Wesley rested his head on his saddle, lacing his fingers across his chest, and stared up at the night sky. A sliver of moon curled comfortably in a blanket of blinking stars. The silence filled his ears with the surf-like whoosh of an ocean against the shore, and behind his eyes, fragments of images did a sporadic dance. He managed to fix on one, bringing it into sharp focus. Gwen, standing by the cabin door, her hair flitting about the happy smile she gave him every time their eyes met. He felt his chest cramp and his eyes begin to water. She was saying something to him, something he wanted to hear but couldn't. Wesley could see himself calling to her; one hand cocked behind his ear, but the image receded, vanishing in a swirl of smoke; smoke from the burning cabin. He let out a sobbing sigh and knuckled his wet eyes, surprised, when he opened them, to see Megan's face gazing compassionately at him. She was about to speak when Dammit snorted loudly from across the campsite, making Wesley start and the images disappear.

"Thanks a lot pal." He chided the horse, returning to his jumbled thoughts. The tracks he'd followed had long since run out, and unable to pick up a new trail, Wesley was moving ahead on nothing more than gut feeling. The killer, it seemed, had made a wide sweep to the south and was now heading, generally, back to the north. He'd never been in this part of the country before, and he was quick to notice how little of what he had passed through, offered anything like their land in the Sky Valley. His throat closed as the horror of what he'd left there popped back into his mind. Admonishing himself, Wesley stood and walked a ways from the campsite to relieve himself

Picturing the route taken over the last week, he calculated his approximate location and reasoned that, following the direction he was, he should be somewhere not too far south of Buffalo Stump. It was the largest town for miles around and doubtless, the best place to pick up any information. The magnet of stores, soft beds, and saloons, with their women and whiskey, drew everybody. Even the low-life, killing animals like the man he was following.

Feeling a little more comfortable with this reasoning, he went back, checking Dammit, and settled himself down for the night. Tomorrow he would turn his efforts to finding the route to Buffalo Stump.

*****

"Sheriff! Sheriff! Please, I don't think the mayor wants to see anybody right now." Orin skipped sideways, his hands clasped together in prayer, following the determined stride of Ethan, as he stomped through the lobby of the hotel. "He told me not to—"

"Don't get in my road Orin, I'm liable to stomp right over you." He took the stairs two at a time, leaving the exasperated desk clerk wringing his hands.

"Austin!" Bragg shouted, reaching the office door. "Austin, I'm comin' in.!" He grabbed the handle and shoved the office door open wide, letting it slam against the wall and bounce back.

"Jesus Ethan! Not again!" Austin Greeves rolled off the couch, or more accurately, off Miss June, crashing onto the thick oriental rug, his trousers in a tangle about his ankles. "You can't just keep barging in like—"

"Is this your idea of finding me some deputies?" Ethan threw a balled up handbill at the beleaguered mayor.

"Wha- what are you talking about?" He fished the crumpled notice from between his legs and pulled it open. Austin sat quietly reading the handbill, his flaccid, white bottom pressing into the stiff nap of the carpet. "I don't see—"

"Damn straight you don't. I told you I wanted some extra guns, and you nail up this joke all over town?" Ethan threw a nasty glance at Miss June, who was watching the mayor with wide, startled eyes, her stockinged legs still wide and her ample bosom exposed to the world.

Austin struggled to his feet, his pants pooled about his ankles and his shirttail barely covering the forlorn remnant of his interrupted ardor. "What's wrong with—"

"Swinging his eyes back to the mayor, Ethan tilted forward angrily. "What's wrong is, you put up this piece of crap asking for temporary volunteers for deputy duty. What the hell good are temporary volunteers? And what's more, Pinter's name and occupation take up more space than the goddamn message! Who's gonna bother even reading it?"

Greeves looked again at the message and shrugged helplessly, his eyes swiveling toward the couch for support. Miss June raised herself to a sitting position, holding her discarded dress over her chest, her eyes touching with the mayor's, then traveling down to the bottom of his shirt. He winced as he saw her wide, red mouth spread into a mocking grin, and leaned down to tug up his errant trousers. "The council wouldn't pass- this is all- I paid for these myself Ethan." He gave the sheriff an imploring gesture.

Bragg sighed and settled back on his heels. Deep down he knew Austin meant well . . . he was just so damned inept, and preoccupied. "Get your duds back on Miss June. I'll walk you back to the saloon." She complied, unabashedly, standing languidly and slipping her dress back over her head. Ethan directed his attention back to the mayor, who was swiftly tucking his shirt in and straightening his clothes. "I'll find my own people Austin. You can tell Pinter to take these notices down . . . and if I were you, I'd point out the fact that you didn't get your money's worth." He waited while Miss June finished adjusting her dress, then leading her by the arm, they left the mayor standing desolate in the centre of his office.

*****