Dirty chuckles from the men standing around. They were still in the Baron's saloon. The significant difference was the presence of the Judge and an entire crew of his new hands. Waingrow was there with them, looking on with a guilty expression.
Gunner gritted his teeth, trying to manage a smile. "Guess it didn't work well enough."
"No," the Judge said. "It didn't. You taught us a valuable lesson, though. Had the Baron and I come to accord from the beginning, your little scheme would never have worked. Well, we put aside our differences. Good news for us. But terrible news for you, I'm afraid."
Gunner barked a laugh. "Do either of you really believe you can trust the other after what you've done? The Baron set you up at the train heist. She finished killing your people just last night. Her hands are still wet with their blood."
"And she's going to make up for that. She'll be splitting the cost of the men I just hired on. In the end, mercenaries are expendable. I can always find more killers. And when it comes to it, better to trust the devil you know than the one you don't."
Gunner looked at the Baron. "And you. The Judge had your precious mines shut down. He wants to put you out of business. Permanently."
She backhanded him across the face. "Do you think anyone is going to listen to any more of your lies, little man? You made your first mistake in those mines when you set the Ferals free. Did you think no one noticed? Waingrow had eyes on you the entire time. That's when we knew you had a personal agenda. You actually felt for those beasts. You lied and backstabbed just for a chance to free them. The rumors are true, aren't they?"
Wiley leaned in close, a leer on his face. "Turned Feral, didn't ya?"
The Baron's mouth twisted in disgust. "They say you turned against your own kind, going from killing Ferals to killing your brothers in arms. That's why you had to leave Texas. The Rangers have a bounty on your head for treason and murder. But they don't get to kill you. We do. We'll send them your body for the reward. Whatever's left, anyway."
The Judge beckoned to the door. "It's time. Bring him."
As Gunner was roughly hauled to his feet, he gave it one last shot. "You can't trust her. She had Bane gunned down to make it easier to kill you."
The Judge looked amused. "So desperate. It's sad. I expected more from you. I guess reputation can't be trusted after all.
Who do you think that is behind you right now?"
Gunner craned his neck, looking back and upward. Bane's electric blue eyes stared back at him; hideous face shadowed by his hat. His bulky hands clamped down on Gunner's shoulders, holding him in place with ease.
"The Baron was kind enough to have one of her engineers repair Bane. He's as good as new. Unfortunately, the same won't be said about you when I'm finished."
The door opened and Gunner was shoved out, blinking in the burst of blazing sunlight. A tumultuous roar greeted him. A sea of angry faces lined the streets, shouting in rage and bloodlust. They shook fists and shouted furious insults, whipped into a killing frenzy. A well-aimed rock struck him in the brow when he stumbled down the steps. More rained down until the Judge's men fired warning shots into the air. Bane seized Gunner by the back of his neck and dragged him along like a man might do an ornery pup. The crowd followed alongside, pushing and shoving one another as they shouted murderous encouragement.
"Feral lover!"
"Kill him!"
"Hang the sonovabitch!"
Dust choked him, seizing in his throat. The sun beat down without mercy, a ball of white heat in sky pale from the blistering heat. Sweat dripped down Gunner's face, dampened his shirt. His feet dragged in the coppery dust. The Baron walked alongside, watching him as if drinking in his torment. The Judge strutted ahead, waving at the crowds as if they had gathered to bask in his excellence. All around were stranger's faces; laughing, jeering, shouting. The buildings loomed like mute witnesses, bent and broken, blurred faces peeking from windows. He was half-dragged, half-shoved down the streets for what seemed an eternity until finally arriving at a familiar location. A cage hung from an erected beam. Pablo was still captive behind the bars, looking a madman with his beard and hair disheveled, bony limbs hunched over. A noose hung beside the cage, swinging ominously in the wind.
The Judge leaped onto the veranda of the Mercantile, gesturing to the crowds like a traveling performer. "Good people of the Town, there has been murder and violence running amok in the streets the last few days and nights. And after a quick and efficient investigation, we have captured the criminal responsible. Bring forth the fiend known only as Gunner: turncoat and murderer, friend of Ferals and other unnatural beasts!"
The crowd screamed from the streets and balconies as Bane dragged Gunner to the noose. The Baron set a stool down, and Bane hefted Gunner with one hand, setting him upon it and slipped the noose over his head, tightening it around his neck. Something rumbled in the distance, nearly drowned out by the roars of the people.
Pablo thrust his head through the bars, eyes wide and looking half-crazed. His face was sunburnt, skin peeling, lips cracked and bloody. "Fear not those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul, amigo. You need not become faint out of fear. The storm has arrived. I see it approach on the horizon, blazing with lightning that turns the darkness into daylight!"
Wiley slammed his rifle against the cage. "Shut your hole or you'll be next, old man. Ain't no storm coming. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week."
The Judge continued his deliberation. "Here is a man so guilty of crimes in the sovereign territory of Texas that he had to flee in cowardice, slinking in the shadows until he arrived here. And upon arriving, what did he do? Immediately fell into the same criminal activities: gunning down men doing their lawful duty, leading my people into a fatal ambush, unleashing a pack of wild Ferals into the mines to slaughter the workers, and finally murdering an entire squad of your protectors in a killing spree just last night. I have examined the evidence and pronounce him guilty of all charges. And what is the punishment for such foul and heinous crimes?
"Hang 'im high!"
"Send him swinging!"
"Hang him!"
"Stretch 'im out!
"Hang him!"
"Hang him!"
The crowd chanted the refrain over and over, throwing rocks, bottles, and trash at Gunner. He winced as some of the objects struck, but focused more on keeping his balance on the rickety and unbalanced stool. The noose tightened around his neck, rope fibers digging into his skin. His feet shifted back and forth, barely able to touch the wooden seat.
The Judge motioned with his hands, quieting the crowd. They waited in giddy anticipation, mouths open, insipid smiles on their faces, ravenously awaiting the pronouncement of judgment that would result in Bane kicking the stool away.
The Judge dragged the moment out, dramatically turning to Gunner. "Does the accused have any last words?"
Gunner gurgled, trying to work moisture into his mouth. "You just…made the worst…mistake of your miserable life."
The Judge smiled as the air rang with mocking and scornful laughter. When the noise died down, he made a flamboyant gesture toward Gunner. "Then by the power invested in me, I sentence you to hang by the neck until—"
His voice was drowned out by a massive boom of thunder that reverberated so forcefully that the buildings shook and dust was flung into the air. Red warning lights flashed on the towers and lampposts; alarms blared over loudspeakers.
"Megastorm coming," someone shouted. "Headed right at us!"
Gunner glanced at the skyline, where a monster cloud mass gathered at impossible speeds, darkening the horizon, unleashing silver lightning and booming thunder, approaching like doomsday, churning in impossible formations. A gale-force wind rushed in, tearing shingles off rooftops, swirling dust in cyclonic bursts, sweeping coats and dusters back, snatching hats off heads. Gunner gasped; teeth gritted as he nearly lost his perch. He desperately tried to keep his feet flat to keep the stool from tumbling over. The rope dug further into his neck, burning his skin.