A few more people had paused in their routines, sensing the almost palpable tension. Emmeline stepped down onto the street and headed toward the livery – away from Billy and his cronies. The shout from behind was a definite taunt, and when she kept walking the sound of a shot made her pause. She turned slowly and saw him standing in the middle of the street, maybe twenty paces away, legs spread and a show of deliberately holstering his weapon.

"I don't fancy bein' stared at, and I sure don't like bein' ignored." He called at her.

"And I don't like having my meals interrupted by rude bottom-feeders." She heard a few muffled gasps from the onlookers.

"That does it, lady." He almost spit. "You better grab iron 'cause I ain't takin' that without a fight."

"You first, and just remember, it was your idea."

The gasps were stronger and turned to loud exclamations as they watched Billy draw. His gun came up partway, catching in the holster as it fell off, firing twice into the road when he stumbled back.

"Hold it right there, Miss Whitlock!"

Emmeline turned to see the sheriff off to her side, gun drawn and aimed straight at her. She holstered her gun and calmly held her hands away. "He drew first."

"I seen that. Don't mean it's okay to gun a man down."

"Should I have let him shoot me?"

"Well, no- but—"

"He isn't dead, sheriff."

"Huh?" He looked up the street at Billy being helped to his feet by his friends. "What happened?" His gun arm dropped and he scratched at his head.

A deputy jogged back down the street, shaking his head. "Danged if she didn't put one in his holster and another in his boot. Tore his belt right off – and he won't be walkin' easy for a bit." He turned at looked at Emmeline with admiration.

"They couldn't have been lucky shots."

"They were for him." She tilted her head at the sheriff. "I'm okay to get on with my business now?"

"Hmm, uh- sure. Sure . . ." The two lawmen just stared after her.

At the livery, she spent a few minutes patting and talking to Rain before wandering out back to find the owner cursing over a dismantled pump handle.

"Today's challenge?" She said stopping beside him and studying the various parts.

"Miss Whitlock. Yeah, if it ain't one thing." He wiped his hands on a rag and stood, stretching his back. "Can I help you? What was the shooting about?"

"Nothing. A few boys cutting up. Could you have another look at that sketch I showed you when I first came in?"

"Told you then I didn't recognize—"

"I know, but I got a sense that folks in this town might just be a little reluctant to share. Last livery owner I spoke to said the same thing, but he didn't lick his lips and twitch when I asked."

"Look, Miss Whitlock—"

"Emm is fine."

Her tone and sudden distraction confused him, and he waved a hand helplessly, unable to finish his thought. Before he could try again, a man came running in all excited.

"Sam! Sam, you should have seen—" He stopped dead, mouth open. "You! It's her, Sam"

"Her who? What the devil are you natterin' about?

The man pointed. "Her. She just shot Billy's gun belt off and put a hole in the toe of his boot."

"What?"

"It was bit of bad judgment on Billy's part, nothing to get all riled up about." Emm said calmly.

"Nothin' to-" The man continued excitedly. "He drew first and never even got his gun up!"

Sam turned a puzzled face to her. "What's he talkin' about?"

In a few concise words, Emmeline explained what happened and then dismissed it, getting back to her original question.

"Show him," Sam said, bewildered and drawing in a deep breath.

"Show me what?" The man backed away nervously.

"A picture, Arthur, just a picture." Sam urged her to show him.

Arthur accepted the sketch and looked hard at the face. "Ain't that—"

"NO! It ain't." Sam grabbed it back and thrust it at Emmeline, not the result he expected.

"Gentlemen, I'm not here to make trouble with you . . ." she folded the sketch and put it away, "but if it takes trouble—"

"Taggart! It's Rafe Taggart." Arthur held up his hands and looked frantically at Sam.

"Guess you didn't think he'd recognize it, eh, Sam?"

"Look, Miss Whitlock, you have to understand how things are around here."

"Enlighten me, Sam." She smiled.

*****

Taggart listened silently to Dint's retelling of the confrontation in town, the chill he's felt earlier returned – chillier. Was it about that cabin fire? How could this even be possible after twenty odd years? Nobody is that possessed He listened to the report and decided before doing anything rash, he'd get hold of the others that were still around.

"I need you to do something for me. Get up to Tall Pines and find a man named Singer. Tell him to round up the boys and meet me here, then go to Ebbotville and find a man called Nestor. Tell him his uncle wants to see him."

"That's gonna take days!" Dint protested.

"Then make sure it don't."

"But what do I get out of this? I gotta eat, feed my horse. There's a lot of wear and tear."

The material of his shirt bunched around his throat and he was pulled into a cloud of rotten breath that punctuated what would happen if he didn't do as he was told. The fist released the shirt and shoved him away.

"Get this done – fast – and there's twenty dollars in it for you."

"Twenty! I'll- I'll get right on it, Mister Taggart."

"Do." Rafe watched as the skinny cowboy climbed into his saddle and kicked his horse into a rapid gallop.

He went outside and sat on his tree stump, rolling a cigarette and considering a number of options.

*****

Butch Singer sat with the two remaining men that had been with Rafe back in the day. He told them what the skinny cowboy had told him and put it out for consideration.

"If Rafe's right and it's someone from that cabin we burned, they must have one helluva fire inside to be hunting us for this long."

"Twern't nobody else there as I recall."

"Hadda be someone, else how would they know what Rafe looked like? Point is, what are we gonna do?"

Singer looked at them both. "I ain't sure how I feel. If this woman only has a picture of Rafe . . ."

"Hold on, Singer. If we don't and she finds him, what's to stop him from givin' us up."

"Geez, Bandy, you think he'd do that? I mean, it's just some woman, how dangerous can she be?"

"George, you wanna take that chance? We don't know nuthin' about her."

"Bandy's right, George, I reckon we should take this serious. Are we together?"

Some uneasy shuffling and looking from one to the other finally ended in agreement. An hour later, three riders left Tall Pines and headed for the cabin of their old boss.

*****

Dint sat at the table nursing a beer, his body sore from riding so long and hard. He hoped the men he found would do what Rafe wanted, he wasn't sure he'd want to ask for his money if they didn't show up. Finding this Nestor character would end his job and he could go home and sleep.

He watched the men that came in and saw them huddle with the bartender then turn and look at him.

"You the one lookin' for Nestor?" The tall, rangy man slouched in front of the table, one hand resting on the butt of his gun.

"That you?" Dint coughed nervously.

"What do you want?"

He coughed again. "You Nestor?"

"Yeah, I'm Nestor, now what do you want?" He picked up Dint's beer and finished it in one swallow. "I'm waitin'."

Twenty frightening minutes later, Dint had relayed Rafe's message and had gone through a complete retelling of the woman's confrontation with Billy.

"You tell my uncle I'd be more than happy to help." Nestor sent Dint on his way and waved his friends over to the table.

"You remember that filly with the fast gun? We're gonna help my uncle put her in her place – and we know where that is, right boys?" The laughter was ugly.