 Marshall Joanna Kirkland finished her long midnight walk to the schoolhouse. The sounds of revelry from the town were distant and constant. As she approached the faint but rough sound of sawing caught her attention. The clear night sky gave way to darkness as she walked up the schoolhouse steps. She put her ear up to the door. The sawing was clearer now. She used her left hand to pull the carter's single action from her holster and pulled the hammer back. She reached for the doorknob and turned it. No resistance. She leaned into the door and the wood made a scraping noise across the floor and the sound of the sawing stopped. Joanna went to herself and pushed the door open. She leveled the pistol and steeled herself against the darkness. Lobby Farser, I want to talk to you about the Jackson twins. This will go a lot easier if you... A pale, burly man leaned in from the darkness and raked a knife across her left forearm. Joanna pulled the gun from her other holster and fired. The pale man with the knife dropped to the floor clutching his stomach and Joanna pushed the door open further and looked down. She could see now. The man on the floor was Bobby Farser, the town's teacher. Where are Mrs. Jackson's daughters? You shot me, you crazy stupid bitch! Joanna put one of the pistols back into its holster and pointed the other at Bobby. If you don't tell me where they are, I'll give you one the dot can't fix. The man squirmed on the floor and motioned behind him at the back of the schoolhouse. Joanna kept her gun trained on him and inched her way into the back. The smell of iron was strong in the air now. She pulled a match from her shirt pocket with a bloodied hand and struck it. And then she sighed to herself. She could still hear Bobby in the next room cursing and whimpering. She walked back out into the center of the dark schoolhouse into the man leaking out onto the floor. She looked off to the side where the gun pointed at the man's head. Tell me why I shouldn't blow your fucking head off. Because you're principled law. The kind that wears your... You're the kind that wears your rules on your sleeve. Everyone has limits. You think I come to Wyoming for the climate? And do what you kind always does. Throw me in a cell and call me a doctor. I put you in a cell, Joanna said. They're gonna hang you. You think you can find a jury that'll hang me for killing a couple of black girls? Joanna glanced at the back room and cocked the hammer on her pistol. You want to die here? No. No. If people want to die, they say it. Like those girls. Or the ones out back under the garden. I just did what they asked me. A long silence settled on the room. The sounds of the town and the distance continued. With significant effort, Bobby crawled over to the door and set himself up beside it. He wanted to put the gun back into her holster. Mrs. Jackson asked you to teach those children how to read. Bobby smiled. Wide in the darkness. I taught them how to do what they're good for, Marshall. The doctor's shack was poorly conceived. It was a single floor high and leaned against the western union next door. Inside was the new town doctor, a woman from the east. Her porcelain face came out of a box with an Anderson prosthetics logo. Marshall Joanna Kirkland sat near the front window. The doctor was stitching Joanna's arm in the dawn's light. Joanna winced as the thread dug through the skin on her arm. The doctor weaved the needle in and out twice more before stopping. The ladnum would help you with the pain. Joanna shook her head. I'm fine. Are you? The doctor said roughly with a hint of sarcasm. Because you keep pulling away. Joanna gritted her teeth. I'm fine. Just keep working. You should be thankful this wasn't Dever. There's no real muscle damage to speak of. Yeah. Real grateful for that. The doctor worked in silence for several more minutes before cutting the end of the thread. Be careful on this for a few weeks. The cuts mostly on the surface. But not entirely. Can I still shoot with that hand? Joanna asked. You can. Good. Joanna stood up and pointed at her own face. Your mask. You fought in the war? The doctor stopped and nodded. I did. I saw some terrible things in the war. I did some terrible things. The doctor's tone shifted slightly. It was for a good cause. Joanna put her hand to her temple. How do I get back to what I was before? You can't. The doctor paused again and tapped the mask that hid most of the damage to her face. You just get used to it being there. Joanna grabbed her gun belt and put it on. As she finished, two men burst into the shack carrying a large and very pale man. The doctor grabbed her bag immediately and rushed to his side. He tossed him onto a table near the entrance and the doctor's hurried demeanor slowed immediately. He's dead. One of the men had already hurried out the door. The other, a man with broken teeth and a long brown beard, nodded to the doctor. I heard used pain for bodies. The doctor nodded and produced a dollar from her pocket. This will do. Who is he? I asked Mr. Farser, school teacher. Somebody shot him in the gut and left him to bleed out. And the marshal slipped out the door.