As Kane made sure that Hollister was truly dead, Cole rushed to Tawakoni’s side. The young Indian’s body lay twisted and broken under the debris of the collapsed building. With a cry of anguish, Cole pulled as much of the rubble off as he could, but he could see that it was far too late. Tawakoni had taken his last breath.
Tears stung Cole's eyes. It was the first time he's allowed himself to cry since Geneviève disappeared. These were tears for his friend Tawakoni and for his lost love, Genevieve, and for all those who had suffered under the evil doctor's knife. For the first time, he was able to let all his emotion out. He hoped the prayers of the man the West was making him into were sufficient for Tawakoni’s passing.
Cole heard it then, the tinny sound of a banjo playing "Old Dan Tucker". Looking up, he saw the tortured spirits from the mine standing around him. But now they looked happy. And Geneviève was with them, playing her banjo. In spirit form she was whole again and blew him a kiss before fading away.
Two of the ghostly miners reached into the rubble and pulled up the spirit of Tawakoni out of his broken body. One, who looked like he might be an Indian himself, placed a hand on Tawakoni’s shoulder. “Come, brother,” he said, his voice like the wind through the dry grass of the badlands. “Let us go to Tehas together.”
As the vision faded, Cole found himself kneeling beside Tawakoni’s clay-cold corpse. Looking around the town for the first time, he saw that most of Hollister's abominations had been killed, while those that were not appeared to be fleeing now that their master was dead.
Cole saw Nevah standing next to the livery stable he’d bought her from. She seemed to have slipped her tether and headed back to a place she knew in the chaos. The livery stable seemed largely untouched. The stable hands trained guns on Cole from out windows and behind door posts, but they seemed satisfied that he wasn’t one of Hollister’s creations and didn’t try to stop him from reclaiming Nevah.
After reclaiming his steed, Cole and Kane returned to the Sheriff’s office. It had borne the brunt of the Gatling gun fire, and was barely standing. Sheriff Hank’s lifeless body lay slumped beside the window - he’d apparently died defending the town he served. A heartrending scream ripped the air, and Cole saw that Josie Vise was lying on the cot in the jail cell, her body twisted by terrible convulsions as she alternately cried incoherently for medicine and wept that she had lost everything.
Owley was sitting next to the cot, trying clumsily to bandage himself as it looked like he’d suffered several wounds in the Gatling gun strafing of the building. He was doing his best to look after Josie as well, which mostly consisted of mopping her brow with cold water and murmuring comfortingly to her.
When Cole left the saloon and stepped back into the square, it was as if all the blood had drained from the sky as well. Before the door and all along the perimeter, the bodies of townsfolk lay in the square like the corpses of forgotten dreams. They were just … there. Unseen, unheard, just lay there, as if time itself held its breath. The silence felt almost a physical force.
Then the sound of hushed whispers came to him like a cold breeze from an unseen place. It was from a small crowd huddled around something in the center of the square. The whispered words pierced the silence with their despair and uncertainty.
As Cole pushed through the onlookers, he saw the body of Reverend Elias on the dusty street. In his death throes, he was apparently still grasping his large Bible. It lay open at an odd angle on his chest. In the torchlight from the crowd, Cole could make out that it was open to the sixth chapter of Ephesians. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.
Next to Elias’ body lay a burned-out torch. In death, his face was set in silent resolution.
Cole couldn’t bring himself to look directly at the bodies. The faces of the dead people in the square felt oddly alive, as if they were staring right through him. He could hear the whispers going through the crowd: “Will we survive?”
Still in shock, Cole walked on. He noticed the Dusty Spur saloon was still standing, although it appeared heavily damaged. Several miners were inside, helping themselves to its wares next to the body of the bartender, slumped over the bar. He could hear them laughing as he passed. On down the street, he saw the hotel where he'd stayed when he first came to Dusthaven on fire and nearly burned to the ground. The windows were broken and the whole place smelled of smoke. The railroad station was also in flames, and there was no sign of Mr. Clancy, the station master, or Worthington, although Cole didn't look for them. He couldn't imagine what it would take for these people to recover from this tragedy.
While he stood there, watching the train station go up in flames, he heard the voice of Clara, the miner's lady that had come to the train station when he'd first been hired, shaking people out of their shock, and putting them to work dealing with the chaos. He had almost forgotten that there was still chaos to deal with, he was so lost in the beauty of the flames. Despite what Clancy had told him about her, Clara seemed to be a strong woman, who knew what to do in the direst of times.
Returning to his little cabin, Cole was struck by how much it hadn’t been changed by the past few hours - it was exactly as he had left it that morning. Walking inside, he sat down in an uncomfortable chair left behind by the miner who had built it, placed his six-gun on the table, and shook. Never in his life had he seen a day quite like this one.