"Sometime between when you went out drinking last night and when I got up this morning. Where else does she go in town? Any places she likes to go early in the morning, or when she can't sleep?"

"No. I don't know. I can't think, dang-it all. Look, she couldn't have gone far though. First thing to do would be to check with my guards. If she didn't leave the town, that narrow's our search considerably." Jed pushed past the marshal, stopped just enough to pull on his boots before racing downstairs. Past Caldwell and out onto the city streets, soaking wet and all.

"Oh good grief," the Marshal muttered, turning and following Jed out of the room and down the stairs. For being hung over, he was quick, and she clattered down the stairs just in time to see the door swing closed. Muttering to herself, she sprinted across the room and out the door, following him down to the town gate.

When the Marshal arrived, Jed was nursing a headache and the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was inform her of the bad news. "She's gone outside. Left sometime last night."

"Hellfire and brimstone," the Marshal breathed, glaring at the poor innocent watchman. Finally she looked back at Jed. "What are you waiting for? Go get suited up."

"I'll meet you outside with supplies and horses. Give me ten minutes." And then, he was gone again. Dashing back through town, stopping only to bark instructions at a bewildered stable-boy on the way.

Caldwell peered through the bars at the Marshal as she came back into the jail.

"Is the girl all right? You find her?"

"No," the Marshal said shortly. "She went for a walk last night. Never came back in. And the idiots never mentioned anything when she didn't come back."

"Do you think some of those Meyer scumbags snatched her? If they got one man into the town to try to kill me, they might have gotten more in," Caldwell said.

"That's what I'm afraid of," the Marshal said, taking off some of her things and repositioning her guns for fighting and riding, rather than extended riding. "Best hope right now is that she's alive, and they didn't just shoot her down because she happened to be breathing. Meyer was never really smart when it came down to who he shot."

"Bring me with you!" Caldwell surprised himself with his own exclamation. He didn't quite know what had gotten into him, but he kept talking anyway. "You need all the guns you can get and I've got plenty of reasons to want those sons of rattlers dead for what they did. And I don't want no little girls fallin' into their hands. I never let a man join my gang that I couldn't trust alone with a woman, but I can't say Meyer had the same regard."

The Marshal froze for a moment, then shoved the magazine into her spare handgun, the metallic snap echoing. Finally, she turned and walked over to look at Caldwell, scanning him up and down, before finally looking him in the eye.

"Why would I trust you outside of a cell, let alone with a firearm?" she finally asked. "Despite being strategic about when you'll fight someone or when you'll surrender, you don't exactly have a track record of being predictable when it comes down to who you'll shoot and who you won't shoot."

"Well, technically the only people I tend to shoot are people with badges, folks tryin' to kill me, or folks who've tried to kill me, so I'm practic'ly predictable in the affairs of shootin' folks. Now that does include you in two categories but I give you my word I won't shoot you or even that annoyin' sheriff until after the girl is safe and all those lousy no goods are dead. It's not like it'd do me any good to kill the people who are shootin' at the people who are shootin' at me."

The Marshal considered it for a moment.

"One condition," she said. "My rules. You do what I say when I say, and fair warning, if you don't, well, I'm a very good shot."

"Fine. You got yourself a deal, Marshal. Just point me at 'em and tell me when to shoot 'em," Caldwell said.