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anubislover · 2 months ago

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A Black Candle and A Broken Star

"Yeah, I know Rackstraw. He's the reason I left the law." "Is that right? I noticed your star. I didn't wanna say anything. But you're not a lawman no more." "Not anymore."

(A fanfic on how Silas Flint's badge got broken.)

It was a quiet day in the town of Last Hope’s Reach. Admittedly, such days were becoming a more consistent trend. What had once been a bustling, close-knit community had dwindled to practically nothing. There were understandable reasons for that—one of the springs had recently dried up, and there had been a series of cattle thefts that had discouraged the local ranchers. That had driven off a fair few folk, but it wasn’t the only thing.

No, a shadow had been creeping over the town, and it was getting people scared to leave their homes. Or if they did, they didn’t plan on coming back. An ominous sensation hung in the air like dust, settling on the shoulders of the townsfolk if they didn’t keep moving. At this rate, Last Hope’s Reach would be a ghost town before the year was up.

But the town wasn’t empty yet, and one lawman was determined to protect the good people who resided there.

Sitting in his office within the county jailhouse, badge shining golden in the late-morning sun, Sheriff Silas Flint looked over the warrants and bounty posters on his desk. They were for the usual crimes—cattle rustling, fraud, disorderly conduct, selling whiskey to Indians, and horse theft. He grimaced at the last one, moving it to the top of the pile. He barely understood why anyone would want a horse, and even less why someone would steal one, but it was a hanging offense regardless, and the law needed to be carried out. The horse’s owner had been greatly inconvenienced by the theft and hadn’t taken too kindly to Silas trying to convince him that he was probably better off without the beady-eyed beast. Damn thing probably even conspired with the thief, to boot. So it was best if the co-conspirators were found and brought in quick, before they could go on a crime spree together. Horses couldn’t be trusted, no matter what Boone or anyone else told him.

Speaking of, Deputy Boone walked through the door, a freshly polished saddle slung over his shoulder. “All the horse tack’s been polished, repaired, and accounted for. Anything else I can help with, Sheriff Flint?”

Silas attempted to look up from his work, but the motion caused his hat to slide down over his eyes. Damn thing always did that, though he was too stubborn to get a new one that fit better. Still, it had its benefits. Like now, he could pretend his scowl had to do with that instead of the presence of the newly minted deputy. Boone had been begging to join up for years, but frankly, Silas never really felt he had the right attitude for it. His mind was too malleable, in Silas’ opinion. Like wet clay, his opinions were easily shaped by others. A man of the law needed to have an open mind, sure, but also conviction in his own beliefs. He shouldn’t be too easily swayed by others.

Rackstraw used to agree with him, even though the man practically worshipped the ground he walked on. Said while his ambition was admirable, Boone wasn’t quite ready to join his posse. And yet, just last month, the Marshal had gone and deputized him. Said his loyalty and faith were virtues they couldn’t afford to overlook anymore. So, Silas was stuck keeping him busy until Rackstraw got back so they could actually talk about what the hell they were going to do with the man. At least he was able to take care of cleaning the stables and feeding the horses so Silas didn’t have to.

“The prison cells clean?” Silas asked, a bit of a grumble in his voice as he lifted up the brim of his hat.

“Yes sir. Considering how we haven’t had any prisoners in the past few weeks, they didn’t need more than a light dusting.”

“Then do me a favor and ride out and check on the pastures. Make sure no more cattle are getting taken from honest folk.”

It was a fairly pointless task—no one with half a brain would steal cattle in the middle of the day—but it would keep the other man busy and out of his hair. Otherwise, Boone was liable to hover around him like a persistent fly. One Silas would be far too tempted to give a good swat. His fuse was notoriously short, and on days like these it was easy to get him riled. Thankfully, Boone either understood this or genuinely thought checking the pastures was a good idea, so he nodded, eager to get back to work. So eager, in fact, that he nearly knocked over a coat rack with the saddle when he turned to leave, pace picking up even more at the annoyed shout of his superior and the paperweight that went sailing through the air after him.

Silas sighed, dragging a calloused hand across his face. This job wasn’t an easy one, but he swore things were getting worse every day in both big and little ways. Boone doing the job he signed up for shouldn’t bother him so much. Perhaps he was just pissed because of how Rackstraw had handled the situation. Just made a major call about who should be a lawman in his town without taking his opinion into account. He’d been doing that a lot, lately. Sure, the Marshal outranked him, but that hadn’t been an issue before. They’d been collaborators. Partners, even. They’d worked together to uphold the law in a wild and often lawless frontier, and Silas had even looked up to him.

Oh how things change in a short time.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Silas moved “selling whiskey to Indians” to the bottom of the stack of warrants. Honestly, he didn’t get why that was against the law, and why the charges were so high for it. A $250 dollar fine at the minimum and possibly up to 20 years in prison? That was just outrageous! The saloon owner who was being charged was an honest man, and if an Indian had the money, why shouldn’t he be permitted to buy himself a drink? And why should the bartender be sent to prison for serving it? Just didn’t make no sense to him.

A lot of things weren’t making sense anymore, really. Silas had always had a strong sense of justice. Laws were put in place to protect good people, and it was a lawman’s job to uphold them and make criminals face the consequences of their actions. But there were limits. The punishment had to fit the crime, otherwise it wasn’t justice, was it?

Another thing he and Marshal Luthar Rackstraw had once agreed on. At least, until he’d found that damn candle. It seemed impossible for something as small and as simple as a candlestick to cause such a great change in a man like Rackstraw. But something was going on with him. It had been subtle, at first, but over the past few months, it was like Silas was working with a different man.

Once, Rackstraw had been one of the most noble men Silas had ever met. He was a man of faith and conviction. He was as well-versed in the Bible as he was in the law and could be heard informing criminals that even if they escaped him, sooner or later they’d be judged by the Lord, and He could not be bought or bargained with. Yet he’d at least been able to acknowledge that his jurisdiction was in the law as the government penned it—just because something was a sin didn’t mean it was illegal, so he had no right to haul a man in for, say, taking the Lord’s name in vain. And he’d been fair, bringing in the criminals he was sent out for back alive so they could be given a fair trial.

Yet ever since he found that damn black-flamed candle, Rackstraw had been different. Silas didn’t even know where he’d gotten the thing, but it never seemed to leave his side. Rackstraw had claimed it was a symbol, no different than the cross he wore or Silas’ badge. Yet as wild as it seemed to blame his behavior on a simple candle, it was the only real outlier. Because Rackstraw had become a zealous stranger as far as he was concerned. Confusing sins for infractions of the law was bad enough, but the last three times the U.S. Marshal had gone out with a warrant to bring in a criminal, he hadn’t been bringing them back for judgement.

No, he’d been bringing them back for a burial.

Jaw clenching, Silas paused in his paperwork. Carefully, he unpinned the badge that indicated his office from his vest. The metal had been polished just that morning, and the six points of the star were as straight as an arrow. Wearing that sheriff’s badge had always been a point of pride to him. Unlike a U.S. Marshal, a county sheriff was chosen by the people. And despite his temper and phobia of horses being well known, the townsfolk had faith in Silas’ morals and judgement to give him this position of authority. Sure, it was often a thankless job, and the pay was shit, but knowing his neighbors trusted him to protect them and dole out justice…well, that warmed his heart and made him all the more determined to keep the peace. Even if the number of people had shrunk, he’d do everything he could to protect them, no matter the cost.

His thoughts were interrupted by commotion outside, and Silas stood up, ready to investigate and potentially put the hurt on anyone who was causing a ruckus. A muscle in his jaw twitched when he heard Boone’s voice, until he made out that the deputy was calling to him from the doorway, grin so wide it nearly split his face.

“Sheriff Flint! Marshal Rackstraw’s back! And he’s got a prisoner!”

Behind him, Silas could see Rackstraw hauling a large man into the jailhouse, practically tossing him into a cell. The marshal was an older man, with a steel-grey beard that nearly matched the cross that hung around his neck, but he was still as broad and strong as ever. Still, manhandling a full-grown man over his shoulder was an impressive feat, considering how he did it all one-handed—his left hand was occupied by a candle that burned with a black flame. The damn thing barely so much as flickered as Rackstraw moved.

Yet for once, Silas was barely thinking about the candle. His smile was wide and bright as he strolled out of his office to greet his old friend. “Well I’ll be damned! Did you actually bring a criminal in alive, Luther?” he asked. For a moment, he felt hope. Maybe the man he’d admired was still in there. Maybe the past few months had been a phase of some kind. A midlife crisis or something that had knocked a few screws loose in an honorable man’s head. Rackstraw had been sliding down a slippery slope, straying less from the path of justice and more towards a sort of fanaticism, but maybe, just maybe, the marshal had found his feet again. Maybe that candle was nothing more than a candle, and everything could go back to normal.

“I did, Silas,” Rackstraw replied, taking a seat at an empty table and setting that strange candle down. His voice had grown raspier as of late. It had worried Silas, and he’d begged his old friend to see a doctor about it. It could be a sign of some terrible ailment, and he’d hate to see a good man taken too soon. Yet Dr. Williams had proclaimed there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing physical, at least. “I felt this sinner had a bigger part to play, and needed to be brought in alive to repent properly.”

That had Silas’ brow furrowing again. Peering into the cell, his fist instinctively slammed against the bars of the cell, making them rattle at his strength. Rage flowed through him, even as the prisoner pressed himself against the far wall in fear. Silas recognized this particular criminal: Emmett Martin. The young man had walked into town six months ago looking for work. He’d found it as a farmhand for a newly-married couple, Cody and May Sawyer. But two months after he’d been hired, he’d murdered Cody, assaulted May, and robbed them both of their valuables before vanishing into the night. For weeks Silas had led the hunt for the bastard, sending out every able-bodied man and woman to find him, but Martin had managed to get enough of a head start to buy himself a train ticket out of Silas’ jurisdiction, and had been a ghost ever since.

Even four months later, Silas’ blood still boiled anytime he thought of the state he’d found May in. He’d known the woman for years, and he’d even been in attendance to her and Cody’s wedding. She and her husband were some of the kindest, most hardworking folks he’d ever met, and they’d clearly been deeply in love. Theirs was a fairytale story that had seemed destined for a happy ending. So finding poor May bloodied and beaten, dress torn, face bruised, barely able to move or talk or do anything more than pathetically sob over the corpse of her husband…it was a damn good thing her brother was the town’s doctor. Otherwise she might not have even made it through the night. And as if that weren’t heartbreaking enough, it came to light that she was pregnant.

The sheriff forced himself to step away from the jail cell. If he didn’t, he knew his temper would get the best of him, and he’d end up giving Martin a beating so bad May’s would look like a pillow fight.

It was ironic; the one man Silas would have been ok with Rackstraw executing on the spot was the one he’d brought back alive and well.

“This is indeed Emmett Martin, correct?” Rackstraw’s question broke through Silas’ thoughts, and he turned to face the marshal. “Accused of aggravated assault, murder, robbery, and more. He fit the description you gave me, but I wanted to confirm with you and the woman.”

“No need to make May look at ‘em,” Silas growled, glaring down at Martin. He clenched his fist so tightly one of the points of his badge pierced his palm. In the commotion, he’d forgotten he’d even been holding it. A trickle of blood seeped between his fingers and dripped to the floor. But the pain at least kept him grounded enough to not rip the cell door off its hinges and go after the man who had hurt two innocent people under his watch. “I can tell ya that’s him. If you need extra confirmations, call Dr. Willaims. He’d be able to identify his brother-in-law’s murderer.”

“That’s what I thought,” Rackstraw sighed, taking off his black hat now that he knew there was no need to head out again. His dispassionate gaze flicked between the jail cell and the black candle. The flame burned steadily, and he seemed satisfied. “I found him while I was out west. He was actually in jail already for drunk and disorderly conduct. However, remembering your…passionate calls for his arrest, I had him turned over to my custody.”

“Well, that’s mighty good of ya, Luther,” Silas stated tersely, turning around to take a seat across from Rackstraw while Boone ran off to fetch them all something to eat and drink. Gingerly, he placed his badge down on the table opposite the black candle while he inspected his palm. The cut was thankfully shallow, so it wouldn’t need much more than to be cleaned up and bandaged so it wouldn’t get infected. But it would need to be cleaned soon—infections and rot spread quickly if you didn’t catch it early. “We’ll have to call in a judge from one of the other counties since ours has moved on. Suppose even scum like this deserves a fair trial.” The hard part would be keeping the townsfolk from forming a lynch mob once they heard Emmett Martin was back in town. Not that he could blame them for wanting Martin to pay with his life, but there was a process that needed to be followed, for better or for worse.

Yet it seemed Rackstraw disagreed. “There will be no need for a trial. I’ve already determined how he shall atone for his sins.”

“The hell are you talkin’ about, Luther?” Silas snapped. “He’s not atoning for anything. He’s a murderer and more, and just about any one of his crimes would call for a hanging. Hell, I’m being nice letting a judge pass down the sentence, and even that I’ll have a hell of a time justifying to the town. They’ll want blood for what this monster did.”

Rackstraw turned his gaze from the candle to the sheriff. His expression was stern and almost patronizing, like a tired father who had to explain something to a stupid and stubborn child. “May Williams. She’s with child, yes?”

“May Sawyer is about four months along, according to the doctor.”

“Then it’s a good thing I found Martin as quickly as I did. She’s had her time to mourn, and now she can be made an honest woman again before the birth.”

Brown eyes widened in shock as Silas’ jaw dropped, utterly flabbergasted. “The hell? You talking about her getting married again? May loved Cody!”

“While I don’t doubt that, it is a necessity that she remarries before she comes to term. And as Emmett Martin was the one who wronged her, I’ve determined that he is to be the one to set it right.”

“Are you…proposing that May marry Martin?!”

“If he doesn’t marry her, the woman will have her child out of wedlock. That’s a grave sin in the eyes of the Lord, and she’ll need to be punished for it. As the sin was not completely of her own doing, I’m showing leniency by allowing her the chance to rid her soul of the taint by remarrying.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d be punishin’ her worse by having her marry her husband’s murderer, Luther!” Silas shouted, banging his hand on the table in fury.

“I’m making him atone for his sins.”

“At the cost of an innocent. No, two innocents, countin’ the baby! What child’s safe bein’ brought up by their pa’s murderer?”

Rackstraw fixed him with a cold look. “I have my doubts that Cody is the father. You said she’s four months along, yes? The night he killed Cody Sawyer was also four months ago. When I questioned him, Emmett Martin confessed to me that the woman had enticed him to lustful thoughts and actions. He is a murderer, but she is an adulteress, and the child may very well be his.”

“You’re accusin’ May Sawyer of committing adultery? With the man who killed her husband, beat, robbed, and left her for dead?!” Silas couldn’t contain his anger. He saw red, slamming his bleeding fist down on the table again, this time so hard one of the legs cracked. The candle rattled in its holder from the force, but the black flame persisted, burning steadily and almost hypnotically.

“I am. She is as much a sinner in the eyes of God as Martin, and either they marry to correct their sins, or they should both hang.”

“You’ve got no proof except a criminal’s word an’ your own biases! And given the state I found May in, I can tell ya, any ‘lustful actions’ were completely on Martin’s side,” he snarled. Silas wasn’t a squeamish man, but he’d held off thinking that poor May could be carrying anyone but Cody’s baby. Her love story had already turned to horror—she deserved a happy ending, damn it! Deserved to see the man who had taken everything from her be found guilty by a judge, sentenced, executed, and live out the rest of her life with that last little piece of Cody she’d been blessed with. Deserved to not be failed by the system and live out the rest of her days in peace.

The marshal remained unmoved. “I have no proof that he’s lying to me. I also have no doubt that if I were to question her, she would claim to be virtuous, but lying is easy for a sinner. I am trying to save the woman’s soul, Silas. Her’s and the baby’s. A bastard child is already tainted from birth, and an adulteress is doomed to burn in hell. If anything, I am sparing them from damnation. I am following God’s will.”

Something snapped in Silas’ mind at hearing those words. His mind went blank, and all he saw was red. He could barely feel his body fling itself across the table, nor his hands grasp for Rackstraw’s neck.

Yet instead of landing on top of the marshal and choking him, Silas felt his back make impact with the table, the wood cracking and shattering beneath the force, collapsing to the floor. Gasping, the sheriff came back to reality to find Marshal Rackstraw standing above him, black candle in hand, looking down at him with such disdain. How had the older man done that? That speed and strength…it was almost inhuman!

“You disappoint me, Silas Flint,” he said, voice cold and even despite having just slammed another man through a table. For a moment, the candle seemed to glow a bit brighter, and his voice took on a strange quality. It slithered through Silas’ mind like a snake, coiling around his brain, silencing him. “You claim to be a righteous man, yet your temper makes you as violent as a common criminal. You claim to be a man of justice, and yet I know you pick and choose which law you feel are worth upholding. You’re a sinner, a hypocrite, and the people suffer for it. The people of this down elected you as sheriff and you’ve failed them. Why should you be the one to decide whether my decision is just?”

It was a struggle to get enough air back in his lungs to retort. Not just because of the blow, but because of the question. All Silas could do was stare up at Rackstraw. The man he’d once admired had well and truly lost his marbles. He’d more than strayed from the path of justice; he was making a mockery of everything they’d once believed in.

And yet, was he right? Right about Silas, and his view of justice? About his flaws and how they made him unfit to be a sheriff? The town was dying. People kept getting hurt under his watch. They’d elected him, and yet he kept letting them down. Did these people need him, or did they need a man like Rackstraw?

Gritting his teeth, Silas gingerly got to his feet, the words that echoed around in his skull holding him back from attempting to strike Rackstraw again. That, and the way the other man’s free hand rested on his gun, ready to draw if another attempt to attack was made. Silas wasn’t fully sure if he planned to shoot to kill, but the chances were too high that he’d end up a dead man.

So, despite the anger and the hurt and the disappointment that surged through him like a hurricane, Silas backed down, holding up his hands in defeat.

This seemed to please the U.S. Marshal. For the first time since he arrived, a ghost of a smile crossed his face. It was almost gentle and paternal, and for a moment, Silas’ heart ached. “You may have failed this town, Silas, but you’re a strong man. A man who wants to do what’s right. There’s hope for you yet. The Lord is giving you a second chance, and I’m here to guide you.” Hand leaving his pistol, he held it out to Silas. “I want you to join me out there. Together, we can do great things. We can save souls and punish sinners. We can uphold the law of a higher power.”

Despite the doubt Rackstraw’s earlier words put in his heart, Silas’ answer didn’t even need to be thought about. Looking between the pistol, the candle, and Rackstraw’s face, the words that left his mouth were clear and unwavering. “Not a chance. You’re out of your damn mind, Rackstraw,” he growled, retrieving his hat and badge from where they had landed on the floor. “You’re out of your mind, and I want you out of my town. Our partnership is done, you hear me?”

For a moment, Silas thought he saw a flash of hurt in the other man’s steely gaze, but perhaps it was simply a trick of the candle’s odd light. Either way, his hand dropped back to once more rest on his holster. “I’ll leave in the morning, once the priest I’ve called on has arrived. He’ll marry Emmett Martin and May Williams in the eyes of God, and I’ll be off to punish other sinners.”

“That’s your choice. I’ll have no part in it.”

“I don’t need you to. I don’t only serve a higher cause—I outrank you. Even in the eyes of the law, my standing is above yours, Sheriff Flint. Do you understand?”

He did, as much as it churned his stomach. A sheriff was elected by the county, but a U.S. Marshal was appointed by the Attorney General. In terms of status, he was an ant next to a tarantula. In the eyes of the law, what Marshal Rackstraw says goes. Sheriff Silas was powerless.

“Yes sir. I do,” he finally grunted.

The hand on the gun didn’t move, but the tension in Rackstraw’s shoulders did ease slightly. “Good. Get yourself to the doctor, Silas. I imagine that cut on your hand needs tending to, and I don’t quite trust you alone with Martin.”

A valid concern, given the rage and unpredictability of the sheriff. With a final glare that bounced between Rackstraw and the black flamed candle, Silas limped towards the door. “When you leave, take Boone with you. You deputized him; he’s your responsibility.”

“I already intended to do so. He’s a loyal man, and he’s already taken to the gospel. He understands that sinners must be punished. You…you’re like a wild horse that needs to be broken in before it hurts itself and the people around it.”

The horse comment had his blood boiling, and Silas knew it had been an intentional metaphor. A deliberate dig at both his phobia and his temper. It was so tempting to turn around and clock him right in the jaw, but it was clear he was outmatched. So, back aching, palm bleeding, and pride wounded, Silas left the jailhouse to visit Dr. Williams and his sister on the other side of town.

XXX

The cut on his palm bandaged and a salve applied to his bruised back, walked about the field outside of the doctor’s home, deep in thought. Dr. Williams had taken the news of his sister’s impending nuptials better than he had, in that he hadn’t attempted to attack anyone. He had a stronger hold on his temper, plus the whole “do no harm” schtick doctors had. Still, Silas had little doubt there would be innocent blood spilt if he didn’t do something about this debacle. Likely the doctor’s, or possibly even May’s, if she found out and decided that she’d rather join her husband in death than suffer the hell of being married to a murderer.

But what could he do? His authority was a joke compared to Rackstraw’s. In a fight he’d been outmatched. For a second, he imagined leading a posse of townsfolk to storm the jailhouse, but quickly squashed that idea. He wasn’t sure if Rackstraw was so far gone that he’d fire on the crowd, but he couldn’t risk it. His job was to protect the good people of the county, not put them at risk.

He couldn’t get them killed. Rackstraw was right; he’d failed this town. Martin had killed a man on his watch and assaulted a good woman. Maybe if he hadn’t been so afraid of getting on a horse, he could have caught up to the bastard before he’d escaped. Others had been suffering, too. Cattle going missing, horses being stolen, warrants being put out on bartenders who were just serving thirsty customers. The people had put their faith in him, and he’d failed.

Yet at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to believe Rackstraw’s methods were the correct ones. How could his old friend have sunk so low? Did he really believe he was doing right by God? Did the Lord actually condone his actions? Was it the candle that had put these thoughts in his head? Or had he always had this kind of madness simmering within him, and Silas just wanted something to blame?

Those thoughts troubled his mind as he stared down at his badge. One of the star’s points had been broken when he’d been thrown on the table. He didn’t much believe in signs from God, but given Rackstraw’s belief that what he was doing was approved by a higher power, was this meant to be a sign? That the laws and justice of man were brittle and weak compared to the will of the Lord? Was the marshal right?

Looking up at the sky, Silas decided he had nothing to lose by asking the big man himself.

Slowly, he got to his knees and addressed the heavens. “Lord. I know I ain’t been the most believin’ man. But this is your chance to prove me wrong. Rackstraw…he ain’t right, is he? What he’s doing can’t be your will. You can’t be alright with these deaths, these wrongs bein’ done in your name. You can’t be alright with a good woman being a sinner and atoning by marrying a monster. Just…he’d believe you. You send Luther some kind of sign, right now, he’ll realize what he’s doin’ is wrong. That it’s not your will. I’m not sayin’ he has to be struck by lightning, but maybe…snuff out that candle of his. You can do that, can’t you?” Yes, the candle. The damn thing had become an obsession, and if that black flame went out, surely that would convince Rackstraw that it wasn’t some holy item. It was just some weird but otherwise perfectly normal candle, and the flame was no more a symbol than anything else. That would convince him, wouldn’t it?

Pausing for a moment, he bowed his head and closed his eyes in supplication. “And if that’s too much trouble, hell, give me a sign. A sign that you agree with me. That you don’t approve of Luther’s version of ‘justice.’ That I’m not the failure he claims I am. Just one little sign, Lord, and I’ll at least know that we’re on the same page. That you’re listenin’ and don’t condone what he’s doin’. I’m not askin’ for anything big or flashy. Just a clear sign that I ain’t crazy, Lord. That you believe in justice. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

Opening his eyes, Silas looked around, keeping watch for any kind of sign. Yet the air was still, and nothing around him changed. No bushes suddenly caught fire and started talking to him. No clouds appeared in the clear sky. No angels descended from on high, nor did any visions of a great man with a beard appear before him. There wasn’t even a talking donkey or a second pair of footsteps in the sand. Just…nothing.

Rage rose within him, and Silas once more raised his head, screaming and cursing at the sky.

XXX

The next day, by the time the sun rose over Last Hope’s Reach, May Sawyer and her brother were gone, their stagecoach headed east to hopefully find sanctuary with relatives on the other side of the Mississippi River. Silas sat in the back of the coach, keeping watch for Rackstraw in case he caught their trail. With luck, they’d gotten enough of a head start in the dead of night to be safe. Silas had even hedged their bets further by sabotaging all the jailhouse’s saddles and bridles Boone hadn’t properly put away, ensuring that they wouldn’t be able to ride the damn horses after them.

Silas sighed, glancing back at the woman as she rubbed her pregnant belly. What he was doing, defying a U.S. Marshal and all, might have been against the law, but it felt right. He was giving an innocent woman her happy ending. He owed it to her for failing to catch her husband’s killer the first time, and for not putting a stop to Rackstraw’s madness sooner.

Turning back to the road, he considered his future. His badge was once more pinned to his shirt, the broken point at the top conspicuous but the metal still bright. He had no real legal authority as a sheriff anymore, but he refused to abandon his sense of justice. In his bag were the stack of bounty posters and warrants he’d been looking over, stolen from his office along with his dual Colt Peacemakers. He refused to leave those for Rackstraw to find, lest he continue his unholy crusade against others under the guise of enacting the law. It was the least he could do. Watching the horizon and leaving behind his home and duty, Silas Flint hoped that if he ever crossed paths with Luther Rackstraw again, he’d have the strength to put an end to his madness.

#silas flint #luther rackstraw #oxventure deadlands #oxventure spoilers #deadlands rpg #oxventure #silas will probably never elaborate on his backstory more than he has so it's up to my brain to speculate with a fanfic #rackstraw hitting silas with the enigma spell and making him question a lot of things about himself #but he at least knows where he stands in terms of doing right by people

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