It was just another town
until Devlin brought the hellfire!
Brimstone had a defeated air today. People moved about sluggishly in the sunshine, and one of the few places showing any sign of activity was the six-bed hospital down Simpson Street where Doc Kearns had been working through the night patching up the wounded.
There was the lesser but equally serious business being conducted at the premises of Brimstone Funerals as well as the law office. The editor of the Brimstone Gazette had stopped off at the hotel to seek Devlin’s account of the night’s ruckus, but had been sent on his way with nothing.
Devlin had never been interested in the fame that followed his achievements on the streets of lawless towns like Brimstone. He wasn’t in it for the glory or the money. He yearned for a clean America, and it was difficult to conceive of dirtier towns than Musket Flats, Pathfinder, Signal Hill and Eagle’s Roost before Devlin started sweeping out the trash with his .45-caliber brooms.