Tyrone could not believe that he had let himself ride into this storm. He'd watched it gathering as he rode down out of the hills toward the town, figuring there was still time to reach shelter before it became too bad. The first rain drops smacked him hard, taking him by surprise, and he urged his horse into a gallop, trying to stay on the bits of higher ground. When the first bolt of lightening, and crack of thunder sounded, his horse shied in panic, rearing up and sliding sideways to the ground. Tyrone wrestled himself free and dragged the horse to its feet, hanging on to the reins with all his strength. Off to his left he could make out the collapsed tents and piles of wind scattered cots and tables that were once part of Tent City. In the distance, a cluster of wagons rocked and banged against one another, the faint glow of oil lamps showing through the flapping canvass.

He jerked his collar up and began dragging his horse toward town, hurried along by the rain that had turned the road into a coursing river. As he reached the end of the main street, he could see the blurry lights from the different buildings where people were huddling against the storm. The saloon stood out the brightest in spite of the hastily barricaded windows. Tyrone leaned into the wind, plodding through the slop ahead of his horse, lifting his face every few steps to determine his direction. When he thought he saw a figure dart out from the side of the building into the road, he called out— not for any practical reason, just an instinctive response— but just as quickly, the figure disappeared.

Royce lay dead still, the muddy water covering his body and oozing into his clothes and boots. Blinking furiously and holding his breath, he watched the man pause, straining to see through the rain, then turn and haul his horse up onto the walkway in front of the bank. He stayed there, twisting his head just enough to follow the man as he lead his horse down the fronts of the buildings toward the saloon. Prying himself out of the roadway, he felt the thick sludge sliding down inside his pants and squishing in his boots, and muttering a string of curses, staggered the rest of the way across the street and around to the back of the hotel.

C******

It was Miriam's misfortune to discover Aylisha's body, the morning following the storm, after Verna had sent her up to get the lazy girl back to work. The oil lamp had burned dry, leaving the chimney coated with a dark grey shadow and the only light in the room came through the drawn, lace curtains. The scream had begun with each faltering step she took toward the bed, reaching an ear-splitting peak before ending abruptly with a gagging choke as she threw up all over the carpeted floor. Now, a day later, sequestered in a room with Della-Rose, she was still breaking into uncontrollable sobs and fits of violent shaking.

Sheriff Bragg, Hector Field and Doc Hubbard spent most of the morning, alone in the room, examining and theorizing over the mutilated Alysha. Hector's usual exuberance over new business was noticeably absent— Alysha had been his favourite, occasional dalliance at the Hang 'Em High. Doc Hubbard retrieved his umbrella from the back of the chair and delivered his opinion to Bragg with a customary brevity.

"Same knife. Same type of sick wounds. Same man."

"Hellfire! Where the devil's he bin' hidin' all this time?"

"Close by, obviously." Doc Hubbard, gestured to Hector and waved goodbye with the handle of his umbrella as he stumped from the room.

"I'll get Horace to give you a hand Hector."

"Never mind sheriff, I'd rather do this by myself. Alysha was ah, well . . ."

"That's okay Hector, I'll tell Horace anyway, just in case you need him." He gave the undertaker a sad look and followed the doctor.

After recovering from the shock of another killing, Mayor Greeves dispatched the town council to notify all the citizens of a town meeting the following morning in the saloon. His next order of business was to sit down with Sheriff Bragg, and Marshal Hartman, who had bathed, changed and was considerably more presentable than when he splashed into the saloon the night of the storm. Both Edward Winsiker and Tyrone reported seeing someone near the bank building during the storm and the consensus was that it must have been Cable Royce. As no one had left Buffalo Stump since that night, they concluded he must be hiding in the town somewhere and came to the decision of a building to building search.

The meeting was held in the Hang 'Em High saloon, being the only place in town large enough to accommodate the throng of townspeople packed at every table and along the walls. Ethan Bragg, Verna and Paul, stood alone behind the bar waiting for Austin Greeves to make his way from the crowded doorway. Several people pulled at him as he passed, shouting angry questions and stirring up the rest of the crowd. The ominously faithful clock began striking the eleventh hour as Austin wiggled past Verna to stand next to Bragg.

"Is eleven o'clock when we pay you to start working Greeves?" The shout quieted the room for a moment then was joined a babble of insults and complaints.

"People, people!" Austin raised his hands for quiet. "There were other mayoral duties that uh, required my- my attention. The point is, we're all together now."

Verna slid a sideways glance at the red scratch marks showing above the lip paint smudge on Austin's collar.

"Sheriff Bragg and I have discussed the- the recent uh, recent misfortune, and we have come up with a procedure that will require the co-operation of everyone in this room— every man that is. It's our belief that the person we're looking for is still hiding somewhere in this town. Since the storm the other night, we've had men, volunteer deputies," He slid Bragg an uncomfortable look, "posted along the road at both ends of Buffalo Stump and so far, nobody has left the area. Now we know from what Doc Hubbard has told us that Alysha put up quite struggle, and he figures our man will have some pretty severe telltale scratches on him. He also remarked on what looked like a tooth mark on her forehead, which could mean our man will probably have a swollen mouth, so identifying him should be a little easier. "

"What about that gang up in Tent City?"

"Tent City is gone." Ethan spoke up. "Most of it was wrecked in the storm and the remaining wagons pulled out this morning."

"How do we know he wasn't with them?" Chairs scraped and people began murmuring angrily again.

"Because!" Ethan shouted them down. "I checked each wagon myself along with O'Brien and they were all his employees, and none of them had any marks like Doc Hubbard suggested."

"And you know for sure it weren't one of them?"

"I'm certain, you'll just have to trust me."

"What's this procedure you come up with mayor?"

Austin cleared his throat and tugged at his lapels. "Some of you might not know that on the night of the storm, U.S. Marshal, Tyrone Hartman arrived back in town. Although how he managed to get here in that misery, is beyond me." On the upstairs balcony, Tyrone gave a bit of a sheepish look to Wesley, who was standing next to him with one arm around Megan. "With his professional expertise, and that of our own expert, Sheriff Bragg, we're planning to form a number of search parties to start at both ends of town and dig into every crack and crevice they can find."

"And what about when we find him?" Someone shouted.

"We hang 'im on the spot!"

"Hangin's too good— we gut 'im right there and then, just like he did them women."

"Hold it! Hold it!" Bragg pounded on the top of the bar. "There ain't gonna be no hangin', no shootin' and no guttin'. The Governor wants this man alive and back in Danby. All you men will be sworn in as deputies and Lord protect the man that breaks the law. Marshal Hartman will see to it that you spend the rest of your days right where this fella escaped from."

"He ain't swearin' me in." Wesley dropped his arm from Megan's shoulder and stepped back from the railing.

"Won't make any difference if you're the one who finds him Wesley. I'll still be doin' my duty." Tyrone spoke solemnly.

"Then we'll just have to work that out when the time comes."

"Wesley, no—" Megan threw her arms around him.

"Best listen to her Wes, seems the future could be a lot more promisin' than you thought."