Quite a gathering outside the church. Not a smart, Sunday-best crowd though. More a weekday-shabby, work-stained bunch. But then Serrano Dinero was a pretty shabby kind of place. No gold in them thar hills any more. Just a bare living to bescratched from the land. And if, looking at the meeting house, the man called Edge thought the citizens had the Old Time Religion, he was wrong. Not a service but a sale. No preacher man but an auctioneer. All the worldly goods of a man called Seth Fry-who could let everything go to the poor on account he was due to die at noon. A forced sale, vigilante law and a bunch of men getting liquored-up to face the hanging. Not a good time for a stranger to ride into town. And for Edge, things were about to get a lot worse fast.
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