Dustin watched as a man looted the bodies. It was a wonder to her how eager men were to take from the dead. For Dustin, this feeling was one of superstition rather than morality. It was nothing but bad luck that such men stuffed their pockets with. Dustin was eager to wash her hands, she didn't take anything from the men, but bad luck was sticky all the same.

She was about to do just that, turn and walk on home. But the barkeep spoke up. "Don't leave 'em to rot out in front of my place! No one will come back once they start stinking. Take 'em over to the morgue, boy." That man vanished back into the Saloon. Oddly enough a new customer strolled in. Another stranger.

Solomon had its fair share of travelers, but this seemed like to many new folk all at once. It was bad luck. The more there were the more bad luck they brought with them.

She could at least get rid of these. So she grabbed one of the dead by his boots and began to walk toward the morgue. It was not far, being a one road town had its advantages. The body dragged behind her. A hungry crow landed on the dead mans chest. It began to pick at the wound on his neck.