"What I'm thinkin' about Hank? Well, I'm recollecting a tale I heard a while ago up in Cold Creek. A rumor of four riders that come in the night. Sharpen spurs and horses driven as if by the black devil himself. Big irons on their belt and coldness in their eyes yet invisible they arrive. Hiding in plain sight. Saints of Fury they call 'em. Supposedly they travel these lawless lands, all pilgrim like, hunting for the evil and the wicked. Seeking those who evaded death either by association or by affront. Those who by the Good book ought to find the ire and judgement of God yet do not attend the meet. Yes sir, Saints of Fury they call 'em. You know of whom I speak of, don't you cousin? So, back to our current predicament here. You see, that there marshall on the floor you found proper to fill back full of lead is Frank Noble, stepbrother of one Jake Noble. The gun that took down the Colby gang. All fourteen of 'em. A man of such skill and raging affinity for destruction that the confederates gave him a nickname. Wanna know what they called him? They called him the Fury. So the way I see it, puttin' two and two together all smart and alike, once ol' Jake hears about his brother's unfortunate demise, he and his Saints be congregating in this here little town of ours real soon. Reckoning is coming and I do not know it's face."