"Was Arley any help?" Ethan sighted Henry Gower between his crossed boots as they rested on the corner of his desk.

"Not a lot. But I reckon we'll have to take a run up there anyway, see if we can't find somethin' useful to track." He stared at the sheriff from beneath the flat brim of his hat. "You figure you can handle somethin' like this if our man comes to town . . . I mean, with that Tweedle kid'n all?"

Bragg wiped his hands on his long thighs, slapping the fingers up and down. "The mayor's workin' on getting' me some more guns. Guess I'll just have to wait an' see."

Gower sensed the sheriff's reservations and studied the floor at his feet for a few moments before speaking. "You gone up against many bad men in your day— I mean, real . . . bad . . . men?"

Bragg shot him a defiant look, then, unable to match Gower's stare, looked back down at his desk and fiddled with his empty coffee mug. "Not for a long, long time . . . and not alone." He looked back up at Gower with a wry smile. "My job in this town don't call for much of that." The Thompson clock began to chime the hour, filling the thoughtful silence of the three lawmen with an ominous gloom.

Tyrone clicked his tongue, catching Gower's attention, and tilted his head toward the door. The two marshals excused themselves and stepped outside, leaving Bragg gazing fixedly at his desktop. When they returned, Gower spoke immediately. "We've decided how we're gonna handle this." He said. "I'm headin' up into the hills to check out the killin' ground and Tyrone's gonna do some reconnoiterin' around here. That way, he'll still be in the area if our man turns up."

Bragg made a protesting gesture, but both the marshals noticed the brief look of relief that crossed his face. "You think that's a good idea, splittin' up?"

"I don't see it giving me any trouble. It's unlikely he'll go back to the killin' spot." Gower pushed his hands together, flexing his arm muscles. "Tyrone here's mighty adept with his gun and a pretty cautious fella to boot. He'll be a good man to have at your side should the need come."

Bragg dropped his feet to the floor and stood wearily. "I sure appreciate this marshal, there ain't much to draw on for help in this town." He turned to the younger marshal, a crease of concern furrowing his brow. "You sure about this son? I mean, it may all be for nothing, but . . .?"

"It works for us sheriff, Henry can scout the hills for whatever clues we might use, and I can check out the local ranches an' such. There's a stage depot somewhere down along the Milk River that he can wire me from. If nothin's happened in between, we'll hook up again down there."

Ethan came around the desk and shook the young man's hand thankfully. "I can't tell ya how this eases my mind some. " He said, turning to Gower and offering his hand to the marshal. Gower gripped Ethan's hand tightly then waved his partner outside again. "We're all doin' the same job here sheriff. I should be sendin' a wire in six or seven days, meanwhile we'll all just keep our fingers crossed." The two men left the office and stood on the street by their horses talking. Ethan watched them through the dusty window, with a mix of trepidation and relief.

******

There were four all together. Two men in the barn, the younger one outside with the horse and the woman hanging up the wash. The two in the barn had been easy; they didn't know what hit them. Two quick shots and it was over. The younger one had been a little tougher. He burst into the barn armed and shooting. Cable was lucky not to have taken a couple square in the head. As it was, the splintering wood of the stall pierced his cheek painfully. The next time the boy stuck his head out to shoot, Cable blew it off with a quick succession of rounds. He could hear the woman outside, calling; a fear filled wail of uncertainty. When he stepped from the barn door into the sunlight, she dropped the long barreled revolver, turned, and ran for the house.

It hadn't taken much too kick in the front door, sending the shattered wood crashing across the braided rug. Cable was impressed with the inside of the house. Bright gingham curtains framed the front windows that held several pots of happy wild flowers. A large wooden table with four, ladder-back chairs occupied the centre of the room. Another bowl, filled with flowers, perched precisely in the middle of the polished surface. A row of various sized, shiny pots hung decoratively over the stone fireplace, waiting for the talented hands of the woman who used them for cooking. She stood hunched and trembling in the corner of the room by the bedroom door, her hands clutching a small hatchet. Cable grinned widely and sauntered toward her.

"You sure are a pleasurable sight ma'am." Her eyes widened and she raised the hatchet up in front of her face, blade out.

"I'd be careful with that little bitty axe. A body could lose a nose . . . or somethin' more precious." He stopped a few feet from her, leering at the trim waist, full bosom and golden hair. She watched him warily, her tear filled eyes blurring his image.

Cable tipped his chin over her shoulder and asked. "Is that the bedroom?" Automatically, she turned her head to follow his gaze, and he instantly snatched the hatchet from her fingers and tossed it over his shoulder. "Now that's better, a little more friendly, wouldn't you say?"

The woman slumped against the wall, her nose and eyes dripping in dread. She murmured something to him, between snuffles and gasps, making Cable lean forward curiously.

"What was that? Was that German you was speakin'? Are you one o' them ah, whattayacallem . . . frows?" She knuckled her red eyes and gave him a slight nod. "Well now, ain't this my lucky day! Let's just get on into that bedroom ma'am, and you can teach me some of that German. I want to hear you say 'please' an' 'more' an' stuff like that." He grabbed her roughly by the arm, ignoring her frantic scream, and shoved her through the door and onto the bed. She scrabbled back to the pile of pillows, tucking her skirt beneath her knees and locking her arms about them, sobbing uncontrollably.

Cable unbuckled his gun belt and hung it over a chair by the door. He tossed his hat off and stripped off his jacket and shirt, smiling at the woman's agony. "C'mon frow, let's hear you beg for ol' Val. That's me, my name's Valentine. You like that name?" he sat on the chair and yanked off his boots, tossing them carelessly in the corner. "Let's hear ya say, bring me that big old Valentine right over here next to my heart." He stood up and shucked his trousers, kicking them up into her face. "Say it frow! Say you'd be pleased." Cable yanked down his long johns and stood at ease beside the bed.

The hiccuping to accept this valentine whimpers turned to coughing sobs, her voice rising in a wail of anguish as he reached down and began tearing at her dress.

*****