down in the middle of a row of empty stoolsand said, “Whiskey,” in a voice weary with death.

The bartender, a stout man with a wisp of graying hair wan-dering over his scalp, turned and slapped the drink down with apracticed move. He stopped and stared at the man through a pairof wire-rimmed spectacles as spit-polished as the mugs shiningin the rack behind him. His left eye wandered wide, but his rightglared straight at the newcomer.

“Do I know you, stranger?” The bartender’s brow furrowed withthe effort of boring through the thick layer of grime covering hiscustomer. “Your voice sounds familiar.”

The traveler pushed his hat back on his head and looked thebartender in his eyes, a sparkle dancing in his dead orbs. “I spentenough metal in here, Dog-Eye, so you damn well ought to.”

The rotgut peddler’s eyes snapped back together as theyopened wide. “Lynch! I knew it was you.” A wide grin split theman’s head in half. “Where have you been, Ronan? Seems like amonth of Sundays since I’ve seen you around these parts.”

“Well,” Ronan began as he sipped at his whiskey. Dead or not,the stuff burned down just the way he liked it. “These eyes haveseen a lot since they last set on Dodge.”

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The two men chatted lightly, covering matters ranging fromnew ventures to old friends. Dog-Eye slung liquor and brew as hetalked, collecting cash and making change with barely a thought.

“Good sir,” came a voice on breath almost polluted enough tobe flammable. “I was wondering if I might impose upon yourkindness.”

Ronan turned to his left to see a man in a tattered, blackjacket whose drawn, yellowed skin indicated the damage he’ddone to his liver. The rumpled figure leaning low against the barslouched in stark contrast with the clipped, Eastern accent of aneducated man.

“Hey, Clayton, lay off,” Dog-Eye intervened. “This is an oldfriend of mine, and he doesn’t need to be bothered by the likesof you.”

The drunk smacked his lips and stared at the bartender withwatery eyes. “Pardon my intrusion, kind sir. I find myself short offunds, and I only meant to inquire whether or not this man—ofobvious good standing in your estimation—could see fit to floatme a small amount to see me through the night.” He looked up atRonan with eyes that betrayed the desperation his voice soughtto hide.

“Ah, Hell,” Ronan said half to himself. Since his demise, hecouldn’t get drunk any more, and he’d really enjoyed tying one onevery so often back in his breathing days. He still drank for theflavor and the way it felt sliding down his throat, but it wasn’t re-ally the same.

He pointed at a bottle of whiskey behind the bar and noddedat Dog-Eye. “Make it a double.”

Clayton’s face lit up like a bad boy’s face on Christmas daywhen he realizes he’s getting presents instead of coal. “Whythank you, sir. You are a gentleman of the first order, you are. If Ican ever repay the favor, you should certainly let me know, andI’ll do so straight away.”

Dog-Eye slapped the drink down in front of him and slid italong the bar. Clayton caught it and held on to it like a manthrown a lifesaver. “Move along now, eh?”

“Certainly, kind sirs. So sorry to bother you. It won’t happenagain. A thousand blessings upon you and your kin.” The man’sspeech trailed off as he stumbled back to his table to nurse hisprecious drink.

Ronan watched him for a long moment—lost in thought abouthis own life, such as it was—until Dog-Eye brought him back witha laugh. “It sure is good to see you, Lynch. Seems like forever anda day since we served the Union.”

Ronan turned to survey the lightly crowded main room. Folksof all sorts were sitting about, some drinking, some talking, somegambling, and a few ladies working. “Looks like you’re workingboth sides of the Mason-Dixon line these days.”

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Dog-Eye smiled sheepishly. “That’s Dodge for you. We get allkinds. The city council says there’s no such thing as nationalpolitics in this town. They just want everyone to live together inpeace and harmony and all that rot. In spite of that, we’re havingus a shindig for the Fourth of July, just like the big city.”

“Them fools are throwing rocks at a hornet’s nest. Last Ichecked, both sides were claiming all of Kansas.”

A hungry grin split Dog-Eye’s face. “Sure, the council knowsbetter, but a holiday means a celebration, and a celebrationmeans visitors. Visitors mean money, and money’s good forDodge. And since the council’s got its hands in most every pocketthat’s not buttoned up tighter than a monk’s mouth, that meansthe holiday’s good for Dodge.”

Ronan sipped his whiskey. “I ain’t much on politics myself.”Caught up in the conversation, Ronan hadn’t noticed the men

creeping up behind him, but when the entire bar fell silent, heknew something was up. He glanced past Dog-Eye’s shoulder andsaw three men standing behind him, one to each side and thelast directly to his rear.

“Mister,” came a voice in that Southern drawl that always setRonan on edge, “you stink.”

Dog-Eye glared at the man. “Jake Simpkins, you just sit yourbutt back down in your chair. This here’s an old friend, and he’snot looking for trouble.”

The sandy-haired Rebel pitched back his head and laughed.“Hell, Dog, I ain’t lookin’ fer any kind of trouble. Me and my boyswere jes’ sitting back there enjoyin’ our drinks when this pile o’road apples strutted on in.”

The bartender put down the mug he’d been polishing andraised his hands. “Look, Jake, my friend here’s been on the road along time, and he hasn’t had the time to have himself a properbath.”

Ronan watched Simpkins’ reflection in the mirror behind thebar as he went on. “Well, Dog, I think we’d be happy to help yourYankee friend out there. There’s a trough out front, and if it’sgood enough for our horses to drink outta, it oughta be goodenough for a jackass like him. Ain’t that right, Ralphie?”

The shorter man to Simpkins’ right—a greasy fellow hardlymore than a boy but with a wild look in his eyes—cackled righton cue. “You got that right, Jake. You sure do! Let’s dunk him. Ha-ha!”

“Sounds like a fine idea to me. We’ll be doin’ this fair city apublic service.” Simpkins’ reached out and put a hand on Ronan’sshoulder.

The dead gunslinger swung around and, with one swift move,smashed his whiskey glass square into Simpkins’ forehead. TheRebel staggered back into a table full of gamblers, upending itand spilling drinks, cards, and coins everywhere.

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The man that had been to Simpkins’ left darted forward atRonan with a right cross. Ronan took the blow square on hisface, then reached over and grabbed a barstool unfazed. Hestopped for a moment and smiled at the man’s reaction beforebringing the barstool up and across the man’s jaw.

The man keeled over backward, and a bottle shattered toRonan’s left. He drew his gun, cocked it, and turned in a smootharc, planting the barrel smack between Ralphie’s eyes. Thestartled Rebel stopped cold in his tracks, the broken bottle still inhis hand, ready to be stabbed into Ronan’s neck.

The world froze.Simpkins scrambled to his feet, as did Ronan’s other attacker.

Both stood a ways off, waiting to see what would happen. Theonly sound in the entire bar was Ralphie’s labored breath and thedrip-drip of his blood splatting on the wooden floor.

A drop of sweat beaded on Ralphie’s forehead and rolled downthe bridge of his nose, splashing down on the cool, iron barrel ofRonan’s Peacemaker as he tried to figure if the gunslinger wasbluffing. He decided to try his luck.

As Ralphie jabbed the bottle at Ronan’s neck, Ronan swung hisarm down, smashing the bottle into Ralphie’s hand. Ronan knewthe crude shards couldn’t hurt him—what did a dead man have tofear from a cut?—but Dog-Eye and the rest of Dodge didn’t needto know that, or they’d likely burn him at the stake.

While Ralphie was screaming and staring at the shreds of hishand, Ronan clubbed him with his pistol, and the young Rebel fellto the ground unconscious.

Ronan looked around the bar calmly. Simpkins looked at hisother friend and saw that his spine had left him.

“God almighty, Ronan!” spoke Dog-Eye nervously. “The Westtreated you well. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.”

Ronan watched as a look of recognition dawned on Simpkins’face at the mention of his name. The Rebel leader turned andlooked at his unsnoring friend. “C’mon, kid. If we can’t freshenthis here place up a bit, we’d best be movin’ on.”

As Simpkins headed for the door, Ronan booted Ralphie in hisdirection. “Don’t forget your friend here. If you want to sleep inDog-Eye’s you got to pay for a room.” Simpkins pointed to theother Rebel, who scooped up his injured friend and dragged himout into the night.

Ronan turned toward the barkeeper and flipped him an Eagle.“Speaking o’ which…”

Dog-Eye caught the coin and bit it before slipping it into thepocket of his apron. “Your old room’s open. And I’ll have SuzyWinger draw you a bath on the house.”

Ronan eyed the bartender. “Your concern’s touching.”Dog-Eye laughed. “Concern? Hell, like it or not, those Rebels

were right. You stink to high Heaven!”

Independence Day

Chapter TwoThe rapping at the door sounded like someone pounding on

his coffin. Since he’d died several months back, Ronan didn’tsleep much. The kinds of dreams he had when he did visit theSandman made him think twice about sawing wood.

He walked over to the door and swung it wide, jamming hisPeacemaker straight over the threshold. Suzy Winger, the soileddove that had drawn his bath the night before, stifled a scream.“I’m sorry, sir,” she said as she brought her hand away from herCupid’s-bow lips, painted crimson at even this early hour. “Youstartled me.”

“Sorry about that, ma’am.” Ronan holstered his pistol, lookingat Suzy with chagrin. Last year at this time, he’d have swept thesweet, young thing into the room and had his wicked way withher. These days, he had little use for beautiful things of any kind.His was an ugly world.

“Excuse me, sir. I’ve got a message for you from our localdeputy. He wants to see you right away.”

Ronan grunted noncommittally. Suzy handed a calling card tohim. He looked at it as he shut the door without saying anotherword.

The card gave the address of the nearest deputy’s station. Thename read Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp.

* * *

“Glad to see you could make it, Lynch.” Earp’s grip was stronglike Ronan expected. Earp was a handsome man with wavy darkhair, and he sported a well-waxed handlebar mustache. The hardlook in his eyes told Ronan this wasn’t a social visit.

Ronan tossed his hat onto the rack in the corner of the tinyoffice, took the chair Earp motioned toward, and propped hisboots on the deputy marshal’s desk. Earp ignored it and satdown behind the desk. With a sigh that said he’d already donethis a few times today, he put his own boots up and started inon his speech.

“As you might have heard, the Mayor’s decided we need tohave a celebration for the Fourth of July. Normally I’d disagreewith him, seeing as how we’re smack in the middle of the Dis-puted Lands, but since this year’s the 100th anniversary of thebirth of the Union—shattered as it might be—I’m all for it.”

Earp cut himself a plug of chaw and, not bothering to offerRonan a piece for himself, popped in into his lower lip.

“The fact is about half our populace doesn’t care much for theUnion and would sooner celebrate its demise. Still, most folks aregood enough to keep their yaps shut until it all blows over. It’sup to the fine police force of Dodge City—your looking at yourlocal rep—to keep the peace.”

Independence Day

Earp stopped to give Ronan a hard look. “After all, that’s whatthey pay us for.”

The office lay quiet for a moment until Ronan realized thatEarp was waiting for him to speak. He took his feet off the deskand leaned forward in his chair.

“But you’ve got more trouble to take care of than they can payyou for.”

Earp shot Ronan with his index finger. “Smart man.”“How long?”“Today’s the second. We need you until the morning of the

fifth.”“How much?”Earp leaned over and let loose at a spittoon, hitting it dead on.“Twenty bucks a day.”“I’m worth twice what everyone else is getting.”Earp grinned. “That already is.”

Chapter Three“The Devil’s got you all by the throat, and he’s dragging you

straight down to hell!”The shrill voice speared through the murmuring at Dog-Eye’s

saloon like an arrow through a buffalo’s eye. Ronan turned onhis stool to see a middle-aged scarecrow of a woman in herhigh-necked, long-sleeved dress stamp into the room. She wore alarge, white sandwich board which read “AVOID THE FOULTEMPTATION OF SATAN’S TOOL! LIQUOR IS LUCIFER’S DRINK!” infiery red ink, and she was distributing handbills emblazonedwith the same message to Dog-Eye’s patrons.

Ronan didn’t need to read the flyers to know what they said.“Ida Mae! Get your squeaky-clean rear out of my saloon!” Dog-

Eye roared from behind the bar. “You’re bothering my customers.”The steely-eyed, gray-haired woman ignored the bartender’s re-

quest and stormed forward. “You, sir, are the worst of the lot.These poor souls may be addicted to their disgusting needs, butit is you who actually does the Devil’s work by filling theirglasses with your foul brews!”

Dog-Eye calmly picked up a glass from behind the bar, spit init, and began polishing it. “Now look here, Ida Mae—”

The woman extended a finger straight at Dog-Eye’s nose, halt-ing only an inch away. His lazy eye snapped to focus on the tipof the woman’s finely manicured nail. “That’s Miss Hobart to you,sir. You shall treat me as a lady, even in this den of sin!”

The menace in her voice was enough to make a man go forhis guns, but Dog-Eye held his ground. His face flushed beet red,but he simply spit into his mug again and kept polishing.

“Ronan,” he said, “Earp didn’t give you that deputy’s star fornothing. This woman’s disturbing my peace.”

Independence Day

A thin-lipped smile cracked the woman’s wrinkled face as sheturned to Ronan. “Yes, deputy, you’re new around here. Who doyou think is in the right here? A God-fearing woman with thepower of her church on her side? Or a willing pawn of Satanserving up the polluted waters burning with the fires of theDark Lord’s realm?”

Ronan reached back, retrieved his drink, and slowly took a sip,his eyes never leaving the woman’s the entire time. As hewatched her, the crimson color rose from the frilly top of herhigh-necked dress until it met her hairline, her taut smile trans-forming into a sharp frown.

“Well, ma’am,” Ronan began, then raised his hand to cut herinterruption short, “Miss Hobart. There’s no law against servingliquor in a saloon.”

“God’s law transcends that of man!”“God’s not paying me to wear this badge.”Ida Mae screwed her mouth up in determination and wagged

her finger in Ronan’s face. “How can you say such things in thishouse of ill repute, a place where women—” she gestured directlyat Suzy Winger, who was sitting on the lap of a well-dressedman with his arms wrapped around her waist, “and I use theterm loosely—sell their bodies, caring not that their immortalsouls are forfeit with the bargain.

“You, sir,” she pointed at the man Suzy was sitting on, “I cansee by the ring on your hand that you are a married man.” Theman flushed with embarrassment and would not meet Ida Mae’seyes. “You have purchased a ticket on the express train to theUnderworld, where you will lie in eternal flames next to thiswhore!”

Ida Mae turned back to Ronan, pleading with him for help. “Agood man would take a stand against such sins.” Fire gleamed inher eyes.

Ronan snorted softly at the woman. Then he turned cold. “Areyou going to walk out of this place, or am I going to have tothrow you out.”

Ida Mae’s eyes shot wide, and her color turned even redder.“You wouldn’t dare,” she said in a whisper low and thin like thesound of a sidewinder in the sand.

Ronan finished off his drink and tossed his glass to the floor.In the silence of the room, the shattering shards sounded likesharp thunder. He looked her directly in the eyes with absolutelynothing in his soul.

“Try me.”Ida Mae tried to hold Ronan’s stare, but after a long moment

she failed.She turned and stomped off. The back of her sandwich board

read “GOD WILL CLEANSE THIS EARTH OF SINNERS WITH HISRIGHTEOUS WRATH!”

Independence Day

As she stormed toward the bat-wing doors and the late after-noon sun, she shot back over her shoulder, “The spirit of thedevil lives in the spirits you pour down your heathen throats!”

Just as she reached the threshold, she spun and pointed di-rectly at Ronan, her voice shrill and high. “And you, sir—and I usethat term extremely loosely—are little more than a grim servantof Death!”

As she stomped away down the boardwalk, Dog-Eye was al-ready pouring Ronan another drink. As he took it, the dead manmuttered under his breath, “You don’t know the half of it.”

Chapter Four“Have a flyer, sir?” Ronan looked up from his drink, half ex-

pecting to see Ida Mae back in Dog-Eye’s saloon. Ronan figuredthat the most trouble in the area was likely to come out of Dog-Eye’s, so he had made it his office for the duration of his shortterm as Dodge City deputy. Dog-Eye, happy to know the lawwould never be absent in his place during the Fourth of July cel-ebration, had put out the word that the local deputy could befound in his place.

Suzy had hung around him for a while, but she had soon got-ten the hint that he wasn’t buying what she was selling. She haddisappeared soon after with that Northerner whose lap she’dbeen perched on when Ida Mae had rolled through. There hadn’tbeen anything else worth looking at hanging around, so he’d re-turned to his bottle.

When Ronan swiveled around, he was expecting trouble. Whathe got was a leaflet. He took it from the earnest, young blackman with the shaved head. It read “END THE DISPUTE. KANSASIS A STATE DIVIDED AND MUST REJOIN THE UNION. AS KANSASGOES, SO GOES THE UNION. REUNITE OUR STATE. REUNITE OURNATION.”

It went on to describe the reasons why Kansans should pushfor total rejection of the Confederacy’s claim on the area. It wasclearly written and well-worded. Ronan handed it back to theman.

“Save your paper for someone who gives a damn.”“But, sir,” the young man began with a big-toothed smile.“Look, kid,” Ronan started.“Walter Jackson, sir.”“I fought for the Union a long time ago, and I’m done with that

life. I’m on to something new now.”Walter looked Ronan directly in the eyes. “Sir, if you’re not

part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.”Before Ronan could respond, a voice rang out from the direc-

tion of the door. “You got that right, mister, and I’d say yer partof the problem!”

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As Ronan turned, he saw one of the men who’d accosted himthe night before standing in the doorway. He was holding one ofWalter’s flyers crumpled in his bandaged hand. Walter smiled un-easily as the man stepped across the threshold.

“Please, I’m not looking for any trouble.”Ralphie flashed a greasy grin. “Then I’d say yer in the wrong

place. I told you what I’d do to you if I caught you passin’ outthem pieces o’ paper again.”

Walter stood his ground. “I got a right to pass out whateverkind of paper I like, and I can have whatever I like printed on it.It’s part of the Bill of Rights.”

A loose guffaw escaped from Ralphie’s mouth. “That’s a Unionscrap of paper, mister, and it’s worth about as much in theseparts as the outhouse paper you’ve been passin’ out all aroundtown. Me and the rest of the Wilderness Riders ain’t got any usefor it at all.”

The sound of a thumb cocking a Peacemaker put the conver-sation to a halt. Ralphie and Walter turned to eye Ronan as heleveled the barrel of his gun at the border ruffian. Ralphie’s eyeswere as big around as a buffalo’s.

“You’re with the Wilderness Riders?” Ronan asked.Ralphie’s right hand wandered unconsciously down to his own

gun. “Think hard about that hand,” Ronan warned. “You don’twant to lose it.”

Ralphie caught himself and threw both hands into the air.“Hold on here, mister. I don’t want no trouble?”

Walter chuckled softly. “Is that so?”Ronan ignored him. “If you’re a Wilderness Rider, there’s a

price on your head. Yesterday I might have tried to collect that,but today I’m wearing this badge, and it’s my job to keep thepeace instead.”

The dead man let his words sink in like rain into the crackedsurface of the desert. “Just don’t go causin’ any trouble in mypart o’ Dodge, or I’ll plant you in the nearest bone orchard andharvest that reward.”

Ralphie brought his hands wide. “I ain’t got a problem withyou, Lynch, just the stuff this Yankee’s handin’ out.”

“There’s no law against that, North or South. Leave before Ipart your greasy scalp with a lead comb.”

Walter grinned wide. “You heard what the man said. Beat it,Ralphie.”

“I don’t have to take that from you,” Ralphie snarled and thenturned toward Ronan. “You best watch yer own step, ‘deputy.’ Youcan’t hide behind that badge forever.”

Ronan stated flatly, “Tomorrow’s the third, kid, and I’m turningin my badge on the fifth. After that, you and your friends arefair game.

“If I were you, I’d start running now.”

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With that, Ronan fanned his gun at Ralphie’s feet, raining bul-lets after the man as he pushed his way into the street and fledlike the Devil himself was on his heels.

When the gunfire stopped, Ronan flipped open his gun’s cylin-der and slowly reloaded it one bullet at a time. As he did, Walterturned to him and extended his hand. Ronan shook it in betweenbullets.

“Thanks, sir. I don’t carry a gun myself, and that hooliganknows it.”

“Next time, just ask for my help.”“Maybe you’re more a part of the solution than you might

think.” “That’s what they’re paying me for.”

Chapter FiveIt had been way too simple so far. Hardly worth $5 a day,

much less $20. It was close on midnight, and if tomorrow andthe next day went as clean as today, this was going to be someeasy money. Ronan was thinking just that when he heard thescream.

It came from the back part of the saloon, in the direction ofRonan’s room. Before he knew it, Ronan was across the mainroom and up the stairs to the second floor, his gun already inhis hand.

When he got to the back hallway, he saw six doors, three oneach side, all closed. Before he could start breaking down thedoors one by one, the scream came again. It was the seconddoor on the left.

He kicked the door open, shattering the cheap frame. Hestepped into the room and straight into Hell.

Suzy Winger was kneeling in her bed, out of which somethingwas still pumping bright, arterial blood. The window over her bedhad been shattered, and shards of glass lay everywhere. Lacycurtains fluttered in the wind.

Suzy took one look at Ronan and screamed again. Startled, heswung his gun her direction, then realized she was hardly goingto hurt him.

He leaped straight over her cringing form, clearing the bed en-tirely, and glared out the window. His eyes scanned the darknessfor something—anything—but found nothing.

Then he thought he saw some movement off to the left, andhe fired at it. Nothing responded.

Behind him, Suzy screamed again and scrambled off the bed.Ronan heard her hitting the wooden floor and then scrabblingacross it toward the open door. He spun around and looked be-hind him to find that Suzy wasn’t the only one who’d been inthe bed.

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There in the center of a still-growing pool of blood that wasslowly spreading across the white sheets, staining them a vibrantscarlet, lay a man’s body.

In the low lamplight, Ronan reached down to feel the man’sneck for a pulse, but the head wasn’t there. Neither were eitherof the man’s arms. Blood still leaked from all three massivewounds.

“Damn.”Ronan strode around the bed and grabbed Suzy roughly. All

her limbs were still attached, and her screams said her headhadn’t gone anywhere.

He slapped her once to bring her to her senses. She keptscreaming, her eyes focused into some kind of Hell far beyondthe room’s four walls. He slapped her again.

This time she looked him in the eyes, wrapped her armsaround his middle, and began to sob. He grabbed her by theshoulders and demanded to know what had happened.

It was a long moment before she could speak.As she choked back sobs, Ronan wondered what kind of crea-

ture could have hurt a man the way he’d just seen. To be able todecapitate a man, cut off both his arms, and leave the roomwhile his heart was still beating just didn’t seem possible—atleast not for anything human.

Of course, the world was full of impossible and inhumanthings. Ronan himself was living proof of that—walking proof, atleast.

“It—it was some kind of monster,” Suzy gasped, finally findingher breath.

“What kind of monster?” Ronan pressed. “What did it looklike?”

“Dear God.”Ronan looked up to see Dog-Eye standing in the doorway, a

double-barreled shotgun hanging loosely in his right hand. He ig-nored the bartender and turned back to the girl. She just satthere sobbing, unable to catch her breath enough to speak more.

Ronan stood. As he darted past Dog-Eye, he barked out orders.“Get her out of here, but stay with her. There’s nothing to bedone for her friend.”

Ronan ran down the stairs and took the back door out of thesaloon. He raced around to the wall beneath Suzy’s room. Glassand wood from the window panes were strewn about the dustyground.

He looked up and saw a piece of white cloth hanging fromthe ragged edge of what was left of the window panes. He’dhave to check that out later.

In the meantime, he looked around for tracks in the dirt andfound a fresh set from a pair of boots. The trail moved offaround the building, and Ronan followed it, hoping the killer

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would keep to the back alleys and avoid the streets, making iteasier for Ronan to track him. When Ronan reached the saloon’scorner, though, the tracks turned onto the street and disappearedinto the hard-packed lane.

Before he had a chance to think about it much, a gunshotcracked in the distance.

Chapter SixRonan dashed around the corner to see a crowd of people

cheering and jeering at something. He pushed through the folksin front of him and found himself in a large circle centeredaround Walter Jackson and Ralphie.

“Ain’t so tough now, are you, mister?” Ralphie cackled, lettingloose another round at the Northerner’s feet. “Dance like yer lifedepended on it.” He fired off another round and then leveled thegun at Walter’s head. “Because it does.”

Walter had already been beaten pretty badly. His face wasbruised and bleeding, and his left arm was hanging at an oddangle. He looked straight down the barrel of Ralphie’s gun andsaid, “Quit cackling about it, Rebel. If you’re going to pull thattrigger, just get it over with.”

Ralphie thumb-cocked his Colt Navy’s hammer. “You folksheard him. I’ve got me more’n a score o’ witnesses that can hon-estly say you asked for it!”

Ralphie cackled one final time as he sighted straight down thebarrel of his gun at a spot in the center of Walter’s forehead.Walter looked up and saw his death in Ralphie’s eyes, but hemet the stare coldly, refusing to give his killer the satisfaction offlinching away.

Suddenly a shot rang out. Walter blinked and saw Ralphiesprawled in the street, grasping his bleeding arm. His gun lay be-side him in the street, its barrel still cold and its hammer stillcocked.

Ralphie scrambled to his feet and snatched at his gun, but an-other shot rang out, knocking the pistol even further away. Itwas then he finally turned around to see Ronan standing at theedge of the circle, his smoking gun ready to unleash moreleaden death.

“You shot me, you son of a bitch!”“It serves you right, you ruffian!” Ida Mae Hobart piped up

from one edge of the circle. She was still wearing her sandwichboard. “He who lives by the gun is bound to die by it.”

Ronan stared at Ralphie with death in his eyes. “That’s onewise woman.”

While Ralphie lay squirming on the ground, a drunken manstaggered out of the crowd to kneel at Walter’s side. He leanedover Walter’s injured arm and laid his hands on it firmly. Walter

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gave a stifled groan as the man twisted his arm back into placeand then tore off the hem of his stained, white shirt to fashion aquick sling.

With that done, the drunk stood back up, belched once loudly,and keeled over cold on the street. “Damnation,” Ronan muttered,finally recognizing the dozing figure he’d bought a whiskey forthe night before.

All the while, Ronan had kept his gun on Ralphie as he laybleeding in the street. “Buck up, kid. We’ve got a doctor for youright here.” Dog-Eye set to waking Clayton up, but he hardly hada chance to get started.

Just then, a gravelly voice came from off to one side, “Deputy,you just made yer last mistake.” Ronan turned to see JakeSimpkins and four of his Wilderness Riders standing at the faredge of the crowd.

The circle quickly broke apart as people made to get out ofthe line of fire. None of the Riders had a gun out yet, and therewere only five of them against Ronan. They didn’t stand achance.

Ronan knew his undead form could catch bullets all day andonly feel a bit heavier from all the lead. He’d found that out thehard way over the past few months on more than one uncom-fortable occasion.

Still, he didn’t want the fact he wasn’t drawing breath to be re-vealed. He’d barely healed over the rope burns on his neck fromthe last time that had happened.

“Give it up, Lynch. Yer outgunned,” Simpkins drawled.“I don’t see it that way. There’s five of you. I got a bullet left

for each.”Simpkins laughed, but not as cockily as he could have.“Just shoot ‘im, Jake!” Ralphie whined.“Shut up, kid. I’m making the calls here.”Pale and shaky, Ralphie staggered to his feet. “But Jake—”Daggers flew from Simpkins’ eyes. “I said shut up. You’ve been

trouble enough tonight.”Ida Mae, closer to the action than most of the citizens whose

good sense had sent them scrambling to the boardwalks, cackledloudly at that.

“Shut up, ya old biddy!” Ralphie lunged at her weakly, buttripped, stumbling into her and knocking them both into anearby horse’s trough.

Finally awakened by all the commotion, the still-inebriatedClayton staggered over to the sloshing duo to help them out oftheir entanglement. He offered Ralphie a hand and got shovedflat on his back for his troubles, to the nervous delight of thecrowd.

“Well, I say! That’s a deucedly hard way to repay a kindness!”Clayton roared.

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He was quickly drowned out by the shrill words of Ida Mae.“Deputy!” she screamed at Ronan. “Deputy. I demand you haulthis hooligan in. I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life!”

Ronan turned to face Simpkins and his men. “You’re about tobe in good company.”

“The only way she’s going to be in yer company, Deputy, is ifshe’s fillin’ a coffin tomorrow mornin’.” Simpkins rested his handon his pistol butt. “I’m tired o’ this dancin’ around, boys. Show’sover, and it’s curtains for you, Lynch.”

At that moment, a shot rang out, and Simpkins’ holed Stetsonwent scattering toward Ronan, sailing through the air for a mo-ment before coming to rest at his feet.

The Wilderness Riders parted like the Red Sea, and behindthem strode forth a one-eyed man in a long, black duster with atin star gleaming on his lapel. Even from this distance, Ronanwas sure he knew what the engraving on it read: Texas Ranger.

“The name’s Ketchum,” the Ranger bellowed in a long Dallasdrawl, “and them boys were right about only one thing: theshow’s over. Everybody git the Hell outta here and go to sleep.”

Chapter SevenRonan walked over to Earp’s office the next morning, figuring

there’d be Hell to pay.He walked in and found Earp there with his feet up on his

desk. He was talking with a tall man with short, salt-and-pepperhair sitting in the other small room’s other chair. The man turnedas Ronan entered. It was Ketchum.

“Come on in, Lynch,” Earp said grimly. “Don’t worry aboutknocking.” He swept his arm out at the Texas Ranger, sittingthere in his shirtsleeves and a vest. “I understand you two havealready met.”

“Not formally,” said Ketchum as he stood to his towering fullheight and extended his hand. “Name’s Hank Ketchum. Folks callme One-Eye.” Ronan would have sworn the man was winking athim from behind the black patch over his right eye. In anotherlife, Ketchum would have been right at home on the high seas.He sailed the high plains instead.

Ketchum’s grip was strong, but Ronan hardly felt it. He gruntedpolitely and sauntered over to lean against the iron bars of thecell in the corner.

“The quiet type, eh?” Ketchum grinned. “That’s all right, Lynch.I know all ‘bout you. I ‘spect you might not have needed my helplast night, but you know how innocent folks tend to get hurtaround them kinda fights.”

Ronan folded his arms in front of himself, letting his left handrest on the butt of the pistol on his right hip.

“So what’s the deal?” he asked Earp.

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The lawman gave Ronan a cold stare. “As I understand it, aman was killed on your watch last night. I know you didn’tbudge much off that barstool o’ yours, but I was hoping you’dhave been able to stop a killing in the same damn saloon.”

Ronan took the deputy star off his shirt, but Earp raised ahand to stop him before he could toss it on the desk. “That’s notwhy I called you in, Lynch. Dog-Eye’s already told me all about it.There wasn’t anything you could’ve done about it.

“Still,” Earp’s eyes narrowed, “a man got killed, so we aren’tparticularly keen on paying you for protecting that little cornerof our town.”

Earp cut Ronan off before he could open his mouth. “I talkedto the town council, though, and we worked out a deal. Theywant this killer caught right away before he spoils the wholetown’s reputation right when we got us some notice for some-thing good.”

Earp stood and looked evenly at Ronan, then to One-Eye andback. “It’s $500 to the man who brings this butcher in. Dead oralive doesn’t make no difference to me. Just as long as he’sdone.”

Ketchum stood up and grinned savagely. “Well, Yankee, it lookslike you’ve got yerself a partner.”

Ronan snorted. “Think again, Ranger. I was hired to protect apart of this town, and paid or not, I’m doing the job I agreed to.”

He looked at the badge as he hefted it in his hand. “Don’t youworry yourself, Earp.”

Ronan glared right into Earp’s eyes, and the lawman returnedthe favor. The dead man pitched the badge onto Earp’s desk. “I’llget that killer, and it won’t be for the reward.”

Ronan nodded at Hank as he walked out the door. “It’s a mat-ter of pride.”

Chapter EightBack in Dog-Eye’s that night, Ronan was sipping his whiskey

straight from the bottle. He’d been all over the neighborhood thatday, hunting for some answers to the questions last night’scorpse had posed.

Nobody seemed to know the man who’d been killed. Identify-ing him hadn’t been easy with his head and arms missing, butRonan had recognized the clothes on him. They belonged to theman that Suzy had been plying with her attentions earlier theevening of the murder.

He asked around, but no one knew much about the man, andSuzy was still too far out of her head to answer any questions.He’d tried talking to her a couple times, but she’d either beensleeping or sobbing. All he’d been able to get out of her was theone word she kept repeating: “Monster.”

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Ronan had examined the body after the crowd dispersed thatnight. By the time he got back to the room, Dog-Eye was alreadybusy cleaning the place up. One of Suzy’s girlfriends had takenher off to the doctor’s, but the corpse was still there, and it hadfinally stopped bleeding.

The cuts were clean and professional. The arms had beentaken right at the shoulder joint, and the neck had been severeddirectly between two of the vertebrae.

Ronan had searched the body and found papers sewn intothe lining of the man’s coat. He ripped them out and readthem, and they revealed the man to be Paul Goodwin. Hewas a Pinkerton detective, which presumably made him aspy for the Union army.

Ronan had taken the scrap of cloth from the window too. Itwas grimy, once-white silk. He had stuffed it into his pocket.

As Ronan motioned for a fresh bottle of whiskey, he thoughtabout what the papers meant. If Goodwin was a spy, then SuzyWinger was probably selling him information instead of her body.That would explain why they were both fully clothed when thekiller attacked.

A lot of people weren’t too careful about what they said infront of paid company. Suzy probably knew all sorts of juicy de-tails and pumped her customers hard for more to keep Goodwinand his Union cash coming back. If someone had been suspi-cious, they might have decided she had to die. Goodwin mighthave tried to stop them and paid the ultimate price for his valor.

Or it could have been some enemy of Goodwin. Spies werecertain to make more than a few foes. In bloody Kansas, therewere plenty of Rebels ready to cut a Yankee spy’s throat.

Or could it have been Ida Mae? She had publicly chastised thecouple right in front of Ronan. As far as he knew, she was theonly one to have acknowledged a problem with either Suzy orher supposed paramour. Ronan doubted that such a womancould have committed that kind of a killing, but then again, he’dseen stranger things over the past few years.

Even though she was annoying, though she hardly seemedpsychotic. Besides, she sure had more reason to go after Ralphie.Of course, he hadn’t knocked her around until after Goodwin’smurder. But maybe she’d hired someone to take care of the kill-ing for her.

“I’ll be damned,” whispered Ronan as he took anotherbelt from his bottle. It was all too confusing, and hedidn’t have a single real lead.

“You got that right,” rumbled Ketchum as he thunderedthrough Dog-Eye’s swinging doors. Ronan turned to facehim full on.

“Whoa there, pardner,” Ketchum put up his hands. “Don’t getyer chaps in a bunch. I’m just here to have a drink.”

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He motioned for Dog-Eye to get him a glass. The saloonkeeperset it in front of him, and Ketchum proceeded to pick up Ronan’sbottle and pour himself a drink.

Ronan watched him with mild interest. “And you’re wantingmy whiskey?”

“Well,” Ketchum drawled as he settled down into the stoolnext to the dead man. “That and maybe a little professional cour-tesy.”

Ketchum stared at Dog-Eye a long moment before the bartendergot the idea to leave. Ronan checked the clock above the bar. Itwas fast closing on midnight. Independence Day was almost here.

Sure that no one could listen in on their conversation,Ketchum shifted his steely one-eyed glare to the mirror behindthe bar. “You see, Lynch, I’m a monster hunter, and you, wellyou’re a monster.”

Ronan didn’t say a word.“I know all about you and yer kind, Lynch. Y’ain’t the only one

who’s come back from the dark side o’ death.“Normally it’s my job to hunt critters like you down and shoot

‘em or recruit ‘em. I figured I’d try recruitin’ first.”Ronan snorted, “The only ‘we’ here is me and my gun.”“Think that if you like. I got an idea what’s goin’ on here, and

if I’m right—”Before Ketchum could complete his thought, a man—Ronan

recognized him as one of the Wilderness Riders—stormed intothe bar, shouting, “Ranger! There’s been another killin’!”

Ronan cursed and finished his drink before following Ketchumand the man out into the street.

Chapter NineThe body in the back alley a few blocks from Dog-Eye’s had

even less parts left on it than Paul Goodwin’s. This one wasmissing both legs and arms, but its head was still attached. Thesmall crowd around it parted as Ronan and Ketchum drew near.Ronan knew who it was before he looked at the corpse’s face.

“Ralphie.”Ketchum reached down and shut the young Rebel’s horrified

eyes, which looked like they were staring right into the heart ofHell. “The kid from last night, eh? Shame.” He shook his head.“No one deserves to go like that.”

Ronan looked down at the body and whispered, “Texas, thereain’t no good way to go.”

“Get yer slimy hands offa that kid, Yankee!” Ronan looked upto see Jake Simpkins bearing down on him. He stood and let hishand rest on his gun, but before he or Simpkins could make amove, Ketchum intervened.

“You just calm yerself, son,” he said in a gruff voice.

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“Listen here, Ranger. That man killed Ralphie. I’d put every dol-lar I got on it.”

“And you’d lose ‘em both. I was with Lynch when yer mancame callin’ fer help. This body’s fresh as a new-cut daisy.There’s no way he coulda done it.”

Simpkins tried to push past Ketchum. “You’ll fergive me, law-man, if I don’t take yer word fer it.”

Simpkins didn’t see Ketchum’s fist until it smacked him be-tween the eyes and set him flat on his rump. “I won’t. Get yerbutt outta here, less’n ya wanna be on it permanently, Rebel orno.”

Simpkins stood up and spit a tooth at Ketchum’s feet. “Yer alow-down traitor, sidin’ with that Yankee. Y’ain’t fit ta wear thatstar.”

Ketchum drew his gun before Simpkins could even move, andhe jammed it up under the Southerner’s nose. “I’m willin’ to cutya some slack ‘cause you just lost a brother,” Ketchum statedflatly. “Otherwise I’d be addin’ to yer nostril collection.”

Ketchum gave him a shove with his free hand. “Move along,and take yer friends with ya. I’ve got this under control.”

Simpkins backed off down the alley, keeping his eyes on thebarrel of Ketchum’s gun. He waved the rest of the WildernessRiders along with him. “You just bought yerself a plot in BootHill, Ranger.”

Ketchum turned around and ignored him. “You wanna kill me,yer gonna have to get in line.”

Chapter TenBack in Dog-Eye’s saloon, the owner was getting ready to

close the place down for the night. It was empty except for him,Ketchum, and Ronan. “Got a big day tomorrow,” he explained,“and it’s late.”

He favored Ronan with his non-wandering eye. “I’m pretty sureI can leave the place in your hands, Lynch.” He set a fresh bottleof whiskey on the bar and two glasses, looking hard at Ketchumas he did.

“You and your friend here should keep each other honest.Help yourselves. I’m going to bed.” With that, the man trundledoff into the rooms that he kept for himself in the back of thebuilding’s bottom floor.

Ketchum bellied up to the bar and poured a couple inchesinto each glass. Then he sauntered over to the table at whichRonan was slouched, tossed his hat onto an open chair, and setthe drinks down in front of him. Ketchum knocked back his firstshot, poured himself another, and hunkered down over it.

“It’s just as well he left,” the Ranger muttered. “I’ve got some-thing ta tell ya ‘bout, and it ain’t fer his ears.”

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Ronan leaned back and stretched, weary from the long nightand the longer day. Ketchum waited until he was done beforestarting his tale.

“You fought in the War, didn’t you, Lynch? Then you knowwhat it’s like. Runnin’ around, hoping to find someone ta shootbefore they shoot you, never knowin’ what day’s gonna be yerlast.

“Sometimes ya almost hope someone’ll do ya in just to put anend to it all. At least I ‘spect the Yankees fight and die some-thing like Rebs. We’re all human, right? Present company ex-cepted, course.

“Anyhow, I was at Gettysburg back in ’63. It’s a well-worn phrase, but it still seems like only yesterday. Iwas part of John Bell Hood’s division, and we took some prettyheavy casualties on the last day. I was one of them.

“I caught a bullet in my right leg—only a flesh wound, but itwas enough to put me down. Once they could manage it, I wasput on a stretcher and sent back behind the lines to the divisionhospital.

“I waited there and prayed the wound wasn’t too bad. Ijust hoped they had enough time to tend to my wound properlyinstead of just takin’ the leg. A lot o’ them sawbones were a bittoo eager with their hacksaws in them days.

“It was late that night, and the doctors still hadn’t gotten tome. It was then I saw the Butcher. At first, I thought he was adoctor. He wore a white coat.

“Before I even saw him, I knew he was coming from thescreamin’ men he left in his path. I managed to sit up onmy cot, and I looked over to see what was happening. TheButcher was working his way down the rows of the injured,taking limbs from men as he went.

“He worked quickly, without any assistants or anesthetic. Itwas a long moment before I realized he was takin’ arms and legspretty much at random from the fallen, whether the limbs werehealthy or not.

“The screams were horrible, but most of the men in thetent had been screaming for hours anyhow. The guardshardly noticed.. Most of us were hurt bad and would havebeen lucky to make it through the night. The Butcher saw to itpersonally that a lot of us didn’t.

“My friends hadn’t taken my sidearm when they brought meto the hospital, and I managed to bring my revolver to bear onthe creature. I fired a warning shot at him, hoping I-was just see-ing things from all the pain. I didn’t wanna kill an innocent sur-geon.

“He turned on me then, the scalpel he’d been using todismember those other soldiers still dripping red in his hand. Hewas on me like a hungry dog on a raw steak.

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“I screamed for help and emptied the rest of the cylinder intothe Butcher, but the bullets just sank into him like I was firin’into the dirt. They had about that much effect.

“The next thing I knew was a horrible pain flashing across myface. The last thing I saw outta my right eye was that damn scal-pel blade.

“My shots finally brought the guards, and they burst into thetent expecting to find a Yankee raid. When they saw the Butcherturn toward them, my right eyeball still impaled on the tip of hisbloody scalpel, they opened fire.

“I passed out soon after from the pain. The guards ran theButcher off, but even with more’n a dozen rounds in him, hewasn’t slowed in the least. They turned the camp upside downlookin’ fer him, but it weren’t no use. He was gone.”

Ketchum fidgeted in his chair as he realized his glass was dry.He filled it up and topped off Ronan’s as well.

“What’s this got to do with Dodge?” Ronan asked.Ketchum continued on like he hadn’t heard. “I was discharged

from the Confederate Army, but I made my way with the Rangersout West. Ever since then, I’ve been on this Butcher’s trail. Everytime it seems I’ve caught up with him, though, he moves on.

“Maybe I just got lucky to run into Dodge the same time hedid, but tomorrow’s the Fourth of July, our 13th anniversary tothe day. Make no mistake about it. Our killer is the Butcher. I’veseen his handiwork too many times before to confuse him withsomeone else.

“He always attacks near midnight, and he kills three nights ina row before movin’ on to the next town. We’ve got two corpsesso far, which means he’s outta here after tomorrow night.

“We’ve got 24 hours to catch this son of a bitch and make himdead.” He looked Ronan in the eye with all seriousness and said.“No offense.”

Chapter ElevenRonan wasn’t sure if he believed all of Ketchum’s story, but

the man sure spun a fine tale. The next morning, he stepped intothe saloon’s main room to see Dog-Eye busy serving drinks tothe morning crowd. They were mostly Yankees not about to letany moment of a damn fine holiday go to waste.

When Dog-Eye saw him, his face lit up. “Hey, Lynch, I gotsomething for you.”

“What’s that?”“It’s Suzy Winger. She’s up and around again. The doc gave her

something for her nerves yesterday, and she slept right through itwithout a word. When she got up this morning, she asked foryou right away.”

“She still in the same room?”

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Dog-Eye laughed nervously. “After all o’ that? Are you kidding?It’s going to take me days of scrubbing just to get the blood offo’ the floor.”

His voice turned softer then. “Anyhow, that poor kid’s nevergoing to want to set foot in that place again. I’m surprised shecame back here, but she’s got nowhere else to go. She’s in roomF now, right next to yours.”

“Who else you got in this place?”“Now?”“At the time of the first murder.”“There was just you, Suzy, and that old drunk Dr. Mansfield.

He’s been here about a week, and he paid in advance. He’s dueout of here tomorrow morning.”

Ronan touched the brim of his hat as he walked off.When he got to room F, he knocked on the door. “Come

in,” a voice beckoned weakly.Suzy Winger looked up with a grateful grimace. “Deputy,

thank God, it’s you.”Ronan didn’t bother to correct her about his title.“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”She smiled weakly. “I understand you saved my life. I’d

like to thank you.”Ronan tipped his hat at her. “I was hoping you could

answer me a question.”Fear passed across her face for a moment before she

squelched it. “I’ll try.”“What did the killer looked like?”She gasped. “Oh, I’ll never forget it! He wore a white coat

stained with blood, and he had a surgeon’s mask over his face.His hair was covered with some kind of white cap, too.”

Ronan grimaced at her knowingly. Ketchum had been right onthe money.

“When he burst in through the door, I thought we weredead for sure.”

That brought Ronan up short. “He didn’t come in throughthe window?”

She nodded fiercely. “There was a knock at the door, and Mr.Goodwin was kind enough to answer it. The next thing I knew,he was hurled back into the room. His head cracked againstmine and knocked me senseless for a moment. When I came to—” she steeled herself against the memory. “That butcher was al-ready dismembering Mr. Goodwin and stuffing his parts into anold carpetbag.”

Ronan thought about this for a moment. He’d assumed fromthe attacker had broken into the room from outside. But theglass had been on the ground outside. That meant the attackerhad to have come in through the door.

Ronan had a good idea where he’d come from.

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Chapter 12Only one other door besides Suzy and Ronan’s was locked on

the entire hall. Ronan kicked it in without knocking. ClaytonMansfield wasn’t there, so the dead man began rooting throughthe room.

What he found was beyond his worst fears.The closet had the typical assortment of traveler’s things: a

chest of clothes, two coats, and—wadded up in a corner—the tat-tered white shirt Mansfield had ripped to fashion a sling forWalter Jackson. It had blood on it, but it could have been fromWalter.

Ronan examined the shirt and found that another patch hadbeen torn out of it. He pulled out of his pocket the scrap ofwhite cloth he’d found dangling from Suzy’s window pane thenight of the murders. It fit the hole in the shirt exactly.

Then Ronan looked under the bed and found several blood-soaked carpetbags. He dragged them out and dumped theirheavy contents onto the bed.

Arms and legs and heads spilled out on to the white linen. Afew of the pieces were fresh. Others had mummified with age.None had begun to rot.

Stranger yet, the limbs and heads were stitched together inodd arrangements. Paul Goodwin’s lifeless head sat with hisarms attached over either ear. His eyes had been sewn open, en-suring they’d never fall shut.

Had he not already tasted Hell for himself, Ronan would surelyhave run screaming from the room.

Instead he began pawing through the macabre collection. Hespotted what he felt sure were Ralphie’s limbs, but he recognizednone of the others. It didn’t matter.

Either way, Ronan knew who he was looking for, and he si-lently vowed to help Hank Ketchum fulfill his goal of bringingthis monster to Ronan’s kind of justice: swift, final, and adminis-tered personally.

Chapter Thirteen“Findin’ the Butcher now is easy enough,” Ketchum had told

Ronan elatedly. The Ranger had been beside himself. The end ofhis long hunt was in sight. “All we gotta do is sit in his roomand wait.”

“But what if he figures we’ve already been there and hightailsit the Hell outta Dodge? Besides, he might not return ‘til after hekills again.”

Ketchum had scowled at that, but it hadn’t taken him long toacknowledge that Ronan was right. “But then how can we stophim?”

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Ronan had a plan.The streets of Dodge were crowded that night. Yankees were

whooping and hollering all over the place, shooting off theirguns and making a general nuisance of themselves. Fireworkspaid for by the city bloomed irregularly in the night sky. Therehad been a few fights with some angry sons of the South, butoverall people were behaving themselves nicely.

No one was in the alleys, though, and that’s where Ronan wassure the Butcher would strike. This was a cowardly creature,afraid of a fair fight despite its obvious strength. Mansfieldhadn’t kept his killing spree up for 13 years by being brash.

Still, according to Ketchum, he was going to want a body to-night. Since most people were sticking to the crowds, it was go-ing to be difficult, but there were always a few stragglers thatgot separated from the herd. It was Ronan’s plan to make sureMansfield chose him over some innocent cowpoke that stumbledinto the wrong place at the wrong time.

While Ketchum camped out in Mansfield’s room, Ronan can-vassed the area, sticking to the alleys and always staying withina block or three of Dog-Eye’s saloon. Ronan reasoned that sincethere were so many people out tonight, the Butcher wasn’t likelyto roam far from his lair. That would increase the chance of himbeing spotted, possibly disturbing him in the middle of his work.

As it was approaching midnight, Ronan thought he saw somemovement near the outhouse behind Dog-Eye’s saloon. He tiptoedout in that direction, holding his breath the entire time. Not need-ing to breathe made that simple enough, and it helped him stayfocused.

As he got closer, he pulled out his Peacemaker andslowly and quietly thumb-cocked the hammer. He reached thecorner of the outhouse and swung around it, ready to blast awaywhatever was on the other side.

The black cat leaped out of the darkness at him. Startled,Ronan plugged the cat in midair, and it spun to the ground, deadbefore it hit the grass.

Ronan cursed silently.

* * *

Hank Ketchum waited inside Mansfield’s room, unwillingto give the Butcher any chance to get away. He was sure thecreature wouldn’t leave town without collecting his grisly sack ofprizes from his past murders. When Mansfield showed up,Ketchum would shoot him dead.

While he sat there on the bed, Ketchum wondered about thebag. Could his own eye actually be in there, mummified after 13years? He surely hoped not, but he couldn’t bring himself to look.

It was then that he heard something rustling underneath thebed.

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* * *

Ronan flipped open his cylinder and replaced the bullet hehad just fired. He hadn’t meant to kill the cat, but he wasdamned if he was going to feel bad about it. He was damnedanyway, so to Hell with the cat.

The whisper that came from behind him before he’d had achance to holster his gun sent a cold river of fear downhis undead spine. “Such a splendid shot you are. Yourhands will make a fine addition to my collection.”

Ronan whirled around and found himself face to facewith the Butcher. He stood over six feet tall, and he wore a blacktop hat and a coat covered with the blood of dozens of victims.The coat’s collar obscured his face, but Ronan was sure whohe’d find behind it.

A razor-sharp scalpel glittered in the Butcher’s hand.Oversized as it was to fit the creature’s monstrous mitt,it would have looked like a Bowie knife in a smallerman’s hands.

Physically, the creature was nothing like Mansfield—taller, stronger, faster—but Ronan was still sure it washim. There was dark magic at work here no doubt.

While these thoughts flashed through Ronan’s mind, theButcher waved the scalpel in front between them and thenlunged at the gunslinger’s no-longer-beating heart.

* * *

Ketchum’s heart turned to ice when he heard the noisesfrom under the bed, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. Hegot down on his knees, grabbed the bedcovers, and flung themaside in one smooth movement.

As he did, a hand shot out and wrapped itself around histhroat. Ketchum scrambled backwards, shooting at where a bodyattached to the arm would be. It wasn’t until he was fully upagainst the door that he realized that the only thing attached di-rectly to the arm choking him to death was Paul Goodwin’slaughing head.

As the freakish cranium with the sewn-open eyes cackledover the Ranger’s predicament, other extremities pulled them-selves from the carpetbag and scrabbled their way across thefloor to attack Ketchum in whatever way they could. Legs kickedat him, hands climbed up his body to punch and scratch at him,and teeth bit him wherever they could reach.

Overwhelmed, Ketchum fired blindly at the loose heads andlimbs. When it became apparent that they’d drag him down anddestroy him, Ketchum took the only route left to him.

He charged directly at the window and smashed through it,taking the flailing arms, heads, and legs with him as he fell tothe ground below.

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* * *

The Butcher’s scalpel swung in at Ronan’s chest and slicedopen his shirt, exposing the dead flesh beneath. Ronan emptiedhis gun at the creature. The slugs didn’t even slow it down.

Ronan dodged another slash. As one harrowed by death, hewasn’t easily hurt, but he wasn’t sure even he could recover fromhaving his head separated from his shoulders.

The Butcher feinted a low stab and came in with a high cut.The blade caught Ronan’s left forearm, cutting it to the bone. Noblood oozed from the wound, but it burned like a hot iron.

Ronan hadn’t been hurt like that since he’d died, and he’dbeen stabbed plenty. No normal weapon could have woundedhim that way. It was then he finally made the connection.

* * *

When Ketchum hit the ground, his knee smashed into a with-ered head that had fastened its teeth on his shin. He rolled whenhe landed, trying to spread as much of the damage from the fallfrom himself to his horrific attackers.

As he stood up, the unliving limbs held on tight, unfazed bythe fall—except for one set. The leg and arm attached to the headhe had crushed in his fall lay unmoving on the ground.

He realized that each of the creatures attacking him had atleast one head, no matter how many limbs were attached tothem. He had wasted a lot of ammo on the arms and legs, whenwhat he should have been going for were the brainpans.

With that thought in his own head, Hank Ketchum set to work.

* * *

Ronan drew his knife from his belt. It was nothing like theButcher’s scalpel, but it was all he was going to need.

The two combatants danced around for a moment. “Comehere, Mr. Lynch,” wheedled the Butcher in a voice too high for hisbuild. “Let the doctor put an end to your pain!”

As they circled each other, Ronan stumbled over a rock. TheButcher saw his chance and dove in with his knife, stabbingRonan straight through the belly until the blade protruded fromhis back.

Ronan reeled in pain as the mystical blade ran through hisside. Still, his plan had come together beautifully. All he neededto do now was stay conscious long enough to pull it off.

As the Butcher cackled triumphantly, Ronan put the hurt toone side. He was dead, and a single belly wound would never beenough to put him down, magic knife or no.

With grim determination, he reached down with his left handand clutched the Butcher’s right arm. With his free hand, hebrought his own knife slashing down hard at the Butcher’s wrist.It separated neatly from his arm.

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* * *

Ketchum made quick work of the bodiless things, crushingtheir skulls one by one. When he was finished, he looked up. Hewas bleeding from over a dozen cuts and bites, but the jobwasn’t finished.

In the dimly lit area out back of the Dog-Eye Saloon, hewatched as Ronan severed the Butcher’s hand.

Before his eyes, the Butcher fell back screaming, blood spout-ing from his arm’s stump like water from a fountain. As he did,he quickly began to transform from the monster in the surgeon’sclothes into Clayton Mansfield, the drunken nobody that no oneever paid any mind.

Ketchum kicked in the braincase of the last head near him forgood measure and trotted over to the scene. As he walked over,he flipped out his spent cylinder and slapped a fresh one in, anold habit that had saved his life more than once.

When he got there, Mansfield was curled up in a ball, clutch-ing his mangled arm to his chest, and whimpering softly. “It’sover,” he said. “Thank God, it’s finally all over.”

Ketchum leaned over and hauled the man to his feet. “You’renot gettin’ off that easy, pardner. You’ve killed a lot of good folks,and maimed or not, yer gonna pay.”

As Ketchum berated the mass murderer, Ronan reached downand plucked the scalpel from his side. The attached hand fellaway and landed in the dirt.

Ronan held the scalpel up to the light to examine it, and henoticed it was engraved with some ancient runes beyond his un-derstanding. As he tried to decipher the sigils, he felt the thingbegin to talk to him in a voice that slithered past his ear andright into his brain like some psychic snake. He couldn’t help butlisten.

“I never meant to hurt anyone,” Mansfield whimpered. “It wasDr. Cuttingthwaite, my old mentor. He gave us those blades uponmy graduation from medical school—me and my friend Jack.Little did I know that it was my passport to Hell.”

“You don’t say,” sneered Ketchum. “You can tell it to the judge.I know one in Dallas that’ll hang you on my word alone, so youwon’t have to worry none about providing a confession.”

“Please,” Mansfield gasped, “losing my hand was a small priceto pay to be free of that thing. You must destroy it immediately.There’s no telling what it might do with the next person whograbs it.”

“You don’t say,” said Ketchum, a note of sarcasm in his voice.As he trailed off, he suddenly sensed a large presence behindhim, right where Ronan had been.

He whirled about, drawing his Bowie knife at the same time,and came face to face with a brand-new Butcher, this one wear-ing the face of Ronan Lynch.

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“I was afraid you cheated me outta my revenge, Lynch,”Ketchum snarled as he hefted the savage length of Texas steel,“but I’m taking the Butcher out once and for all!”

Ketchum slashed once, twice, slicing Ronan’s chest to ribbons.While the dead man growled in amazement at his wounds,Ketchum grabbed the hand bearing the scalpel in his viselikeleft. “Time to get to the root of the problem,”-he grunted as hebrought his blade down like an ax, removing Ronan’s hand cleanat the wrist.

The new Butcher howled as he fell to the ground, clutchinghis unbleeding stump, and soon after, Ronan kneeled where thecreature had just stood.

“Well,” said Ketchum, “this must be my lucky day. I finallycatch up with the Butcher, and I bag me an undead gunslinger toboot.”

Ronan crawled over, picked up his missing hand, shook thescalpel out of it, and stuffed his loose hand into his pocket.“You’re not thinkin’ o’ takin’ me in now that this is over. Evenwith one hand, I’m more than a match for you, Texas.”

Ketchum pulled a well-used rag from a pocket in his coat andscooped the scalpel up in it. “Oh I don’t doubt that, Lynch, but I’llnever have a better chance.”

Before Ketchum could even think about going for his gun,Ronan drew his own pistol with his left hand and leveled it atKetchum’s head. “You’ll never have a chance against me,” he saidflatly.

The Ranger stared down the barrel of the Peacemaker andthen into Ronan’s long-dead eyes. With a snort and a grimace, hesheathed his blade and pointedly turned his back on Ronan andhis gun.

Then he dropped the Butcher’s blade down into his breastpocket and looked at it for a moment as if it might explode atany second. “The boys back in Roswell will want a look at this.”

He let his jacket fall closed over the pocket and then turnedand stared down the barrel of Ronan’s Peacemaker again. He pat-ted the scalpel where it sat over his heart. “I think this here’senough of a trophy for one day, don’t you?”

Ronan watched Ketchum as he got to his feet. Then the deadman holstered his gun with a short-lived smirk. “You know,Texas, I like how you think.”

Off in the distance, sounds of celebrations streamed out fromthe streets. A grand finale of fireworks lit the night sky to markthe last moments of the day, and the beginning of the Union’snext hundred years.

“Besides,” growled Ketchum as he dragged the bleeding Dr.Mansfield off into the dark, “I wouldn’t want to ruin yer blastedholiday.

“Happy Independence Day, ya damn Yankee.”

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Independence dayThe Adventure

How’d y’all like that tale o’death? Well, here’s your chanceto plant the Butcher into theground yourselves, so grabsome dirt here by the fire andlet us tell you about the greatIndependence Day Party of1876.

The StorySo Far

Dodge City is throwing agala celebration to honor theUnited States’ 100th birthday,and all the Yankees in townare as happy as can be. Theproblem is the Rebels in thearea think this particular activ-ity is insulting, seeing as howthe United States can’t actuallylay claim to Kansas and all.

Kansas is smack in themiddle of the Disputed Lands,and Kansans are split about

who to support. Both sides, theUnion and the Confederacy,have about equal pull, but thetown council believes thisparty to be just what the citi-zens (and the town coffers)need. So they plan to do itanyway, regardless of whatevermight be going on Back East.

The party is set to start July2 and pick up speed until thebig event on the evening ofJuly 4. The town has even hiredan outfit from Chicago to lightoff the biggest fireworks showever seen. Since the town an-nounced it’s decision to launchthe celebration, the grumblingshave grown louder and moreforceful.

One of the councilmen fig-ured out another way for thetown to make money. Dodge isselling booths and licenses todifferent folks so they can selltheir own wares, everything

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from homemade pies to knivesto candles. The council hopesto get the townsfolk and somepeople from out of town tocome in and buy things at thelocal shops and businesses too.Of course, it wouldn’t hurt forthe people running the boothsto see how well the Kansanswork together and decide toset up shop in town perma-nently.

As the first day of the cel-ebration draws near, the towncouncil has one big collectiveheadache. People are shoutingback and forth about the Northand the South, the out-of-towners, and even the sins ofalcohol. To top it off, Kansas ishaving an epic heat wave.

In the interest of publicsafety (and making sure theoperation that’s going to linetheir pockets doesn’t blow upin their faces), the town leadershave empowered the law inDodge to deputize trouble-shooters as needed and paythem the whopping sum of $10per day to ensure that thetown stays quiet for the benefitof all the visitors.

The job of hiring all thesedeputies has fallen to one man:Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp. He’snot happy about it, but at leastthe council’s decided to pay forsome extra help instead of ex-pecting him and the rest of thetown marshal’s crew to handlethe celebration’s security ontheir own.

Over and above all of this—unbeknownst to anyone intown—one of the guests is apsychotic serial killer knownto a few Eastern newspapersas “the Butcher!” This is theman that wreaked havoc in aRebel hospital during the battleat Gettysburg back in ’63. He’swandered around the continentsince and had a long reign ofterror. With the heroes’ help,that reign might finally cometo an end.

The SetupThe opportunity to work

with a legend like Wyatt Earpcan make or break the reputa-tion of any posse roaming theWest. There are a number ofways the heroes can findthemselves gainfully employedby the city of Dodge as tempo-rary law enforcers. It’s up toyou to snare them in the thickof the plot.

AdsThe city council isn’t shy

about advertising for help.They’ve placed notices in theDodge City Times and haveposted bills in saloons andgeneral stores throughout thecity. Some of them are floatingaround in areas outside thecity, too, so this is a good wayto get heroes interested thatmight be a long ways out ofDodge.

Feel free to throw an ad ortwo in the heroes’ path andsee if they bite. If they don’tseem particularly interested,you might have a cowpokegrab one of the bills from awall and start crowing abouthow he’s going to make him-self some easy money in thebig city this weekend.

Earp’s office is pretty easyto find, and folks are happy tosteer the heroes in the right di-rection.

An IncidentIf the subtle method doesn’t

work, you can always trysomething drastic. Set up anincident in Dodge in which theheroes can show how wellthey can handle a situation.

Tailor the incident to yourposse. If they’re talkers, havethem convince a drunken gun-slinger that shooting up aquiet neighborhood isn’t theway to make friends. If theylike shooting, give them achance to stop a bunglingbank robber in his tracks.

While the heroes are in theprocess of wrapping up theirencounter, Wyatt Earp arrives,beckoned there by the samepeople who alerted the heroesto the situation. When Earpsees how well the heroes havedeported themselves, he offersthem each troubleshooter jobson the spot. They should stopby his office the next day.

By ReputationYou can always try the di-

rect approach. Have Earp huntthe heroes down and offerthem a job.

Earp has somehow heardabout the heroes’ previous ex-ploits, assuming there are anythey should feel proud of. Ifnot, he’s misheard somethinggood. If they don’t disabusehim of the notion they couldbe competent deputies, hemakes them an offer on thespot. All they’ve got to do iscome by his office tomorrow.

Major PlayersSeveral people are smack in

the scalpel’s path.

Clayton MansfieldUpon graduation from medi-

cal school in the Carolinas,Clayton Mansfield’s mentor, Dr.Cuttingthwaite, presented himand another student with asmall black valise, and thehallmark of surgeons every-where: a shiny, new scalpel.

Born a Rebel, Clayton offeredhis services to the ConfederateArmy. His compatriot, a youngdoctor named Jack, sailedacross the ocean to try hisluck in London.

Clayton was working alonein an understaffed Confederatehospital at the Battle ofGettysburg when the Reckon-

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ing took place. A surge ofmystical energies washed overhim and into his tainted scal-pel, transforming him from amild-mannered surgeon into abloodthirsty killer.

Unfortunately for the sol-diers under his care, Clayton’smind was subsumed by thescalpel’s will. He began ampu-tating heads and limbs at ran-dom, and it was several, longminutes before anyone put anend to his horrific spree.

The killer reappeared thenext month, hundreds of milesaway. He killed three nights ina row and vanished. This pat-tern has repeated itself irregu-larly until this very day.

Clayton is entirely aware ofwho he’s become, but he’shelpless to stop it. It tearsapart what’s left of his con-scious, and he drinks con-stantly to assuage the guilt.

Clayton carries the scalpelwith him at all times and oftenkeeps the blade embedded inthe skin of his left forearm. Hebandages the wound and keepsthe shaft taped to the inside ofhis arm.

This sacrifice temporarilysates the blade’s thirst forblood, stretching the time be-tween killings for months, butit never lasts. Eventually, thescalpel sings the music ofmayhem, and the doctor mustdance like a mad marionette.

Here are Clayton’s statisticswhen he’s not possessed.

ProfileCorporeal: D:2d8, N:2d10, S:2d8,

Q:3d6, V:2d6Climbin’ 1d10, shootin’: pistol

2d8, sneak 1d10, swimmin’2d10

Mental: C:3d6, K:4d10, M:2d4,Sm:4d6, Sp: 2d8.

Guts 3d8,language: English4d10, language: Latin 2d10,medicine: surgery 4d10,search 1d6, streetwise 2d6,

The Butcher’sScalpel

This is a cursed relic of ter-rible power. It transforms itswielder into a murderer capableof the most horrific deeds.

When the scalpel is in con-trol, it demands midnight kill-ings for three days in a rowbefore letting the host resumecontrol of his body. If possible,the user is to make off withthe victim’s head and extremi-ties to be fashioned intowalkin’ heads. The Butcherusually leaves these creaturesbehind to cause all sorts oftrauma in his path and help tocover his tracks.

Once done with a killingspree, the scalpel often doesnot demand another for amonth or more. It knows thatit’s not an invulnerable device.It’s best protection is to keepon the move and not attracttoo much attention in oneplace.

Powers: While transformedinto the Butcher (which hap-pens only at night), the userclimbs even sheer surfaces ata Pace of 6, walks at 12, andruns at 24. He also gets 3 lev-els of sneak, dodge andfightin’:-knife and adds twosteps to each of his Trait dicetypes. Plus, he can only beharmed by bladed weapons.

The scalpel can create andgive orders to up to 10 sets ofwalkin’ heads (see below)-at atime. If the wielder loses thescalpel, the scalpel can controlthem on its own.

Taint: Every time the userholds the blade’s bare handleat night, he must make an op-posed Spirit roll against thescalpel’s 4d10 Spirit. If he loses,he gains all the powers of thescalpel and falls under thescalpel’s control. If he wins,nothing happens.

If the scalpel is pickedup by a Harrowed, itstruggles for control withwhoever is in control ofthe Harrowed’s body at thetime: the human mind or themanitou. If the manitou is incharge, draw a card to deter-mine its Spirit each time itbattles with the blade for su-premacy over its host.

Each time the wielder losesthe struggle with the scalpel,he’s at –1 for any future at-tempts to fend off the scalpel’sattempts at control, up to amaximum penalty of –6.

The scalpel is dormant inthe daytime, but not powerless.Once picked up, it cannot beput down voluntarily withoutgetting two or more successeson an opposed Spirit roll.When night falls, it tries fordominance again.

If the scalpel is taken fromits owner, its power quicklyfades. Of course, this isn’t aseasy as it might sound. Thescalpel is small, and theButcher is strong (called shotsto the scalpel are at –9). Sever-ing the hand from the bodyworks as well, but that’s a –5called shot with a blade toeven hit the wrist. Anythingthat snaps the scalpel’s bladedestroys it forever.

Here’s the profile for thescalpel’s current host whenhe’s fully under the wickedblade’s malevolent control.

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The ButcherCorporeal: D:2d12, N:2d12+2,

S:2d12, Q:3d10, V:2d10Climbin’ 1d12+2, dodge 3d12+2,

fightin’: knife 3d12+2,shootin’: pistol 2d12, sneak3d12+2, swimmin’ 2d12+2

Mental: C:3d10, K:4d12, M:2d8,Sm:4d10, Sp: 2d12

Guts 3d12, language: English4d12+2, language: Latin2d12+2, medicine: surgery4d12+2, search 1d10,streetwise 2d10

Terror: 7Gear: ScalpelSpecial Abilities:Scalpel: STR+1d8Immunity: Harmed only by

edged weapons.Control: Can create and control

walkin’ heads.Weakness: If the scalpel is lost,

he transforms into a batteredbut grateful Mansfield.

Wyatt EarpEarp isn’t the fastest gun in

the West, but he’s one of thesavviest. He’s most dangerousbecause of his fast mind andcool head. He usually buffaloesa troublemaker over the headlong before anyone goes for agun. He’s done this so oftenthat people walking aroundtown with bumps on theirheads are said to have “earps.”


Q:3d8, V:3d8Climbin’ 2d10, dodge 3d10,

fightin’: brawlin’ 6d10,fightin’: club 5d10, horseridin’ 3d10, quick draw 4d8,shootin’: pistol, rifle. shotgun5d8, sneak 3d10

Mental: C:3d8, K:3d6, M:4d12,Sm:3d8, Sp:2d10

Area knowledge: Kansas 4d6,bluff 3d8, gamblin’ 4d8, guts3d10, leadership 4d12, over-awe 6d12, persuasion 2d12,professional: law 3d6, scruti-nize 5d8, search 4d8,streetwise 4d8, survival 3d8,trackin’ 2d8

Edges: Levelheaded, luck ofthe Irish, the voice, the stare.

Hindrances: Heroic, obligation(to brothers), pacifist (doesnot like to kill), stubborn,vengeful.

Gear: Buntline, Winchester ‘73,shotgun, Earp’s badge (all at-tacks against the wearer are

at –4, and he can add +2 topersuasion checks, but heloses his highest Fate Chipif he ever denies a cry forhelp).

Jake SimpkinsSimpkins is tall with blond

hair he wears long and greasy.He poses as the fearless leaderof a band of loyal Rebels. (TheWilderness Riders are banditswhose sympathies lie with theSouth. Many of them are de-serters from the Confederatearmy, who figure they have abetter chance of surviving ontheir own.)

In reality, Jake’s a greedythug who robs any undefendedUnion banks and trains he canfind. Still, he’s a ruthless man,so no one has challenged hisrule over the Wilderness Ridersyet.

Simpkins knows an opportu-nity when he sees one. Whenhe heard about Dodge’s big cel-ebration, he approached theConfederacy with a plan tospoil the Union’s party. Henamed a price to raise aruckus, and they met it.



fightin’: brawlin’, knife 3d8,horse ridin’ 2d8, quick draw2d8, shootin’: pistol 3d8,sneak 1d8


Area knowledge: Kansas 2d6,guts 3d8, leadership 1d10,overawe 3d10, scrutinize 2d6,search 1d6

Edges: The voice.Hindrances: Vengeful.Gear: Double-action Peace-

maker, Bowie knife, box of50 shells.

Ralphie SimpkinsJake Simpkins made his

brother Ralphie his right-handman because he figured it wassafest to keep the psycho asclose to him as possible.Ralphie’s a loose cannon,which Jake appreciates. He canlet the brash, young hot-headloose on a problem and besure it’ll be reduced to piecesin nothing flat. And if the kidcatches the blame for it, thenJake’s still in the clear.

Ralphie joined his brother’sgang to get paid to hurtpeople. He preys mostly on theweak or defenseless and takesparticular delight in hurting"those damn Yankees" andtheir cause.



fightin’: brawlin’, knife 4d10,horse ridin’ 2d10, quick draw:knife 2d8, shootin’: pistol3d6, sneak 2d10

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Area knowledge: Kansas 2d6,guts 2d6, overawe 2d8,search 1d6

Edges: The voiceHindrances: Intolerance (really

hates Yankees).Gear: .44 Army revolver, knife,

box of 50 shells.

Walkin’ HeadsThese are a special kind of

walkin’ dead created by theButcher. He harvests the headsand limbs from his victims andstitches them into strange con-figurations, each with a single,mostly intact cranium.

These things crawl along ontheir disembodied hands andfeet, attacking their victims withtooth and nail. The best way tokill them is by planting a bulletbetween their bloody eyes.



fightin’: brawlin’ 3d8, sneak4d8

Mental: C:2d8, K:1d6, M:1d6,Sm:1d6, Sp:1d4

Overawe 4d6Size: 2Terror: 7Special Abilities:

Bite: 3d8Scratch: 3d8Undead: Can only harmed asif Harrowed.

Chapter One:Meeting the Leg-

endThe posse has been con-

tacted by Wyatt Earp and givendirections to his office and in-structions to meet him thereon the morning of July 2. Ascharged by the Dodge citycouncil, he’s looking for a fewgood folks to help keep every-thing under control for DodgeCity’s centennial celebration.

When the heroes arrive atEarp’s office, he asks them tomake themselves comfortable.Since there are only two chairsin the place and Earp’s in oneof them, it should be obvioushe doesn’t expect them to staylong.

The posse is responsible forkeeping the peace in the areabetween Bridge Street to theeast, Third Avenue to the west,Walnut Street to the north, andFront Street to the south. Nor-mally, a single lawman couldeasily handle this territory, butwith the big celebration only afew days off, taking care ofthis patch of ground has be-come a big job.

Officially the heroes are onlyon duty from 6 p.m. until afterthe festivities end late eachnight. However, like all goodlawmen, they are expected tobe on call to lend a hand 24hours a day. Should this sound

too onerous, Earp points outthe heroes are getting a nicechunk of change for whatshould (hopefully)-be prettyeasy work.

Despite Earp’s better judg-ment, the town council hasn’tseen fit to ban firearms withinthe city limits for the durationof the celebration. Tempers aresure to be running as thick asthe suds on the beer, and it’sonly a matter of time—inWyatt’s opinion—before some-one draws a pistol in themiddle of an innocent littlebrawl. That’s all it takes toturn a fistfight into a killingand put some drunken cow-poke in line for a noose. It’s upto the posse to keep that fromhappening.

The posse can call on Earpor any of the town’s other law-men for backup. However, theyshouldn’t abuse this privilege.

The biggest problem, Earpbelieves, is going to be the par-tisan bickering that’s sure tocrop up. The Rebs aren’t reallytickled about anything thatmakes Union folk happy, andthe Yankees are worried thatthe Confederates are going totry to rain on their parade.Tempers are running hot allover the place and threateningto boil over. It’s up to the posseto keep things cool.

Earp offers the heroes each$10 per day. The job starts now(July 2) and ends at dawn onJuly 5, or whenever the streetsfinally happen to clear out.

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Chapter Two:The Big City

Assuming the heroes takeEarp up on his offer, he tellsthem to vamoose and get toknow the area they’re respon-sible for. He’d show themaround himself, but he’s gotenough on his plate.

If they need a place to start,Earp suggests the Dog Eye Sa-loon. Dog Eye knows Dodgebetter than about anyone, andhe can help out in a pinch.

Let the heroes wanderaround and acquaint them-selves with the area. Toss in afew minor encounters if youlike, but keep things light.

Dodge CityDodge City is a growing

community, thriving on itsproximity to major buffaloherds and railroads. It’s alsosmack dab in the DisputedLands, and people in town of-ten have hard feelings abouttheir neighbors. It’s not un-usual for a person to suffer fortheir country’s sake. Bitternessover politics lies just below thesurface of many everyday in-teractions, and it doesn’t takemuch to boil over.

Everybody in Dodge City ison edge, and just about all ofthem have an itch they canonly scratch with the businessend of a Peacemaker. The

posse can expect many littlefights in addition to those de-tailed herein.

Dodge has a Fear Level of 2on July 2. This is unaffected bythe Butcher’s first killing. Afterthe second murder, though,folks start figuring things out,and the Fear Level leaps to 3.

If you’re interested in findingout more about Dodge, checkout the Deadlands Marshal'sHandbook.

Cowtown SaloonDescription: This run-down

place is so popular withcowpokes that it occupiestwo adjoining storefronts.The western one is a saloon,but the eastern side housesa number of poker and farogames and pool tables.

Occupants: Sally Darsten (pro-prietor; a weatherbeaten ex-soiled; she’s one tough oldbird), 1d6 drinkers (3d8 atnight), 1d6 gamblers (3d4 atnight), and 1d4 ladies.

Doc Smith’sOfficeDescription: A low frame

building in which the doctorand his young daughter live.They sometimes house pa-tients in the spare room.

Occupants: Dr. Zachary Smith(surgeon; a weathered manin his late fifties with ashock of white hair; he

served with the ConfederateArmy before moving West)and Wilma Smith (Smith’sdaughter; a pretty redhead;age 11).

Dodge City TimesDescription: The offices of the

local newsrag. It’s normallyonly interested in printing“solid” news. This is aboutto change, since they’re atthe site of the strangeststory of the year.

Occupants: Alec T. Fielding(editor; a scarecrow with anose for news; unfortunately,he’s oblivious to the fantas-tic tale unfolding aroundhim), Sandra Fielding (secre-tary; a handsome woman inher mid-thirties; Alec’s wife),and one or two reporters.

The Dog EyeSaloonDescription: A solid, frame

building. It’s a rough place,catering to the tough crowdswho don’t want to party un-der the watchful eyes of thetown deputies.

Occupants: Hank “Dog Eye”McNary (proprietor and bar-tender; a balding ex-Yankeegone soft; apolitical thesedays; has a wandering eye),1d6 barflies (3d6 at night),and Suzy Winger (soileddove; the most sought-aftergirl in town; a Union spy).

First Bank ofDodgeDescription: A low stone build-

ing, rare in town. It’s facadeis as solid as its vault, mak-ing it a respected bank, evenby those thinking about un-authorized withdrawals. Bothtimes it’s been robbed, thebank put such a highbounty on the thieves’ headsthat they were hung withinthe week.

Occupants: Jesse Carlton(president; stunning womanin her mid-forties with a no-nonsense attitude towardbanking) and 1d4 tellers, de-pending on the time of daythe bank is visited.

Kennely’s RestaurantDescription: A small place

packed with tables, chairs,and people. The kitchen isin the eastern side-building.The decor is like the food:tasteful but plain.

Occupants: John Kennely (pro-prietor and cook; a burly,curly-haired Irishman with amean way with a frying pan,both inside the kitchen andout; friendly until crossed;doesn’t tolerate fights),Sinead Kennely (proprietorand hostess; John’s wife; atough Irishwoman who rulesthe main room with an ironhand), and 3d4 extremelysatisfied paying customers.

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Ladies TemperanceMovement BoothDescription: This booth is

well-made and covered withhandmade crafts, depictingvarious Bible scenes.-Severalsigns decry the use of alco-hol for any but medicinalpurposes.

Occupants: Ida Mae Hobart(group leader; steel-hairedprohibitionist with a razor-sharp tongue and a thor-ough knowledge of theGood Book), 1d6 otherwomen (varying ages but alldevoted to their cause), andan occasional husband orsuitor.

McCarty’s CityDrugstoreDescription: The first floor is

a combination drugstore andpost office. Dr. McCarty seespatients on the second floor.

Occupants: Dr. McCarty (owner,physician, and druggist; ahappy and portly man whokeeps his list of patientsshort; he makes more offthe store), Janice McCarty(shopkeeper and wife; asweet-natured brunette whoactually runs the shop), andWilliam McCarty (postmasterand son; a chatty youngsterwith an ear for gossip).

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Union Blue Track

Front Street

Chestnut Street

43

7

6

8

5

1 1

2

Walnut Street

Thi

rd A

venu

e

Bridg

e St

reet

Black River Track

Dodge City1. Cowtown Saloon

2. Doc Smith’s Office3. Dodge City Times

4. The Dog Eye Saloon5. First Bank of Dodge6. Kennely’s Restaurant

7. Ladies Temperance Booth8. McCarty’s Drugstore

1. Cowtown Saloon2. Doc Smith’s Office3. Dodge City Times

4. The Dog Eye Saloon5. First Bank of Dodge6. Kennely’s Restaurant

7. Ladies Temperance Booth8. McCarty’s Drugstore

Dodge City

Chapter Three:A Sunny Day

You can run the followingencounters in any order thatyou like. Each of them sets uplater events in the plot, so youshould cover each of them.

Evil SpiritsAs the posse wanders by the

Ladies Temperance Movement’sbooth, a small gray-hairedwoman introduces herself asIda Mae Hobart. She is thepresident of the League’s localchapter, and she thinks the en-tire celebration is an affront toGod. There’s sure to be alcoholinvolved, and when people in-dulge in the devil’s drink,they’re doing the dark lord’swork. Dodge needs saving, andIda Mae has appointed herselfas its savior.

This severe-looking womanin her late fifties has gathereda band of like-minded peopleto her side, and they plan totake advantage of the crowdsto make their feelings knownin no uncertain terms. In anuncharacteristic show of civil-ity, Ida Mae has actuallycoughed up the $10 to set upher booth. Normally she’shappy to simply parade aroundin her sandwich boards, trum-peting her beliefs at the top ofher lungs, but she’s going outof her way to seem as reason-

able as possible. To this end,she’s printed hundreds ofhandbills to spread the word.

Ida Mae isn’t directly in-volved with the Butcher, but ifyou play her right, she canmake a nice red herring forsuspicious players.

Right now, Ida Mae has de-cided to size up the trouble-shooters nearest her booth. Asis her way, she comes onstrong, spoiling for some kindof a fight, almost daring theheroes to cross her.

If she is treated with re-spect, she launches into a ti-rade against alcohol. Shedoesn’t care to argue her point.She just wants people to agree.If the heroes do, she loses in-terest soon enough. Beforestomping off she thanks themfor their time and their assis-tance in repressing the un-wholesome nature of the cel-ebration as much as can bedone. She favors them with asuspicious sidelong glance asshe walks away.

If Ida Mae is treated rudely,her face kaleidoscopes throughseveral shades of red beforesettling on a color closely re-sembling a boiled beet. She ex-plodes at the heroes at the topof her lungs. In the course ofher rant, she lets them knowthat she considers them willingservants of Satan and thewrath of the Lord is sure toswallow them up with the restof this forsaken town.

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Pardon MeA young black man is

sprawled across the road, lyingamong dozens of handbillsscattered in the dirt. RalphieWaters stands over him, daringhim to get up and fight.

“C’mon, ya yella Yankee!” hetaunts. “Or is talkin’ the onlything yer good for?”

Walter Jackson, the man inthe street, is an ex-Union sol-dier from Michigan who hasmoved to Kansas to persuadethe Kansans they should beleaning North. He has put hisfighting days behind him andconsiders himself a pacifist.

Opting to not blow the $10on a booth, Walter walks thestreets of Dodge, handing outhis pro-Union handbills. Hewas moseying down Chestnutwhen Ralphie stepped off theboardwalk and knocked himflat. Ralphie claims Walterpractically ran him over andthe damn Yankee should watchwhere he’s going.

Seeing red, Walter loses histemper, stands up, and socksRalphie across the jaw. Asblood streams from his bustedlip, Ralphie pulls a long, thinknife and threatens the youngNortherner with it.

If the heroes don’t step in,there’s going to be a fight, andWalter—who’s apologizing forhis lack of composure—is likelygoing to end up dead. Ralphieplans on simply claiming self-

defense (Walter threw the firstpunch after all).

If the heroes intervene,Ralphie squares off againstthem. Walter’s punch has madehim spitting mad and dumbenough to try to stick adeputy. Before he gets hischance, though, Jake Simpkinssteps in.

Jake spells it out like this:Ralphie puts his blade awaynow, or Jake will plant him inthe dirt. Embarrassed, Ralphiepleads with Jake for a moment,but it’s no use. He buckles into his leader’s demands.

Since there’s no harm done,the heroes have no one to tossinto jail. As Ralphie walks off,though, he flatly informs theheroes, “This ain’t over yet!” Ifthey’re Yankees, he cursesthem and Walter up and down,and if they’re Rebels, he callsthem traitors to the cause.

Have a DrinkWhen the heroes enter Dog

Eye’s, they’re greeted by theowner, who’s standing behindthe bar. He offers them each afree drink, unabashedly tryingto get in good with them. He’stalkative, which is more thancan be said for the bar’s otherpatrons.

While Dog Eye tries to learnas much as he can about theheroes, Clayton Mansfieldstumbles up to the bar andtries to cage a drink from

them. He claims to be waitingfor a check to arrive at theFirst Bank of Dodge on July 5so he can continue his journeyof exploration of the West.

Clayton’s already threesheets to the wind, his clothesare tattered, and he stinksfrom more than whiskey. Still,he’s polite and charming. Andpersistent.

If the heroes refuse him,Clayton thanks them for theirtime and shoves off toward atable at which he nurses a sipof whiskey out of a dry glass.If they buy him a drink, helavishes them with thanks.

If the heroes ask Dog Eye,he tells them Clayton stag-gered into town a few day ago,paid for his room through thefifth, and passed out cold. DogEye thinks he came in on theBlack River train, but he can’tbe sure. He’s loquacious whenawake, which isn’t often.

All BusinessAs the heroes wander by

the alley near Dog Eye’s, theycome upon a pretty youngwoman engaged in a heatedargument with an older man.

She is Suzy Winger, a sa-loon gal with an apparentpreference for Rebels. In reality,she uses her status as one ofthe most popular saloon girlsin town to gather choice bitsof pillow talk to pass on toher masters in the US Army.

Suzy is tall and winsomewith long, blonde hair andblue eyes men have swornthey’d die for. Despite all theattentions plied upon her, Suzyrefuses to play favorites withher many suitors.

The man Suzy is arguingwith is Paul Goodwin. A tall,good-looking man with East-ern clothes and ways, Paul is aspy for the Union army. Hepasses himself off as a Massa-chusetts dandy. He pretends tobe apolitical, but nothing couldbe further from the truth.

Paul makes the rounds ofthe brothels in Kansas,picking up choice bits of gos-sip from ladies who listen tothe ramblings of the Rebelsthey bed. They are well-paidfor the risks they take on theUnion’s part.

At the moment, Paul ispressing Suzy to get closerto Jake Simpkins. Paul knowsJake is bound to be up tosomething during the celebra-tion, and he’s afraid it’s some-thing big.

Suzy is demanding moremoney. Jake’s a violentman, and if she’s going to riskher neck, she wants to be wellpaid for her efforts.

As the heroes approach,Paul and Suzy spot them. Theconversation comes to anabrupt end, and Paul walks offin the opposite direction asSuzy moves to intercept theposse.

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Suzy introduces herself as“employee” of the Dog Eye Sa-loon and suggests the heroesvisit her this evening.

If anyone asks about thefight she was having with Paul,she says Paul was a dis-gruntled customer arguing overthe price of her “services.” Ifthe heroes catch up with Paul,he spins them a typical tale.He is attracted to Suzy andwas merely trying to talk herprice down.

On an Onerous (7) scruti-nize roll, a hero can tell thatPaul’s hardly telling his wholestory. A man that dresses aswell as he does should haveplenty of money for womenlike Suzy if he likes. There’slittle more to know about him,though, without engaging himin a long conversation, some-thing he’d like to avoid.

Bounty PointsAction PointsFind out something

about Clayton 1Avoid Ida Mae’s Wrath 1Rescue Walter 1Avoid fighting Ralphie 1Confront Suzy 1

Chapter Four:Gone to Pieces

The first night of the cel-ebration winds down about11:30. Overall, things have beenquiet, and the crowd has beenwell behaved. Around midnight,the relative peace is shatteredby a scream from the secondfloor of the Dog Eye Saloon.

If the heroes are in the sa-loon, they can tell where thenoise came from. Otherwise,Dog Eye dispatches a cowpoketo bring them running.

There are six rooms on thesaloon’s upper floor. Suzy’s isin the corner farthest fromChestnut and Third. When theheroes burst in, they find Suzyin hysterics, pointing wildly ata man’s body on her bed. Thesheets are stained red, and ifthe heroes came running assoon as they heard the scream,blood still spills onto the floor.

The victim is Paul Goodwin,and his head and arms havebeen severed and are nowhereto be found. This scene re-quires a Hard (9) guts roll.

Paul was meeting with Suzy,when Clayton transformed intothe Butcher. The day before,Paul refused to buy Clayton adrink. The Butcher went tomake him pay for it.

The Butcher crept fromClayton’s room and burst in onthe duo. When the door firstopened, Suzy and Paul thoughta Rebel counterspy had caughtup with them, but they soonrealized they were wrong.

The Butcher knocked Suzysenseless with a single blowand cut Paul’s throat just asquick. Suzy regained hersenses as the Butcher stuffedPaul’s head and arms into acarpetbag. At the sound of herscream, the Butcher fled,crashing through the windowto the alley below.

Of course, the heroes don’tknow any of this, and Suzy’stoo far gone. Still, there aresome clues.

Suzy didn’t lock her door af-ter Paul came in, so there’s nosign of forced entry. Smartplayers may notice there’s nobroken glass inside the room,indicating the Butcher left in-stead of entered that way.Since the only other means ofentry is the door, they shouldfigure that’s how he got in.

No one downstairs recallsanyone strange coming up atany point. One theory is thekiller entered by the backstairwell at one end of the sec-ond floor. In actuality, Clayton

didn’t leave his room all daywhile he struggled with thescalpel, but no one has anyway of knowing that.

If a hero wants to searchthe body itself for clues, con-sult the Forensic EvidenceTable for the results.

A doctor may use her medi-cine Aptitude instead of hersearch on the table below. Ifso, add +2 to her roll.

Forensic EvidenceRoll Result5 The killer used a very

sharp blade.7 The killer was strong.9 The killer used a shal-

low blade.1 1 The killer has some

knowledge of hu-man anatomy.

A Hard (9) search of the areaturns up a torn piece of fabricfluttering from the windowpane. It is a patch of whitesilk (torn from Clayton’s shirt).

A Fair (5) search of Paul’sbody turns up a letter sewninto the lining of his vest. Itreveals him to be a Union spy,and it requests all citizens ofthe United States to extendhim every courtesy.

Some heroes may try totrack the killer from his land-ing spot outside the window.The trail is fairly clear, requir-ing only a Fair (5) trackin’ rollto follow. An Onerous (7)

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trackin’ roll reveals that thekiller walked away without alimp, despite leaping out of asecond-story window. The trailgoes east behind the buildingsbefore turning south aroundthe offices of the Dodge CityTimes. There it disappears intothe well-trodden road.

Bounty PointsAction PointsDiscover a Fair or

Onerous clue 1Discover a Hard or

Incredible clue 2

Chapter Five:More Trouble

Soon after the murder(whenever you feel it’s dramati-cally appropriate), a roar goesup in the street out in front ofDog Eye’s. When the heroes ar-rive on the scene, they find acrowd of revelers (unaware ofthe killing that happened onlymoments ago) standing in alarge circle, cheering on abrawl. As the heroes pushthrough the throng, they findRalphie Waters laying intoWalter Jackson. Ralphie stompsdown on Walter’s arm, breakingit with a sickening crunch.

If the heroes do nothing,Ralphie beats Walter within aninch of his life, then spits onhis unconscious body, andsaunters into the saloon to gethimself a post-fight drink.

If the heroes intervene, theycan easily separate the two,but Ralphie’s not quite ready tocall it quits. He takes a swingat the toughest looking hero.

As the heroes get ready toshow Ralphie the error of hisways, a shot rings out. Thecrowd parts to reveal JakeSimpkins and a bunch of Wil-derness Riders (one for everyhero present, in addition toJake and Ralphie). Jake holstershis smoking gun and yells out,“Put the boy down, deputies. Hewas only defendin’ himselfagainst that there trouble-maker.”

Ralphie freezes in his tracks.A few of the Riders rest theirhands on their pistols, readyfor a fight. None of them drawfirst, but they want to makesure the heroes think hard be-fore going for their guns.

Jake explains to the possethat he and his men were justminding their own businesswhen Walter burst into the sa-loon and began calling themnames. Ralphie called him outinto the street to teach him alesson in manners. As Jakespeaks, he glares at each ofthe onlookers in turn, daringthem to contradict him. Noneof them even meet his eyes.

While the posse and theWilderness Riders are engagedin a staredown, Clayton stag-gers through the crowd, lurchesover to Walter, and kneels be-side him. With a smooth, prac-

ticed move, Clayton grabsWalter’s broken arm and setsit. When Walter’s scream ofagony dies, Clayton stands andmutters “broken arm, neededsetting” in an Eastern accent.Then he draws himself up tohis full height, belches loudlyin a hero’s face, and grins likea canary-eating cat.

Meanwhile, Ida Mae stormsout of the crowd and contra-dicts Jake’s story, painting himas the blatant liar he is. Walterwas strolling quietly along thestreet when the WildernessRiders accosted him. He triedto avoid them and refused toraise a hand to defend himself,turning the other cheek, butRalphie beat him senseless forit.

As Ida Mae finishes her ac-count, Ralphie steps up to her,cursing her for a liar. He givesher a little shove, and shestumbles backward intoClayton, knocking them bothinto a nearby horse trough.

While the ensuing laughtermay break the tension for themoment, it doesn’t take longfor it to return. Jake steps for-ward and challenges the he-roes. “It’s her word againstours, deputies,” he says as hemoves his hand to his pistol’sgrip. “What’s it gonna be?”

Before any shots are fired(hopefully), Wyatt Earp showsup, letting loose with his gunsto get everyone’s attention.“You all better get your hidesoutta here,” he roars. “There’s

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been a killing, and I don’t havethe time to referee this littleboxing match.”

At the news of the murder,Ralphie’s face blanches. “Heain’t dead, deputy,” he says,pointing at Walter. “He’s justbleedin’.”

Wyatt sneers at the ruffianwhile explaining he was refer-ring to a death inside the sa-loon. With this, he gives theheroes a hard look and statesflatly, “Whenever you folks arethrough playing pattycake withthe Rebs, we’ve got us a mur-der to solve.”

Jake’s not ready to tanglewith Wyatt or the regularDodge police force, so he or-ders his men to back down. Ashe turns to leave, he hits theheroes with a parting shot. “I’mglad the real law showed up tocalm things down. I sure didn’twant to have to go to court todefend shooting you.”

Since the heroes have al-ready looked over the crimescene, Wyatt suggests they getsome sleep and report to hisoffice at 10 o’ clock that morn-ing. He’s off to cast a fresh eyeover it all.

Bounty PointsAction PointsRescue Walter 1Face down Ralphie 1Face up to the

Wilderness Riders 1Avoid getting hurt 2

Chapter Six:The Morning Af-

terThe second day of the cel-

ebration promises to be worsethan the first. If the heroesdon’t make it to Wyatt’s officeby 10 o’ clock, he sends a boyto look for them. The messageis quite clear: show up to getchewed out by Wyatt, or showup to turn in your badges andthen get chewed out by Wyatt.Either way, show up.

Wyatt makes it clear he’snot pleased with the heroesperformance. He understandshow they dealt with the mur-der. There wasn’t much theycould have done to stop that.

He’s irritated that they letthemselves get drawn into aconfrontation with the Wilder-ness Riders. Those ruffians arejust itching for a chance tomake Dodge look bad, and abig shootout would cer-tainly fit the bill.

Still, that’s water underthe bridge. The murder isthe main concern. Wyatt in-forms the heroes that Goodwinwas a spy for the Union army,and a good one. Wyatt hasknown Goodwin for severalmonths, and he consideredhim to be the best kind of spya deputy could want: discreet.

Given the nature of thecrime, it was obviously not

a simple robbery, despite thefact Goodwin’s pockets hadbeen emptied (Clayton is hon-estly desperate for money).Wyatt wants the heroes tomake some discreet inquiries,but they are not to discuss thestyle of the killing with any-one. The last thing Dodgeneeds now is a panic.

If the heroes can find thekiller quickly, Wyatt promisesthey’ll see a fat bonus. In themeantime, they shouldn’t forgetabout doing the job they werehired for: keeping the peace.

The InvestigationAt this point, the posse has

several avenues of inquiryavailable to them.

The Other VictimSuzy is resting at Doc

Smith’s office. The doctor in-sists she’s not in any conditionto be answering any kind ofquestions, but if the heroes arepersistent, he relents.

In any case, the doctor’s notfar wrong about his charge.She’s still bordering on thehysterical, and at the firstmention of Paul, Dog Eye’s, oranything remotely resemblingthe incident of the previousnight, she begins sobbing un-controllably. At this point, thedoctor vehemently asks the he-roes to leave. Suzy’s not goingto be of any help to them to-day. They should stop by to-morrow.

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If the heroes are abrupt withthe doctor, he’s short withthem as well. However, if theytreat him with some respect(or if they flat out ask him), heis willing to discuss the condi-tion of Paul’s corpse.

Doc Smith knows all of theclues about Paul’s body, andhe’s ready to share them all.The only other thing he knowsis that Suzy keeps mumblingabout a monster, but that’s ascoherent as she ever gets.

The Patch of SilkMcCarty’s Drugstore is the

main source in town for clothand such. If the posse findsthe scrap of cloth on the win-dow pane and takes it to thedrugstore, McCarty identifiesthe material as silk, and agood brand at that. A shirtmade out of the cloth wouldbe expensive and probably onlyavailable through some of theshops back East. This clue isworth one Bounty Point.

Just AnotherDay

The crowds of people attonight’s festivities seem less jo-vial and a little more anxious.People keep looking over theirshoulders, and tempers flarefrequently. Now’s a good time totoss in a few random encoun-ters to keep things moving. Hereare a few to get you started.

The Rumor MillAn argument between Ida

Mae and some of the cel-ebrants breaks out. She heardabout the murder through thegrapevine and claims a Unionsupporter did the knifing.Darius Clay, a cowpoke in thecrowd, took offense to thisslander. If the players don’t in-tervene quickly, this could es-calate into quite a brouhaha.

A Son’s LoveA small scuffle breaks out

on the sidewalk. It seems aWilderness Rider (a young mannamed Wilson) said somerather rude things about atownie’s love for his mother.The man decided to take ex-ception to the comments andcarve his answer to the rudequestions on Wilson’s hairychest.

A Word of ThanksLater in the evening, Walter

stops by and thanks the heroesfor saving his life last night. Nomatter what Deputy Earpmight say, the posse is all rightin his book.

Walter reveals that he’s seri-ously reconsidering his renun-ciation of violence. To that end,he’s bought himself a knife. Hedemonstrates its sharpness byshaving some hairs off his arm.“Next time,” he says, “I’ll beready.”

Of course, he won’t be usingit with his busted arm. Luckilyhe’s right-handed and Ralphiebroke his left arm. “That guysure did a good job setting it,too,” he notes. “Doc Smith wasreally impressed.”

If the heroes go looking forthe good Samaritan, though,Clayton’s nowhere to be found.Dog Eye says he thinks hestumbled up to his room tosleep it off, but someone elsespeaks up saying he thoughthe saw Clayton on the street.

Bounty PointsAction PointsLearned something

new from Doc Smith 1Have McCarty identify

the silk 1Keep Ida Mae from

starting a fight 1Prevent the fight with

Wilson 1

Chapter Seven:More Death

Around midnight, the heroeshear a shout from out back ofDog Eye’s that quickly growsinto a loud commotion. Whenthey arrive on the scene, asmall crowd has already begunto gather. Off to one side aman leans against the side ofa nearby outhouse, loudlyvomiting. Whoever it was thatbeat him to the privy is nearlyas vocal.

The throng forces the posseto struggle to get to the body.Once there, the heroes discoverthat the killer has struckagain, this time taking thevictim’s legs instead. With aHard (9) Cognition roll, a herocan recognize Ralphie fromwhat little is left of him.

Just after the posse arrives,Jake Simpkins and a few ofthe Wilderness Riders show up.Simpkins immediately accusesunknown Union sympathizersof the crime.

One of the Riders suggeststhat it’s all a plot to discreditthe South, perpetrated by theUnion. This gets some strongreaction from the crowd, someof whom are ex-Union Army,and two groups of men startsquaring off. The metallic glintof knives shines in the moon-light. The tension mounts, andit’s again up to the posse tostop it before things get ugly.

You should use your discre-tion with regards to how thecrowd’s going to feel aboutwhatever explanation the he-roes offer, but the Yankeeswould not react well to newsthat the first victim was aUnion spy. The Rebels wouldlikely feel even worse if theywere to learn that Suzy wasan informant to such a man.

Hopefully the heroes candefuse the matter. Otherwise,there’s sure to be a lot moreblood spilled on this alreadycrimson ground.

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One way or another, Earp ar-rives after the matter is re-solved (or just in the nick oftime if the heroes need a hand).He disperses what’s left of thecrowd, congratulates the posseif no blood was spilled, andthen orders the body carted offto the doctor’s. He then takesthe heroes aside and tells themthat whoever did this must becaught. Now that the killingshave been made public, anotherbody could blow the lid off thetown.

Bounty PointsAction PointsEach new clue from

forensic evidence 1Defuse the potential riot 2

Chapter Eight:Independence

DayBright and early the next

morning (July 4), Wilma Smithknocks on the door of one ofthe heroes’ rooms. Her fatherwants to see the deputies rightaway. He’s got something totell them about the murders.

Dr. Smith’sOffice

When the heroes arrive atthe doctor’s office, he greetsthem in the reception room.With a sigh, he seats himself

in a plush chair and motionsthe heroes to find seats forthemselves. He starts off by ex-plaining that Suzy is still inco-herent, but he’s got somethingelse to say. Then he begins hisstory.

“Back in ’63, I served in theConfederate Army as a sur-geon. During the Battle ofGettysburg, I was stationed ina field hospital, and thewounded were coming in thickand heavy.

“I was stitching togethersome poor young man’s armwhen I heard a tremendouscommotion from the triagetent where other men werewaiting for our attention—orwere long past needing it. Itwas a hot night, kind of likeit’ll be tonight, and although itwas 10 years ago to the day, Iremember it like it was onlylast week.

“I handed my needle to mynurse and trotted out to seewhat the hullabaloo was about.At first I thought the Yankeeshad outflanked us and wereattacking us in the night. Itturned out to be worse—muchworse.

“Apparently some butcher insurgeon’s clothing had beenworking his way among thewounded, amputating healthylimbs as he went. No anaes-thetic. No bullet to bite on. Justa quick cut with the knife, andthe arm or the leg was gone.In some cases, he took heads.

“There was one man by thename of Ketchum who spottedhim. Ketchum was near todeath himself, but he’d beenawakened from his delirium bythe screams of those theButcher was dismembering.The soldiers standing guardoutside the tent had ignoredthe yells. After a while of lis-tening to wounded menscream, knowing you can’t doa thing about it, you just try toshut it out.

“Anyhow, Ketchum managedto reach his sidearm and plugthe Butcher full of lead. Thegunshots were what finally gotthe guards to come running.

“When the soldiers arrived,they saw the Butcher standingover Ketchum, who was stillfiring his empty pistol at thekiller despite the fact that hisright eye was impaled on thetip of the Butcher’s bloodyscalpel. With an insane cackle,the madman ran off, despitethe fact the guards sworethey’d hit him with their riflesas he fled.

“Now I don’t know if itmeans anything or not, butthese murders here in townsure do remind me of thatnight. I’ve inspected the bodieshere in Dodge, and the woundsare almost identical to thosesuffered by the soldiers massa-cred in their beds atGettysburg. If the Butcher’shere, we’re in for a heap oftrouble. ”

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Back on the JobAfter the harrowing tale

spun by Dr. Smith, the heroesreturn to duty with a fresh setof worries. Rumors about thekillings are circling around likevultures in the sky. Tensionswere already high, and as theday fades into night, fightsbreak out all over town. Manyof the townspeople can beheard to mutter oaths againstthe Union, the South, and anyother group they don’t like.

At one point, Wyatt wandersby, hand on his gun, catchingthe eyes of the more surlymen. This calms things downfor a moment, but soon afterhe saunters on, the people aresniping at each other again.

Just as the sun slides downpast the horizon, a boy fromDog-Eye’s rushes up andbreathlessly pants out thatSuzy Winger (who’s now backat the saloon)-has recoveredenough to start talking abouther experience the other night.

The WitnessDog Eye shows the heroes

into room F (Paul was killed inroom C)-where Suzy is recu-perating. She greets themweakly, recognizing them asthe deputies who spotted hertalking with Paul in the alleythe day of the killing. It takesher a moment until shelaunches into her account.

“Paul had insisted in comingup to my room. Normally hepreferred to meet me in the al-ley out back, but after ourrun-in with you that day, hewas afraid we’d be spotted. Hecame up the back stairs, whichcreak horribly, so I was readyfor him when he arrived.

“We were talking quietlywhen the monster burst in. Ididn’t even hear him coming. Itwas a complete surprise.

“Paul hadn’t locked the doorbehind him. Normally I do thatmyself, but since he onlywanted to talk, I hadn’t both-ered. Not that I think it wouldhave done a bit of good.

“He was tall and slim, but Ididn’t get a good look at hisface. All I remember was theway his eyes glared out at mefrom beneath the brim of hisblack top hat. Then he hit meacross the face,” Suzy motionsat her battered lips, “and Iblacked out.

“When I came to, I sawthe Butcher—that’s what Doc-tor Smith calls him. He wasstanding over Paul, stuffing hishead into a bag. I just startedscreaming. I didn’t know whatelse to do.

“He turned to glare at meagain, and then he leaptright through my window likehe was walking through adoor. That’s the last I remem-ber until this morning. DoctorSmith tells me I was out of myhead.”

Hopefully the heroes havegot the last clue they needhere. Suzy didn’t hear theButcher coming up the backstairs because he was al-ready in the building. Allhe did was walk fromClayton’s room over to hers.

Bounty PointsAction PointsFigure out the Butcher is

staying at Dog Eye’s 2

Chapter Nine:The Madman’s

LairTo get to this point, the he-

roes need to put several thingstogether. A cautious possemight not think to investigateClayton’s room until they’re ab-solutely sure what’s going on.Other heroes might startknocking down doors right af-ter the first killing.

No matter. When the heroesstart poking around Clayton’sroom, they’ve set the plot on anon-stop freight train hurtlingstraight into hell.

Clayton’s room lies at thefar end of the hallway fromSuzy’s place at the Dog EyeSaloon. The door is locked, butthe lock is cheap, needing onlya Fair (5) lockpickin’ attempt toopen it. If Dog Eye is along,he’s ready with the key. As heopens the door, he notes that

he hasn’t been in to make theplace up since Clayton movedin.

Inside, the place is immacu-lately kept. A steamer trunksits in the closet, emptied ofits contents. The bed is sharplymade, and the clothes arehung neatly in the closet. Twoor three white silk shirts hangin a corner. They are all as tat-tered as the one that Claytonnormally wears.

Further investigation yieldsseveral important discoveries.Under the bed, there are anumber of carpetbags and ablack doctor’s valise. Inside,there are a number ofsurgeon’s tools and a small,black carrying case. The caseis empty, but the impressioninside it seems to be that of ascalpel. There is a bloodstainon the velvet lining of thecase.

The carpetbags are filledwith human heads and limbsin various stages of decay, al-though the older ones havebeen “pickled” and smell offormaldehyde. They arestitched together in illogicalformations, each centeredaround a cranium. When firstconfronting this terrible collec-tion of body parts, each heromust make an Onerous (7) gutscheck.

While there’s absolutelynothing to imply it right now,these grotesque human con-glomerations are actually

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walkin’ heads. Suspicious he-roes might try to destroy thethings right now. If they do,the walkin’ heads certainly dotheir best to defend them-selves. Otherwise, withoutorders from the scalpel’sowner (which they don’t haveright now), they are inactive.

Bounty PointsAction PointsIdentify the Butcher 2Discover the body parts 1

Chapter Ten:The Grand Fi-

naleAt this point, the posse

should be on the lookout forClayton Mansfield. Unfortu-nately for them, the Butcherhas a watchful eye on themtoo. From a rooftop vantagepoint, he saw them enter hisroom, and he knows that theyhave gotten too close.

However, the Butcher is acunning creature, preferring toattack when his foes are attheir collective weakest, so hewaits to see if they split up. Ifso, he follows the most dan-gerous person in the groupand begins taking the posseout one by one, until there arenone left. If the posse staystogether, he employs hit-and-run tactics, whittling away atthe heroes bit by bit. Since the

Butcher has no ranged attacks,he stays in the heart of the city,keeping to the alleys and build-ings as much as possible.

The Butcher uses his uniquetalents to utmost advantage,striking quickly, from abovewhere possible, then disappear-ing into the shadows to strikeagain. This can go on for sev-eral hours until the posse fi-nally corners him.

If the Butcher senses weak-ness in his opponents, he growsmore bold as the night wearson. In the midst of this brutalcat-and-mouse game, the fire-works begin going off. Theflashes of illumination fromthese fiery toys are all that theposse has to go by, and theycast eerie shadows across thealleyways. The Butcher uses theflashes to his advantage, skip-ping from shadow to shadow,striking when the posse’s backis turned.

If necessary, the Butchersummons some of his servantsto help him. The walkin’ headsrush forward from the darkness,attacking the posse from allsides. During the strange crea-tures’ first onslaught, the heroeseach must make an Onerous (7)guts roll.

The key to defeating theButcher without a very danger-ous toe-to-toe battle is takinghis scalpel. It is the source ofhis supernatural power, andtaking it from him robs him ofhis abilities.

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The most straightforwardmethod of removing the scal-pel from the Butcher’s posses-sion is to knock it from hishand with a called shot. Dueto the target’s small size andthe Butcher’s strength, suchshots suffer a -9 penalty.

Alternatively the posse maytry removing the Butcher’shand from his body. This re-quires a sharp and preferablylarge and heavy blade like aBowie knife or an ax. This isalso a called shot with a -5penalty, and a serious woundis needed to remove the handin one blow (maiming overseveral hits works too). Othermethods may work, but that’sup to you.

When the Butcher loses thescalpel or is killed, he revertsto Clayton. If he’s still alive,Clayton begs for mercy at theheroes’ hands. He knows theButcher deserves death, butClayton is as much a victim asanyone else here. It’s the scal-pel that’s evil, not him.

Even after the Butcher isgone, the walkin’ heads (if anyare left) fight on. They don’thave much in the way of tac-tics anymore. They just keepon attacking until they eitherwin or are dead.

The AftermathThis mission can end in

several ways for the posse.The first, and least pleasant, is

that the Butcher wins. If hedoes, too bad. Nobody said lifein the Weird West was easy.Maybe death will be a littleeasier.

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Jake SimpkinsAttack:

Bowie Knife 3d8/3d8+1d6Pistol 3d8/3d6

Defense:Brawlin’ 3Dodge 2Bowie Knife +1

Hits: 30

TownsfolkAttack:

Fist 2d6/2d6Small Club 2d6/2d6+1d4Gun 2d6/3d6

Defense:Brawlin’ 1

Hits: 30

Walkin’ HeadAttack:

Bite 3d8/3d8Fist 3d8/3d8

Defense:Dodge 2

Size: 4Terror: 7Special Abilities:

Undead: Can only beharmed as if they wereHarrowed.

Ralphie WatersAttack:

Knife 4d10/4d6+1d4Pistol 3d6/3d6

Defense:Brawlin’ 4Dodge 2Knife +1

Hits: 30

Wilderness RidersAttack:

Knife 3d6/3d6Pistol 3d6/3d6

Defense:Brawlin’ 1Dodge 1Knife +1

Hits: 30

Boot Hill

Or the posse might dispatchthe Butcher to the Great Be-yond. If killed, he reverts backto Clayton Mansfield. If thishappens, and the posse doesnot figure out the significanceof the scalpel, the cursed relicmay somehow manage to findanother damaged soul (one ofthe posse!) to wield it on an-other bloody killing spree.

Bounty PointsAction PointsDefeat the Butcher 5Defeat the Butcher after

only a single killing +2Figure out the

scalpel’s secret +1Destroy the scalpel +1Save Clayton Mansfield +2

deadlands - the eye · deadlands dime novel #2 independence day fiction by: matt forbeck adventure...

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