Cool water rushed around the Foreman of the Smoky Mountain Sanctuary as he stood in a rolling creek, fishing rod in hand. His pants were safe from the water, tucked into chest-high fishing waders. Winds from the mountain peaks cooled his face. The serenity of the morning lay over him like a blanket; his moustache curled into a smile.

  Creek fishing had been a past time of his grandfather, a hard-faced immigrant from Russia. Deadeye Rand never understood just how his Dedulya managed to fish in creeks back home. To hear him tell it, the creeks and streams of his homeland were frozen over pretty much all year. The thought of fishing with Dedulya and listening to tall tales from the homeland brough chuckles to the Foreman even then, decades after Dedulya’s passing. Without his Dedulya, Rand preferred to fish alone.

  The Foreman was not alone this morning, however. A peregrine falcon floated lazily overhead, its eyes alight with Resolve. The tall boots of the Six-Gun Lou Cobb crunched the grass at the bank of the creek as he approached.

  “Rude to call me over and not tell me we were creek fishing.” Snickered the heritage Six-Gun. “I didn’t bring any gear.”

  “What about Chalky?” Rand pointed up, “He oughta be able to catch something for you, probably better than me.”

  “Can’t get anything by the Deadeye.” Lou dismissed the Familiar with a wave of his hand, “But I know you didn’t invite me to come fish. What can I do for you?”

  “Cobb, let’s recap a bit. Your yellow boy.”

  “Calvin Baird.” Louey detected an effort to tacitly dehumanize the young man.

  “Yes, Calvin Baird.” Rand snickered. “Let’s talk about him for a bit. What’s been going on?”

  Feeling defensive, Louey’s tone shifted, “You know already.”

  “Humor an aging man.” Rand focused again on his line, reeling lazily to give it a little motion.

  “I found Calvin Baird during a ritual held by members of the Yellow Cult at his home along the St. John’s River, in 1934. I brought him here where he was sworn in. He has spent his years learning with our other students. Calvin is… marked, by the dark forces of the Yellow King, though whatever influence it has is yet to show itself.”

  “That so?” Mused the Foreman.

  “It IS so.” Louey pressed, “Calvin turned sixteen this year and as with all Six-Guns, he underwent the Trial. I bet YOU thought old No-Name would take him out.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”

  “Well, the joke is on you, Rand. He emerged with Gellerite. We assigned him to the Bootknife, alongside the heritage Calhoun and a Rodeo Clown. To hear it from Denton, they’re getting along great. They even passed his little number with the cigars. No problems with the Yellow magic.”

  “NO problems?” Rand shot him a sideways glance.

  The direction of this conversation was starting to become clearer to Louey.

  “One problem. He was taken to Emerald Lake on the Summer Solstice like normal, only the girls didn’t like his mark. They refuse to make a pact with him.”

  Chuckling, Rand shook his head. “Mild way to put it, Cobb. A letter appeared on my desk that day from the Witch Superior. The words ‘abhorrent force of destruction’ struck me a bit. Shaina’s got a flair for the dramatic; I know that. But I don’t think she was mincing words.”

  “What’s it matter if the witches don’t like him?” Loey rubbed his chin, “They’re really cagey these days anyhow. Even before… these times. I recall they didn’t like Billy either.”

  “That they didn’t…” nodded Rand, “They saw something we didn’t about him. But we can all see what’s up with Calvin. You expect me to keep a time bomb in my Sanctuary?”

  The morning breeze tousled Lou’s sun-studded poncho as he stood on the bank of the creek. He understood why Rand spent so much of his free time out here. The peace of the morning in these mountains almost overtook the concerning nature of the conversation. Lou had no problem keeping his emotions in check, but he was never prepared for the coldness of the Foreman’s logic.

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  “They went up to Crickett’s mountain. They’re gonna train there for the exam on All Hallow’s Eve. He’s up there safe with Logan and Crickett. There’s no threat at all.”

  “Is that so? I didn’t see any registration papers on my desk.”

  “This is Logan Denton we’re talking about.”

  Deadeye Rand’s chest rose with a guttural laugh, “You ain’t kidding! That’s fair enough.”

  “Why are we having this conversation, Ivan?” Lou’s tone dropped all formality, “And why is there a Nootu behind me? Am I under arrest?”

  Hunched in a tactical crouch, just behind Lou Cobb, a particularly odd Six-Gun sat in silence. This Six-Gun didn’t look like any of the others milling about in the Sanctuary. He didn’t spot any Western garb, no riding boots, no poncho or duster. He wore black military boots, dark spats with an olive drab jumper and a black tactical flak vest. He didn’t sport any kind of hat on his head; only a headband resting over his eyes, a large feather tucked into it. The Nootu Enforcers all wore warpaint on their faces, this particular operative had his face split down the middle with red and white colors.

  The Nootu Enforcers were some of the most feared of all Six-Guns. They did not participate in hunting spirits or monsters; they were trained specifically to kill other Six-Guns. These special operatives eschewed the typical trappings of the Posse in favor of combat made for stealth. They had to achieve true mastery over their intentions to fool other Resolve Sorcerers. In the Twentieth Century, the Nootu had become more and more relevant, and their doctrine had as a result become more refined. The Nootu behind Louey had arrived completely undetected, his Resolve virtually nonexistent. Lou had visually identified the Nootu via a Familiar bird perched on a nearby tree.

  “Calm down, you’re not being arrested.” Rand shook his head, “I’ll tell you. Things are changing. Yellowstone registered what they’re calling a Class-2 Event. There was a major shift in the Currents. We aren’t sure why, but I’ll tell you even I felt it.”

  Lou lowered his gaze. He had to admit he felt the shift as well.

  “Yellowstone is worried about Calvin.” The Foreman sighed as he looked back to his twitching fishing line. “They want me to give them some assurance, so I requested the Nootu. It's now the time for enforcement, that's what I told them. They were happy enough with that.”

  “Just… say you’re going to kill him and be done with it.” Lou’s face tightened, “Don’t ask me to be a part of it.”

  “Relax, Cobb.” Rand’s voice took on a harsh quality, “It’s not about you. Besides, if you’d only put two and two together, it makes sense.”

  The younger of the two Guns looked back up, eyebrow cocked. In his place, the Nootu said nothing. He didn’t move a muscle. Such was the discipline of the Posse’s Enforcers.

  “Calvin’s with the Bootknife. The Nootu ain’t gonna go through him, they’ll refuse. They never attack their own, current or former. Ain’t that right?” He cocked his head to the operative behind Lou.

  No response came from the solemn Nootu Enforcer.

  “Besides,” Rand continued, “There’s something else.”

  The Foreman reached into his chest pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. Holding it out, he waited for Lou. A crow swooped down, snatching the paper. In the same motion it carried its payload to Louey. Opening the paper, Lou’s eyes poured over the contents of what he now could see was a letter.

  “You got this from Baird?” Lou’s eyes leveled on Rand.

  “Sure did. Says he felt the shift as well. He’s coming to check in on things down here.”

  Pursing his lips, Lou thought about Billy, his friend. All the letters he had written had never been returned. Lou knew there were two other guns besides himself who could remotely be called close to Billy Baird. One was gone, having broken his Oath long ago. Lou had no idea where Doherty was, if he could have known about Calvin. The other had been traveling with him these past years. Lou knew full well that Tornado Joe hadn’t known a thing about the boy. This question about Billy and his child had gone unanswered for four years.

  “Well, that’s good.” He folded the letter and placed it in his own pocket, “Think I’ll keep it. It’s good to see my buddy’s handwriting after so long.”

  Rand kept his comments on topic, “Having Billy come down will be the bargaining chip I need to advocate for your charge. Hell, maybe the Southpaw will know what to do about it. Guy always seems to know more than he should.”

  A smirk grew across Lou’s face, thinking of old times with his friend. He always had his nose in a book. He had taken a liking to the Farmer’s Almanac. Alongside all the letters about Calvin, Lou had made a point to send him the 1935 Farmer’s Almanac, signed by their esteemed sixth editor Ray Geiger. Whether or not Billy cared for his own son was still yet to be seen, but Lou knew that Billy Baird enjoyed the gift. He didn’t need a thank you card to figure it out.

  “Also,” Rand’s words snapped Lou back to the present, “These Nootu ain’t touching Baird. Yellowstone will have to send more, if they want to go through HIM.”

  This comment broke the statue act on the Enforcer behind Lou; his head dipped a bit. The subtle movement did not escape the Deadeye, who cocked a grin.

  “I think once Baird gets here, the whole mess will be ironed out.”

  “Maybe he’ll wanna meet Cal?”

  The foreman did not entertain an answer. There was a lot he did not understand about that man, with him it was best to abandon the guessing game. He turned his head back to the fishing line in silence.

  Recognizing the conversation had ended, Lou turned in place. He found the Nootu had left his spot. He was not around; Lou’s crow didn’t spot him either. The younger of the Six-Guns trotted away from the creek, leaving his elder to the peace and quiet of nature.