Wesley sat on the ground with his arms about his knees, Dammit's reins hanging loosely in his fingers. When he'd finally gotten hold of himself, he went back to the clearing and covered the body by the wagon with the blood-crusted blankets. The train would have to come through here, he thought, and it wouldn't do for them to see such savagery. He set about collecting the supplies that remained undamaged and hauled them out to the waterhole sign; they could be loaded here without stopping in the clearing, was his reasoning. With a last, distasteful look about, he kicked Dammit into a gallop and headed back to the wagon train.

"But what happened exactly Mister Torrance?"

"Please Mrs. DeHoyt, you really don't want to know. I'm gonna suggest to your husband that we set fire to the whole mess after the wagons pass through, and I'm advisin' you, keep the children inside where they can't see."

Megan DeHoyt's fingers danced nervously about her collar, her eyes wide with uncertain fear. "I know both men are dead but- but shouldn't we at least bury them. We are Christians."

"You're just gonna have to trust me on this Mrs. DeHoyt. Burnin' will be as Christian as we can be." Wesley hauled himself up and led Dammit over to the lead wagon. Karl DeHoyt sat slumped on the buckboard, his face still pale and covered with a sheen of sweat. After explaining the situation and receiving a sad, tired nod, he walked back to the Anderson wagon and spoke to Kyle.

"I can't believe he got the best of Gershwin Tate." Kyle looked bewildered and shaken.

"Believe me Mister Anderson, this is no ordinary bad man, this one is pure evil. I'm speakin' from experience."

Kyle looked up startled. "You know him!"

"Nope, but one day he's gonna know me. He done the same thing to my family 'bout a week back." Wesley turned and climbed up onto his horse before Kyle could recover enough to question him. "We'd best get this over with."

While the Andersons and the Pritchards, the other family in the train, loaded the supplies Wesley had dragged out to the edge of the trees, Megan drew him aside and asked about his family. With short breaks to gather his composure, he told her all about his and Gwen's dreams, their hard work, culminating in the deed to their very own property, and finally, the horror tale of what he had found when he returned home.

"Mister Torrance," Megan lowered her eyes to the ground, "I don't know what to say. I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright Meg- Mrs. DeHoyt, I—"

"Megan's fine. May I call you Wesley?"

"A pleasure ma'am . . . Megan. I'm- I'm puttin' it all aside in my heart 'till I find this animal and settle the score."

"You're a generous man Wesley, helpin' us the way you are. Without Karl to make our decisions I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come along."

"Don't put to much on it ma'am, my motives are purely selfish." He felt his eyes begin to water as he stared at the top of her downcast head; Gwen's image floating in and out of his mind.

She gulped a deep breath and gave him a sad smile, touching him tenderly on the arm. "You may want to believe that Wes, but I don't." She squeezed his arm, gathered her skirts and walked back to the wagons, her boots kicking up blossoms of dust with each step.

Two hours later all they could see of the fire was a curl of dark grey smoke, winding its way skyward on the horizon. Martin Pritchard had become violently ill when the men went back to burn the site. Passing through the trees, his wife had barely been able to control the wild and frantic screaming of Margaret Dunstan, who somehow sensed where she was and the horror that permeated the area. Kyle Anderson had performed his duty in wooden silence, returning to his family pale and cold. The two hours of travel passed in a trance-like silence, broken only by occasional, harrowing cries from Margaret. Wesley rode quietly beside the DeHoyt wagon driven by Megan; Karl's health was getting worse by the mile.

"Hold up a minute Megan." Wesley said, squinting off to the north.

"What is it?" She spoke with alarm.

"Buzzards. Over there to the north."

Megan shaded her eyes and followed his pointing finger. "Is that a sign of something?"

"Usually something unpleasant. Hold the wagons here a bit." Wesley trotted back to the Anderson wagon and spoke to Kyle. "Would you object if Lucas rode with me over to check out them buzzards?"

Kyle's red rimmed eyes stared at him from some place deep inside, then swiveled over to where Wesley pointed. His expression stayed blank for a moment, then, as if something clicked inside, he closed his eyes and shook his head violently.

"It's just for backup, Kyle. I won't let him get close if it's somethin' nasty. He tells me he's pretty good with that rifle, says you taught him."

Judith put her arms around her husband and cradled him gently. "It'll be alright Kyle, Mister Torrance'll take care of Lucas." She rocked her husband gently and gave Wesley a permissive nod. "You mind for our boy Mister Torrance." Her voice shaky but strong.

"Thank you ma'am, and don't you worry none. We'll be back right quick."

Both horses began to shy as they approached the circling buzzards. Wesley drew his rifle from the scabbard and levered a shell into the chamber, indicating Lucas do the same. When the dark lump came into view, he grabbed the reins of Lucas' horse and pulled him to a halt. "Wait here. I'll ride over alone." The boy pulled his mouth into a tight grimace and nodded obediently. Wesley kicked Dammit forward and galloped up to the busily flapping buzzards that took off in annoyance at his approach.

"Mother of God!" He held the skittish Dammit as still as he could, gaping at the sight before him. Dunstan's horses, still in harness, had both been shot in the back legs and left to die unmercifully. The buzzards had obviously waited patiently for their agonizingly slow death, before moving in to pick the carcasses to shreds.

"Was it that Benton feller again?" Lucas panted, doing his best to keep up as they galloped back to the wagons.

"Who?"

"Valentine B-Benton. That's who Mister Tate said he wa- was. I heard him tell Mister D-Dunstan."

Wesley rolled the name silently on his tongue, savouring the first hard fact he'd learned since finding the shell casings. They pulled to a dusty halt in font of the DeHoyts and dismounted.

"Thanks Lucas, you go on back to your folks now."

"But you didn't tell me nothin'!"

"You kin tell them we found Mister Dunstan's horses."

Megan sat back startled, one hand flying to her throat, the other crunching a handful of her skirt. "What happened?"

Wesley waited until the boy was well out of earshot before answering. "He maimed 'em both and left them to die slow."

"Oh my God! What kind of man could do such things?"

"No man I want to share this life with." Wesley took off his hat and wiped his face with his neckerchief. "There's some tracks headin' north back there . . ." He looked up at the woman trying to communicate his intentions without actually voicing them.

Megan seemed to sag inside, a mixture of fear and sadness in her face. "I understand Wes. You've done more than enough for us and we're all very grateful."

He patted Dammit's muzzle that was jabbing at his neck. "You folks should be okay from here. It's only about thirty miles, from what young Lucas tells me, and it's across flat open space. You should be there sometime tomorrow." Megan nodded, biting at her lip and struggling to hold back tears. "You know I have to go Megan. You know I have to do this." His heart began to ache for her distress. Wesley felt ashamed, thinking how he'd love to take her in his arms and soothe her worries away. "I'd best go and make my farewells to the others. I- I uh . . . maybe I can write to you at the Conserve, let you know how I'm getting' on . . . keep in touch like."

"That would be a comfort Wesley, I'd like that . . . " Her voice cracked, and she turned her face away, scrubbing at her eyes. When she turned back, he was still standing there, watching her, his face a landscape of compassion. Megan leaned down, caressing the rough stubble of his cheek, and followed the gesture with a soft, warm kiss. "God protect you Wesley Torrance, from your enemy . . .and yourself."

Wesley watched until the wagons were almost out of sight before mounting up and pulling Dammit around to the north; unsettling visions of Gwen, Megan— and Karl, parading behind his eyes. He cast a nervous glance skyward, expecting to see his wife watching and assessing his actions.

*****