Killers of Men — Tony Monchinski

Should I die, and find my seat reserved at the devil's table, I'll know it was a place set aside for me back in that spring. That spring when I lost my family, my innocence, and my virginity, in something approximating that order. When I come to realize that men need not be good to serve a good cause. Spring, late 1800s. The town of Tooms Ridge, in the unincorporated territories. The Ettinger gang robs the First National Bank, leaving behind a wake of death and destruction. The town commissions a posse to bring the outlaws to justice. Or to bring justice to them. The hunters include… Preacher Man. The former slave still bears the scars of his own lynching. He'd gut you with his Bowie knife just as soon as shake your hand. Big Chief. A top hat wearing mountain-of-a-man. Driven by memories of his tragically lost love, he wields full size axes like tomahawks. Cordwainer Sturm. The legendary gunman. They say only those he's killed have ever heard him speak. They also say he won't die. Or can't. And, with them, a boy. The Ettingers have destroyed his town, his family and his life. Now he rides for in search of justice, but nothing less than his soul hangs in the balance. For near on a week, I rode with these men. We were hunters and seekers, we killers of men. I can only hope that in the ensuing years I done atoned for what was done that week. Somehow, I doubt it.