Jeanne Walker walked up to the cell with her companions-Jonathan Tane and Scalphunter. The trio was soon joined by the local Sheriff - a rather portly, middle-aged man named William Lumpkin.

"Well," said Jeanne, a hint of annoyance in her voice, "what do we have here? We leave you alone for a week or so, and here you are, beneath the cold bars of a jail cell. I am beginning to think you need a full-time guardian, Mister Bartholomew Lash . . . "

"It wasn't my fault," said Bartholomew, bowing gracefully, "sweet Madame. I assure you, my incarceration is fraudulent. I was having quite the lucky streak last evening. The cards were on my side. I was procuring a sizeable profit. Then some of the . . . colorful . . . locals to offense to my streak, accused me . . . me, of all people, can you imagine . . . of being a cheat. Well, I could not let such a blemish upon my fine honor . . . "

"So this fool," interrupted Sheriff Lumpkin, "started a fight in the card room. Property was broken. Jaws and noses were broken. Guns were drawn . . . "

"I did not start anything sir . . . "

"Enough," shouted Jonathan Tane, "is there some way we could fix this situation Sheriff?"

"Actually," said the Sheriff, wiping sweat from his chubby brow, "I think it would be better for everybody if you just got your partner here, and got out of my town. I know who all of you are - Johnny Thunder, Madam .44, Scalphunter, and my current guest - Bat Lash. I know that you all are more trouble than my little town needs, so I am willing to forget this whole incident, if you get on your horses and get out now . . . "

The Sheriff walked up the cell door and put in the key, unlocking the door and freeing Bat Lash from his cell.

"About my winnings . . . " started Bartholomew.

"Oh," said Sheriff Lumpkin, "I think between the damages to the tavern, and costs of the doctor to repair those boys you hurt, and the cost of my time. I think that money should just about cover it . . . "

Jeanne could see that Bartholomew was just about to protest, and she quickly ushered him towards the door. Jonathan Tane and Scalphunter quickly followed.

"You can stop your sulking now, Bart," announced Jeanne Walker. She noticed how Bart sat in his saddle, scrunched down, his head buried in the top of his jacket. More importantly, he hadn't spoke in nearly ten minutes-a trait the normally overly-talkative Bart only exhibited when he had lost a pretty girl or a lot of money.

"Yeah, Bart," said Jonathan, trying to suppress a chuckle, "you can always swindle some poor saps out of their money later . . . "

"That ain't the point," declared Bartholomew, broodingly, "it is about my honor . . . "

With the mention of honor, both Jeanne and Jonathan looked at each other, and began to laugh. Even the normally placid Scalphunter could not suppress a wide smile. Bartholomew looked at each of the trio, then trying his best to suppress his own laughter at the notion, decided it was best to change the subject.

"So," Bart said sheepishly, "what do I own your timely intervention to? Some fiendish band of outlaws require the type of punishment that only the 'Posse of Justice' can dispense . . . "

"I wish," said Jonathan, rolling his eyes, "you would stop with that silly name. I actually saw it on a penny book in Branson, detailing our exploits against the Yellow Creek Gang. I honestly don't understand what passes for entertainment. I didn't get into this line to become some silly folk hero like Robin Hood . . . "

Now it was Jeanne's turn to roll her eyes, "Anyways . . . you have heard of the rash of gruesome killings that have plagued the entire South . . . "

"Of course," said Bart, "it is all most folks can talk about in the taverns and dancing halls. It seems to have begun the night after everybody saw that explosion in the night sky. Now everywhere from Texas to Carolina have experienced a rash of strange killings. Very gruesome in nature I hear, like a wild animal . . . "

"Yes," said Jonathan, regaining his train of thought, "and that is why we are here, to find out just what these killings are attributed to. From what we can tell, there seems to be six different points of origin, each starting that day after the explosion in the sky. We have been able to track several of them, one that originated near Ashville, and another in Athens, Tennessee. They seem to be moving quickly, and in a similar pattern."

"You have lost me," said Bart, confused. "You are saying that this is some type of planned, coordinated attack? That these aren't just some wild beasts doing this terrible carnage, but something intelligent?"

"To be honest," said Jonathan, "we have no idea what we are dealing with. We checked out an area near Opelika where several killings had occurred, and it only left us with more questions than answers . . . "

"Indeed," interrupted Scalphunter, "the ground was not right. The tracks left by the killer were not the tracks of man, nor of any beast I have ever seen. The weapon that had killed the people was not metal, but appeared bone, or something akin. But the size of the weapon would make the beast very large, at least eight feet in length . . . "

"So then," asked Bart, confused, "we are dealing with some animal? You made it sound like this or these or whatever were intelligent, moving in a pattern . . . "

"They are," stated Scalphunter.

"Then I am afraid," declared Bart, "I am at a loss. What are we dealing with? I have heard talk that these are devils from Hell itself, loosened upon the mortal realm."

"We are not sure," said Jeanne, "and neither is anybody else. That is why we are here. Nobody has seen these creatures and lived to tell the tale. All they've seen are the dead bodies and a trail that seems to be leading in similar directions, southwest towards Louisiana. A lot of people are scared, and so we are investigating, chasing the trail of one of the creatures . . . "

"And I will presume," said Bart, "that these maleficent murders are not kind enough to follow a railway line so we could perhaps take the Southern Transcontinental? I could use a bath and a delicious steak . . . "

"Sorry, Bart," said Jeanne, trying to mask her humor at Bart's remarks, "the one we are following, as well as the one we have been able to track - thanks to a regiment or army soldiers on it's tail - don't seem to follow any particular trail or road or anything we can figure. It doesn't matter whether the path crosses town or river or forest or anything else-the creatures simply seem to be plowing through, leaving bloody corpses in their wake . . . "

"Lord, this town is a little too quiet . . . " proclaimed Samuel Brand, to his riding partner, Gregory Sanders, as the two rode their horses into the borders of the town.

"Well," said Sanders, "they are having problems with the Mexicans. Seems they don't want to give up all this 'fine' property. I have heard talk there might even be a war down here . . . "

"That is," said Brand, "the last thing this country needs is more war. Bad enough all the killing they done to the native folk, and all the dead from the war for slavery. What is it 'bout white people that makes them gotta kill everybody and push them away . . . "

"Don't look at me" said Sanders, "I never much understood it myself. I keep my hatreds on a strictly personal level. I never saw much sense in killing a man, any man, for a chunk of rock or piece of land. Seems to still be plenty of it out there, near as I can tell…

From the looks of it, some of it is in this town . . . "

"Yeah," noted Brand, "it does seem too quiet round here. Guess we should find the nearest saloon and hope there is still a drunk or two around to tell us what is going on…"

The two men strode the horses through the center of the street, noting a complete lack a locals. Finally, they came upon the 'Wild Horse Saloon', and were pleased to note there were several horses tied to the hitching post outside. The two men placed their horses upon the same post and walked inside.

Inside, the saloon was practically deserted. The piano that sat in the corner was unmanned. The dancing stage was dark. The room was devoid of people, except a drunk asleep in the corner, his hand curled around his near empty whiskey bottle, and two men standing at the bar, questioning the bartender. Although he could only see their backside, Samuel Brand could tell by their dress and manner these were law officers, probably Texas Rangers.

Suddenly Gregory Sanders stepped in front of his friend.

"Is that you, Matthew Hawk?" he shouted, startling the two men, at the counter, causing both to grab their pistols and turn. Samuel was about to do the same when Gregory put his hand up, stopping Samuel in mid-motion. Years of riding together had taught him to trust his partner's instincts.

Matt Hawk and Captain Jeff Graham turned, with a start, as the man yelled behind them. Both pulled their weapons, but when recognition as to the stranger's identity dawned on Matt Hawk, the man quickly reholstered his pistol, and his partner did the same.

"Greg Sanders," cried Matt Hawk, walking towards the two newcomers, "As I live and breathe, you old dog. I haven't seen you in years . . . "

Matt Hawk turned to his partner, "Captain Jeff Graham, I would like you to meet Gregory Sanders. I am sure you have heard of him, if you read the tawdry penny papers. This here is the infamous Vigilante."

The four men continued their introductions, then went to sit down at a nearby table. The bartender brought out four glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

"So tell me, old friend," said Matt Hawk, "where is that old dog Black Diamond, and what brings you two boys to this neck of Texas . . . "

Sanders smile turned to a frown. "He is why we are here. Bob is dead. He was killed about a week ago. We were chasing some thieves. He got shot, and we left him at a farm. We chased the vermin, and caught them. We went back to the farm, and found him and all the folks that lived there dead. Been killed by some kind of beast, something awful. They were all ripped and torn. We buried the family, took care of Bob's last wishes, then we set out upon finding the killer."

Hawk's face frowned as well, as he turned to look at Graham, then back at Sanders. "Then I guess we are on the same mission. We have been tracking some kind of killer ourselves. Has left quite a trail of blood and bodies . . . "

"Where have you been tracking this thing from?" asked Sanders.