Sitting in the front pew, T.W. brought the heels of his boots together until they touched either side of the box that rested beneath his bench. His legs gently slid the package forward.
The diminutive Frenchman dragged the stepladder three yards to the right, where an empty noose dangled beside the second sagging corpse. Urine had pooled inside of Godfrey’s boots, found holes in the toes, and dripped to the rug below.
T.W. glanced at the aisle. One row behind him stood the two brigands. Each of these men pointed a shotgun at a different side of the church. The sheriff glanced at the entrance and saw the two sentries who were standing there with revolvers in all four of their hands; the barrels of these weapons were currently pointing at the ground. Standing behind the open trunk and moni
