Morgan closed the door slowly behind him, careful to make no sound. Elizabeth slept in the bedroom, and he had no wish to wake her up. He was tired and rubbed a stiff hand across his face, feeling the thick stubble of his beard scratch against his palm. They had argued until she was in tears, and he wasn't far from balling himself, nothing resolved. It had boiled down to one thing, Wheaton had offered her children, and without intending to, Elisabeth had used that against him. Blind with fury, he'd told her if that's all that mattered to her, why was she still with him and not whoring herself with Wheaton.

The shattered look on her face had stopped their fight. After delivering a well-deserved slap, she'd fled to the bedroom and he'd followed, trying to apologize, only to be staunchly and rightly rejected. To the sound of her bitter tears, he'd put several fist-sized holes in the wall, eyes moist. Disgusted with himself. By dawn, he'd not slept and wasn't hungry, so picking up the gear at his feet Morgan walked slowly away, not looking back. If she meant to forgive him, it wouldn't be today, and Hel wasn't sure he deserved it.

The sun was not quite up yet and the jailhouse key clicked over smoothly in the lock, the door swinging inward. Hel stepped inside, the inner office cool from the night air and swung the door shut behind him. Dropping his things into a corner he sank down on the thin, hard bench, closing his eyes. He was still there when Luke Skye came in not long after. The deputy pulled up short at seeing his boss laid out in the office. Luke couldn't recall a time when he'd ever seen the marshal vulnerable, and he just stared, shocked.

"Close your mouth, Luke," the deep voice growled at him. "An' close the door, a man needs his sleep."

Hurriedly the deputy swung the door closed and swiped off his hat, puzzled.

"What are you doing here? Didn't you go home?" he asked.

"I reckon you'd best mind your own affairs," was the stiff response, but as yet the lean, long body of the marshal had not moved. Slightly worried, more than a little curious, Luke set about making a pot of coffee and went in to see Duke Fisher. He exploded back into the main room a moment later.

"Morgan, Fisher's gone!"

Hel catapulted from his near-sleep stupor into fully awake and functioning action. He ran to the cells, his sharp eyes widening in disbelief. The door was still locked, but the cell was empty. His eyes swung toward his deputy, but the young man's eyes widened.

"He was here locked up snug and tight when I left last night! I swear it!"

"Anybody been in to see him?" Disbelief and frustration thickened the marshal's voice. One more day and Fisher woulda been off his hands!

"Not a soul, just like you told me, boss."

"Get a flyer up, then wire San Bernardino and Belleville to let them know Fisher's escaped. Make sure they have a current sketch of him! Now!"

Luke jumped to obey, and catching up a rifle he ran toward the telegraph office. Hel unlocked the cell and went inside, looking carefully around. With care he knelt down and looked beneath the mattress frame, not trusting Fisher to have hidden there to lure him inside. It was empty, not a thing out of place, except the missing prisoner.

Swearing bitterly Morgan turned around and left the cell at a brisk jog. He caught up his rifle and stuffed his pockets with extra ammunition, just in case. With no way of knowing how long a head start Fisher had, the first stop should be the stable. If the horses were all accounted for, Duke was likely still in town.

He hurried to the livery stable, quickly looking inside before ducking into the shadows, flattening against the wall. The air was thick with the smell of manure and straw, light filtering hazily through the slat planks of the roof. Moving with care, Morgan searched the stable, checking every stall and horse against the catalogue in his mind. He knew every horse, and accounted for each rider in his mind. Slipping back outside he signaled Red Hesh over. The man ambled to him, a piece of straw sticking from the corner of his mouth.

"What's up Marshal? You lookin' for somethin'?" he asked.

"Someone, Red. Fisher's escaped the jail. I want you to lock down the stable, no one in or out until I say so."

Red's eyes widened but he nodded, moving to obey.

"Sure thing Marshal."

Leaving the Livery stable Hel ran behind the row of buildings that faced the main street and headed swiftly for the freight buildings behind the depot. The horses there were draft-sized and not accustomed to a saddle, but to an escaped convict, four good legs were all the same. He ducked inside the building, catching a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. A second later a bullet spat splinters from the wooden planks above his head and Morgan ducked lower and dodged aside. He should have guessed Fisher would be armed!

"Why didn't you skip town, Duke? Stayin' here is only gonna end one way!" he shouted.

"You're gonna pay for keepin' me locked up like some rabid dog, Marshal!" Duke's voice was rough and grating. "Now that that I'm free I'm gonna hunt you 'til your coyote feed!"

Hel stole a quick look into the gloom deeper inside the building and made a running leap to land behind large barrels filled with Kozin's grain supply. A rifle spouted flame and thunder and he scrambled deeper into cover, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. He felt no fear, only a cold sense of resolve. He'd faced down his share of Duke Fisher's before and had lived.

"If that's the case, why not tell me how you got out of jail? Who helped you?" he yelled.

"Now Marshal, you an' I both know I ain't gonna fall for that," Duke's voice was patiently mocking. "All I'll tell you is this, get a new lock for your jailhouse, 'cause now I have a key!"

More bullets spattered around where he was, but Morgan knew Duke could not see him, and was only trying to flush him out. He did not move. There in the semi-darkness, a thought came to him, a thought Morgan didn't like.

"You know who killed Bayne and his boy?" he called out.

There was a moment of silence, then a low, cold chuckle.

"Surely do! An' it worked like a charm, gettin' you outta town for stretches of time! This here escape never wouldda worked ifin you'd been nosein' about town. I gotta admit, killin' the old man and his boy in the doctor's own office, I never woulda thought of that!"

Hot fury flared inside the marshal, but he kept it in check, swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat. A distraction! Killing a man and his son was only a diversion to keep his attention fixed elsewhere! That meant a partner, someone on the outside. He started to move rage winning out over reason, and his head came into sight over the barrels of feed. Immediately a rifle spoke out, spitting wooden fragments into his face and Morgan ducked back out of sight again, cursing himself for a fool. Now wasn't the time to be reckless! He had to stay cool and in control to take Duke out.

"That's a box canyon, Morgan! Nowhere to go from there that I can't see you!" Duke's triumphant laugh was cold and bitter.

Hel did not waste his breath answering the challenge. His problem was keeping Fisher from getting away, and from getting shot. He let his eyes roam the dark cargo storage room and at last, he pinpointed a movement within a shadow, knowing he'd spotted Duke's hiding place. Easing his rifle into place, Morgan waited. His breath was coming in soft and easy, his finger light on the trigger.

"What's a matter boy? You scared of shadows?" Duke's taunt was meant to goad him into action, but Morgan was a master at waiting.

The escaped man at last grew too curious at the lack of response and half rose from his position. Hel smiled in cold satisfaction and took up the slack on the rifle, gently squeezing the trigger. A plume of fire streaked into the darkness and Fisher cried out and barrels crashed and rolled as he toppled over backwards. Hel waited an instant, but when he heard Duke get to his feet and start to run he swore in a silent curse at the man's stubbornness and went after him. The freight building was large and dark, and somewhere inside Morgan lost his quarry, reaching the sunlight outside without coming across his man. Irritated he looked down and saw a few crimson dots in the dust.

"Nowhere to hide now old son," he muttered.

He was just starting to follow after the droplets when an urgent shout made him look up. Harrison Clack was running toward him, the old operator of the telegraph office wheezing and breathing heavily as he slowed down.

"What is it, Harry? I'm after Fisher," Morgan was impatient.

"Got wire just in from San Bernardino about Fisher. He's got himself kin!" The old man shoved a crumpled paper into the marshal's hands.

Morgan read it over twice, a scowl forming on his face, dark and ugly. He looked at Clack.

"This verified?"

"You bet it is! I finally heard back from four other offices in Utah an' Texas. They all say the same thing."

Morgan grew very quiet and still inside as he looked at the old man.

"Thanks, Harry," He ignored the trail in the dust and moving rapidly, ran across the street from the freight building toward the back of the hotel.

Staying in the shadows of the buildings, edging along under the windows to avoid being seen, his pace did not slow. He walked with a purpose, knowing what faced him.

Sue Ellen Kinsey opened her back door as he walked by, but he shushed her with a quick gesture, a finger across his lips. She nodded, knowing at a glance it was serious. He gestured for her to go back inside, waiting until the door shut behind her.

The post office was the next building over and just as he stepped from the edge of the hotel to cross the small alleyway he saw a shadow of movement. Throwing himself to one side, he pulled iron at the same moment. The guns spoke loud in unison, belching thunder and smoke and Morgan climbed slowly to his feet, looking down at the faintly twitching form of Duke Fisher. The man tried to smile, his lips moving, but no words came out and his eyes glazed over.

Feet came running and a dozen men burst into the alleyway, stopping short at seeing their marshal standing over the body of his prisoner, a growing streak of red staining his shirt sleeve. Hel had not even realized he was bleeding. Instead, his mind was whirling with a single thought.

Beth. He wanted Beth, and if she'd still have him, he'd find a way to give her everything she wanted. God help anyone who stood in his way.