The clerk scurried around the counter and did a little jig on the bottom step of the stairs. "Mayor Greeves's busy right now sheriff. He told me not to let anyone interrupt. I- I ah . . ."

"Quit hoppin' about and clear the way Orin, he'll see me." Bragg eased the clerk aside and took the stairs two at a time, leaving a track of mud on the plush, imported carpet treads. At the end of the second floor hall, he paused in front of the etched glass door that pronounced the entrance to the offices of Austin Greeves, the Mayor of Buffalo Stump. Grabbing the brass knob, he knocked once, sharply, and entered without an invitation. Mayor Greeves was lying back on his huge walnut desk, legs dangling over the edge, straddling a kneeling, corseted figure with a cloud of bobbing red hair.

"Mayor Greeves."

The sound of Bragg's sharp voice sent the mayor's legs flying and the young woman crashed to the floor painfully on her rump. "Gawdalmighty Ethan! What are you doin' burstin' in on a body without asking?" Greeves rolled his flabby body off the side of the desk, hauling up his trousers and fumbling with his buttons.

"Sorry mayor, Miss June, but we gotta talk— now." Bragg helped the young woman to her feet and handed her the gown she'd discarded on the floor. She gave him an embarrassed smile and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, clutching the gown and scurrying for the door.

"I'll uh, be sure to give your problem some thought Miss June." Greeves blustered, slipping his suspenders over his round shoulders.

"Save the phony act for someone who cares Austin, everybody knows you spend half your time gettin' your laundry rinsed up here." Ethan settled his large frame in a soft leather chair in front of the desk.

"Now wait a min— "

"You ever heard of Cable Royce?"

"Huh? Who?" Greeves seated himself indignantly behind his desk fortress.

"Cable Royce. A no shit, snake bred, stone killer doin' time in Bentonville. On'y he's broke out."

Austin shook his head, giving Bragg a bewildered look.

"He broke outa Bentonville last month. Killed two guards and the prison wagon driver. Stole all the horses an' guns. Feller came into town this mornin' with a body he found up in the southern high country, bin dead about a week's my guess. He gave me a handful of these," Bragg tossed a shell casing on the desk, indicating Austin have a look at it, "all marked the same. PBP." Greeves fumbled with the shell, still looking confused. From what Horace tells me, I think that stands for Bentonville Prison. I've sent a wire to the governor in Danby for confirmation. Harvey should have an answer soon, if he can shake those old bones into action."

Austin dropped the shell and sagged back in his chair. "Horace? Some fellow with a body? I don't see- I can't quite follow, Ethan. What's this about?"

"Way I figure it, if I'm right about the casings, is the body that came into town this mornin' was provided by Cable Royce. Bentonville is up north. This killing was southeast of here. I think Royce is heading this way, prob'ly through the Golden Sky Valley, up into the high country and, most likely, back down into the plain near the Milk River."

Austin sat forward, his doughy face wrinkling with concern. "You don't think he'd come to a town . . . to Buffalo Stump. Do you?"

"No way to tell, but if he does, Horace ain't gonna be much help to me in a shoot-out."

"Shoot-out!" Austin's pudgy fingers flew to his lips, wiping shakily at the faint dew line that had collected there. "You don't expect—"

"What I expect, Mayor, is a call for deputies. Just in case." Ethan drilled the shaking mayor with a withering stare. "Convene the town council and loosen those purse strings. I want men who can handle guns, not some busted old codgers or adventure seekin', skinny kids." The light rap at the door startled the mayor and Bragg sat forward, his hand on the butt of his gun.

Yes? Who- who is it?"

The door opened, and young Daniel bounced through, waving a sheet of paper for the sheriff. "Mister Kinsdale said to fetch this to ya right away Sheriff Bragg." He stopped, rocking from foot to foot with his cap crumpled in his fist. Ethan took the telegram and read it silently then passed it over to the mayor.

"Confirms what I suspected." He said, with a trace of concern.

"Says here they're sending two marshals to interview you and follow up on any leads they find." Austin glanced up and saw the boy still standing nervously in front of the desk. "What're you still lollyin' about for? Off you go then."

"I think the lad's come to expect this." Bragg said, fishing out yet another five cent piece and handing to the grinning boy, "You're gonna have to make room in your budget for my new assistant mayor, the rate I'm handin' these out." Daniel bowed a quick thank you and darted from the office, eyes wide with excitement over the designation of 'new assistant'. "And don't let that news about two marshals keep you from findin' me some new deputies." Bragg stood, picking up the telegram, and left without further word.

*****

Wesley pushed the toe of his boot through the dead campfire. The stiff, blackened remains of meat, skewered on a small branch, caught his attention, and he bent down to pick up a tin lying half-buried beside the circle of stones. A solid black stain covered the inside of the tin, which when he smelled it, confirmed that it had been coffee. He tossed it back on the ashes of the fire and stood upright. "Well, Dammit," he spoke absently to his horse, "looks like somebody left in an awful hurry." He glanced around the clearing, spotting the half devoured, rotted corpse of a mule, a few yards away. There was still enough of the head left for Wesley to see the crusted wound from a gunshot. The site was a confusion of tracks, including the distinct marks of a heavy wagon that trailed off to the south. He wished now that he had paid closer attention to the prints around his own cabin before setting out in his blind search for vengeance. Tracking was not something he was good at, and the direction he was desperately following now had only been a wild guess. After a few more minutes of cursory examination, Wesley mounted up and steered his horse along the trail left by the wagon. "At least this is somethin' we can follow, old boy."

Following the wagon track through the heavily treed high country had been easy, since it followed a natural path that wound its way gradually downward onto the open expanse of a ridge overlooking a wide, flat valley. Barely paying attention, Wesley had let his horse choose the direction while he stared blankly between its ears, his mind filled with the aching memories of his family. As they came out of the tree line, the natural trail disappeared, and Dammit slowed his pace, almost as if he was considering which way to go. Wesley reigned in, snapping his mind back to the present and gazed about. "Time for another guess, eh boy?" He said, patting the horse's neck. Ribbons of white cloud stretched horizontally across a pale sky, twisting in a slow, lazy waltz. Wesley dismounted and walked the horse to the edge of the ridge, the sudden vista causing him to suck in his breath, leaving him a little light headed. The huge valley spread out like a gold blanket trimmed with grey, purple hills that stumbled down its edges to disappear at the horizon. Way off in the distance he could make out the silver thread of a river, snaking from left to right across the valley floor. Struck dumb by the enormity of the view, man and horse stood rock still and silent.

"Sure makes Golden Sky look a little small, don't it boy." The words caught in his throat, summoning another anguished vision of his shattered dreams. Wearily he led the horse back to the end of the tracks and stopped, trying to decide what to do next. The original rage and anger had dissipated over the past couple of days, distilling itself into a nagging, painful desperation. Wesley had no idea where he was going to look for the person who murdered his family, or even how to go about it. His graveside vow and the burning thirst for revenge was all that drove him on, however vainly. He studied the tracks, deciding on the likely direction they would lead and was prepared to follow them when his eye caught a hoof print on the edge of a grassy clump. Poking around carefully, he discovered more along the same route as the wagon until he stopped, staring at a print partially crushed by a wagon track. The print was at right angles to the trail, indicating that it wasn't one of the wagon's team. Wandering off toward the ridge, he found several more— a lone rider. Feeling a surge of excitement, Wesley climbed up on his horse and walked him slowly through the short grass, searching for more signs. "Yes! Take a look Dammit, our lone rider dismounted here. There's his boot marks." He stared out over the valley in a different direction and immediately saw a ragged wagon trail heading south toward the thread of river. "That's where we're headin' old boy, maybe this is the break we bin waitin' for."

******