The celebration within the American Frontier, mainly in the once tormented town of Rose Creek. A bonfire within the middle of the town and the saloon practically giving out their booze freely. Everyone felt relieved, safe from the evil and greedy man Bartholemww Boug, who was now a dead man, rotting away somewhere.

This change, the change from being a town close to extinction due to the greed of a man who was desperate to make more money and money, was at the hands of seven men. Seven men who risked everything for a little town that hadn't done a thing for them, their drive for justice forcing them to act. Four of them were badly injured, and the other three were alive and well with new memories to add. Those three were close-by, watching the celebration closely and keeping an eye out for any of Bouge's vengeful men.

Red Harvest, a lone Comanche warrior, is standing further away and watching as he often did. Never letting his eyes stray from the horizon. Vasquez stood the closest to the celebration, smirking and admiring the dancing women with that uncomfortable and leery gaze of his, and finally, the man who brought this together and helped save the town, Sam Chisolm. He stood out the front of the small shack, keeping an eye on everything.

The small shack had been reserved for the last four who had been vastly injured from the gun-fight, a few other houses, and the hotel had been reserved for the town people who had been injured as well while the dead were laid out close to the graveyard to be buried. The shack belonged to one of the farming families, the more influential one that cared for their townspeople.

Billy Rocks, a deadly knife welding assasian, was in rather rough condition, having been shot many times. He was close to bleeding to death before someone from the town. His vision was far too blurry to see who it was, kept pressure on the wounds, and made sure he was one of the first to get treated. Currently, his head was laid against the pillow, and his skin pale as he has his wounds bound-up and cleaned. Unable to sleep due to the throbbing pain.

Beside him in a separate bed, lay Goodnight Robicheaux, a sharpshooter, and former confederate soldier. He suffered a harsh gunshot wound to his torso, which had also been quickly treated. He was as well asleep, haunted by nightmares of the war and the lives he had taken.

Jack Thorne, a rugged tracker and a mountain who had a violent past, had been shot with an arrow to his side. Jack was mildly surprised that he survived and was thankful that his acting skills came in handy. He blinked gently and tilted his head against the pillow, glancing towards the window and sighing at the sounds of the loud music from the bands and the townsfolk singing.

Joshua Farday, a charismatic gambler and an explosives expert, suffered a shot that landed against his hip, once he crawled and detonated the explosives he had been thrown back, suffering a few burns and a couple broken ribs. Nothing he hadn't been through before other than the harsh shot. He was sat up, rubbing his chest gently, trying to ease the pain against his ribcage and chuckling at the sounds of the drunks beyond.

Meanwhile, the woman who had been caring for them was sat close to the corner, keeping the fire going and a basin resting in front of her as she washed the fabrics she had used to nurse and clean their wounds. A table sat beside her, a bottle of booze and a few glasses for when the men's pain got worse. Not to mention the stack of medical supplies, pure liqour, bandages, gauge-mats, cloths, needles, thread, and many more to make sure the men stayed in good health. They already had dinner and their glasses of water beside them on their separate tables.