The Marshal's head jerked up, and she studied Caldwell closely.

"No," she finally replied. "No, it's not. Just easier to use most all the time."

"Oh, I get it. People can't say it and then they get all squirrely about you not being a Jane or a Mary or something they're used to," Caldwell said.

"Oh my goodness, you've no idea some of the things I've been called," the Marshal grumbled. "When I was younger, I just gave up and I had an English name. That was back when...back when Mercy and I were youngsters. Now I don't use it any more. Just being the Marshal is easier. No need to explain anything, no need to always be keeping an ear out for a half dozen different versions of your name. Title becomes your identity, clean and simple."

"Understandable," Caldwell said. He reached for the bottle to pour his ... on second though he wasn't entirely certain what number drink this would be.

"So what is it, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"Not quite ready to get to know what type of man y'are when you're drunk," she said, moving the bottle out of Caldwell's reach. "My name is Tzu Quan Yin."

"I like it. And it's not that hard to pronounce. Some people are jus' dumb," Caldwell said. Then he cocked his head, the gears obviously turning.

"Tzu? Wasn't that Mercy's name?"

The Marshal froze for a second, then finally looked over at Caldwell.

"Yes, it was."

Caldwell had the sudden realization that he might have pushed things a bit too far. He glanced around for the bottle as an excuse to avoid commenting further.

"Hey, what'd you do with the bottle?"

"I've already had like three shots and you've had more than me."

"It takes more than four ... five ... all right maybe six shots to get me tipsy," Caldwell said indignantly.

The Marshal grinned.

"Doesn't mean you're getting it back," she said. "'Cause I ain't sharin'."

The Marshal stood and picked the bottle up from the step, the cap clinking against her shot glass.

"Don't get me wrong," she said, leaning against the railing. "Mercy meant a lot to me. Still does. Doesn't hurt to remember every now and again, sometimes that's helpful for a soul. There's just some things, well, some things are better left dead."

She started up the last couple steps, then stopped.

"Thank you for letting me remember," she finished quietly.

"Anytime, Marshal," Caldwell said with a grin. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

Jed found himself on top of the wall, gazing out into the desert and watching mirages dance across the landscape. He would have preferred to be out there, looking for his sister. But if the Marshall had good reason to suspect that she was safe at least until tomorrow morning, then he would trust her word. In any case, it was much better than thinking of all the other potential options.

That's when he first saw her, bursting through the mirages with a cloud of dust at her back. Whoever this new comer was, Jed thought, she was in an awful big hurry. "Open the gate!" He yelled as he hustled, arriving just as the doors swung open.

"You the sheriff?" Asked the redhead as she dismounted, disheveled hair clinging to her face.

"That's what this badge says," replied Jed cautiously. "You mind telling me your name and what your business is here?"

"My business is with your friend the Marshall and if you must know my name is McKinley, Abigail McKinley."

Suddenly a cog turned over in Jed's head. This was the girl that the Marshall had told him about. "Follow me and I'll get someone to take care of your horse."

Abigail complied with his order, only taking a moment to ensure that her horse was securely tied to the nearest hitching post.

"So you're a bounty hunter, huh?" Jed couldn't help but let a bit of disgust slip through his lips, bounty hunters were a necessary evil in this line of work. But they were still evil.

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?" Abigail could spot a straight-laced man from one hundred yards away and this guy was about as honest-Abe as it got.

"Not if you can help us," he responded as they passed through the office door.

"Hey Marshall, you've got a visitor!"

The Marshal came out to the top of the stairs and looked down at them.

"Well, if it isn't little Ang Mo. Glad you made it in. Your friend watching over my girl still?"

Abigail crossed her arms, "he was when I left camp. The man sends his regards."